#maybe if its like the only way to refill my arrows or something. but like if it'd give me new types of arrows i bet i wouldnt need em | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joontier · 3 years

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Subliminal in Scrubs | V1; report ix

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: doctors! au; humor, romance

warnings: swearing

word count: 1.8k

g/n: ((unedited skfslkdf)) also,,, i will be releasing Parallel Palpitations very soon [which features this Jimin hehehehe stay tuned for that] PLUS, im very excited to release the report x AHHHHHH send me your thoughts pleaseee

[taglist]: @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07 @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle @btsmakesmehappy

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) | navi. | m.list

You open your new group chat first thing in the morning, wanting to check on Soomin and Jimin. Just yesterday, the two had informed you of their concerns separately, both worried over the same thing. Soomin’s mother wanted to hold a small congratulatory celebration for her daughter’s KMLE results, and her subsequent acceptance at Woocheon, so there was going to be a party exclusively for all tenants of the building at the restaurant just next to the cafe.

The two hadn’t worked out their budding acquaintance, as you had practically forced them to greet each other the last time you were at the cafe, so you thought this might be a great way to have them start over their tricky relationship.

As you’ve expected, both of them had even tried to convince you to come, in the hopes that a mutual friend could help diminish the awkward air around them. You’ve declined each of them politely, not wanting to intrude on their little get-together. Besides, (just like you hadn’t forgotten to mention to them), this was the perfect opportunity to get rid of this wall hindering their friendship (to which, both of them had also quite strongly disagreed upon).

A mere three hours after their outpour of sentiments, as you’re rewatching episodes of Dr. Romantic with Chohee, the pair drunkenly call you, requesting a video chat. You’re pretty sure not one of them is aware of what’s happening, especially with Jimin refilling his shot glass every thirty seconds; Soomin speaking gibberish, and Chohee literally teasing them through the screen of your laptop and yet none of them seem to mind a damn thing about it.

So, with hopes that each of them arrived home safely last night, you type in your text message.

‘What is this place, really?’ you mutter to yourself, slightly regretting your decision to take the subway instead of a cab. You only ride taxis for places you’re not familiar with (such is the case with today) but you didn’t want to spend twice as much solely for transportation so you took the train to the building.

Now you feel lost. You’ve just gone to the main entrance of the building, but there was scaffolding barring the entrance, and now you’re struggling to look for Entrance B with the singular tarpaulin saying “Please use Entrance B” and a faded arrow below pointing to the left. After a grueling ten minutes of asking people for directions and walking all over the place, you finally find Entrance B and hurry on your way inside.

There’s already a small crowd forming where the directions for the processing of your license is posted, and you can’t seemingly read the directions all the way down with people clearly taller than you blocking the way.

“What’s the matter? Can’t see the directions, smally?”

Your instant recognition of his voice makes you hang your head low. You figure there’s no way you can get rid of this guy anytime soon.

“Hello, Jungkook.”

Why is it that he’s always there wherever you are? He couldn’t be stalking me, could he?

Jungkook almost spits his water on the girl in front of him. Oh, so he heard your thoughts then. “Yeah, you wish, woman. I wouldn’t do that even if you had one million strapped to your neck.” You roll your eyes at him.

“Wasn’t asking for any conditions for you to do that, but thanks for letting me know your thoughts.”

“Awh, you mad, babe?” Shaking your head at him, you try to continue peering over everyone’s shoulder to check the post. “If it makes you feel any better, I would for two million though.”

You were just about to retaliate with a smart comment, but you see a girl walking towards Jungkook while twirling her hair with her newly manicured fingers. “Jungkook-oppa, you’re here!” she says, hooking her arm on his elbow.

Ah yes, it’s the same brat that kept defending Jungkook’s ass during the KMLE exam. “Why don’t you come with us? My mom works here,” her voice gets down to a whisper, but loud enough for you to hear. “If you come with us, you wouldn’t have to fall in line, then maybe we could have lunch together.

Jungkook removes her hand from his, “No thank you, I’ll just wait here.”

“With her?”

The audacity of this bitch.

“Yes, with her.” Jungkook says, not skipping a beat. “She’s...better company.” Oof, that’s gotta hurt.

You try not to show much of your currently soaring pride on your face, but you can’t help but clear your throat as a terrible disguise for a snort. The girl becomes silent after that, with most of her friends trying to control their facial expressions after Jungkook’s reply.

“Fine then, your loss,” she says with a flip of her hair, then makes her exit.

You're unsure what to do now as the girl has already left, and you’re also not sure if you’re entirely happy about being left with Jungkook now. “Why didn’t you go with her? Could’ve saved you a lot of time considering the people here.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw, as if in thought. “I don’t like cheating. I believe that there’s a different value in the reward that comes with something you worked hard for.”

You’re surprised. You really hadn’t expected this kind of quote, coming out of Jungkook out of all people, but you find yourself nodding as he speaks, quite impressed that you share the same principles.

As the crowd starts to disperse, you and Jungkook finally get your turns to take a look at the poster. “Is it often?”

“What is?”

You point a thumb backwards towards where the girl had gone to, “Having girls throw themselves at you all the time?”

“Oh that,” Jungkook chuckles, then gives you a lopsided smirk, “Yeah, that. Hadn’t realized being this hot was so tiring.” Squinting your eyes at him, it then again dawns on you that you shouldn’t even have asked him that sort of question at all.

“You know,” he says, nudging your shoulder with his, “I’m quite jealous of you really,” your brows crease together. This can’t be good. “At least you don’t experience all of that, cause you know…” he says, gesticulating his hands over his face.

He did not just insinuate that you were not...attractive at all. Huh. This bastard can wait for his license alone then.

“Goodbye, Jungkook.”

“Hang on! ________, wait! I was just messing with you,” Jungkook laughs, running after you.

The cashier is already scanning the last items on your grocery list by the time Jimin and Soomin had texted you that they were done with their licenses, and you three had agreed on meeting up by the mall’s concierge. It doesn’t take long before you all decide on having Italian for dinner, after seeing the restaurant nearest to where the concierge was.

“Wait, it took you guys only half an hour?” you exclaim, recalling how you had to endure at least more than an hour with Jungkook as you waited for your licenses to finish. Thankfully though, the latter had other errands to run so you two parted ways as soon as you got your IDs.

Jimin, always the gentleman, offers to get your group the utensils as well as a few condiments and spices you might need with your meals. “Soomin-ssi, do you know anybody else who’s going to Woocheon too?” he says, setting the silverware atop the napkins.

Soomin thanks Jimin for the thoughtful gesture, sending a small smile his way. You squeal inwardly, wanting to know what happened last night for them to interact like this. “Um, also, I’m not so sure about the others who will be attending Woocheon too...I only got a glimpse of the list, sorry.”

“Ah, no worries about that. So, how was the dinner party last night?”

The two glance at each other, seemingly communicating with their eyes. Oookay, what’s going on between these two? What exactly happened last night? If they wanted to be alone, they could’ve just said so…

“It was fun,” Jimin initiates, plastering what seems to be a painfully wide grin on his face. Soomin nods along with him as she adds more, “Honestly, I don’t remember much about last night, but I do recall Jimin calling me ‘sajangnim’ the whole night. And I told him to not call me that, but Jimin here is a stubborn man.”

“Yeah, you complained about that too last night,” you laugh, cutting your garlic bread into pieces. “Wait, what?” Jimin squints his eyes at you, “Were you there last night? How did you....”

“I’m guessing you both don’t remember calling me last night too, didn’t you?”

“We did?!” they say in unison, making your eyes go wide. “Did I do something stupid?” “Please tell me I didn’t say something I shouldn’t have?”

“Hmm, well, it was quite the conversation last night,” you tease them, wanting to see how far this can go, “plus Chohee was there too so I have another key witness.”

“What?” Jimin squeaks, lips pressing into a thin line, “what’s the key witness for?”

“That, my friend, is up to you to remember and figure out.” You give each of them a wink, before turning your attention back to your pasta.

Transferring all your groceries to one hand, you fish your keys from your purse, shaking it lightly to hear its jingle as you blindly course your fingers through your bag. As the elevator doors open, you see your neighbor down the end of the hall, trailing after a man.

Ayoung hears the elevator bell ding and turns to your direction. She excitedly points her thumb to her back, mouthing ‘new tenant’ to you. She keys in her code and lets the guy in first. The moment he’s inside, she leans by the doorframe and whispers how hot the guy actually was and how much of a lucky neighbor you were going to be.

You shake your head at her, leaving Ayoung to entertain her guest. Of course, not forgetting to pray that she manages to score you a hot man next door.

#jungkook x reader #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btsghostie #jeon jungkook #bts aus #bts fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff

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guardianofrivendell · 4 years

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I'm so happy for you on 500 followers!! Your stories are such a pleasure to read. 💕

❤ Could I request from random prompt list 6 and 29 with either Eomer or Haldir. Can't decide between those two cutie pies so please choose for me. 🙏

Thank you for your ask darling!

This was fun to write, hope I did your request justice. I went with Éomer :)

Warnings: a little smutty at the end (nothing world shocking)

Guardianofrivendell’s 500 followers sleepover

MY BADASS WIFE

“Éomer, wait!” you yelled, still wiping the tears out of your eyes. It had been a long time since you’d laughed so hard.

Éomer didn’t listen, and kept walking towards the armory. Well, stalking was maybe a better word to describe it. You ran after him, trying to keep your grin off your face. You failed horribly.

“Stop being grumpy, it’s lame!”

“Oh, so now I’m lame?” he grumbled, tossing his weapons aside.

“Yes! And you’re a sore loser,” you teased. You let your quiver slide off your shoulder and refilled it with arrows until there was no room left for another one.

“That’s because you cheated!”

You gasped. “I did not, and you know it!”

Éomer and you had been training together, he with his sword and knives, you with your trusty bow and arrows. There had been a discussion which kind of weapon would be more effective in battle, each of you convinced it was your own weapon of choice.

It didn’t take long for the both of you to set up a small competition, each getting three turns to hit a target.

It wasn’t a surprise to you that you had won… much to the annoyance of Éomer.

He grabbed you by your upper arms and pushed you against a wooden pillar, his face inches away from yours.

“You… cheated!” he hissed, his eyes dark.

You rolled your eyes and smirked. “Can’t you just admit that you lost?”

His lips were ghosting yours, but he made sure they didn’t touch. Not yet.

“You shot my knife off its course. It would’ve hit the target dead center like the two times before, if you hadn’t been so keen on sabotaging me.”

You smiled, your eyes getting that mischievous glint it did every time one of your plans worked out.

“Now tell me… how is my wife more badass than me?”

You pushed him away, breaking the tension between the two of you.

“You want the short or the long version?”

A laugh escaped your throat, but it turned into a groan when Éomer pushed his chest into against yours, his knee between your legs.

He placed featherlight kisses on your neck, slowly making his way towards your shoulder, grinning when he heard you take a sharp breath.

“I will give you a long version alright…”

A/N: Look at that! I wrote something that was only roughly 400 words. I’m so proud :D

#Eomer x reader #Eomer drabble #lord of the rings #lotr #guardianofrivendell sleepover #lotr fanfiction #lotr imagine

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malecsecretsanta · 4 years

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Merry Christmas, facialteeth!

For @facialteeth <3

When your soulmate loses something it gets sent to you and vice versa. For almost 400 years Magnus thought he would never have a soulmate until one day a pacifier shows up in his loft.

Read On AO3

*****

Who Are You Really?

Magnus stares at the pacifier in his hand. He doesn’t recall anyone bringing a baby to his loft recently. He doesn’t take in as many clients due to his position as High Warlock. He’s pretty sure he would remember a baby being in his home.

Thinking nothing of it, he sets it down on the side table in his living room and goes back to work. The Circle may be disbanding and shadowhunters are getting arrested, but there are still attacks happening in New York and the Institute has asked for his help in tracking the remaining Circle members.

Magnus snorts at his own phrasing. The Institute more so demanded that he help them. He of course made sure to set his price high for what he expected in return. The new Heads weren’t going to make him bend the knee to their every request. He was going to make life extremely difficult for the Lightwoods. They may have been forgiven by the Clave, but Magnus will never forget what they did.

Without looking up from his cauldron, he reaches for an ingredient on his shelf, and instead of touching the vial he knows is there, a soft fabric brushes his hands. He whips his head up from the cauldron and stares at the blanket draped over the shelf. Not just any blanket, a child’s blanket- no an infant’s blanket.

Magnus stares at the cloth for so long that his brewing potion is now ruined. He doesn’t care though, not when there’s something more important to focus on. With a shaky breath and hand, he grasps the blanket. It’s so incredibly soft in his hands, the fabric is perfectly suitable for a baby. Not just any baby though Magnus realizes, his soulmate’s. His soulmate must have just turned two, when most soulmates start to receive their partner’s lost items.

A sob escapes his lips and he presses the blanket to his face.

Four hundred years, it took four hundred years for his soulmate to be born. Magnus had lost hope such a long time ago of ever getting one. Each year that passed with nothing showing up around had him made him lose hope. And after everything Camile did to him, the manipulation, the gaslighting, stealing his items, and pretending that they were soulmates, Magnus swore to never open his heart again.

Now here is this pacifier and blanket in his loft, letting him know that love will not be lost to him. That there is someone out there that is made for him. He scrunches his face at that thought. His soulmate is a baby, he shouldn’t be thinking like that, not yet. He still has many years to go, but Magnus will gladly wait as long as it takes to meet them.

“Oh god my soulmate is a baby and I’m a warlock,” he says out loud to no one. He glances in horror at the state of his apothecary. Everything is everywhere, the minute he forgets one thing it’s going to teleport to a baby.

Potion forgotten, Magnus starts to clean his apothecary with precision, making sure that everything is labeled and in a proper place that is easy to find. The last thing he needs is to kill a baby, let alone his soulmate.

“You better not die because of me,” he demands, glaring at the pacifier and blanket now resting in a case in his bedroom.

The first six years are filled with anxiety on Magnus’ end. His friends made fun of him at first, thinking he had finally gone mad. When he showed them the items, they rightly shut up and even occasionally helped him if he was looking for something for a potion. None of them wanting to be responsible for the death of his soulmate. This is the happiest they have seen him in a long time, if it means portaling at ungodly hours of the night to help him find something before it disappears then so be it.

Magnus did have fun “accidentally” losing toys for his soulmate to have and play with. He has no idea if his soulmate actually uses anything that he finds, he hopes that he does. While Magnus is sure that his soulmate’s parents spoiled their child to no end, Magnus was never one to not spoil someone important to him.

Somehow Magnus knew that the exciting thrill was never going to last. His soulmate would be eight now. He glances at the calendar on the wall, a big red circle around September 12th. Magnus had made sure to mark the date after he got a hold of his emotions all those years ago.

He’s debating on what to send an eight year old child on their birthday. He’s been good about getting gender neutral toys for his soulmate, not knowing if they are a boy or girl. He’s going through a catalog on his phone when he spots a piece of paper on the coffee table. It's flipped upside down but Magnus can see some dark ink on the other side of the paper.

His soulmate must be doodling or drawing and forgotten something they made for their birthday. Magnus reaches out and grabs the paper flipping it over to inspect the drawing.

The paper bursts into flames by his magic.

No that- that can’t be right. Magnus just saw the paper wrong, he must have. There’s no possible way that was what he thought it was. He gets a second chance to see when another paper appears on his coffee table. He feels himself starting to fall apart as he reaches for the sheet and flips it over. He recognizes the marking anywhere.

Iratze

The paper once again catches fire from his barely contained magic. Magnus feels his throat tighten and his breath getting shorter. Shadowhunter. His soulmate is a shadowhunter, his mind provides. He feels like the universe is playing a cruel joke on him. Of all the people living on this earth, his soulmate had to be of the people who have hunted and killed his kind for hundreds of years.

Magnus barks out a wet laugh, immediately summoning a drink from his cart and downing it in one go. The glass is already refilled as he watches more papers appear on the table, more runes scribble on them. He doesn’t know how many times he refills his glass, but he got the desired effect he wanted: numbness.

He doesn’t know how long he’s stared at those papers, drinking his pain away. He can barely sit up at this point with the alcohol flowing through his system. He can’t remember the last time he got this drunk. He’s been better since Camille, not wanting to go that far again. He hears the door to his loft open. Was he expecting guests? He doesn’t remember, doesn’t care. The intruder could rob him for all he cared.

“Well you look awfully dreadful,” a familiar British voice says. “Is this why you’ve been ignoring my calls and I had to take the long way in?”

“Ragnor,” Magnus slurs, he tilts his head towards his friend. The small movement makes him nauseous, it takes everything in not to immediately stumble to the bathroom to throw up.

“What is it this time?” His friend sighs dramatically. Ragnor glances around the room, glaring at something out of his field of view. “Obviously something has upset you enough to drink almost your entire cart. Did Camille try and reach out to you?”

“No,” he says too quietly. He can already feel the emotions he’s tried to lock down start to bubble up. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Ragnor, his friend doesn’t need to worry about him. The man always has more important things to deal with than him. Still, his arm has a mind of its own and points to the coffee table.

“What, you were studying runes and decided that getting drunk would be easier?” Oh, he truly loves Ragnor, the old fool knows how to make him laugh even at his lowest of lows.

“Not mine,” he manages to get out before tears start to fall.

“Oh, old friend,” Ragnor whispers. He’s happy that he doesn’t have to explain more, his friend understanding what the papers mean.

The couch dips beside him and an arm wraps around his shoulders. Magnus doesn’t even try to resist, he’s just so tired. He rests his head on Ragnor’s shoulder and cries. Damn the universe for dealing him this deck of cards.

As his soulmate grows older, the less stuff they seem to misplace. Magnus would find it strange that he’s practically getting nothing, but at this point, he doesn’t care what the shadowhunter does with their life.

He does, though, care about the number of arrows he’s been finding in his loft.

Magnus glares at the vase he designated for arrow disposal and sees that it’s full. He has five more wrapped in a cloth in his hands. With a sigh he snaps his fingers and summons another vase, tossing them in. He doesn’t know why he’s keeping them, there’s really no point except to dump them at the Shadowhunter’s feet when they meet. Maybe even throw a few at them, he considers.

There’s nothing on them so he figures that the shadowhunter is training. Though Magnus almost shudders at the thought that a child is already practicing how to use a weapon. His soulmate is only ten years old, surely Nephilim society would wait until their children are at least thirteen before making them train for hunting.

“Stupid Nephilim, not keeping track of his arrows,” Magnus grumbles. “That’s almost thirty arrows in the past two months! I would like to think that a shadowhunter would at least know how to put arrows away after training and not leave them everywhere.”

“Do go easy on them, Magnus,” Ragnor snorts from the other room. “It’s not like they had a choice in what family and life they were born into.”

“They still have the option to run away,” he grumbles, knowing he’s being irrational.

“Surely you don’t want them to be homeless at ten years old?” Ragnor says, entering the room with two cocktails, handing one off to Magnus before plopping down on a chair.

“Maybe,” Magnus whispers, he looks over at his friend and sees the raised brow. He rolls his eyes, “Okay I don’t, not really.”

Magnus knows he’s being unkind to his soulmate. But after everything in recent years with the Uprising and the Circle, it’s hard not to associate all shadowhunters into the same category especially when so many members of the Circle turned tail and came crawling back to the Clave. And the Clave willingly brought them back into their ranks with a slap on the wrist. Magnus rolls his eyes at the thought of Robert and Maryse Lightwood being allowed to look over the New York Institute as their punishment. Those two should have been put behind bars for all that they did for the Circle.

“Don’t you think you are being a bit dramatic?” Ragnor asks as Magnus takes the seat across from him.

“Me? Dramatic? Hardly, my dear Cabbage,” he says dramatically, hand on his heart.

“Right,” Ragnor snorts. “Just a gentle reminder that you are getting upset at a child for being born into a life he had no power over just like you with Asmo-”

“Don’t,” Magnus snaps, his glamor flickering for a moment. “Don’t ever compare my upbringing to that of a shadowhunter.”

Ragnor doesn’t say anything else which he kinda feels bad about. His friend also knows better than to talk about his father in such a casual way. The two fall into a tense silence as they go through the books scattered on the table. He sighs, glancing over at the two vases of arrows that he’s put in his library. Ragnor is probably right, but he’s not going to tell that to the old fool’s face.

Magnus will apologize later, right now he wants to focus on the spell they’re working on and not about the shadowhunter.

The day they do meet is not by fate, no, more so Clarissa Fairchild, who Magnus had almost forgotten about. It’s been a couple of years since her mother brought the frightened child to his doorsteps to wipe her memories. Seems the girl has fallen into shadowhunter hands after her mother goes missing. He wouldn’t put it past the rogue Circle members that were in his club a few nights ago to be the reason.

As he examines the ruby necklace, a memento of another time in his life, a shout echoes across the basement and something whistles past his ear. Turning around he sees a Circle member fall to the ground dead with an arrow to the heart.

Magnus feels his own heart stop as he turns to watch the archer descend the staircase and make his way to the corpse, to search for life. Magnus feels his skin turn warm and start to tingle, like a lego piece snapping into place. A whisper of a no slips past his lips. The shadowhunter must feel the same as he stands from checking the body he stands straight. Hazel meets brown as the man, the shadowhunter, stares at him in shock.

It’s him.

Magnus doesn’t wait for the man to reach him. He summons a portal, ignoring Clary’s cry to wait, and steps back into his loft. His breathing is erratic and it feels like his heart is about to explode.

His soulmate is here, in New York. What is Magnus going to do? He can’t leave his post as High Warlock, not with Circle members making a reappearance. His people need him to protect them. Over the blood pulsing in his ears, he hears a cry, immediately snapping him out of his thoughts. Reaching out with his magic he feels that his hideout has been infiltrated. Dammit, he shouldn’t have left this place for that girl.

Magnus can worry about the ache in his chest later, his people need his help.

He doesn’t even wait for the Circle members to notice him, magic blasts out of his hands attacking any person who dares to enter this safe haven. When he finds out who leaked the location, he’s going to ban them from New York. He doesn’t have use for someone who would rat out his own people.

“Your magic is strong, warlock,” the Circle member taunts. “Much stronger than that horned warlock I killed this morning.”

“Elias,” he says solemnly. He throws a ball of fire at the man who easily dodges it. They circle around each other, the man’s grin never leaving.

“So that was his name, lucky he sold you out before I took his warlock mark,” the man laughs.

Magnus knows he shouldn’t let his anger get the best of him, but he still finds himself lashing out at the Circle member, trying to disarm him. The man's grin turns even more sinister and something in his stomach tightens.

“Cats eyes,” he points out. Magnus didn’t even realize his glamor had dropped. “Would be a nice addition to my collection.”

Before Magnus can reply an arrow sings past him and lands in the man’s leg making him stumble. Magnus doesn’t wait for him to recover and deals a finishing blow. The Circle member collapses on the fallen bookshelf and Magnus feels like he’s frozen. That feeling in his stomach wasn’t from the Circle member, it was from him.

Magnus spins and sees the same shadowhunter from the club stand there, bow still raised, panic in his eyes. The man releases a breath and lowers his bow, eyes rake over the Circle member’s body before turning to Magnus. Magnus steps back, magic sparking at his hands ready to fight.

The man opens and closes his mouth, trying to say something but nothing comes out. His eyes show only concern and worry, but that can’t be right, no shadowhunter would ever look at him like that. He glances at Magnus’ hands and the look disappears to something more neutral, closed off but not before Magnus catches a glimpse of pain.

“Alec!” A male voice shouts from down the hall, Alec glances behind him taking his eyes off of Magnus. The man must have a death wish for taking his eyes off of him. Magnus could easily take him out now, but his body won’t let him. “That’s the last of them.”

The shadowhunter, or Alec, nods his head and turns towards Magnus again, “We should go join the others.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Shadowhunter,” he bites back, hoping to get a reaction out of the man, but Alec doesn’t even flinch, just nods his head again.

“Apologies,” Alec says, turning around and leaving the library but halts, looking at something on his left. Magnus follows his gaze and realizes he’s looking at the multiple vases of arrows he’s kept over the years. Alec’s face stays blank but the grip on his bow tightens before he continues his way out of the living room.

Strange, Magnus thinks. He thought the shadowhunter would have demanded Magnus listen to him or even drag him to where everyone else is. Instead he’s letting Magnus choose to go with him, giving him the option to run tail if he wanted.

Of course, Magnus won’t do that, he realizes with a sigh. He doesn’t know how many of his people made it out alive, all of them probably scattering the second the Circle members entered the hideout. He’ll need to notify friends and any families of the fallen here.

With a wave of his hand, Magnus rids the loft of any dead circle members and teleports their bodies to the ocean. Let the sharks have their fun with them, he doesn’t care. In another wave, he teleports the bodies of the fallen warlocks to another safe haven he has in New York and a fire message to Catarina about what happened and where she needs to go.

When Magnus enters his living room he catches Alec with his head down and a girl with long dark hair rubbing a hand up and down his arm looking at him with concern. Something in his chest aches and presses a hand to his heart. Is that what Alec is feeling? He hates it. He doesn’t want to feel what the shadowhunter is feeling.

He must be projecting his emotions because Alec flinches, pressing a hand to his chest and looks up at him. Again the pain that he sees disappears by that blank look. The girl catches Alec’s change and looks over at him and sends Magnus the most heated glare he’s ever received.

He doesn’t have time to deal with that. He puts on his High Warlock persona and makes a show of his magic. Clary, to no surprise, is as stubborn as her mother and refuses to leave without getting her memories back. So he tells them what they all have to do to get them back. None of them argue to his surprise, though the blonde boy tries but is stopped by Alec with a hand on the shoulder.

The summoning goes off without a problem. All of the shadowhunters listen to his explanation of how the ritual works and that they must not let go of each other’s hands. When Magnus explains that they must hold hands, the sister, Isabelle, moves into a position that forces Alec and him to hold hands. Magnus tries not to let his frustration show and accepts the positions.

The second he and Alec’s hands touch, it’s like the final piece of their connection is sealed. He hears Alec let out a gasp and the hand in his grips tight before loosening. Magnus looks at Alec and the shadowhunter is not even glancing at him, he continues to stare at the wall opposite of him. Magnus feels an incredible sorrow fill his chest that makes him want to curl up and cry.

Alec shows no outward sign of what he’s really feeling and something pokes at his heart that this is not the first time that Alec has had to mask his emotions. He shakes off the feeling, looking away from Alec to see everyone else staring at him waiting, though Isabelle is still glaring at him.

The demon asks for a memory of the ones they love the most. Of course, his is Ragnor, his oldest and closest friend. Jace, who he finds out is Alec’s parabatai, and Isabelle’s are of Alec, which warms his heart or well maybe not his, he looks over at Alec and sees the soft smile on his face as the shadowhunter sees himself reflected in the tornado of smoke in the center. He doesn’t even catch what Clary’s memory was, too enraptured by the kindness shining in his soulmate’s eyes.

When the summoning is over, Clary collapses and is caught by Jace. He scoops the unconscious girl and leads her out of the loft with Isabelle, a quiet thanks as they pass him, leaving Alec and Magnus alone in the room. Alec hasn’t looked up from his hands since they let go, rubbing the hand that was entwined with his.

“Thank you for helping us,” Alec speaks softly.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he says.

“I know.” Alec finally looks up from his hands and there’s a small smile on his face. “I’ll let you be. Have a good night, Magnus.”

The shadowhunter doesn’t wait for his response and rushes out the room to catch up with his family leaving Magnus alone.

Alone.

Something that Magnus has been used to for decades now. His heart had been protected under a lock and key for so long and then Alec, this shadowhunter, his soulmate had to barge in and rip the lock off the cage.

Magnus doesn’t want to feel like this. He liked it better when he was alone and didn’t have a soulmate, when he didn’t feel this much in his chest. The people he knows who have met their soulmates have told him about how they felt butterflies the first time they met their other half. That it felt like they were whole for the first time. Magnus doesn’t feel whole, he feels rage at the universe for giving him a shadowhunter as his soulmate.

Magnus doesn’t care how kind Alec may or may not be.

He will never fall in love with a shadowhunter.

Of course, that wouldn’t be the last time he saw Alec. He made it clear that he was not interested in getting to know the shadowhunter and thankfully Alec respected that. Again throwing Magnus off about his view of shadowhunters.

Now Jace definitely fits that shadowhunter personality. Brash, rude, demanding, following red heads around like a lost puppy. Magnus rolls his eyes as the blonde’s gaze never leaves Clary’s as she word vomits in his living room fretting over Luke. Luke, who is in the state he’s in because of Clary, and Simon who couldn’t listen to simple orders.

One would think that the girl would take her time to recover after getting all of her memories back. It seems that when she discovered the location of the cup, she snuck out of the Institute and met up with Sherman only to get kidnapped which led to a fight between a Beta and an Alpha werewolf which led to a new leader to the New York pack and-

Lilith, Magnus needs a drink.

He sends Simon and Jace off to fetch ingredients for him to help with the potion that would save Luke. Which leaves him and Clary to wait for them to return. Magnus focuses on the potion to make sure it doesn’t turn sour.

“So,” Clary says. “You and Alec, huh?”

Magnus almost drops a vial in the cauldron. “I beg your pardon?”

“You two are soulmates right?”

“And what gave you that idea?” He grits.

“The stuff in Alec’s room,” she shrugs, wandering around the apothecary. “He has a whole bookshelf full of trinkets and vials exactly like the ones in here.” Clary pokes at the vials on his shelves, he almost snaps at her to stop. “It’s really incredible, you can tell he took great care of them all.”

“Is that so?”

Clary nods, smiling as she picks up a vial off his table, inspecting it. “Yeah, he got really upset with me when I tried to pick up one of the items. Even went as far to wipe my finger prints off the thing. You can easily tell they’re his greatest treasure.” Clary’s smile turns to a frown. “Though last time I went to talk to him, he had put a bed sheet over the shelf.”

Oh. That information does something to his heart, like something has a vice grip around it now. Magnus shakes his head, clearing himself of the feeling, and goes back to the potion.

“Maybe he’s upset that he realized I’m a warlock,” he snorts.

“No, that wasn’t it. When I first saw it, he had this soft, delighted smile on his face. He had said that he hadn’t met the warlock who was his soulmate yet, but that he was eager to meet them. Said that he hoped his runes wouldn’t scare you away and that he could prove that he would care for you the way he cared for the items he got from you through your connection.”

The vial that was in his hand drops to the table. Clary jumps at the sudden sound and turns to him in surprise.

Surely Alec didn’t think that way about him. He was an abomination with demon blood, Alec was a shadowhunter with angel blood. There’s no possible way they would work and yet, Alec knew his soulmate was a warlock before he even laid eyes on Magnus. Had a bookshelf full of the items he had lost over the years.

“Why?” He mutters quietly. “He’s a shadowhunter whose soulmate is a warlock. We’re not exactly the perfect match.”

“Why should that matter?” Clary asks. “It is clear that Alec doesn’t care that you’re a warlock. His mother is a different story though.” Clary rubs her arms up and down her arms like a shiver passed through her. The accurate reaction when talking about that woman. “I don’t understand how he just stands there while she speaks to him like that.”

“Like what?” His mouth feels dry, the blank face from a few days ago makes sense now. With a mother like Maryse Lightwood, finding out your son has a warlock soulmate probably didn’t go over well. He’s positive that Alec’s other siblings didn’t get that treatment, especially Clary and Jace who discovered they were soulmates.

“Like he’s inferior for having a warlock as a soulmate. The first thing she did when she stopped by his room was berate him for still having that bookshelf, like he should be ashamed of himself for displaying who his soulmate was so openly and that she thought she told him to toss out anything that wasn’t useful.”

Magnus feels like there’s no air in the room. He leans forward on the table and stares into the bubbling concoction.

With each new thing he learns about Alec, the less his view of him is so harsh.

“That’s when he had covered the bookshelf,” Clary whispers, biting her lip. “Ever since their mother came back to the Institute that spark in Alec’s eye is gone.”

“Maryse does have the personality of a brick,” he chimes in hoping to lighten the mood.

Clary doesn’t take the bait and instead looks at him with sympathy. “I don’t remember much about when we came here last, my memories are still a bit jumbled, but I know that when I woke up, no one knew where Alec went. Jace said to let it go, that he gets that way sometimes, but I couldn’t help feeling like something wasn’t right. When I found him he was on the roof, shooting arrows, one after the other until his hands were bleeding.”

“Why are you telling me this,” he rasps. His heart is beating out of control. Was Alec that hurt by his rejection? He was a shadowhunter, he should be relieved that his warlock of a soulmate doesn’t want to be with him. It wasn’t like Magnus would be upset if Alec left. Something about that thought makes his heart stop.

“Because you both deserve happiness,” she says. “And I think Alec at least deserves a chance before you kick him to the curb.”

Magnus doesn’t know what to say to that. What could he say to that? For centuries he’s kept away from shadowhunters as much as possible and now he was fatefully connected to one. Why should he be the one to make that step? It wasn’t like Alec was taking the first step.

That’s because you rejected him before he could, his mind unkindly reminds him.

Magnus doesn’t get the time to ask more questions about Alec as Luke starts to seizure on the couch. He tells Clary what still needs to be done with the potion as he rushes over to Luke and pour his magic into the werewolf’s body to slow the spread of the poison.

He loses track of time, just focusing on making sure that Luke makes it through this process. Just as he starts to feel his magic flicker, the door to his home bursts open and there’s a warm body catching him as he falls back.

Magnus huddles closer to the warmth, clasping his hand around the one that takes his.

“Use my strength,” a voice whispers in his ear. “Take what you need.”

Magnus doesn't waste a second, siphoning magic from the person behind him. It’s like being shot with adrenaline, the other person’s energy practically shoving its way into his body. It’s definitely a first for him. Anytime Magnus has asked to share strength with someone, there is always a tug from the other person, not fully trusting Magnus to not abuse the power the other is giving him. Magnus feels no resistance from whoever he’s taking magic from. For someone to trust him that openly and blindly that they just give him their very essence brings tears to his eyes.

He’s going to have to thank whoever it is once he’s sure that Luke won’t die on him. Maybe even take them out to dinner as a thank you. As if they heard his thoughts, Jace and Simon rush through the living room and hand over the last ingredient to Clary who tosses it in the cauldron. Moments later, the trio are rushing over to the couch and pouring the potion down Luke’s throat.

The reaction is practically instant. Luke is no longer seizing on the couch and the dark veins around his wounds are receding. Magnus stops his constant flow of magic and drops. Or would have dropped, if the person behind him hadn’t caught him preventing him from making a fool of himself.

He just settles into the person’s arms and closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing. He used more magic than he had planned tonight and he feels exhausted. Not as exhausted as he thought he would be he realizes. That’s when he feels the hand still in his squeeze down and rub the back of his hand with their thumb. The person he’s leaning against begins to speak to Jace.

He jolts at the person’s voice, realizing just exactly who he is resting against. He opens his eyes and whips his head to Alec’s. Alec who is staring down at him with concern and worry that makes his heart ache. Magnus hurriedly lets go of their entwined hands and finds the strength to stand up. He doesn’t look back at Alec.

He asks Jace and Simon to help carry Luke to the guest room, ignoring the heat in his cheeks and the quick beatings of his heart. He hastily follows the men into the bedroom, making sure Luke is comfortable. He’s not ready to address that whole situation waiting for him in the living room.

As he gets Luke comfortable, his mind wanders back to Alec. He wonders if one of the others called Alec for help, but no, there would be no reason for them to notify Alec that he would need assistance. None of them but Clary knew about Luke’s deteriorating state and she was too busy making sure the potion was good to go when the others returned with the missing ingredient.

He pauses fluffing Luke’s pillow and presses a hand to his chest as it aches. He had been so focused on healing Luke that he didn’t even notice his connection to Alec was so open. He doesn't feel much from Alec, but he understands now, why Alec knew to come to the loft. Magnus must have called out to him and Alec came running to help.

He doesn’t understand the Shadowhunter. Magnus couldn’t have made it more clear that he wasn’t interested in getting to know him. Yet, he still showed up, saved his life twice, helped Clary get her memories back and even assisted him in saving Luke, all without Magnus asking him to. He held Magnus close to his chest and let him practically drain him of his Nephilim energy to save Luke. The part of him that he kept under lock and key for so long slowly pours out and a warmth spreads through him at the fact that someone would do that for him without him asking, begging them to do so. It’s what he always wanted in a partner.

Why should the fact that him being a shadowhunter change that? Clary’s words from before also ring in his head, that Alec kept everything he lost and displayed them proudly in his room and told others about him, other shadowhunters.

He’s hit with a yearning in his chest that makes him want to try. To maybe get to know Alec a bit and see what the shadowhunter is like. He’s never given Magnus a reason to think that he’s hostile. If anything, Alec has been giving him the space he’s asked for and was only dismissed when Magnus told him off. It’s Magnus who’s the one that’s been hostile. He should fix that, go talk to Alec. He should start by saying thank you.

Magnus excuses himself from the room and goes back out to the living room. Millions of thoughts race in his head, wondering what he should say, how he should say it. But when he reaches the living room, Alec is nowhere to be seen. Magnus steps towards the couch and looks at the entrance to his loft and doesn’t see the shadowhunter.

His foot hits something on the floor. Magnus’ breath catches as he finds a small trash bin filled with bloody rags. He looks at his couch and sees that the blood stains are gone.

Alec cleaned up the mess for him. Alec probably felt how depleted of magic he was and didn’t want him to exert himself anymore. The smell of lavender waffs through his living room, getting rid of the metallic smell of blood and decay.

He doesn’t know why that makes his eyes water. Alec did all of this without being asked to. He was being kind again, like he has been since he and Magnus first crossed paths. Magnus was just too stuck in his past to realize it.

Not anymore, he decides, clenching his fists. He’s not going to let his past dictate his happiness anymore. He has a chance to be happy with the man who the universe has chosen to be his soulmate and he’s going to make the most of it.

Magnus is going to make this right, he has to.

#facialteeth #malecsanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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kaetastic · 4 years

Text

BLUE EYES, RED HANDS

pairing: Thomas Shelby x Changretta!Reader

summary: Thomas Shelby grazes his eyes upon an unaccompanied figure on the bar, despite the exhausting, enjoyable night, he mistook the woman as innocent. She was not who he thought she was.

word count: 5.7k (why am i like this)

warning: language, mentions of violence, mentions of gun, smut, angst? maybe?? teeny bit?? liquor?

note: first of all, i want to address the timeline which is a confusing bunch. it is indeed set at season 4 episode 1?? tommy hadn’t called his brothers yet yeeyee (also, i’m very proud of this moodboard for some reason?) — with that, thank you for reading and have a nice day!

Red— Thomas Shelby hasn’t noticed the occasional (more like countless) appearance of the fiery colour in his life that popped up endlessly which seemed to only surround him. Despite being a gangster who had spilt litres of blood and drained people of the substance, he might as well declare red as his favourite colour. Blood. Fire. Coincidentally, it was also the colour of her silk dress that hugged her figure graciously, the devil-like heels, and the smeared paint over her lips. The woman who swirled a rock glass in her hand hadn’t craned up her neck from the cup, too enchanted by the twirling hurricane in the liquor.

Although Thomas wasn’t attending the bar for business reasons or to analyze possible business partners, he refrained himself from creating more ties with other people; even though there was a temptation he had been trying so hard to suppress down underground ever since he had stepped into the bar. Well, despite the horror sitting in his house, he needed to step out of the arrow house for a quick sip of whiskey that was not in the walls of his home. Thomas had already dealt with several firebacks from knowing too many people for his own good. Could he be blamed though? Thomas Shelby was a businessman.

Thomas didn’t want to admit it, but seeing her figure alone and sole on the stool of the bar had flickered something in him. The gangster did not want to admit that he had been staring at her from the moment her heels sparkled under the hazy blur of the bar. No one approached her. Although it sounded saddening and pitiful since it could not be applied the same to Thomas, he had assumed it was the aura floating around her. Gypsy bullshit. There were lines of red and purple dancing on her counter, radiating from her. Guilt and power. Of course, glances were hurled onto the lonely woman who was on her third glass of whiskey; however, no one made a move. Until now.

Midway pacing to the bar, polished shoes glistening under the hazy, dim light of the bar, Thomas wasn’t sure when he had even got up from the seat that he had claimed a second ago. The wooden table that cowered in a blurry corner was cast with a smear of shadow, darkness lurking from every angle, ready to engulf it once the night ends, and the door had been locked. Stranded alone, the shadow the Birmingham gangster had been accompanying had no other option but to defend itself against the misty black that lorded over.

There were questions in a continuous reflection in the walls of his brain such as to how his legs even moved that fast. Maybe it was because of the excessive walking he had done in the bright morning, dashing from his room to room, and hallways to branching ones when he had received the mails from his maid. Although the previous day he was at a meeting (an added factor to his muscle exhaustion), which had been nothing but boring, the gangster had to state that he enjoyed some meetings because there was a goal he could achieve (or he had the upper hand of the situation).

However, Thomas had to sit in a chair that was chewed on by a colony of starving bunnies who had been realized as soon as they were on the edge of delirious. It was on the brink of collapsing, its quivering, muscle-less legs were ready to give up. The man knew if he had rested his left leg properly and comfortably, Thomas would’ve met the floor with a crash. The Birmingham gangster had two things in mind, his pride and his accurate reading of the current in the air (a gypsy thing). Some men were just fucking sly.

Or, maybe it was due to his forever changing age that would never reverse back. Thomas could not ignore the surging aching of his muscles. Yanking the strings to his brain even though the main consultant of decisions barely had time to digest the request, his calf had been the gun to a starting indication of the race to begin. Just like that of an amateur horse, the top half of his body only comprehended the situation he could not back out once he was on the path. He could’ve stopped. He should’ve probably turned around to scream at whoever dared to take his seat he had just left vacant. Thomas Shelby didn’t stop.

Despite the card with a prominent black hand resting on the desk of his lavish estate, the drinks in the building could not blur the mess of thoughts in his head. The mess he had created and now, he had to clean it all back up. After spilling more Italian blood who had managed to tiptoe into his house, he needed to get out of the building. All the bottle of liquor on the alcohol stand tasted the same; they all did not do their job as he was here, in a bar, still sober. Fucking Italians and the mafia behind his back but here he was, out in the open, approaching a woman. He nearly chuckled as the words vibrated in his head in his aunt’s scolding voice. Oh, to how she would react to him right now. If only she was there to restrain him.

His icy blue eyes grazed over hers, strings gushing out of their pupils sprung onto one another in surges of shocks. Her gaze that met his electrifying blue eyes sent jolts of volts through his clenching tissues. As an approaching figure made way towards her way, Y/N turned her focus back towards her cup. A rush threaded through her veins; she could hear her thrumming heart in her ears. Was it intimidation? Had she hoped that he approached her? She had felt eyes blaring on her back while she enjoyed her drink, but never did she bring herself to hurl a glance despite her growing curiosity. Although his frigid blue iris was a work of art, a priceless sculpture planted on a mount, she somehow managed to pull away from it. There was no glass in his hands which could only mean that he needed a drink. It didn’t mean he was approaching her... right?

The brick walls of defence she started to build in a haste when their eyes met collapsed. Specks of dust swam in the air as his body leaned against the bar, only a few inches between their arms, not too scandalous; respectful, “Whiskey, neat.” With a sniff for air, Y/N knew she was no longer safe. There was a prominent smear of cigarette and a dying tone of whiskey plastered around him. The type of men she had been taught and warned not to dance with. The hoarseness of his voice sent shivers down her spine, spiking up her legs. Bopping his head, the bartender was quick to dash away to prepare the drink. Despite the freshly opened bottle of whiskey that was used to refill her glass, the bartender went to whisk out another one.

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, she sipped on the intoxicating liquid. Ticks cried out, seconds clicked to the next at an agonizing pace. There was something stirring up, something warm and tensed as if scorching on the sun. Power radiated around the man, circling around him in never-ending loops. The distance between their arms was only six inches, however, Y/N couldn’t deny the fact that whatever he gave off, it wasn’t good for her health. Fingers swiftly yet gingerly opening the metal cigarette case, Thomas pulled one stick out before shoving it in front of the woman.

Y/N glanced at the array of the white dresses on the cig that sat in between her and her drink, “I don’t smoke.” Straying for a second, his index finger flapped the casing shut before hurling it back into his coat. While she sipped on the drink, thoughts resounding of the walls of her head in clashes of metal crying, Thomas took a drag of the lit cigarette after he ran it over his lips.

“Why’s that?” Y/N’s eyes clicked onto his. Not a smooth path of guidance but a snap as if the opposite poles of a magnet. The dying act of attraction. A thread of ice plastered a strand in his eyes of a blue, cloudless sky. Though, the lazy dancing of the smoke hovered over his orbs, smeared a hazy blur of the puffy mists. Her eyes ran back to her whiskey.

“My brother thinks it’ll kill me early.” Despite Thomas’s reluctant decision on presenting himself to the bar (a good feeling because he just got the fucking black hand), he hated to admit it, but he was happy he had done the opposite of what his gut told him. The same gut that believed that Alfie Solomons had betrayed him; the same gut that knew his relation and ties to the Russian would’ve been the death of Grace. Might as well find the sparkling, hidden jewel of the night beneath the layers of obnoxious people.

With the glass of whiskey finally on the bar, he took a sip of a familiar liquid after chuckling, although, there was a twinge of bitterness to the liquor he wasn’t so familiar with, “So, you listen to what he says like a good dog?” Y/N’s eyes beamed to his, narrowing to read him. Where was the man going with this? He barely introduced himself and he had already wanted to strike up an argument. “I think your brother’s wrong. Go through a pack of these days by day meself. Here I am, still alive.”

The tone of his voice was swirled with whiskey, coated with a smear of sweetness yet the way it rolled of his tongue sounded as if he expected himself to be buried in the ground already, “I listen to him because, without him, I would be on the streets,” Y/N practically hissed, throwing a whip at the man. It was true. Despite the cold exterior of her older brother, Luca had been nothing but a gentle pillow when he’s with his family. However, a soft feather when anything involved with his baby sister. A true Italian. His never-ending love for his sister was something her own mother and father could barely compete with.

Even though Y/N could’ve been already married and possibly birth out children of her own just like her other cousins, Luca had been the one to shake his head. Y/N had no occupation, no sense of work. All because of her older brother who justified his disagreement to sending her off to a man or having her work, by saying that she was the youngest. Indeed, the youngest. She’s just a baby, mama. Without a second thought, they listened with their ears wide open to the oldest. If Luca was out the picture, she would’ve probably had a ring around her finger. “Plus, I’m sure your lungs have given up on your... routine.”

The corners of his lips curled up, finding her wiggling finger at his cig amusing, “Then tell me, what’s a woman like you sitting here alone?” Quirking up an eyebrow at the man, Y/N stared into his ocean-like eyes.

“A woman like me? When he nodded, a faint smirk straying on his lips, Y/N scoffed. “Is that how you approach women? Bash their choices and talk about the reasons to why they don’t smoke? Without having the decency to introduce yourself? What a gentleman.”

Thomas didn’t bat an eye when she rolled her eyes, clearly done with his interruption of her night. After a drag of his cigarette and a clear of his throat, he held out his palm, calloused fingertips ready to run over her velvety ones, “I’m Thomas.” Y/N tapped her fingers on her thighs, drumming with the beating seconds for him to continue for the last name. But the quirk of his eyebrow and shake of his empty hand, she knew that was all he would give her. Just Thomas. Fine then, that is how it is.

The warmth of his hand was a blanketed temperature of blistering, hot ammo that had been fired seconds ago. Though, it plunged down to the deepest of the frigid, ocean, where no light dared to enter, “Y/N.” Frigid lips pressed against her knuckles. All of the tissues and muscles packed around her rib bones limped, body failing to stabilize at the electrifying shocks from his touch. A thread of smoke smeared along the bump of her knuckles swirled in with the bitter whiskey.

Why had the gangster said a fragment of his nickname? Was he guilty of using an alias? Had he truly not bothered to create possible future business ties? Thomas Shelby’s eyes may be less weak with rotting age, but he could see something sizzling in the air. Another gypsy shit. Puffs of smoke danced in between them while chatters and a faint sound they called music trickled into their ears, “You from America?”

The woman nodded at his inquiry, the corners of her lips curling up from the brilliant idea in her head, “Just curious or you want to add an American to your list?”

“What list?” Thomas mumbled, stabbing the stick into an ashtray before showing off his pearly white teeth. “I don’t keep count.”

Y/N wasn’t sure why and how she still had her dress on. Or to why there was barely a prominent crease or wrinkle of the fabric. Despite the sizzling air in the closed vehicle, the only two people in the car had somehow managed to keep their hands to themselves. There were only a few words exchanged between the man who was driving the woman to his house, to which she would only reply back with a short word. Y/N feared that answering long sentences would reveal her quivering chords from the shameless thoughts in her head. The night was getting older, inching towards the cackling alarm birds. And it was no summer. It was a brutal winter of clouds evaporating from mouths, ready to pierce into the soil ground after it freezes into blade-like icicles.

Heat and warmth from a fireplace could ever do so much, but if it was to be placed on the battlefield of furious wind and gale, it would be an unfair fight. The silvery thread of moonlight sprinkled over the black hood of the car, painting an oil smears of a single grey tone. Yet, a priceless painting that one would only be able to see in a too late of a night and a too early of a morning. Fingernails furling into the fuzzy pouch, Y/N chewed on her bottom lip as she tried her best to not think too much about what the night had for her. However, with every creative idea, the heat between her legs was accompanied by a familiar wetness.

There was no doubt that she knew the man driving would see the incessant shifting of her legs, pressing onto one another as if the seat had been prickling and uncomfortable. It didn’t take the gangster long to piece the information which was backed up by her staggering breathing. Even though the notorious Birmingham gangster was somewhat known for his icy face of a wall and his strong, unwavering stance on a stoic expression, he couldn’t help the curling of his lips.

That was when awestruck the woman. Fading through the mist of shadow was a grand house. No, a piece of art that resided in the middle of hairless trees. Warm yellow spheres stood straight, bright despite the late hours of the night. Even though Y/N’s upbringing had the mafia as a factor, she was never involved in any scene. With Luca as an older brother spoiling her, something Angel had barely given a point since he was too busy occupying himself (mostly meddling in things he shouldn’t have), she thought she had seen all of it. From marble museums, valuable coffee sets, dress worth a town, and natural landscapes that even a painting or a picture would not be able to capture its beauty. She thought.

The Italian had no idea why she spent her childhood in New York with her older brother even though she could’ve lived in England. Well, she gave a penny to the thought that it was most likely Luca who had given the idea to their parents. When Luca had been of age and she, too, he had requested his parents to let her live with him in New York even though they were making future plans for her in England. Somehow, the eldest crawled through their hearts. She wasn’t sure how different she would be if she was to grow up in England.

Once the car twirled around a statue, and it halted in front of the archway that led to the front door, Thomas did not waste a second to turn the engine off. The furious breeze of the wind kissed him once he sauntered out of the vehicle, it slashed through his oversized coat and pierced into his skin mercilessly. But he did not care. He couldn’t give a fuck what stood against him, all he needed was this relief.

Still recovering from the freezing wind that managed to seep into the car when Thomas opened his door, Y/N shivered at the familiar numbing sensation she had been shielded from an hour ago. The frigid temperature embedded a blade into her skin, dragging the sharp weapon down her body to cut off any possible way for her to even feel the hand splayed behind her back. However, the warm puffs of air that smelt and tasted of cigarettes and liquor smeared against her tongue, a fire sparking to roar in the midst of the bedding of ice.

It filled up her parched mouth, warming her throat even though her skin felt like it had been dipped in water of the coldest winter. Her fingers fiddled with his hair, weaving through the luscious locks before tugging on it when his hands descended. There was nothing else in her head as the scent of him coated her lungs, engraining his marking on the walls of her chest. Despite his body curving into hers for the desperate friction and caress of her skin, it wasn’t enough.

No words were exchanged as Thomas rummaged through his coat for the golden key to his house. He had already informed his maids that he would be heading out to clear his mind in case the night became old so they wouldn’t have to be frantic at who slammed the door shut. While his tongue was brushing over her innocent one, his fingers fumbled with the lock, key quivering to brush around the hole.

Thomas wasn’t sure why his hands were wavering, maybe it was from the frigid breeze or it was the fact that her moans had caused his pants to yank tight around his legs; his knees wobbled, suddenly drenched clothing from a furious rainfall. It wasn’t prominent, but Thomas had a faint assumption that he might’ve been the first man she had been with who was tainted. Tainted as in the sense of sludge from crawling underground. Tainted as in the sense of the blood that had been spilt on his hands. Tainted as in he was the devil.

Sighing into his lips, the key was long forgotten onto the concrete floor as her back was met with the icy walls. A coat of ice smeared along the house; however, it was not as daring as the wind, “Thomas... fuck...” A staggering exhale trickled into the air when his lips met with the soft, sensitive skin under her ears. Legs wrapped around his waist, all Y/N wanted to do was tear off the barrier standing between the two.

Thomas felt piercing bites of her freezing fingers on his cheeks. However, after adapting and growing up with the familiar weather, his hands had been immune to the temperature. There was no concern that the two were visibly in front of his house, his hips in between hers while he prodded his hardening over her damp spot. Lips still moulded with hers, he couldn’t get enough of the magic radiating from her. Another string of curses fell off her lips, “Fuck, just get the fucking door.” Even though Y/N wouldn’t mind the outdoors, the heat between the two was not enough to combat with the windy air.

Thomas swept up the key that sat on the ground, lips swollen and chest heaving. Jabbing it in with precision once he was not focused on the woman, the click sound was then maimed from an engulfing one. The door slammed shut, echoing through the colossal house, followed by the ruffling of clothing, clattering of metal against the floor, and shoes slamming. Tongue caressing one another, Thomas tugged his coat, hurling it onto the wooden floor, not batting an eye to where it landed. The maids will surely place it at its designated place.

The ruckus halted when Y/N’s fingers brushed over the straps of the gun holster that rested on his shoulders comfortably, the gun fluttering its eyelashes innocently. Quirking an eyebrow at the object she didn’t expect to find, Thomas mumbled a reply, “Defence.” Y/N didn’t remember when her red dress was removed but in the corner of her eyes, she saw a glitter sparkling under the blurry light. Although the house was indeed warmer than whatever torture was set up outside, she could feel bumps bulge on her skin from the lack of clothing covering her. The woman was left only in her lace white brassiere, innocent garter, and stocking while the gangster had only stripped off his coat and jacket.

The pair trekked up the wooden stairs, her bare feet brushed over the carpet of that was smeared against the steps. Too enchanted by his hands that ran over her body, Y/N barely had time to admire the workings of art hung onto the rich green wall that had been glistened over by the hazy light from the small lamps residing in the corner of each wall. She could only see flashes of gold; however, she had time to smear the painting of a sole woman in her head. Despite the resounding and loud thoughts in her head, she didn’t bother to raise her voice as they had somehow managed to reach the top of the stairs without halting every minute at each wall. She didn’t know where they were going but Thomas’s arms were wrapped around her bare waist, guiding her while he walked backwards.

The Italian was intoxicated with the man, not because of the mystery radiating off of him or the stingy smell coating him but his confidence. His confidence was practically glowing from him. A familiar noise of a door slamming even though it was already late at night echoed through the long hallway, Thomas nudged the woman onto the bed, causing her to spring on the mattress lightly. Elbows pierced into the bed, she watched as he tugged every article off his body. His eyes had not wavered from hers which darted to her top teeth peeking out to bite her bottom lips.

There was no light, now that Y/N noticed, except the natural one blaring through the windows. However, she couldn’t help but note that the room was a spare, not the room he would usually sleep in. The man was anything but plain, the house was decorated at a balance which would only mean it would remain the same conclusion to his bedroom. Unfortunately, the room she assumed (she convinced herself not to jump to the bullet) was just an extra guest room (with a house like that, it would be no surprise for half a dozen of unused rooms), was as empty as it can be. Two windows plastered on one wall, displaying the surrounding forest trees through blurry panes of curtains. A bed without a crease or mark of inhabitants, a table and a chair on the opposite side of the room, and a sole golden-framed painting of a meandering river above the bed.

It felt like forever before the man finally made way to hover over her body. The familiar heat grazed over her skin, caressing every hair on her. His icy eyes met hers after he had taken the sight ready for him, moonlight smeared over her body. Her skin radiated the grey rays, glowing in spells he didn’t even know existed, entrapping him to bewitching magic. So it did. Thomas ran his hands in a languid pace, thumb prodding into her skin from her shoulder to knead her covered breasts before hastily removing it. God knows where he threw it, but she heard a familiar clash nearby. Lips pressed against her neck, he could see her skin paint a faint red before he trailed down to make a path of it. He could smell the vanilla perfume as if it exasperated out of her skin. All he wanted to do was ruin her.

There were no words or intention of a conversation whispered between the two, but there were only strings of curses, moans and groans singing in the night air, “Thomas...” His name dripped into his ears like viscous honey, sweet and addicting; the selfish gangster needed more. Finally making himself a place between her wide-opened legs, he pushed himself deeper into her slick folds without an issue. Wet for him. Once he was deep in her and his fingers brushed away the hairs on her forehead, Y/N hooked her legs around his hips, ready for him to move.

It was all a blur. She couldn’t remember when he had thrust his hips but all she could recall at the starting point was her head thrown back into the pillow. Her words clogged in the middle of her throat while the prickling strands of Thomas’s hair pierced onto her collarbone. Groans fell off his lips, hips snapping onto hers. The sight of her lidded eyes and parted lips that only screamed his name was one he would not be able to forget. The bed creaked, rattling against the wall mercilessly, most likely punching an indent into the walls. It wasn’t long before Y/N saw stars. Time became non-existent as they lived in their own bubble, however, it was popped once the two chased after their own relief.

“Fuck. That was a good one, eh?” Y/N giggled, hands smacking his chest before her eyes grazed over the tattoo. Her thumb caressed on the ink, following the path as if scribbling art. There was a wanton sound rippling through the air once Thomas pulled out. The empty feeling was poured with exhaustion and soreness. That night, Thomas fell asleep, ready to embark the journey to the shithole of Watery Lane. A safe place for his family.

The bed creaked as the sole body under the covers attempted to turn on his right. Thomas’s eyes shot open to the metal bars kissing his skin; the feeling of his muscles aching as if it had been suspended over his head for hours. Looped around his wrist was a silk cloth, tightly wrapped around his wrist to the bar. Despite his tries at tugging away to escape its hold, he failed. Miserably. The headboard rattled, creating a noisy commotion just like that of the previous night. The tightness of the cloth nearly cut off his circulation if he continued to incessantly yank back. His calloused fingers of his free hand ran around the fabric in hopes of finding the points where the starting and ending met. He failed.

“Good morning.” The silky voice trickled into his ears in a caress of the finest fabric. The tone of wine and fresh bouquet of flowers that sat in a ceramic vase. The same voice that panted and screamed his name the previous night (or early morning). All coated with lies. Hand still locked to the bar, the gangster pushed himself up, elbows piercing into the mattress while his eyes beamed at the glowing sight.

Resting under the colossal windows, a hazy blur of yellow smeared over the figure who sat on a chair. If Thomas wasn’t attached to the bed, and he inched closer towards her, he could’ve probably taken in the priceless morning view with more details. Thoughts and questions bounced off the walls of his head. How did he get into this situation? Where were his maids? That was thrown out of the window when his eyes shamelessly ran over the figure who sat crisscrossed.

The innocent white stocking grazed upon her skin to settle on her thighs, his markings he had indented prominently visible, accompanied by the garter. Even though his eyes caressed over the lace bra decorating her chest, his eyes darted to the lit cigarette, “Thought you didn’t smoke.”

Dancing swirls evaporated into the air from the stick that dangled between her fingers. Y/N’s eyes finally peeled away from the sheets of papers in her hands. Sheets of paper Luca wouldn’t allow her to hold or even thrown a glance at. Sheets of paper that would be buried deep underground because a glance at a letter meant she was in her older brother’s world. An organization of a different dimension.

“I don’t. But I needed more than whiskey,” Y/N mumbled, taking a drag of the cigarette as she shook the papers in her grasp, eyes still attached to the blotches of ink. Thomas’s eyes grazed over the papers before turning his gaze towards the mysterious woman. Any hints, any clues that gave away her character. No. None. All he got was her moans in his ears and the way her skin pressed against his. “Are you trying to read me?”

The corners of her lips curled up at the glorious sight, “Because I’ve read you, Thomas Shelby,” She mumbled, a wavering smirk quivered on her lips. “You took something of mine. Something you won’t be able to give me back. It’s finally nice to meet you despite my brother’s attempts, Mr Shelby. I’m Y/N, Y/N Changretta.”

Thomas had run his ears along many rumours said about him. Despite the people who have learnt to fear what laid beneath the stoic expression of the Birmingham gangster, it had only tainted his ego and pride. But now, an egg was cracked. Piercing fragments of glass shards covered the floor as whatever roared in his veins smeared over his face. His piercing glacier eyes gazed into hers. Y/N could see the patent plaster of teal in his orbs even though she was on the other side of the room.

“You haven’t heard of me,” Y/N stated, already knowing where this would go after she hurled the sheets of paper onto the table. Slices of paper flew in the air before splatting onto the wooden surface. Slightly slouching, she crossed her arms, eyes narrowing onto his figure. The Italian noted the furrow of his eyebrows when she revealed who she was. Thomas Shelby speculated her words, “Luca kept me away from the mafia. We came here after mother told us what happened. Although, I wasn’t there when she told me about the details. I came to England knowing only one name and nothing else, Thomas Shelby.”

The Birmingham gangster brushed over her features he had already ingrained into his head when her chest curved into his body. Thomas hummed, “So what? You’re going to kill me, eh? Is that why you’re here? Fucked me to finish the vendetta?” n

His veins protruded. Ropes of blue rose to the surface of his neck, blush of red creeping up to smear his jaw from rage. How did he end up in this situation? Fucked a Changretta? The same doubt from the previous night resounded off the walls of his head, if only Polly was here. The woman would’ve grabbed his cap and cut his eyes even though she was his aunt. Fucking slept with the enemy. The corners of Y/N’s lips curled up, slightly amused by his assumption, “No, Thomas,” His name rolled off her tongue as if entertained by the frustration he was displaying. “I fucked you because I snuck out of my room.” Y/N mumbled, standing up while she recalled the time she managed to tiptoe out of the room that had started to narrow onto her. Luca and his protectiveness.

“Plus, you know how vendettas work. No blood on my hands,” While mumbling the words, she had already put on her dress back which she had to discreetly take. The maids who patrolled around was indeed just like that of a wandering guard. It sat on her figure just like the night before; however, it seemed to be dishevelled, crumpled from the desperate pulling of the gangster’s hands. Despite the coverage of her bare skin, Thomas had already painted a picture of the markings he had littered all over her. Some kisses of red peeked out of the neckline of the dress while blotches of him smeared alongside the side of her neck. Resting his hefty oversized coat on her shoulders, the scent of whiskey and heat from the night before warmed up her lungs, “Till we meet again, Thomas.”

With the last quirk of her lips, she ambled out of the room. Y/N paced through the hallway knowing the path out of the door from her early awakening to explore the grand building. The skill of sneaking out from the peripherals of Luca’s men had been useful. While the gangster had fallen fast asleep, the woman managed to scurry around the house. It was not her intention to go through his stuff, but once she stumbled upon a cracked door during the adventure to find her articles of clothing that were thrown around haphazardly, she could not help herself. Questions blared in her head, if only she had not entered the office. She wouldn’t have known she slept with the murderer of her father and her older brother.

“Y/N! Fucking get back here and get this fucking shit off of me! Y/N!”

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what-the--curtains · 4 years

Text

Alliance

Chapter 7 – The Redemption

(Mando x reader)

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Summary: Caged and alone you struggle to stay alive as the empire questions you about the child. With nothing left to lose you begin planning your final escape.

Tw: Swearing, torture, blood.

Notes: whoop its been a minute, but class started back up so chapters will take a bit longer to get out! Hope y’all enjoy it❤️

Words: 3.6k

Tagged: @crazycookiecrumbles

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You're woken by yet another electrical shock coursing through your veins. They’d upped your security after your fourth escape attempt which meant you were only removed from your cell for intermittent questioning and various invasive tests. The sporadic visits left you with a distorted sense of time leaving you completely unaware at just how long you had been on the ship, a day? A week? A few hours? Your blood being drained wasn't helping the situation. You knew they would have figured out by now that its life elongating properties were nothing more than rumour, so what the hell did they need so much for? An all-inclusive spa?

After the shock finishes coursing through you, the two troopers cuff your limp limbs and walk you over to yet another cold, white, over-fluorescent room that smelled disconcertingly like bleach. They toss you roughly into a chair and restrain your wrists, abdomen and legs with thick metal straps that were sure to leave bruises. The troopers exit the room remaining at the door. Your multiple escape attempts paired with your ability to use the force had made them wary, watching your every move like a hawk. The door closes behind the troopers leaving you alone with only the faint murmur being emitted by the various machines casing the walls. You waited wondering who would be entering through the door. Another doctor or nurse with needles and vials which would be carted away for an unknown, but likely sinister purpose, or maybe another man in a grey uniform coming to beat you into submission. You’re not sure which you’d prefer. Whoever was coming for you today was taking their sweet time really keeping you in anticipation. Just as you’re dozing off the mechanical doors slide open. The imperial guard wastes no time in shocking you awake.

“Where is the child?” he says, lowering the cattleprod and removing his gloves.

“How the hell would I know that?” you ask your body clenched. Three men in lab coats enter the room drawing blood from you and exiting as quickly as they came.

“I will keep asking until your answer changes.” He says, this guard was particularly sadistic opting to burn you along your thigh when you once again refuse to answer.

“Well then start asking different questions.” you respond, eyes were brimming with tears that you had been holding back for too long.

“Where are they?” he demands, pressing the searing rod onto the bare flesh of your arm, you remain silent as a single tear rolls down your face.

“Even if I knew I’d never tell you” you say, as he slaps you across the face, the sound echoing throughout the room.

“You will if you value your life.” He snarls, grabbing you by the hollows of your cheeks.

“Well you’ve overestimated its value to me. Besides, my life is nothing compared to his.” You say, spitting blood back in his face

“Take her back. If she doesn’t speak soon, maybe she’ll finally get her wish.” He says, pulling out a white handkerchief. You watched as the white fabric slowly stains red as it drags across his face.

“Promise?” you ask smiling sweetly exposing your blood soaked teeth. It’s the last thing you remember before blacking out.

You wake up to a familiar scene, one you had bore witness to most nights. Your feet hit against the cold white marble tracing the same path you had walked a hundred times prior. Allowing yourself to flow through the motions, bringing your hands up to protect your face for the elements, fumbling around until you see the figure. Your hand reaches out your fist closing around nothing but the crisp air. This time, you don’t wake up. You swivel around looking back and scanning your dreamscape frantically, as the wind howls louder. A hand clasps around your mouth, you try to scream, but you can’t, you try to breath, but you can’t.

You jolt upright in the poor excuse for a bed gasping for air and pawing at your throat. You relax into a steady rhythm as your lungs refill with air, racking your hands through your hair. They’re just nightmares you repeat over and over to nobody but the four walls confining you.

They weren’t just anything and you knew that, especially not this one. This, this felt like a warning. It felt like something was calling to you, something evil. Something that was trying desperately to claw its way out. You shake your head, shifting to happier thoughts. You were still alive and that meant that the child was still safe, and Anya, and Din.

You figured you’d never see them again. You weren’t upset, or at least you wouldn’t be soon, one way or another. Hey at least you’d gotten an apology from the Mandalorian before the end, or you would have if you had let him finish his sentence. You knew it had to be this way. “This is the way” you say chuckling. Even a thousand light years away he was somehow still with you. Wherever they were they weren’t coming back, they couldn’t. You were on your own, and you had to plan your next escape to the T if it was going to work.

*************************************************

“I need your help, I can pay.” Din says to the ex-soldier.

“Mando, nice to see you again, and you found the precious bounty,” she says, lifting up the small green child who is happily held by her. “What do you need me for. “

“We need to get someone. Extraction mission. They were taken protecting this womp rat.” He says affectionately rubbing the kids head.

“Who took them?”

“The empire.” He deadpans.

“No way, not enough credits in the world.” She laughs, handing the child back to the Mandalorian and making her way over to her desk.

“Please.” he begs, hoping his desperation wasn’t as evident as it sounded under the helmet.

“Do they expect you to go back?”

“I don’t even know if they're alive.”

“Must be someone pretty special for you to risk going back there with him” she says stroking the kids ear.

“ I’m not taking the kid, I’m leaving him with a friend.”

“ Lots of friends these days hey Mando? Fine, I'll help, but I get my pick of the weapons after.”

“Deal. Not the spear though. Cara. Are you listening to me” he asks as she enters into the ship, not listening.

Corvus, Outer Rim

“So who are we looking for here?” Cara asks.

“Ashoka Tano, she's a Jedi, she can watch Grogu while we get the person out” he says, unsure why he kept referring to you as a person and not by name.

“Jedi, hey? They seem drawn to you maybe you're secretly one” she laughs

“You coming?” he asks

“Nope, I'll let you escort junior here to his babysitter, assuming you can handle it alone?”

Din exits the ship, child in arm, making his way through the trees that were beginning to bloom, now that the threat of war no longer loomed over them.

“Mando, welcome back!” The governor exclaims grasping the Mandalorians arm in his

“Is Ashoka here?”

“Yes, I’ll take you to her.”

“Hello again” she says, removing her eyes from the documents spread across her desk

“I need a favour.” He states bluntly “There are only a few people I trust to care for him, one is coming with me the other is being held captive”

“So that leaves me, I’m flattered and happy to take him for a short while” she takes the child gently rocking him back and forth.

“Thank you. Be good.” he says, pointing a stern finger at Grogu “You should watch your valuables and any food you're saving” Din finishes before striding back down the hallway.

“The person who you seek” Ashoka's voice rings out, stopping him dead in his tracks. “she is powerful”

“I know, she’s like you” He turns in time to see a notable look of seriousness spread across her face.

“In more ways than one, I offer you a word of warning. She is an asset no doubt, but she has suffered, and those who have known pain are often targeted by sinister forces especially when they are powerful. They have targeted her already, they will find her and try and claim her as their own.”

“How do I stop them”

“You can’t.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

“I cannot tell you anything, you can hope in time she will reveal herself to you, but do not hold your breath, it may never happen and that may be for the best. I do not tell you this to frighten you but to make you aware of the situation you are now deeply entrenched in.” The Mandalorian nods before returning the way he came.

Deep Space, unknown coordinates

“So who exactly are we getting? Whose so special they deserve a saving from you?” Cara asks, slouching down in the passenger seat.

“She saved me twice, I can’t leave her with the empire.” Realises his mistake the second he says it.

“Oh so it’s a she,” Cara says, drawing out the last word. “ You know for a guy with no face you certainly get around”

“It’s not like that” he answers, only causing her to press for more information akin to a dog with a bone.

“Oh I’m sure, so who is it this time?”

“You remember that bounty we got months back?” he says fiddling with various gadgets. “Vryssa” he adds hoping he doesn’t have to expand.

“Oh” Cara says slightly taken aback “the hot one with the bow and arrow who spat in your face?”

“That’s the one,” he says smiling under the helmet.

She lets out a low whistle “Good for you, I mean I don’t know what you look like under there but she’s gotta be out of your league.”

“It’s not like that,” he says.

“What? Am I embarrassing you?” she laughs. “Fine, I'll stop. I’m happy for you Mando, better get an invite to the wedding. Can you even get married?” Seeing she may have pushed her limits she continued “Alright, aright just joking so what’s the plan.”Leading Cara down the ladder into the mainspace of the ship a door opens revealing a single storm trooper uniform.

“I land the ship here. There's a hatch that leads into a storage closet where you, in the uniform, will drop down. The prisons are located on the third floor,and my guess she’ll be kept in maximum security, so by the end of the hall, here, on the far left. I’ll get the doors open, you get her out.”

“You don’t want to be the one to swoop in and save her?” Cara replies “Just asking,” she finishes raising her hands up in the air.

Your eyes open upon hearing the ringing of blaster shots reverberating throughout the hollow walkways. More infighting you suppose, letting out a deep sigh and closing your eyes hoping to get a moment's peace before your next, and quite possibly last, interrogation. Not a moment after you hear the familiar metallic screech as your cell doors open. You sit up shifting back into the wall and bringing your knees to your chest. Only one trooper? This was your chance, you could take a single trooper in your sleep, your eyes glance back to the trooper, as you formulate your next move. Move. Why hadn’t it moved? Where was the shocker? Why was the armour slightly malfitted. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“Aren’t you a little tall for a stormtrooper?” You ask, as its hands go up to the helmets side.

“Cara Dune,” you exhale, not exactly who you were expecting, but who you were to complain “nice to not be on the receiving end of your force” you say as she frees your hands and pulls you up.

“Can you walk?” you nod “Heard you’re a mean shot” she says handing you a blaster and redonning the trooper helmet. You’re following her out the door when you feel your knees go.

“Shit” Cara mutters, hooking your armpits and stopping you from eating it.

“I’m fine just give me a sec.” you say slapping your thighs to try and get the blood rolling.

“Ya you sure seem fine am I gonna have to carry you out?”

“If I said maybe would that be convincing enough for you.” she shoots you a look “I'm only partially joking, alright feeling reinstated lets go before they give out again.” You follow behind her shooting down the few troopers in your path.

You're almost to the ship when a mechanical voice stops you both.

“State your business with prisoner 26758” the droid asks.

“Prisoners 26758 is being moved for questioning” Cara says without hesitation. It looks at her then to you before turning around and continuing on its way. She exhales cutting the tension in the surrounding air. You proceed hastily through the ship ducking behind spare parts as employees walk by, until you reach a storage closet.

“Really?” you ask

“Really.” she parrots back to you opening the door as you squeeze into the closet's confined space. Once the doors closed she interlocks her fingers, boosting you up through a hatch where an unmistakable arm reaches down. You latch onto it with both hands and it pulls you up with familiar ease. With your feet back on solid ground you finally look up into the dark glass of the visor obscuring your saviours face.

“You came back?” you say unblinking, not wanting to break your gaze afraid this was nothing more than a fever dream.

“I said I would,” he responds, still holding your hand in his.

“There’s time for this later, let’s get a move on.” Cara, says pushing between you and the Mandalorian, causing a flushed feeling to rush over your body as you quickly drop his hand. You hobble over to the cockpits entrance where Cara had recently disappeared up into. You wince as your arms reach for the ladder, but before you can heave yourself up you feel two large hands around your waist. Din lifts you gently up to Cara who hooks her arms under yours pulling you up so your legs are dangling on the precipice.

“Where’s the kid?” you ask, as Din ascends.

“You think I’d bring him here” he says, gently helping you settle into the passenger seat. “They're safe, don't worry. Get some rest” he says “we’ll be there soon”

Corvus, Outer Rim

Cara helps you out onto the soft grass covering the planet's floor watching as a woman appears from the walls guarding a small city. She moves towards reaching her hand up causing you to flinch. She pauses for a moment before removing your hood.

“You look just like her.” She says smiling.

“Like who?” you ask.

“Your mother. I knew her back, before the temple when she... I'm sorry I couldn’t do more.” Ahsoka says allowing a silence to hang in the air as she hands Grogu back to the Mandalorian.

“It wasn’t your fault, from what my grandmother said there was no stopping him once the Sith took hold.”

“I'm sorry about your grandmother, I felt her leave not too long ago”

“Thank you” you say, taking her hands in yours.

“I have something for you” she gestures for you to follow her back into the city’s walls.

Din takes a step forward but Cara places a hand on his arm shaking her head.

“I don't think we're on the invite list for this one, c’mon i'll let you beat me in a arm wrestling match.”

“If we may speak frankly...” Ashoka starts once in her office “The item in this box is no toy, it must not fall into the wrong hands. You have been having nightmares?” She asks, turning to face you, as you nod eyes darting away from her gaze “You must be careful who you let into your head from now on. Once they’re in it's hard to get them out. They will be looking for you.”

“Who?” you ask, taking a cautious step towards her.

“They will not stop, they are dangerous, ruthless and extremely persuasive, they can turn even the best. The path you walk is unclear, foggy, there will come a time that a choice must be made, and if you do not make it yourself they will make it for you.” She runs a hand over a small wooden box lightly wiping away the gathering dust. “This belonged to your mother, I found it when I returned to the temple, she would have wanted you to have it.” Its weight takes you by surprise. Sliding the slotted lid open an unmistakable cylinder sits atop a deep blue fabric.

“A lightsaber” you whisper brows knitted in disbelief. “ I’m not, I don’t know how” you say, extending the box back out to her hoping she’d take it back.

“Your training over the years means you know how to use it.” She says placing the box down, taking out the sabers hilt and offering it back to you. You press down on the button and as you release it a faint purple light shoots out, emitting a dull buzz. Ashoka was right, you did know how to use it, all those years maneuvering around the woods with a wooden staff had paid off in the end.

“She was one of the best teachers, your grandmother. You’re a testament to that. You have a strong connection to the force and an even deeper understanding and respect for it.” You close the saber looking back over to the jedi master whose smile has faded.

“There are worse things in this galaxy than crime lords and ex troopers, something is brewing deep below, I know you’ve felt it too. This saber will protect you when you need it most. Continue your training, but keep an eye on your emotions, I do not know the relationship you share with those who came to your aid but do not let the roots grow too deep. It can have devastating consequences. To be a Jedi is to be alone” she squeezes your arm gently as your eyes finally meet hers, finding a semblance of similarity and understanding in them. Her words weigh heavy on you as you return back to the ship's entrance way where Din and Cara were wrestling. Anya spots you first and rushes over to you, you bend over scratching her ears. Grogu, noticing Anya leave, peels himself away from the fight and makes his way over to you whining loudly.

“Is no one paying you any attention?” you coo down to him and he responds with a gurgle “the nerve.” you say shaking your head causing him to giggle, as you pick him up.

“Your mother was probably teaching young Grogu here at some point.” Ashoka says loud enough to stop the all out war happening behind you.

“I don’t remember him, or her really.” You say as Grogu grabs at a loose strand of hair.

“Well he remembers you, or he thinks that you're your mother.” She reopens the wood box and you place the saber back inside, handing it to you once it's closed.

“Is that a lightsaber?” Cara asks, eyes wide, as she approaches, brushing dirt off herself. “You can pay me with that,” she says, turning back to look up at the Mandalorian who's fixated on you.

“Where will you go, now the empire is looking for you all?” Ashoka asks, noting the apparent fondness shared amongst the small motley crew.

“Hoth for now, hasn’t seen humans in a while good place to hide out with all the abandoned bases. Hopefully the camouflage technology is still in place.” Din says.

“And too cold for any reasonable people to venture to,” Cara says.

“Not exactly the retirement I had in mind.” you mutter, but at least it was better than the funeral you were planning earlier that day.

“Wasn’t sure we’d ever find you.” Cara says as the ship reaches deep space, her chair swiveling around to face you

“Glad you did.” You say looking up blinking slowly, as a yawn escapes your lips.

“Sure made our jobs harder, had to try to escape didn’t you.” She pats you lightly on the shoulder as she drops down to the lower level.

“Thought I was on my own you” you call down to her laughing.

“Not anymore” Dins' voice cuts in, causing you to scrunch up your mouth in an attempt to hide the smile that was forming.

“Thank you, for coming back, a few more days and I think there’d be no blood left in my body the way they were siphoning it.”

“Kid wouldn’t stop crying” he offers

“Well I'll be sure to thank him. Guess we're all squared up then, end of the line now the kid’s back?” you say.

“Doesn't have to be, besides you should wait until you’re healed up and we may need that saber if anyone shows up for the kid before we can get him to a Jedi.” He says realizing he’d thrown every excuse in the book for you to stay with them.

“Guess you’re right” you say, happy that the Mandalorian wanted you around, even if it was just for childcare

“Usually am” he responds, causing you to roll your eyes and shake your head, resting it back against the chair and allowing your eyes to close. As you doze off you hope when you wake you wouldn’t find yourself back in a cell.

#mando x y/n #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandolarian #the mandolorian x reader #din x y/n #din x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #star wars #the mandalorian #alliance #chapter 7

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tonystarkbingo · 4 years

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Our TSB party is still going, and here is one of the games we’ve had fun with so far!

Fic Titles Game

Glitter - suggested by @phoenixmetaphor3000

@huntress79 - Idea: Dum-E teams up with Steve (other Avengers optional) to bring some Christmas cheer to their favorite in-house Grinch (aka Tony XD) Massive amounts of Glitter involved

@rebelmeg - tony kind of has an accidental thing for glitter. it's not his fault. the iron man suit has a glitz and glamour of its own, he's always told his eyes sparkle, and his favorite tie pin is that gaudy ruby one that pepper hates. he loves the stars, the way sunlight sparkles on the waves outside his malibu mansion, and he can't really be blamed when a tiny speck of glitter under a certain someone's eye catches his attention one december day.

@psychiccatpanda - Clint refills DUM-E's fire extinguisher with purple and silver glitter as revenge for Tony making Clint's most recent armor change to red and gold with body heat. Hijinks ensue.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Decorating the Christmas tree, the Avengers get into an argument over who is responsible for the missing tinsel. Half an hour later they find it, in a tangled web draped all over Dum-e. He objects strenuously to its removal, but eventually concedes to their assistance in rearranging the strands so he can still move.

@huntress79 - The Avengers are invited to a Charity gala, but they have to wear costumes that are NOT their usual ones. And of course, Tony can't resist an opportunity to rile up a certain Captain, just a little bit. Best way to do so: a dare, in this case who wears the most glittery costume. But what Tony didn't expect was that Steve comes up with his own counterdare... (author's choice ;))

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - It's pride, so there was bound to be some glitter floating around, it was inevitable. But this much? Someone was obviously being irresponsible with glitter and needs to be given a warning for the good of the world (and the Tower's cleaning bots). Tony follows the trail of glitter... all the way to Steve's room? Does this mean that Tony's crush on Steve actually stood a chance of being more than just a crush.

@ralsbecket - It was Steve's first Father's Day being Morgan's step-dad, and Tony helps her with cooking breakfast in bed and sprinkling red, white, and blue glitter on a handmade card (not particularly in that order). Steve still finds glitter everywhere weeks later.

@rebelmeg - i can't art very well, but i want art of the aftermath of tony opening a glitter bomb that rhodey left out for him

@huntress79 - (Stony) - During a mission in space, Tony and Steve are stranded on a planet, with no immediate way to get back. After a while, they encounter tiny little beings who introduce themselves as fairies. But while they can't fulfill their wish to get home (for whatever reasons), they might be inclined to use their glittery fairy dust for something else… (could also be used for a crossover with Hook/Peter Pan)

@rebelmeg (with some inspirational help from @dreaminglypeach) - tony coming home with glitter all over his suit and looking super smug, and everyone IMMEDIATELY assumes strippers. but of course it's gotta something completely different and silly. like... he wandered through the christmas department at the store and slipped on something and ended up sprawled on the glitter strewn floor

@yesmooshoe - Tony is somehow de-aged to around 5. The Avengers do their best to take care of him while they figure out what to do, but don't keep a constant eye on him. Tony likes all of his new friends though and wants to do something special for them, so he acquires a bunch of glitter and glue (maybe jarvis helps? maybe thor likes crafting? fuck knows.) Tony proceeds to embellish everyone's stuff - glitter all of steve's shield, thor's hammer, glitter all over Clint's arrows (which really throws off the balance but he can't be mad), and even a weird-looking red and yellow robot suit. When Tony is finally returned to normal he's upset with his younger self for how haphazardly he glued all the glitter to his suit, because it could have looked super cool if done well.

Collaborative effort that started with strippers and then went off the rails

Glitter lube

Scratchy, what a terrible idea

oh my god but imagine shitting out glitter

Edible glitter

Edible glitter on cakes

Edible glitter exiting the human body

So many glitter poop jokes and anecdotes

@ralsbecket - The Avengers are forced undercover for a mission to catch a villain red-handed, and this villain just so happens to work from the basement of a strip-club. Tony draws the short straw, but at least he can choose his own stripper name.

@lbibliophile-mcu - He's sure it looks very pretty. Gentle waves ruffling the surface of the bay. Each strand of grass on the dunes lined in perfect crystals of frost. Dawn sun painting the sky pink. And right there is the problem: dawn sun. It is far too early to have to deal with all these stray rays of light stabbing through his eyes.

(More under the cut!)

Vices - suggested by @ralsbecket

@huntress79 - (Stony) - Steve's a hard working cop on the vice, Tony's his "favorite" frequent delinquent (aka Tony's a bit of a bad boy who usually gets arrested by Steve, for rather minor things, but Tony can't shut up when Steve's around, so it's more for his talking than anything else) (Steve, of course, can be replaced by any other character, whatever floats your boat XD)

@rebelmeg - tony kicked a lot of these habits a long time ago. it's been ages since he's been high, or slept around, or partied until he literally dropped. but around this time in december, he's allowed a few of his other vices. his need for near-constant touch and attention. drinking. staying up to keep the nightmares away, and being coaxed to bed when he's so exhausted he's asleep before his head eats the pillow. eating all the food he loves that aren't that great for him. it's okay, though. this time of year, he's allowed.

@lbibliophile - "... This is not the worst thing you've caught me doing." And it was in that moment - confronted by the picture he made trapped in the grip of supposedly-helpful machinery - that Tony decided he really needed to prioritise a better way of getting the suit on and off.

@rebelmeg - some kind of profile art with the arc reactor depicted as one half of a vice clamped on tony's chest

@dreaminglypeach - vices: DUM-E was only trying to help squishy-dad with his work. He didn’t mean to get his hand stuck in a vice. If only sky-dad would stop chastising him and call for help…

@Magicadraconia16 - Dum-E does not understand why everyone keeps saying that vices are bad. They're very helpful tools! He loves the one that Tony gave him for his very own. He can show everyone, then they'll see! If only he can get it off of U's arm, first…

@huntress79 - Knowing that Tony will fall back to some of his old vices as soon as December rolls around, the whole Tower teams up to keep him from doing so (can be gen aka Avengers as a family, or end with your favorite partner for Tones)

@psychiccatpanda - [potential WinterIron] Bucky has been researching everyone on the team and it seems like the media has nothing better to do than to gossip about Tony Stark's vices - women, booze, and expensive cars mostly. The trashier gossip bloggers openly speculated on what (or who) Tony's latest mistake would be. When Bucky gives Tony a judgmental look after he's returned from being out (much longer than the hour Stark had said he'd be gone), Tony frowns. The bag clanks like metal. What the hell had Tony meant when he'd said he needed to 'go pick up some new vices'?? ((hint - it's actual vices. It always takes longer at Home Depot or any hardware store because Tony has to look at everything before he leaves!))

@tehroserose - [Stony] Steve had only one vice. Well, two, but they were related. He loved watching Tony's backside, and he loved getting him angry. The genius was so alive when he was angry, and then he was treated to a wonderful view of the amazing backside. Bucky was about ready to smack him upside the head for his kindergarten way of having a crush.

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - Before the serum there was a lot of things Steve couldn't experience, whether it was because of his conditions or lack of money. Steve's favourite thing about the 21st Century is all the foods and flavours. Being able to eat things he couldn't eat before. Being able to taste things he wouldn't've been able to taste before. Steve spends his military back-pay on food and treats... a part of him burns at the idea of spending his money this way, there were more beneficial things he could be doing with it... But he can't help himself, especially when some flavours taste like euphoria. Tony notices and decides to indulge in Steve's vices.

@huntress79 - (potential HawkIron) For the longest time, Clint always had to choose before a mission between wearing the team comms and his hearing aids, otherwise his ears felt like being in a vice. SHIELD didn't see it as a necessity to equip him with better things, but once he joins the Avengers, and Tony notices the obvious problem, things start to look up for the resident archer....

@huntress79 - Ever since he got free of the programming and came to live at the Tower, Bucky's been doing repairs on his metal arm on his own. But after a mission, putting his arm in a vice and working with the fine tools isn't the easiest thing to do. And Buck's too proud to ask anyone for help, be it Steve or anyone else. Good thing that he can't stop JARVIS alerting Tony to that particular problem... (can be friendship/mending bridges between them, or WinterIron)

5 Times Tony Stark was a Terrible Cook, Plus 1 That One Time He Finally Ordered a Pizza - suggested by @yesmooshoe

@tehroserose - Tony/Others, Tony/Rhodey end. Tony has always tried to cook for his dates. He wants to impress them. Problem is, he can't cook. And too many people just want the Stark money and lie and say it is good. Or they're too afraid/intimidated to tell the truth. Later, much later, he realizes they aren't good for him. Then there's Rhodey, who's never afraid to tell Tony that his cooking sucks... and then, after the last relationship ended, this time when the white lie was out of care, Rhodey again tells Tony his food sucks, let's get pizza. And they kiss, over the pizza.

@rebelmeg - first it was cookies. cookies burnt to a crisp that even ana jarvis couldn't salvage. second was spaghetti, so mushy and overcooked that rhodey couldn't stop laughing even when tony threatened to throw his enormously thick math textbook at him. third was that whole "raw in the middle" chicken incident that happy still won't let him live down, and fourth was the disastrous omelet for pepper. fifth was morgan's 1st birthday cake, and thank heaven's pepper was wise enough to ignore him and order a backup. this time, he's just gonna order a pizza.

@huntress79 - Tony The Cook: The Jarvises tried, Mama Rhodes as well, but for all his genius, Tony can't figure out a cooking recipe. Nonetheless, he tried to impress several various dates with his cooking skills. Needless to say that none of these attempts (both cooking and dating) ended well. Then, he meets Steve, a guy who doesn't care at all what they eat, as long as they eat together. And so, Tony orders pizza for their date…

@Magicadraconia16 - It's an unfortunate historical fact that Tony cannot cook to save his life (hmm, there's an idea for the next HYDRA kidnapping...). Rhodey's meal was burnt to unidentifiable cinders (seriously, even Tony doesn't know what it was supposed to be); Pepper's gave her an allergic reaction; Natasha chipped a tooth; Hulk came out and threw Bruce's food out of the (closed!!) window; and Steve got food poisoning. Steve!!! So when Bucky turns up in his workshop one day, Tony decides to selflessly save everyone from a hangry Winter Soldier and just orders pizza, instead.

@ralsbecket - 5 + 1 Pizza: Tony Stark was many things. He was a genius, he was a billionaire, he was a playboy, he was a philanthropist. The thing he was decidedly not was a good cook. It was one burnt omelet too many before Pepper begged him to just order out. The person delivering his pizza was... attractive. If he started ordering pizza on Fridays at 6PM every week for a month, that was nobody's business.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Tony just wants to offer a fancy home-made anniversary dinner. It's not so much that Tony is a terrible cook, but that something (or several somethings) always go wrong. His significant other's flight was delayed. He gets distracted by a minor crisis half way through cooking. He tries to prepare beforehand, but forgets to label it before leaving it in the common fridge. Had a mistranslated recipe or the wrong measuring spoons. Dum-e tried to 'help' while he was distracted. The next year, his SO requests that they just order pizza to eat cuddled on the couch.

@psychiccatpanda - Single dad Tony tries to do it all. He feels terrible about the amount of time his three kids (all under the age of 5) spend in daycare, but college will be expensive, so he works -and works. But he tries to make the after-work before-bed moments really count. Sometimes his carefully planned dinners don't work out. Monday, the slow cooker wasn't plugged in and their chicken and potato dish spoiled for being on the counter for almost 13 hours unrefrigerated. Tuesday they were out of bread and ate PBJ on the last three hot dog buns. Wednesday, he thought dinner was fine, but Peter declared it was 'too spicy' and so none of the kids would eat it. Thursday he burned the chicken nuggets in the oven because he had to help the kids with their baths, and Friday? Well no one was gonna talk about that again. Saturday Tony's ready to cry because he's pretty sure Morgan is coming down with something. So he orders pizza. When the pizza delivery guy arrives, holding Morgan, she barfs all down Tony's back. Pizza delivery driver yanks the pizza away and asks if he can come in to set it down in the kitchen, then helps out with the kids while Tony takes a shower.

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - It was meant to be romantic, cooking for a date. But with Tony it was definitely not romantic. Cooking for Rumiko he managed to burn everything, yet have the food still raw. Firefighters had to be called when he set his dorm alight cooking for Janet. Ty needed to have his stomach pumped after Tony's cooking (how was he to know what was too much alcohol, wasn't it meant to burn off?). Indries had stomach problems for weeks after Tony cooked for her. And he managed to poison Pepper... Needless to say, Tony wasn't a good cook... So when he scores a date with Steve Rogers, he thinks "why bother try? Steve is too good for me anyway", there was no way they were going to last. So he orders a pizza. Steve is relieved when he sees the pizza. He had been hoping Tony would pick something down to earth, worried he wouldn't know how to eat whatever posh food Tony put in front of him and make a fool of himself. Steve admits he doesn't know how to cook either. Maybe Captain America isn't so perfect. Maybe... Maybe this could work out. Him and Steve

@huntress79 - Of all the people, Tony has probably the most irregular eating rhythm. He has been known to try and cook for himself, but the results are less than stellar. So, one by one, each of the Avengers try to cook for him, until Steve joins him in the workshop with a small stash of pizzas…

@lbibliophile-mcu - It was all Steve Rogers' fault. Him and his insistence on 'team dinners' to 'promote bonding' and 'improve cohesion'. Not that Tony necessarily objects to the dinners - pending his schedule - but Steve seems to have this odd conviction that having home-cooked food is a necessary part of the ritual, and none of them can change his mind. Natasha tried logic. Clint tried begging. Bruce, he's pretty sure, is sneaking in pre-made food and just cooking the final steps. Thor thinks it's a great idea... but is always for some reason back on Asgard on his nights. But Tony is a genius, so he decides on a different approach. He grumbles a little bit, but otherwise doesn't complain when it's his night to cook. He cooks... and watches as each of the Avengers gives up on choking down the barely-edible meal. The next time he is rostered, the scene repeats. And the next. And the next. By the sixth time he is due to be cooking dinner, Steve comes up to him and politely - but pointedly - suggests that maybe they just order pizza. Tony thinks of the several meals worth of tasty leftovers hidden in the penthouse fridge, and graciously acquiesces.

I hope Thistle cheer you up - by @darthbloodorange

@rebelmeg - it was the pun war to end all pun wars. and it was probably going to end all of them. clint was fine, he loved puns almost as much as he loved pizza. steve hated puns so much he had taken up swearing. tony took sadistic glee in saving his worst puns for when steve was around. nat was famous for using the most clever of puns at unexpected moments. bucky could deadpan a pun so seriously it always took them by surprise. thor was terrible at it, still grasping the nuances of american english, but he sure tried hard. bruce tolerated it all and made half-hearted attempts at participation, though chuckling at his own puns was usually funnier than the puns. sam loved making puns, but hated it when other people did. it started creeping into other areas of their life, onto social media, in interviews, and at one point hawkeye was trending for awhile after he screamed out "THISTLE CHEER YOU UP!" whilst battling some kind of plant monster. tony helped, because he retweeted with the comment, "ooh, talk dirt to me."

@ralsbecket - So what if Tony had gotten laid off? So what if Tony had a mountain of bills sitting on his dining table? The only thing that mattered to him in that moment was his baby girl Morgan, with her hair falling out of the ponytail and her cute little lisp. She'd come back in from the backyard with a handful of dandelions, saying, "I hope thistle cheer you up, Daddy" so sweetly that for just a moment, everything was okay again.

@psychiccatpanda - [IronHawk] Tony's been working on the reams of paperwork that he's put off for SI. He's still not sure why it all needs to be done before the end of the quarter, but here he was. Needless to say, Tony Stark has been in a foul mood the whole week. The snide comments he usually keeps to himself have started to slip out and he feels guilty on top of the grouchy, so he decides to barricade himself in his office. He falls asleep on a sheaf of papers and wakes up with the impression of little ridges of paper on his cheek. It takes a moment (he hasn't been asleep that long) for him to fully realize the plant in front of him was real. An aloe plant - with a plate of chocolate muffins, fruit, cheese, and nuts. A post-it on the aloe's pot read, 'I hope thistle cheer you up,' written with a purple felt tip pen., which meant either Clint had left it - or Natasha pretending to be Clint.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Bruce looks at Tony, then back down at the spiny dried flowerhead in his hands.

"I know that you were getting frustrated trying to find these for your new fibre arts project, so I decided to help." His eyes light up as he realises the pun. "Thistle cheer you up!"

Bruce sighs even as he smiles.

"Tony... I appreciate the thought, but as you said, this is a thistle. I need a teasel."

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - Tony really doesn't like his neighbour Justin. The man was always trying to find ways to report him to the local council. Mailbox too close to driveway? Reported! Weeds in his lawn? Reported! Fence too high? Reported! Didn't clean his pool that weekend? Reported! Lawn too long? Reported! It was ridiculous. But the council won't do anything because taking action against someone who's reported you (even if the reports were false) is apparently considered wrong and vindictive. There was nothing Tony could do but grit his teeth and bear it. One day Tony receives a box in the mail, addressed from his neighbour across the street. The handsome blond guy with the body of a Greek god and a garden that looked like a literal paradise. Steve Rogers. Tony wasn't too shy to admit (to himself) that he had a crush on the man. He eagerly tears into the box to find a small note and a lots of little bags of mulch wrapped in tissue paper. The note reads: "Tony, I've heard you be having some trouble. I hope thistle cheer you up. After the rain comes flowers. Ps. Throw these over Justin's fence." And so he does. Watching Justin battle all the weeds after it rains brings Tony so much joy. Especially when Justine reports him to the council and the council shrugs him off this time. He heads over to Steve with some home cooked food as a thank you gift and they get talking. Turns out Steve is an Environmental activist with a passion for guerrilla gardening. Tony is hooked. Maybe it has more to to with Steve then the revenge on Justin (as sweet as it was)

#tonystarkbingomarkiv #tsbmiv #tsb discord party #titles game #discord party games

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honestsycrets · 4 years

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Like Me XVI: His Mark

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, past!reader x rorik, freydis x ivar

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | ivar is angry. but it isn’t for reasons you might think. you’re angry too, and really, rorik is just thrown in the middle of all this shit. then there’s freydis.

❛ warnings | verbal arguments, osteogenesis imperfecta issues, OI!reader, anger issues, intense jealousy, god!debates, fighting, character death, referenced infidelity, ivar being jealous, reader being annoyed, rorik being a rorik, don’t die rorik, talk of abortion, talk of stillbirth.

❛ sy’s notes | so i lied and this is not an ending. i have one more coming, i think.

The clang of weapons became louder, rivaling Bjorn’s battle cry. When had he gotten in? You don’t know, but does it matter now to you? Whatever came of Kattegat, of this Great Hall, it was better than its prior state. Bjorn or Harald-- both would be a finer king.

Inside Ivar’s Great Hall, a pin might have dropped on the ground and you would be none the wiser to it, trained upon Freydis as you were. She stands there as guiltless as the bitch you thought her to be-- because at one time, you loved her. At one time, she was someone you thought could be your confidant.

You never would have thought that she would try to bring about your death.

Your hands tremble around the grip of your weighted longbow, drawing the butt of your arrow back. Every moment that you stand there, lungs swelling with heavy exertion is another moment that you have to focus on standing because you aren’t graced like the others-- like Freydis who thinks nothing of keeping herself upright. And, if possible, that makes you hate her even more.

You came so far. Dragging yourself over the wet mud, as the rain pelted down upon you. Having your skirt flipped by strange men. And now, your mind was clear. It was as if you had been walking alongside a mountain path with puffy clouds obscuring your vision. Whether Odin, or Frigg, stripped the clouds-- all was clear now. You saw with a clarity that wasn’t there before. The bottom of this mountain wasn’t a wonderful patch of green grass. It was a ravine.

“What has gotten into you?”

Ivar calls you by name. You shout at him to stand his ground. In no plan of yours was there an intention to kill Ivar whose mind was so poisoned. So wrong. It was not his fault that he was so easily impressed by her. You were too. Now, the only thing you wanted was retribution. One he could not give you.

“You were…” you exhale, quivering. “You were going to sacrifice me.”

Ivar holds your eyes in his. He gives you the look-- that look. The one that could will you down, cause you to get lost in his eyes. Obey him no matter the cost. Like you had that day he arranged your marriage to Whitehair. The worst part of it is that you want to give into his will. Just to make him smile one more time. He tilts his head to the side, only slightly so, allowing for you to go on. “For this-- this whore.”

“It’s what you wanted.” His voice holds a soft quality. Torn between pained by his belief and a sort of accusatory tone, that sits there, waiting. “Isn’t it?” he widens his hand out, hobbling closer.

“Why would you think that? Because she told you?” you gesture, stopping him by letting loose the bowstring. The arrow collides with the footboard of the hall, stopping him from taking a step forward for just a moment.

“Because you love him.” You mull his assertion over just a second, snatching another arrow, and preparing it swiftly. If you wavered, Ivar might have unholstered his axe. One swoop, and he’d embed it in your shoulder. Or face. “Look at you. You even have his bow.”

“I don’t love him.”

Soft, but sturdy and yet he still does not accept it. He brings his hand up, pausing where he is, scratching at his braids. He scoffs and descends into a crass laughter, marked by an air of foul turning hate.

“Do you hear that, Freydis?” he asks her. “She doesn’t love him. That is good. Good. That is why I heard you let him touch you, hm? Because you don’t love him. Maybe you were easy.”

“What is it with you?” you shout, drawing the bow down. Freydis seems to visibly relax, as arrogant as she was before, you think she might have been thinking of course, of course you wouldn’t shoot her. “Freydis fell pregnant behind your back in a barn and here I am the one to blame?! She is the one who fucked your--”

“I know that!” Ivar booms.

There it was, in the open. You chuck the bow onto the floorboards, regarding Ivar, then Freydis. Her eyes have shifted now, narrowing upon the brown floorboards, too afraid to look up. But this time, it’s not your wrath that she’s fearful of.

“What?” you say.

“I know she fucked my slave.” He turns his head, just slightly toward her. For a moment, he says nothing, pinching his brow. His hand flicks up from the tension on his brow and Ivar relinquishes his great sigh. “It was something I could forgive,” he sighs through his statement. Raising another man’s son-- was that truly something he’d do on the back of disloyalty? You didn’t think so, and yet, it raised the question.

“But you can’t forgive me?”

“...you killed our baby.” You thought he was over that. That-- he understood why you couldn’t have his child. Because it would kill you to carry. Your womb was not blessed in this way, you couldn’t. “Did you do it for him?”

“What?!” you snap your head around, finding Rorik peering into the great hall at just the wrong time. Ivar’s eyes train upon him. “Did you do it for him?!”

“What is happening?” Rorik leans into you, wiping the blood off of his brow.

“For you!” Ivar snatches the axe free from his belt. As if perceiving the motion, Rorik rips one of Ivar’s shields from the wall, taking cover underneath it when Ivar whirls his axe. It crashes into Rorik’s shield with a hard crack. He steps back under the weight of the blow. Ivar’s hand snaps to his belt again, clearly searching out another. To stop him, you do the one thing you know he’ll pay attention to-- your words. Your hand presses over Rorik’s chest, stopping Ivar from setting another loose. His face contorts under his realization.

“Then go be with him,” he flicks his hand. “If you want to protect your Odr so much. Go fuck off with the Rus.”

“Do I look like Freyja to you, Ivar? We can’t be divine. I am not a goddess and you are not a god. We are cripples, Ivar. Cripples. Strip away the calibers and what is left?!” You stomp your foot, and cursing yourself when you stumble forward to catch your balance. Rorik raises his hand out to steady you. You shove him back, stubbornly holding your place. “Let go. If he wants to divorce me--”

And then she does it. That small, scoffing laughter that sets something off, deep within you. It should be her that was divorced. Throughout this whole, short marriage, you had been nothing but loving toward Ivar.

Yes-- you knew what you had done to his child. Your child with him. It was not your fault that Ivar could not see things for what they were. A childbirth would drag you toward the gates of Hel, and your child too. The child could not survive a birth so treacherous.

It was Freydis’s delusions that told Ivar they would be able to do so.

Even Ivar, who was so trained upon Rorik, pauses his pursuit of his weapon in that instant. Her sight refills your cup with the rage you thought you suppressed again. Freydis holds her arrogant stance, chin slightly tilting, exuding all the confidence she had in her body. Then, she dares to follow it up.

“She’s lying to you, Ivar.”

He’s not listening-- but you are stomaching it for one last time. He calls your name, softening you over, biding you to look him in the eyes. He is silent, and you are silent, and the only fuss is from the men outside. Unlike that fuss outside, the silence is short lived.

“Shut up!” You snatch the axe free from your husband’s shield, whirling around to throw it. It soars through the air, leaving you with only a blinding pain from Ivar’s weapon that careens into your hand. The bones shatter in your hand, and you shout, losing your balance and nearly crashing into the floor. Rorik is there, supporting your waist with one arm.

“You s-see,” Freydis asks from her place over the ground. Ivar’s axe is remains stuck in her shoulder. “You see now, don’t… don’t you?” Ivar settles beside her. You’re all but forgotten for the moment, glancing over her face, down to the tears breaking free from her cheeks. “She-- she.”

“Ssshhh,” Ivar flips a knife free, gripping the side of her face with one large palm. You make out the words, only a heated whisper, it was always you, now no more lies. He actually-- he actually said it, and knew it, and as his blade slit across her throat, it was worth it. She gurgles, and hanging off of Rorik’s arm, there’s some sick pleasure in it.

“Hurry,” Rorik’s voice is hoarse, lifting you to stand upright. “Bjorn is coming.” The wet blood soaked on his chest bleeds on your back as he lifts you onto your calibers. Your knuckles cry out-- you can’t walk anywhere fast without your crutch. He zips by to find it, thankful that Ivar is in such a strange state, where nothing and everything matters and he’s in between the stages of life and death, and it’s quiet.

“And Oleg?”

“At the pier waiting for us.”

But Ivar. He cleans his blade, cradling Freydis close to his chest, almost as if after everything-- she’s still his everything. And that, you grieve, is something that you can never be. “They’ll kill him.”

Rorik groans long, and painful, and looks toward the man nestling a woman who just sputtered to death. “Do we have to?”

You shoot him a hard look, yes, you have to.

He’s gonna die-- he’s all but certain that when he walks over there, Ivar is going to take one of those picks to his face, and that will be that. Rorik tugs the handle of the axe free from Freydis’s shoulder. “Come on.”

Ivar fails to respond. It’s almost as if he’s unconscious as he sits there, thinking, but Rorik knows this man better. It’s not an issue of being unconscious or conscious or sane or not. Rorik kneels before him, reaching back to tug the fallen king’s hands over his shoulders. He supports Ivar under his knees and stands.

Ivar’s hand comes up, around Rorik’s throat, just enough to keep him steady. Not to snuff out his breath, or anything, Rorik tells himself. You turn, starting toward where he kept his chariot, past the gathered group of people. Then, you’d go to the pier. Rorik keeps his eyes level, following your shifting hips, your crutch jabbing the ground.

“Keep your eyes off of her,” Ivar turns his lips against his ear. His lips widen, part pleasure, part pain, He blinks, turning his head toward Ivar’s over his shoulder. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.”

He thought he escaped Ivar’s eye. Because-- a divorce was on the horizon, wasn’t it? And your anger with Rorik too, but maybe Ivar didn’t know that. He thinks it’s better not to tell a man what his wife doesn’t want him to know.

He stays quiet as they board the ship.

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @belovedcherry

#ivar x reader #ivar/reader #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #vikings/reader #vikings x reader #fanfiction: vikings #honestsycrets: like me #tw: disability #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless/reader #Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader #ivar ragnarsson/reader

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otomeloversunite · 4 years

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Gideon, Episode 1

(Welcome to my fanfic, lol. I tried to write it as close to an actual episode as I could, down to the background and expression changes -- limited by Tumblr -- as well as the music for each scene. I even kept the word count the same. Committed to authenticity. 😤 At this point teaching is keeping me incredibly busy, so I thought I would at least post the first episode, in case I never get to continue it. Enjoy!)

Music: Everyday 1

ADARAEN: “Hello and welcome! Can I get you a pint of ale?”

It’s another day at the tavern, and business is bustling as usual. I barely have time to greet a new group of customers before my co-worker Rosie catches my eye with a glance as she passes.

ROSIE: “Adaraen, the table in the corner is looking a little dry,” she says, wiping down a table with a wet rag.

I follow her gaze towards the back. It’s the same group of drunken hunters that comes to the inn every week. They’re a rowdy bunch, but nothing I can’t handle.

ADARAEN: “It’s okay, I’ve got them.”

They flirt with me as I refill their drinks, but it’s easy to ignore -- just another part of the job. I swat one of their hands away when he reaches out to pinch my backside, though.

“Ah, ah ah. Mind your manners.” I wag my finger at him, tsking. “I hope I’m getting a tip for all this trouble.”

The hunter at least has the decency to look sheepish. Another of them flips me a coin, and I pocket it before heading back behind the counter to catch my breath.

Rosie settles down beside me, leaning on her elbows on the bar. “How will we manage without you?” she asks with a sigh.

I give her a smile. “You are amazing, and you will do just fine."

It’s been a week now since I got a letter summoning me to Altadellys. I still don’t know why, but a carriage is supposed to be arriving for me today.

(Soon! Any minute, maybe!)

By Rosie’s smile I can tell that she’s as happy for me as I am.

Sometimes we can see the floating city on clear days, and travelers often bring stories. I’ve heard the city is separated into quarters representing all four seasons, instead being locked in eternal winter like the Wilds.

(What would another season even feel like?)

I’m excited to find out, but I have no time to let my thoughts wander further when there’s another call for drinks.

After a few hours the tavern crowd has thinned out, and that’s when I hear the whinnying of a horse as a carriage rolls to a stop outside.

(It’s here at last! For so many years I’ve dreamed of going to the capital, and now that dream is finally coming true!)

I’ll miss the village, and I’ll miss Rosie, but I can’t wait to know what my future holds.

ADARAEN: “Bye, Rosie! Take care!”

I grab my things and fling my arms around her for a final hug.

Music: Wilderness Magic

It’s flurrying lightly when I step outside into the snow. I look upwards through the trees at a sky full of gray clouds, and soft flakes fall onto my eyelashes. I blink them away, then smile gratefully at the footman waiting to help me into the carriage.

The horses’ hooves clop steadily along as we ride, and the village gradually fades to a dark speck among the trees.

As I watch it disappear from view, I think of all my memories there, both happy and sad -- the good times and the hard times.

(It was never easy being an orphan. But plenty of people treated me kindly. Maybe in Altadellys I’ll have the chance to look for my real family.)

The carriage rocks gently as we ride through the snow-covered forest. Eventually my eyes begin to droop, and I lean my head against the padded carriage seat.

PHONE EFFECT: VIBRATION

Music: Suspense 1

(What in the slush!)

My eyes fly open as I jolt awake, and I steady myself against the carriage’s sudden stop.

I can hear raised voices coming from outside. Blinking rapidly to clear my head of grogginess, I lurch forward to peer through the window.

It’s dark outside now, and the snow is falling so densely that I can barely see past the first line of trees. The wind gusts suddenly, sending up a swirl of thick flakes.

(Oh no. I know this kind of weather. This is going to turn bad quickly.)

One of the horses neighs in alarm, and I hear another angry exchange of words from outside. I can’t hear what’s being said, but it’s definitely an argument.

For a second I freeze, unsure of what to do since I don't know what’s happening. But then a sudden shout makes up my mind. Something thunks against the outside of the carriage.

(There’s no way I’m going to wait in here to find out what’s going on. Not when someone might need my help.)

Everyone raised in the Wilds knows how to defend themselves, and I’m no different. I slip my hunting knife from its sheath, and open the carriage door, scowling towards the sound of the voices as my boots sink into the snow.

Music: Dramatic 2

DEFINITELY NOT A FOOTMAN: “Her! She’s the one!”

I hear a voice coming from near the tree line, and can barely make out the shape of a man in dark colors. Others stand near him, and I can feel their attention snap towards me.

Then they start moving towards the carriage.

Something zips past me into the snow, and only too late I realize that what hit the carriage was an arrow.

My heart begins to pound.

(Highwaymen? Could it be the Silver Dagger?)

The famous outlaw has been seen often in these parts, but he isn’t known for hurting anyone.

FOOTMAN: “Run, miss!”

I see the glint of metal as our attackers draw swords, and quickly realize my tiny dagger will be of no use.

I do the only thing I can. I turn towards the opposite side of the forest and run.

The wind whips against me as I sprint through the barren trees. Storms come quickly in the Wilds, and the snow storm has already started to worsen.

I can’t tell if I’ve escaped my pursuers until a tall figure suddenly blocks my path.

Before I can react, I see the flash of their weapon, and throw up a hand to protect myself. My vision flashes white with pain as the sword slashes into my skin.

As if from a distance, I hear myself screaming.

Then the attacker is upon me again, and I stab upwards with my own dagger, struggling with all my might to protect myself.

(No no no!)

The snow is red around us as I scramble away from the groaning bandit.

I fling myself headfirst into the storm, clutching my bloody fingers.

(Why is this happening? Why were they after me?)

The pain is almost too much to bear and I scream aloud in agony, before quickly remembering that there are other attackers still out there.

Biting down on my lip with a whimper, I grit my teeth and push onwards through the forest.

I don’t know where I’m going. It’s impossible to see more than a few feet in front of me in the raging storm. The wind cuts through my coat like a knife.

I’m so cold.

(I must be hours from my village. But I’ll die if I don’t find shelter soon.)

I stumble over a rock buried under the snow, and I shout again when I have to throw my hands out to catch myself.

As I raise my head I see another figure moving towards me, obscured by a field of white.

I fumble for my dagger with numb fingers, but as the figure gets closer I can finally see them clearly -- and he doesn’t look like a highwayman at all.

[FIRST CG: Gideon as seen from below, wearing a heavy coat and a look of surprise. Snow swirls around him.]

Music: Gideon Theme

He’s tall and broad shouldered, with a neatly trimmed beard, and a curious clockwork apparatus over one eye. And he looks absolutely shocked to see me.

PROBABLY A LITERAL LIFESAVER: “What is someone doing out in this storm?”

ADARAEN: “I wasn’t-- I didn’t mean to be. I--”

My tongue feels heavy, and I shudder. I clutch at my injured hand, struggling to put my thoughts together.

The man drops to one knee beside me, intelligent green eyes sweeping me over. They widen when they fall on my hand.

Only now do I notice that the snow is darkened with blood where I fell.

HANDSOME AND HELPFUL: “What happened to you?”

He shakes his head almost as soon as he speaks.

“Nevermind, don’t tell me now. Conserve your strength.”

“I’m going to get you somewhere safe. Can you walk?”

My legs wobble as I try to rise. The stranger throws out his hands to keep me from toppling over, and I stumble forward into him instead.

(I need to warn him. I don’t want to put him in danger.)

But I’m too tired to speak. Before I even realize what’s happening, I’m being scooped up by strong arms. My head lolls gently against his chest.

My eyelids flutter closed. I’m vaguely aware of a sense of motion and of snowflakes falling against my cheek, but my consciousness fades into a haze of white.

Music: Everyday 3

When I blink my eyes open again I’m somewhere I don’t recognize. I’m in a room with stone walls, tucked beneath a warm blanket.

(Wait, I was being attacked! What happened?)

I jolt upright in a strange bed. The motion sends pain shooting through my hand, but when I look down I see that it’s been wrapped in a clean bandage.

I push off the covers. From the floor above me I can hear something clattering across the floor, followed by a muffled curse.

ADARAEN: “Hello?”

I follow a winding staircase upwards, and emerge into what looks like some kind of laboratory.

The man who rescued me -- Gideon -- is wiping down a piece of glassware, and looks up with a friendly smile when I enter.

GIDEON: “Well, look who finally woke up.”

He’s working at a table laden with various tools and herbs and instruments, and seems preoccupied with a purplish mixture bubbling over a flame.

When he pours the mixture into the rescued glass, I notice that one of his arms is made from gleaming, golden clockwork.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. His eyes briefly flicker away from his work.

CHOICE 1: I feel great.

CHOICE 2: Okay, I guess.

CHOICE 3: I’ve been better.

IF CHOICE 1:

I force a smile. If working at the inn taught me nothing else, it’s that sometimes you need to fake a mood to feel a mood.

ADARAEN: “I feel great. Just… great. I woke up feeling really rested.”

Gideon arches a brow.

GIDEON: “I didn’t realize you’d taken a bump to the head as well.”

My fingers throb with pain when I try to flex them, and I let out a hiss.

ADARAEN: “Okay, that may have been a slight exaggeration.”

(Or a big one.)

IF CHOICE 2:

ADARAEN: “I feel okay. You know, not bad, not great.”

I haven’t had the chance to think about it much yet. Everything happened so quickly last night, and I still feel disoriented.

GIDEON: “That’s better than I’d expect after you nearly bled out.”

Remembering the feeling of metal slicing across my palm, I look down at my hand and try to flex my fingers.

Even the small movement makes me wince.

IF CHOICE 3:

ADARAEN: “I feel…”

Woozy. Like I left a lot of blood in the snow and nearly froze to death.

“Like I have the worst hangover ever, without the fun of getting it.”

GIDEON: “Part of that might be from the medication I gave you.”

My hand is still throbbing faintly, and I try to move my fingers to test them. I gasp at the flare of pain that shoots through me.

CONTINUING AFTER CHOICE:

GIDEON: “I wouldn’t try to do much with that hand for a while if I were you. I did what I could for it, but…”

He grimaces as he fiddles with a contraption at his table, and I’m unsure if the expression is related to his work or his words.

ADARAEN: “But what?”

When he glances up again his eyes are sympathetic.

GIDEON: “Well. Let’s just say it required a lot of stitches.”

It feels best to not think about that more than I need to, so I decide to change the subject.

ADARAEN: “By the way, where are we?”

I’ve realized suddenly that I still don’t know.

Gideon makes a sweeping gesture towards the wide, open windows.

GIDEON: “You can see for yourself.”

He brushes his hands together as he finishes what he’s doing and comes to stand beside me at the rail.

The view leaves me nearly breathless. We’re high above a city, and beautiful buildings stretch out for as far as I can see.

It's easy to forget my pain when looking out at something so wondrous.

And there are trees with actual leaves! I see splashes of red and yellow and green. I can feel myself grinning like a fool.

(It’s not winter here!)

ADARAEN: “How did you get me all the way to Altadellys?”

GIDEON: “You’d be surprised how easy it is to cart someone around when they’re limp as a sack of potatoes.”

ADARAEN: “Surely not in that storm though?”

GIDEON: “No, we were only a short distance from my cabin. I took you there and cared for your wound first.”

ADARAEN: “And then I became the sack of potatoes.”

GIDEON: “Precisely.”

I chuckle, and hear him huff a small laugh in response. Standing this near to him, he seems even taller and broader than he did before.

(He’s actually quite attractive.)

(But this is hardly the time to be thinking about that, Adaraen!)

ADARAEN: “I was supposed to meet someone before my carriage was attacked. Do you know how I can get word to them?”

GIDEON: “No, but I know who you can ask.”

Music: Gideon Theme

He turns from the window and fixes me with an unreadable expression. His green eyes are sharp and curious, suddenly seeming to take me apart in their gaze.

GIDEON: “But what you should be asking yourself is… why was someone trying to kill you?”

TO BE CONTINUED... (maybe...)

-@redseptemberdream

#gideon #gideon of lysende #the royal alchemist #reigning passions #rp #rp gideon #lovestruck #fanfiction

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thorne93 · 4 years

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The Softest Fire (Part 3)

Prompt: Rosaline Vaughan had it all: fame, money, power, glory, a high status job. Until, one day, she woke up, and realized something was missing from her life.

Word Count: 2091

Warnings: dealing with animals(??), language

Notes: First Fantastic Beast fic! I could NOT have done this at all without @arrow-guy. They have created a counterpart to this fic, writing it from Nora Vaughan’s perspective (Rosaline’s cousin/adopted sister). Fic aesthetic done by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo.

1921, that’s when I began my journey with Newt. Now it was 1925 and Newt had declared that he would be traveling alone for a year. Together, we’d amassed far too many creatures to keep safely together in the suitcase. They needed proper room to run and proper room for me to treat them. That’s when we expounded on his basement, creating small worlds, environments for the creatures to inhabit, at least until they were ready to be freed.

Newt said he would take Frank to Arizona during one leg of his trip, making me ecstatic. I would be heartbroken, and miss him dearly, but ultimately, he deserved to be free and happy in the wild.

While he would be gone, it would be up to me to care and feed for the animals. Being that it was a full time job, Newt stated I would be allowed to stay at his flat, in case anything went wrong, I would be right there to tend to them.

Before he shipped out though, we had four amazing years together. Oftentimes, I’d be at his home already tending to the creatures in the basement, feeding, washing, healing. He would be working upstairs, working on the book, or out at the library gathering information, or up at Diagon Alley purchasing books or things for travel. If I knew he was on his way home, I’d run up and make a quick meal or snack for him. Something he never asked for, in fact, he had no clue what it was the first time…

“Rosaline!” he called downstairs.

“Yes?”

“Did you make something to eat?” he questioned, confused.

I jogged up the stairs, wearing trousers, of all things. I still felt foreign in these darn things but, Newt had insisted I wear something more proper to chase down critters in the wild. “What? Oh, yes, I did. Not for me though, for you,” I explained, gesturing to his small table. “Is that alright? It should still be warm,” I noted, rushing towards the plate and removing the aluminum foil.

“No, no that’s fine. I just… didn’t know. This is… great. Thank you, I haven’t eaten all day.” He sat down, pulling up to the table and tucking a napkin in his collar. “Well, wait, what about you? Have you eaten?”

I waved him off. “No, no, but I’m fine.”

“What? Nonsense. It’s eight o’clock at night, and you haven’t eaten. Come, sit with me,” he encouraged, pushing a chair out next to him.

“No that’s your dinner. That’s fine. I’ll be okay. Thank you though. I’ll go take care of the firedrake.”

“Rosaline, don’t make me pull rank,” he slightly teased. “Please, some company would be nice.”

I smiled gently at his kind request and finally acquiesced and sat beside him, grabbing a fork. “Alright, but only because you begged, remember that,” I joked.

That night was a rather good indicator of how our nights went. I made him a small dinner or snack if he was out late, and he’d return to happily feast on it. Sometimes I joined him, sometimes I went home to my own flat, other times, he did the same. I would arrive in the morning and he already had coffee waiting for me on the table, made just the way I like.

Life for us felt right this way. Taking care of each other, and the creatures. I hardly ever really missed the Ministry. On rough days with a wild animal, or days that we ran into trouble from other wizards, I longed to be back at my simple job, for a split second, but ultimately, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Nora and Theseus popped in and out on the regular. Nora would come down and help me with feeding if I had a little too much on my plate or needed to take a second to tend to Newt’s dinner. Theseus and I sometimes shared a cup of tea, waiting for his brother to return home. In this time, I got to know him well, much better than at the Ministry.

Learning how different the two brothers were was highly amusing to me. Newt was so much like Nora. Always up for adventure, never one to let anyone tell them what to do, never afraid to back down from a fight. They’ve always been brave, incredibly knowledgeable, always on a new book each week. Nora and Newt were both eclectic, going against the grain.

Theseus and myself seemed to share an interest in politics, current events, studying magic to its fullest extent, following rules, playing by the rulebook. Both of us calm, soft spoken, traditional.

Today marked the day that Newt would set off for his voyage. One year, around the globe, without me. I was sad that I wouldn’t get to help him in his adventures, but we both knew and agreed I really needed to hold the fort down here. Nora promised to stop by at least twice a week to make sure the Kelpie we rescued hadn’t drowned me. Not that he would, he was a gentle giant, but anything could happen with these beasts.

He was all packed and ready to go.

“Okay and you know the augurey has a wound on its head--”

“Yes,” I assured as Newt was backing towards the door with his suitcase.

“And the thestral needs to be cleaned.”

I nodded. “Yes, I know. Every Friday.”

“Yes and--”

“Newt!” I stopped him, soft pleading in my voice. “I can handle this, alright? I’ve spent the last few years with you, day in and day out with these animals. I think I know my way around. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

He made an apologetic face and bobbed his head. “Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry I just--”

I nodded, quietly responding, “I know. It’s fine.”

A small smile came onto his face.

“You better go before you miss the boat…”

“Right… Well… I’ll be off then…”

The two of us stood there awkwardly for a moment. Newt went for a handshake, but I leaned in for a hug. Then we switched, pulling his hand back to go for a hug but I suddenly shot my hand out. The two of us were blushing messes by now. Typically, we only waved to each other at the end of a day or bid each other good night. But this was different… He would be gone for a year and I had no idea what dangers or issues he may face. He was a brilliant wizard of course, but it was in my nature to protect and lead.

“Hug?” I questioned finally, wanting to be past this.

“Yes,” he agreed, laughing before we finally embraced properly for a few seconds.

“Alright, better catch your boat now…”

“Right… I’ll write you.”

“Yes, of course.” I nodded and he was finally out the door, on his way, taking with him my usual warmth and happiness. I heaved a sigh and turned around to head down to the basement for the morning feedings.

-------------------------------

“He’s been gone five months, Nora,” I complained as I sat down one of the bowls on the table. She’d dropped by for lunch and I had been feeling pretty down lately and as soon as I saw her, for some odd reason, the floodgates that were my mouth opened.

“Yes? Well he is on a year long journey, Rosaline, you know this.”

“I know, I know. But I haven’t heard from him in three weeks either,” I fretted before checking the gravy and then adding it to the table.

“He might not have time. He is busy. He’s working. He may also be writing you when he gets the chance. Maybe mail is slow.”

I shot her a stern glance at her excuses. “Never this slow. Is he okay?”

“Yes, of course, it’s Newt. He’s perfectly capable. Why are you so distressed?” she questioned, peering up at me before taking a sip of her tea.

I sat across from her, now that lunch was fully prepared. “I--I don’t know. I just… Ever since he’s been gone I’ve been a ball of nerves, worrying. That’s just not like me…”

"When did this worrying start?"

"The moment he left," I said, pulling my brows together.

"And how do you feel when he writes you?"

"Um, elated I suppose. I'm beyond happy to know he's okay and that he's doing what he loves and getting to gather more information for his book.... Why would I be anything but happy and excited?"

"Had you been working for, say... I don't know, Theseus. Would you have the same reaction? Would you still be just as excited to get his letters ?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "No, no... No... Theseus is fine and all but he and I aren't close like Newt and I are."

She let a chuckle escape her lips. "Sounds to me as if you've caught a love bug, sweetheart."

I gasped, shocked. "Newt? Newton Scamander? No... Haha.... No. That's ridiculous. He's my boss, Nora!"

"You've spent practically every day of your life over the past five years with him, watching him treat those animals like his children. He's gentle and kind. I can't blame you for falling for him."

"Nora, this is preposterous. You and I both know men have never, ever been on my list of things to concern myself with. Why, out of all people, would I be falling for Newt Scamander?"

"Just because it's never been at the top of your list of concerns doesn't mean you weren't falling for him. You find what you want or need most when you're not looking, Rosaline."

"You're a sap."

"And you're oblivious."

"Nora, please. Can you honestly see me loving him? You were his assistant before I was, does that mean you're in love with him?" I accused, pointing at her.

"Can't say it does. Mind you, he's nearly eight years younger than me, and I never spent as much time with him as you did." She raised her eyebrows at me. "And if I'm remembering correctly, you had a soft spot for him while you were in school."

I screwed my mouth to the side, becoming defensive. "That was merely a reaction to the injustice that occurred with Leta Lestrange. If it were anyone else I would've done the same thing. He was an excellent student and classmate. He never caused any issues. He's sweet....”"

She leaned forward, a mischievous look on her face. "He's sweet, and...?"

"And what?" I snapped playfully, getting up to refill her tea and do anything to avoid addressing this.

"You're arse over tits for him, dear cousin. No shame in it!"

I nearly dropped the teapot I was holding at her words. "Eleanore Vaughan!" I gasped.

She cackled, throwing her head back. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. You know your secret is safe with me."

"You think just because I miss my boss and I eagerly await his return, and I can't help but think of him all the time, and yes he may possess all the qualities of a husband, if I ever desired one, and he's funny and kind and talented -- " I stopped and glared at her.

Grinning and wiggling her eyebrows at me, she leaned back in her seat. "Need I say more?"

"Okay... Then what do I do with this information?" I questioned uneasily sitting down. "I've never... you know... "

"If you want to tell him, do it. If you don't, I'll support you either way."

I stared at her, my mouth open. "That's it? That's your grand advice? Where is your gusto when I need it?"

"You think I have any kind of experience here that I can apply? My longest relationship has been with the kneazle that wandered into my shop one day and didn't leave."

I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. "Yes but... how do I even go about this? I can't just blurt out my feelings, can I? Isn't that a little... faux pas?"

"How would you normally bring up something important with him?"

"Approach him in between tending to the animals. Just... say 'Newt, I need to discuss something with you'."

"Then do that. If it doesn't work out, then wait till the time feels right and tell him."

"You make it sound easy," I muttered.

"But I never said it would be."

I sighed. "I suppose I have news then, when he returns home."

She grinned. "Perhaps you do."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#the softest fire #newt scamander x ofc #newt scamander fic #newt scamander x oc

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enbycalicocat · 4 years

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Day 10: 5th of February, 2021

At the tender age of almost twenty-six, Ellie already felt as burned out as if she were in fact sixty. She wasn’t even working a ‘proper and serious’ job, as her dad liked to say. Apparently manning a store was not an adult enough job for him. In fact, none of her jobs had been adult enough. Once, Ellie had worked at a book store, which he didn't like either of course. The manager there was about thirty-something, older than Ellie by at least ten years. Or that’s what Ellie thought. And the woman was dedicated to that store. She put her everything into her job. Ellie wondered how she would feel if she heard Ellie’s dad saying her job wasn’t ‘grown-up’ enough.

Probably about as invalidated as Ellie felt.

On top of the ‘kid’ job, Ellie hadn’t graduated from university yet. That one was an ongoing issue with her parents, a very serious one. More than her choice of work. They said her only job was studying (uh, hello? It’s not? She also had a full-time job to attend?) and that they could not consent what she was doing with her academic life (as if she needed their ‘consent’ to take longer to graduate).

The thing was, Ellie wasn't doing it on purpose or anything. She really put a lot of effort into her classes. And she really wanted to graduate, for no better reason than making them happy and get them to stop stressing her with their beliefs of when she should’ve graduated (which wasn't very healthy, Ellie was aware). But she just couldn't. For some reason, university was unbearably exhausting for her. It was something that made her tired to the very marrow of her bones. She hated it, with passion and fierceness. Hated it like nothing in the world.

After nearly six or seven years attending university (she changed degrees after the first two years and had to start again from zero in the new degree), the girl had come to a conclusion. University and her just did not get along well. Mind you, not studying and her. Not learning and her. No. University and her. There was a difference. Ellie liked learning. And she didn’t mind studying. Her problem was university. She didn’t like the courses, didn’t like how they were taught, didn't like the grading system.

Why was she studying then? Because in this country you went nowhere without a university degree. That’s why.

Ellie wanted to go nowhere. But her parents wouldn’t let her.

And hence, the burned out feeling mentioned before.

When life felt particularly crushing, Ellie liked playing simulation games. Specifically, farm simulation games. And that was what the girl was doing currently. The little guy on the screen moved according to the commands from the joystick, the arrows, and the buttons under her fingers, as she made him check to see how tomorrow’s weather would be and if she would have luck today.

I wish I was somebody else.

The guy on screen watered his little patches of crops. The watering can soon needed to be upgraded soon.

Really? Somebody else? With a whole other personality?

Ah, these crops were ready to be picked up, that meant money would be coming in today.

Hmmm. Now that I think about it, no. I don’t want to be someone else. I want to be me. I like me. And my personality. I just don’t like my life. So let me rephrase that. I want to have a different life.

And… Done! All the crops were watered and she had picked up everything that matured. Now, off to sell the results of her hard work.

Another life? What kind of life would you want? What would change? Your major at university? Like you haven’t tried that already.

Ellie ignored her very own voice berating herself as she separated the vegetables. The normal and silver ones would go to the shipping box by the house. The golden and purple ones would be sold at the local produce store. Because the girl cared about her reputation in town and didn’t want the neighbors saying the stuff she grew tasted horrible.

No, I wouldn’t change majors. That would make no difference.

The girl rolled her eyes at the screen in front of her, as if the tiny hardworking guy from the game or the television set could somehow be made responsible for annoying herself.

Well, what then? What kind of life would you want?

Finally at the supermarket, the guy walked over to the cash register and began to sell the crops. What kind of life did I want? She had not the slightest idea. Yet, as she watched the guy standing by the counter, pausing in the middle of counting, an idea occurred to her.

Well, first of all, I would’ve fought harder to give voice to the crippling gender dysphoria I felt when I was younger. I don't know that we would've been able to afford a sex change. Or that my country even allowed that back then. But if I had at least fought to have that very present male 'side' of me acknowledged, I would now be happily living as an androgynous being. Because I didn't, at present time I'm just a girl trying to hide her biological gender characteristics. If hormone therapy was in fact an option back then, and I had started it early enough, I wouldn’t have these annoying piece of crap breasts that do nothing but hurt and bring me trouble.

Continuing to sell the produce she'd harvested, Ellie imagined she'd look just like my character on screen. Slightly masculine, but also slightly femenine. Keeping people guessing as to which category to put her under. She could already picture this new life in her mind.

The day she... no, they, told their parents about how they sometimes feel very male. How sometimes the female gender biological characteristics feel weird, odd, off, like something was missing. Then going to school.

School...

How would school be? The bullying probably would've been the same. But they would feel happier about themselves, about their body, about the way they looked and dressed. They probably would've developed a whole different set of mental issues and gone to the psychologist no matter what. But Ellie wanted to believe that it would've all been better than what her school and younger years where actually like.

Oh, that’s a good start. And then? What else would be different?

Focusing back on the game, she finished with selling, and started buying the new seeds to replant the crops that had been sold. I also needed to buy fertilizer because the one I’d used had disappeared as soon as I picked up the crops. If my production rate continued like this, I would be able to buy the next bag and have more inventory space. And after that, I could expand my crop patches. More crops planted, more veggies to sell, more money coming in, and more money meant upgrades could happen faster.

Noticing all the planning and business decisions going on in her head, another idea came.

I would refuse university from the very beginning.

The guy on screen, the pixel Ellie, walked back to his farm with his seeds and his fertilizer, significantly poorer, for now.

No studying? How would you make a living then?

When the guy was home again, she got to work immediately, fertilizing, planting, and watering. They had other things to do that day.

I would make a living by…

At first, she’d thought about being a farmer, like the pixel Ellie. But in this country, farming meant working for the corrupt government, because all the new plots of land belonged to them. And there was no way, that was happening. Also, here having a farm meant no electricity, no running water, no wifi, no signal, no modern stuff. So, as much as she liked farming in game life, that wouldn’t work in real life.

Ah, pixel Ellie was running out of energy and they had no food in the backpack. So, they ran inside to quickly cook something in the house’s kitchen. Real life Ellie would love to make different dishes, there were some dishes that sounded really good. But this game was about how much energy you got from food. Hence, the importance wasn’t on the dishes name, or its ingredients, it was on how much it refilled the bar on the bottom right corner of the screen.

That’s when another idea came to her.

How about cooking? I could go to vocational school and study to be a chef. I really like cooking. Though, more than cooking, I think I would love to be a baker. I like making cakes, and cookies, and that kind of stuff. I mean, I don’t mind cooking, and I put heart into what I make. But I only have real honest fun baking.

So, instead of doing it as a hobby like you do right now, you would do it to earn a living? Remember the last time you tried to make a living out of one of your hobbies?

Writing.

That had been the worst mistake of her life. It got the poor girl into the biggest writing slump she'd ever experienced. All because Ellie had tried to make a living just as a writer and the pressure ate her alive. Until she developed anxiety so bad that Ellie just could not write without feeling like she would have a panic attack at any second.

Yeah, not so good an idea then.

She got the little pixel guy moving again. Everything farm related was done now. Let’s go fish and earn some money for that backpack.

For a while, the girl just played. Eyes glued to the screen. Thinking about nothing but her utter failure to be a human being. What did I want to do in freaking life? How was I supposed to make a living when I wanted to do nothing? How was I supposed to be a functional part of society when everything seems like an unbearable pressure and everything makes me have panic attacks? I would adore to take the pressure out of things. Maybe then I would enjoy them. Maybe then I would be able to have a stable job and a stable income and be a ‘grown-up’.

How about you stop trying to find ways to make a living out of the things you love? We have proven time and time again, that doing that will just make you end up hating them.

Sighing, tired and frustrated and angry with herself, Ellie threw herself back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

I don’t want to be a fudging billionaire. I don’t want to have some big-shot job. I don’t want to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or an engineer, or any of that crap. I’m happy with my stupid kitchen store job. They pay me more than a big percentage of the people in this country. Never mind if we compared it to what the people without a college degree earned. Even if I graduated there was no guarantee that I would get a better paying job, proved by the millions earning minimum wage out there. in any other country my job would be enough to pay for rent, food, and some luxury expenses. And I have enough free time to write as much as I want, because I don’t bring work home. So, tell me what the hell is wrong with just quitting university, dedicating myself to the store, maybe wind up as a personal secretary or manger later on, and write in my free time?

For once, there was silence in Ellie's head.

Indeed. What is wrong with doing that?

She sat up on the bed, looking around as her mind whirled.

That would take the pressure off writing. And I could literally just do it for fun. And my income wouldn’t depend on whether I write or not.

The heart in her chest was beating wildly. Excited. Happy.

I can't make enough to be independent with my current job. But to be honest very few jobs in this country would pay me enough. I would have to earn a couple hundred bucks a month, and short of becoming an escort I didn't know what would make me that amount of money. So, I could move out of this country. Go live with my family overseas and do the same simple things I did here. I could be a part of society. I could make a living. And not depend on my parents.

And, you could also open up a ko-fi or patreon page, have people donate if they want. If they feel like it. That way no pressure is added to you as the author, or to your readers, and you could have some extra income.

She could picture it already. How happy her life would be.

And then Ellie remembered her parents. The fact that she didn't have a passport and obtaining one cost around a thousand bucks. The fact that she had no belongings to sell to pay for the plan tickets. Her cowardice. Her nervousness. Her anxiety.

All at once her body felt completely exhausted. The energy seemed to have been sucked out of the girl and she let herself fall onto the bed, staring at the wall.

No hollywood dreams. No millions of dollars. No sports cars. No. The only thing I wanted was to be happier with my body, to quit university, to have a peaceful job, and write. That was the life I wanted. The life I couldn’t have.

So simple. And yet so far from reach.

A tear rolled down the corner of Ellie's eye, it traversed the bridge of her nose, continued down the underside of the other eye, and finally found the mattress. More and more tears followed its path.

Prompt: 10. Write the autobiography of the life you weren’t brave enough to lead.

Previous Day Next Day

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whentommymetalfie · 5 years

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Breathe again -Prologue

A/N: Set after that scene at the end of season five -so major spoiler warnings for the season finale. A story requested by no one that I still started writing in a frenzy. This will be a multi chaptered thing, and this is a rather long prologue of sorts. And despite this not being requested, I really hope you’ll like it x (note to clarify -this is not part of my existing AU but completely its own thing, based on the season 5 canon)

Summary: After the field, there’s nothing left to do. Except somehow try to pick up all the broken the pieces. But it seems like no one can do that.

Somehow, Tommy might still end up right where he needs to be.

Warnings: implied/referenced suicide attempt, mental health issues

Pairing: (future) Tommy/Alfie

Wordcount: 2600

A car drives up the gravel path leading to Arrow house, cutting through the evening fog, the sound of the engine humming drifting across the lawn. It comes to a halt in front of the large building looming over the grounds. Only a few of the windows are lit, making the entire structure seem bigger, like nothing but a massive shadow.

Michael climbs out first and goes around to open the door for Gina, who makes a grimace when she sets her high heels down on the damp gravel

“This better be worth the drive,” she says and lights a cigarette, shuddering in the chilly air. Michael doesn’t respond, too focused on the building in front of him. He gazes at the windows, eyes drawn to the ones with a bit of light, and to that particular window on the second floor. He thinks he sees a figure behind the curtains. The room is dimly lit, and there’s only a small opening between the heavy folds of fabric. So the figure standing there could be a figment of his imagination. Must be, considering which room it is…

“You coming darling?” Gina asks while letting out a puff of smoke. It adds to the milky fog. As if the entire garden is full of cigarette smoke. Michael offers his arm to her and they walk up towards the front door.

…..

“-that you have the fucking guts to even suggest shit like this!” Arthur’s voice booms through the room. Seems to echo throughout the entire house. “It’s beyond me. It’s just fucking beyond me-“

Gina rolls her eyes. Michael squares his jaw.

They’re all seated in the living room, a failed attempt at bringing some sense of normality to the situation. Despite the lit fireplace, the atmosphere couldn’t be colder. Finn glares from where he’s positioned in the green velvet sofa, and Ada puts a hand on his shoulder when he shifts in his seat. Michael and Gina occupy the sofa opposite them and Arthur has folded his lanky frame into a leather armchair next to the small table housing the cannister of whisky. That cannister just came dangerously close to being hurled across the room.

“I think we should at least wait for Lizzie,” Ada says, with a cold look in Michael’s direction, before turning her attention to her older brother. “Arthur-“

“No, don’t use that fucking voice on me!” Arthur hisses and staggers to his feet. “Fuck, don’t you bloody dare try making this sound like I’m being unreasonable!” His face is already flushed from one too many glasses of whisky drunken too quickly. He stabs a finger in Michael’s direction. “You- the- the fucking nerve to talk about this when Tommy is-“

“That’s the entire reason we have to talk about this,” Michael says calmly. “And unless you’ve spent the past month secretly working on some brilliant plan, I suggest you let me finish.” His gaze sweeps across the room but no one meets it. “You all must’ve realised we would talk about this. Why else would we have a meeting?”

His eyes finally land on Arthur, and Arthur’s hands clench into fist where they hang by his sides, knuckles whitening. His nostrils flare and twitch. Ada grows tense in her seat, muscles coiling in preparation.

Michael and Arthur stare at each other for a moment that seems to stretch on forever.

The door opening is what breaks the tension, and the occupants of the room turn their attention to the newcomer. Gina gazes at a painting, exhaling yet another cloud of smoke.

Lizzie enters the room, impeccably dressed in a forest green gown that drapes in soft folds across her shoulders, hair shaped into elegant waves. The only cracks in the façade are the faint dark circles under her eyes and the way her jaw is set a bit too tight.

Michael raises both eyebrows and cranes his neck to glance down the empty corridor before she closes the door, leaving a small opening.

Lizzie gives him a look, but doesn’t comment on the obvious question on his face.

“I see you’ve already helped yourself to the whisky,” she says and lights a cigarette, going to sit in the second leather armchair opposite Arthur, who has returned to his seat.

The air fills with tense silence. Because there’s nothing and somehow far too much to say at once…

Arthur finally clears his throat and speaks: “Is he…” but he lets the sentence die after just those two words, trailing into the tense silence again. Lizzie shakes her head.

“No change I assume?” Michael says and earns himself steely look.

“So much for the drive out here,” Gina scoffs.

Arthur’s anger seems to almost physically swell throughout the room, pushing all the air out. But all he does is refill his whisky glass.

“Well, in that case…” Michael stands. Uses that voice that tells the entire room the meeting has started. “Lizzie, since Arthur wouldn’t leave it alone we did start talking before you arrived, even though I made it clear we should wait. But I think we all know why we’re here.” He looks around the room and only catches Arthur and Ada’s gazes. Finn and Lizzie are busy staring at anything but him; Finn’s eyes nervously flickering, Lizzie’s gaze stiffly straight ahead. “Due to the current circumstances, it’s clear that we need to make decisions and take measures to ensure not only the continued success but the continued existence of Shelby Company Limited.” He pauses. “I think we were all hoping things would be different now. But since they aren’t, I propose that we revisit the suggestion I presented a month ago. I’m willing to take on the role as head of the company, which will ensure a way into the American market. And overall just some general fucking stability that this company has lacked for some time.”

Arthur flies up from his chair again and Michael fails to hide a flinch at the sudden move. With a sharp outlet of air he goes to pace in front of the window.

“And why the fuck should you take on that role?” Finn asks. “Isn’t this room full of people with just as much right to that position?”

“Well, not really,” Gina smirks. “All I see here is a commie sister who a few years ago cut all ties to the family, only to crawl back when she realised life without money is hard.” Ada’s eyes have turned a shade darker. Gina looks to Arthur, undeterred, “A brother who can’t even keep his own wife in line, and…” she pauses when she comes to Lizzie and smiles. “A… secretary and grieving wife who probably has enough on her mind-“

Ada’s hand clenches around the armrest on the sofa, but Lizzie is the one who cuts Gina off.

“Thank you Gina for that insightful comment. But I think I’m quite capable of handling a multitude of things at once.”

The corner of Gina’s mouth twitches. “You can’t seriously mean that you would have any kind of claim-“

“Well, as Tommy’s wife and member of the board I do think I should have some say in the matter.”

Gina snaps her mouth shut around her reply when Michael puts his hand up.

“You do have some say, of course, Lizzie,” he says. “As member of the board. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have the contacts in America, which is now our biggest and most promising market.” He slowly walks to stand behind Gina, hands coming to rest on the back of the sofa. “And I suppose I might’s well be fucking clear about this: who else in this room is honestly prepared to step up and take on this role, eh?”

The silence is stifling and thick. Cold. As if the fog around the house has seeped in through the windows and filled the room.

“What about you Arthur?” Michael asks. “Are you prepared to take on that responsibility? To have the whole fucking company resting on your shoulders?” Arthur looks out the window and Michael splays his arms out wide. “Anyone?”

“Aunt Polly-“ Finn starts weakly.

“Has made it very clear she wants nothing to do with this company or, fucking hell, this family again, after what happened to Aberama,” Michael cuts him off. “However I’m hopeful that with these changes, she might reconsider and-“

Lizzie suddenly turns to the door, eyebrows furrowed as she cranes her neck to catch a glimpse of the corridor outside.

Everyone watches as she furrows her brow and listens. Then she sinks back into the chair again.

“Thought I heard…” she trails off and shakes her head.

Michael speaks up again, “Nothing will be decided here and now. We’ll of course vote with the entire board. This is to give you some time to think. To make sure that we as a family are united.”

Arthur scoffs at that. But no one speaks, because what is there to say?

Gina gives Michael a look and he clears his throat. “Now, to the second order of business. I think we have to start seeing things more clearly. Stop just putting out fires and think of the future, not only for the company but… the situation as a whole.”

Arthur turns from the window and comes closer. He picks up his whiskey glass and refills it. Lizzie sits up a bit straighter in her chair.

“We gathered here because we were hoping that perhaps Tommy’s condition would’ve improved,” Michael says. “That maybe he could join us. But it hasn’t. And I think we must face the possibility that it never will.”

Ada sighs. “We already have. Isn’t that why you just fucking proposed that you’d be put in charge? Or have I gravely fucking misunderstood something?”

“I’m talking about getting professional help,” Michael replies. “I’m talking about seeing things as they are: That he’s a danger to himself, and quite possibly others. And that maybe he should be institutionalized.”

Moments pass after he’s uttered the words. Long moments where everyone grapples to just understand them. “An asylum?” Arthur finally breathes out and takes a step closer to Michael, voice trembling when he speaks, “You’re talking, about a fucking asylum?”

“Oh, don’t be so fucking dramatic, “Gina says. “He barely even knows where he is. Might’s well lie in a different bed staring at ghosts. Someplace where people actually know how to handle it.”

Ada drags Finn back onto the sofa, and Arthur’s eyes widen to impossible size, dark with fury.

“Arthur, I know this is not something you want to hear,” Michael says. “But you have to consider the possibility that… that he’s gone. It’s not about the injury anymore. The damage is inside his head, and it’s been there for a long time. That bullet was just a scratch compared to it.” He holds up his hands in a placating gesture as he takes a breath and continues: “An asylum doesn’t have to mean simply being locked in a cell. There are new treatments, things they do in America-“ “Oh, things they do in America, eh?!” Arthur bellows. “Things they fucking do in America? Is that what she’s told you?” he points to Gina with a trembling hand. “That they’ve got some new revolutionary method- something that’s gonna make it fucking okay to- to even fucking consider locking Tommy up in a place like that-“

“There’s a fucking reason those places exist,” Michael snaps, finally raising his voice as a red flush creeps up his neck. “And you know what kind of people they put in there? Hm, Arthur? People who hear and see things that aren’t there. People who have lost all fucking grip on reality. Who can’t take care of themselves-“

A glass smashes into a bookshelf when Arthur throws it in Michael’s direction but misses with about a mile. A rain of splinters skitter across the floor.

“Face it Arthur,” Michael shouts. “He’s not coming back. If you took your head out of your arse for even a second you’d see that-“

“Stop it!” Finn’s shout shocks the entire room into silence and even Michael falters. Staring down at his lap, Finn takes a harsh breath in through his nose.

“Tommy might be- he might not be… how he used to be. But he’s still part of this family and we- we can’t just send him away-“ his hands are shaking. Ada puts an arm around him, and for the first time in years he accept the comfort like he did when he was just a kid hiding outside the door when meetings like this went down. He leans into her side.

“We’re not sending anyone away,” she says softly, but her eyes are nothing but cold steel when she looks to her cousin. “Michael can’t do that. It’s not up to him.”

“No, it’s up to Lizzie,” Gina says simply. “If she wants to spend the rest of her life looking after a catatonic shell, fine. But you might want to consider the fact that he could decide to try again, and that he might succeed.” Lizzie’s mouth is a tight line when Gina looks at her and quirks an eyebrow, before facing the Shelby siblings again. “So maybe the question is if you’d rather have an alive brother getting the care he obviously desperately needs, or a dead one.”

Now even Ada is out of her chair and Michael steps in front of Gina when Arthur comes towards them

But right then the door opens fully and Frances is standing there.

“I’m sorry to disturb you Mrs. Shelby,” she says and nervously twists her hands.

Lizzie pinches the bridge of her nose. “What is it Frances?”

“I just wanted to see if Mr. Shelby had joined you,” she says and glances around the room. Lizzie sighs.

“No, as you can see he hasn’t.”

“Well, it’s just that his room is empty and I thought-”

“Try the bathroom.“

“It’s empty, and I’ve checked the children’s rooms and-“

Lizzie’s face has gone completely white when she gets out of her chair and breathes out, “Check the roof.”

Frances is out the door in moments and when her steps disappear down the hallway, it’s apparent that she’s running. Lizzie turns back to the family. They seem at a loss. Always at a loss these days.

“Arthur, you take Finn and start searching the grounds. Ada, get a hold of Johnny dogs. Tell him to bring some people get those out looking too-“

She gives orders with ease and they all follow them, rushing out of the room one by one to carry them out.

“And you,” she turns to Gina and Michael. “You can leave.”

“We’ll stay and help searching of course,” Michael says. “Make sure you find him. We wouldn’t want something to happen-“

Lizzie goes to stand only inches away from him and spits, “You might already have this company in the palm of your fucking hand, but this is my house. Get out.”

Then she turns on her heal and hurries down the corridor. She heads for the roof.

....

The first rays of sunlight peak over the horizon, casting light over a calm sea and slowly burning away the mist billowing over the dark waters. Today is one of those rare mornings when the sea is completely calm, making the beach uncharacteristically silent. And in the silence, there’s a knock on a door. A door that just so happens to be situated on a house right close to that calm sea.

So even though it only results in one quiet rap, it still rings loudly in the silence.

No one opens, because it’s early and no visitors are expected.

Another knock, even more quiet than the first.

The hand falls from the door, faltering along with its owner. Unsteady feet walk away from the door. Unsteady and bare, leaving wet footprints behind. Unable to walk any longer. There’s a soft thump as a body hits the stone flooring, falling into a heap at the foot of the steps leading up to the house.

And the door opens.

#alfie x tommy #Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders season 5 #tw: suicide #-implied/referenced attempt

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onigirisuna · 4 years

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ours are the moments (i play in the dark)

a contribution to @zutaramonth, quarantine edition, day 13: hidden (and just a bit of moonbeams). view my other work for zutara month (quarantine edition) here.

cw: heavy swearing and the tiniest hint of smut. tw: cheating and abortion.

Everything happens under the moonlight; when he burns the last memories of a happy family, when she grapples with forgiveness, when he begs for forgiveness from her, when she comforts him in his sorrow. Their most vivid memories were ones spent under the moonlight –

– So they choose the new moon to create the ones they want to forget.

—

They’re back in the Earth Kingdom, two months after his coronation. His friends flood in, a little more gaunt-looking than they were when they parted ways weeks ago; ten weeks of peace talks, negotiating with rigid officials, and keeping the world from falling apart (again) has forced all of them to grow up.

They’re so young, Iroh thinks with a twinge of sadness in his heart. Too young to be this hardened by war.

But they are war heroes and war criminals – was there any difference nowadays? – and war is cruel to the young and naïve. They’ve all had to grow up, regardless of whether it was due to a mother lost, a man killed, or genocide.

The three days that they have in the Jasmine Dragon are the only ones that the world will let them have to relive their youth; so Iroh lets them. Just don’t touch the tea, the ceramics, the kettles, the incoming supply of food, stay away from the customers if you plan to play a full-body game of Elements– oh! And no going into the work room unless you plan to serve some tea!

If Zuko had received this earful three months earlier, he would have rolled his eyes; instead, he smiles at his uncle and mimes a salute. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Zuko returns to the balcony; when he gets to the landing, he finds that its tiles are already upturned and the floor is suspiciously wet. “Sokka,” he starts, but the blue-eyed boy shushes him.

“Shut up, Zuko! I’m working on a masterpiece!”

The ink bleeds out on the page before he could dip his brush back in. “What the hell, Katara!”

“My hair loopies looked like black holes, Sokka! That was not a masterpiece,” Katara yells back.

“I’d say I was pretty accurate,” Sokka responds, pulling out another blank scroll. Katara sticks her tongue out in response, but pulls back as soon as she sees Zuko.

“You look well,” she says, quickly pulling her eyes away from him. She cringes inwardly, berating herself for how utterly weird that sounded. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze.

“Thanks.”

Mai appears next to Zuko, scrutinizing her space buns.

Oh, Spirits, Katara thinks. I should’ve stayed home.

—

It happened soon after his coronation, six weeks after they’ve won the war.

In between the flurry of paperwork and long, dragging meetings, she and her friends miraculously found a common time to spend together. They rendezvous in the palace garden, each bringing their own share for the party; Katara nearly doubles over with horrible flashbacks of sand dunes and mushroom clouds when she sees Sokka carry a crate of cactus juice.

Sokka catches her blanched look. “Oh come on, it’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s distilled!”

“And besides, we’re young, Katara. Loosen up a little!”

Sokka, you fucking idiot, she thinks much later, when her vision is distorted and her head – or is that her body? – begins to sway. She looks around and attempts decipher her surroundings; in one corner, Toph is yelling angrily at Aang while he sleeps on top of overturned Pai Sho tiles. At her six o’ clock – thank the Spirits – she could hear Suki and Sokka sucking face. “Get a fucking room!” Toph yells their way.

Zuko, however, is quiet. She sees him sulking by the corner, by their makeshift dining set up, taking another gulp of cactus juice. Even when he’s drunk, he’s a depressing sight to see, she thinks somberly. She slowly picks up her glass, keeping a careful eye on it as she makes her way to him.

“Stop that,” she says, taking a seat next to him. Zuko looks at her with a mixture of confusion and offense, arching his only brow as he says, “I’m sorry?”

“Stop being so sad all the fucking time,” she says, taking her own gulp of cactus juice. She picks up an uneaten lemon tart from a plate and shoves it in her mouth. Zuko makes a noise.

“Mai walked out again.”

Katara swallows. “She always does.”

Zuko shrugs, because she’s right; Mai always walks out, only to waltz back in a few weeks after she’s cleared her head. “It sucks, though,” he says as he refills his glass. What he doesn’t say is that he’s no longer referring to Mai’s thousandth walk-out; what sucks is that she keeps coming back, even when I don’t want her to, and I can’t bring myself to say no.

I don’t know how to tell her that I want you.

But Katara catches it anyway.

She washes the tang of the lemon tart down with more cactus juice; despite herself, she starts to sober. “I still don’t know how to tell Aang.”

Zuko takes a sidelong glance, checking to see if anyone else was watching. When he confirms that they’re in the clear, he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

Neither of them are married, but this thing between them feels no less than an affair. How could they tell their friends – hell, how could they tell their partners – that they’ve been hiding a (painful, sorrowful) blossoming relationship since the comet left?

For war heroes, we sure are cowards, Katara thinks bitterly.

“Don’t be sorry,” she says. “I kissed you first, remember?”

Zuko smiles at the memory; it happened under a full moon, when he woke up for the first time since collapsing after the Agni Kai.

Katara gives him a pained smile as she sets her glass down. Before she gets up to leave, she runs a single hand through his hair and briefly rests her palm against his scarred cheek. “Good night, Zuko.”

He follows her in response.

The guilt that gnaws at her heart keeps her feet running. Maybe if I run fast enough, she thinks, I could put all this behind me.

But Zuko is agile and quick and he gets to her door long before she reaches the guest hallway.

“Don’t,” she begs, her voice straining through the tears threatening to fall. “Stop it.”

Zuko tightens his grip on the handles. “But you started it. You said it yourse–”

“I know!” she yells, tears leaking down her face. “Don’t you think that the guilt eats me every fucking day? Every fucking time she walks back into your life, my heart bursts with relief and guilt and so much pain – don’t you ever think that?”

“And do you think that’s any different from how I feel?” he yells back with unmasked remorse. “I see him every fucking day, Katara. He’s in every meeting, signing every scroll beside me, and every time he says something, I keep on having to absolve for my sins because, Agni forgive me, I’m in love with his girlfriend and she’s in love with me too.”

Visions of a heartbroken boy of arrows fill her mind – there’s so much yelling, crying, too many twisted apologies – and she all but crumbles when she says, “Get the fuck out.”

Zuko steps aside this time; but before she could bring a second foot through the door, he whirls her around and kisses her.

This kiss is different from its predecessors; it’s fervent, desperate, and filled with unspoken apologies – to whom, however, she doesn’t know – and she gives in, because they’re both wretched on the inside.

They fall onto her mattress in a mess of limbs and tears. She’s crying and whimpering all at once, whispering his name through pained moans; his breath quickens as he moves down her body, his own shaking with regret, relief, and (sick, twisted) pleasure. Through their agony and remorse, they hold each other like a lifeline – only letting go when he enters her.

Wretched, like they’ve always been.

When they finish, she thanks the spirits for the new moon that shrouds them in darkness.

—

When Zuko steps away from her to inspect Sokka’s new masterpiece, Katara starts to feel her head spin; she holds onto the parapet, her face blanching with fear and nausea. In her periphery, she sees Aang and Toph whirring earth and water against each other; the quick movements and the raucous laughter almost makes her double over.

Oh fuck.

She darts for the nearest bathroom, careful not to slam the door; when her knees touch the ground, she retches all of her stomach’s contents. No, no, no, she thinks as she grips the sides of the bowl. Her head continues swimming as she attempts to hurl the last of her insides. She hears the door open behind her, followed by the sound of alarmed voices. A flurry of what happened? Are you okay? What the hell was that all about, Sugar Queen? assail her ears. Her head begins to spin again.

Katara tries to shoot a weak smile their way, but her face quickly contorts to agony as she empties her stomach once more.

When her stomach settles and her head clears, she no longer hears her friends’ incessant questioning; but the tingle behind her neck tells her that someone’s behind her, and the said person hands her a damp cloth. She wipes her mouth with it. “Thanks,” she says, her voice too weak to be heard.

“You’re a wise girl, you know,” Suki says. Katara tenses at the sound of her voice; she’s helped Suki through enough scares to know what she’s thinking.

“But it’s not Aang’s, is it?”

Katara shakes her head; Suki sighs and gently pulls Katara up from the floor. “Well, it’s a new moon tonight.”

Katara looks at her with a mix of relief and pain; Suki steps back in surprise. “You want to keep it?”

Katara shakes her head and bites her lip; she doesn’t want to keep it, but why does it still hurt?

Suki gently squeezes her arm in understanding; she then bends her head forward and whispers, “Will you be able to bloobend tonight?”

“Yeah,” she replies, still shaking from all her retching. As they cross the wooden floor of the teashop, she sees her friends cast terribly-masked and worried glances her way.

Zuko is nowhere to be found; Mai gives her a blank – yet knowing – look.

Suki never lets go of Katara’s arm until she reaches her room; when they’re sure that they’re out of earshot, Suki says, “I told them it was the new bean juice that we had on our way here.”

“Coffee?” Katara asks, amusement flitting through her eyes. Suki smiles.

“Bean juice.”

—

The bloodbending that happens that night is quick; she keeps an iron grip Suki’s arm as she forces her own blood outwards. The searing pain only lasts for a few seconds before she begins to leak red, and when she does, she holds back a strangled cry.

“I’ll wait outside,” Suki says, shutting the door behind her. Katara uses her bloodbending again to check for any abnormalities in her blood flow and eliminate any chance of blood poisoning; when she’s sure that her body is safe, she cleans up.

When she exits the bathroom, she pulls Suki into a hug. “Thank you,” she says, gripping the warrior with all that her gratitude could offer. She allows a single sob to escape her; Suki hugs her tightly in response.

—

A few minutes later, Zuko shows up at her doorway.

“It’s gone,” she says through gritted teeth and unrestrained tears.

Zuko says nothing as he walks towards her and gathers her into his arms; she lets herself cave into him as the full weight of the last month collapses onto her shoulders. With Aang in the next room and Mai in his, she feels sick, twisted, and–

Wretched, like they always will be.

#zutara #zutaramonth #zutaramonth2020 #quarantumblr #otp: thanks to you #fickle #alternate title: wild and fluorescent come home to my heart #zkquarantine

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wickedsingularity · 4 years

Text

Until Next Time [Chapter 14]

Banner by PhoenixAlthor @ TDA

The hand on my heart clenched painfully. I stiffened and gritted my teeth. My eyes stung and I couldn't breathe. I was there. I had reached the point where it hurt so bad I didn't know how to live for one more second.

War. We do what we can to find comfort and hope.

Remus Lupin x OC Warnings: Fear, anxiety, "phantom-pain" Words: 1823

Chapter 13 | Masterlist | Chapter 15

Recovery

Focus. Focus on your memory.

Something as simple as having breakfast that first morning after my accident had exhausted me. According to Madam Pomfrey, who came to check on me by lunchtime, both Remus and Sirius had looked in on me a few times, but I had been sleeping like the dead. The matron assured me and them that it was to be expected. It took a lot of energy to refill a person's magic.

After that, she declared me well enough to go home. I didn't dare try my magic too much, I was too scared to see it fail. It made a lot of the everyday tasks difficult to get through, and my clothes were suffering from it, not being able to cast a freshening charm on them. So I spent most of my time sleeping and reading until Madam Pomfrey wanted me for another checkup a few days later.

She advised me to use as much magic as possible. It's like a muscle that needs to be used, and then it will come back in full faster. The feeling of uselessness and unsafety I felt when my magic failed or fizzled, was almost overwhelming. I couldn't remember a time when I didn't use magic. But this was war. I had to help the Order and I had to do my work at Azkaban. So I swallowed my fear and pride, and tried.

By Monday morning, my magic was back to normal. I had tried a Patronus Shield the previous evening, and it had held up for hours. Of course, I had no Dementors at home to put it to the test, but it felt okay enough. That didn't mean I felt mentally ready to go back, but I had to, even if I was going straight onto a week at Azkaban.

With the pre-blood ward schedule, I was supposed to go onto three weeks at the Ministry, but the new wards making Azkaban safer, the schedule had changed and we were supposed to be less at Azkaban and therefore every other week. But the week I had been recovering from my loss of magic, had been all about checking and double-checking the new wards, and while they were working well, the Dementors were getting more and more out of control. So, the new schedule had been changed, to longer hours at Azkaban, including working weekends. And this morning, I was starting my first week of the new schedule at Azkaban.

Swallowing my fear, bundling it all up into a ball and hiding it away in the deepest darkest corner of my mind, I donned my freshly cleaned work robes and Disapparated. The moment I appeared on the Apparition station outside Azkaban and set my eyes on the tall stone structure further out, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the freezing wind or the nearness to the Dementors. It was my own fear that coursed through me like a poisonous arrow, slimy tendrils of darkness wrapping around my heart. My breath was shallow, my knees felt week, my hands were sweating, heart beating loudly in my head.

I gritted my teeth, clenched my fists and took several deep breaths, forcing air deep into my lungs. If I didn't get myself under control, I could just hand in my resignation right now.

Just as I was getting my heart rate down, someone Apparated next to me. I started at the slight pop and snapped my head around. It was Walter.

"Morning," he greeted. "How are you doing?"

"Little bit hesitant," I admitted. Remus being the only one who had been able to get me to admit how much fear I was repressing while at Azkaban lately, I still felt it was safe to admit this to Walter. It was not a secret that I had nearly been Kissed by a Dementor, and Walter knew the Dementors just as well as I did.

"Understandable." He nodded. "You've tried your Shield?"

"Yeah. It held up for hours yesterday." I had Floo-ed with Walter before the weekend, and he had said that several people had been struggling with their Patronus Shields that week. The Dementors seemed to be stronger and more aggressive, and in turn a lot more draining. There was no reason to wait any longer, and I took out my wand and cast the Patronus Shield. I felt it wrap itself around me, waver for a moment, but then holding steady.

Walter smiled at me as he watched the Shield go from slightly bright blue to transparent. Then he cast his Shield, and we both grabbed a broom, mounted and set off through the icy snowy wind to the prison.

I made it through that first day without my Shield dropping, which was my biggest fear. It wavered when I saw my first Dementor. It had stopped in its tracks, turned its hooded head in my direction, and then started gliding slowly towards me. The way it behaved, it seemed like it was one of the same Dementors as that day, like it remembered what had happened. My Shield became visible, but barely. I was frozen on the spot. If I had been alone, that Dementor would have gotten me. My Shield would have dropped and I would have been defenseless to stop a Kiss. But Walter had laid a hand on my shoulder before taking one step forward, staring at the Dementor. It halted, seemed to consider us both for a few seconds, then went on its way again.

I had never been more thankful for Walter. Until Saturday.

I was exhausted when I woke up on Saturday morning. I was considering owling Madam Pomfrey, because my magic felt wonky, and it didn't feel right that I should be this fatigued. Yes, the week had been draining, the Dementors were not easy to be around, and I was still full of anxiety about my Shield. But I got dressed, Disapparated and flew my broom onto the prison. The day went on as usual – paperwork, prisoner care, food preparations... All day, my Shield didn't waver a single second, and I was surprised and proud of it.

We were all packing up and preparing to leave. Darla, Gregory and Heston had left a few minutes earlier, and Walter, me and Paula were heading towards our brooms. Halfway across the narrow bridge that led through the center of the prison, I felt a wave of exhaustion and dizziness wash over me and I stumbled. My Patronus Shield grew blue and opaque before it melted away like smoke in the wind. The chill of the Dementors crept over me and I gasped, grabbing the handrails for dear life, terrified of losing my balance and plummet down level after level after level to my death.

Walter had been behind me and was by my side in an instant, hands around my arms to help me stand. Paula looked down past the bridge and all three of us followed her gaze, seeing four Dementors flying towards us. The wound on my shoulder, where one of them had grazed me with their claws, started hurting. It was like icicles were stabbing me right into the barely healed scar.

But then it was gone, and the Dementors halted.

"Try to cast your Shield again," Walter spoke right into my ear. Only now did I notice he had his arms wrapped around me from behind. "I'm shielding you for now, but I can't keep it up for long. Cast your Shield again."

With shaking hands, I pulled my wand from my robe and cast the spell, but it didn't hold. Paula was looking between me and the Dementors. "You can do this. Focus. Focus on your memory," she said.

I took a deep breath, focused, and cast the spell again. The familiar blue grew from my skin, then went slowly transparent. Walter let go of me and stepped back slowly, taking his Shield with him. I gasped and I shook my head, and he was right back behind me. Again, I breathed and focused. Took a couple of seconds to really let the memory fill my heart. Then I cast again. The blue grew and went transparent. Walter stepped back, and this time, the chill of the Dementors did not come.

"What happened?" Paula asked, coming closer and looking worried.

"I'm not sure," I said with a frown. "I think I'm tired. Maybe I came back to work too soon. I don't know."

"You should go home and rest and maybe not come in tomorrow," Walter suggested. "We can handle things here without you for one day."

I looked back at him and shook my head. "I will be fine. I'll rest tonight, and it will be okay. Let's just... get out of here."

The other two nodded. I took one last glance down through the prison. The Dementors had retreated but were looking up at us.

I tried not to rush as I followed the other two to our brooms and flew to the Apparition Station, but when I arrived at home, I let out a breath of relief to be gone from there. I tossed my cloak over the back of the couch and was on the way to the bedroom to change my clothes when I stopped, hesitated, and then turned around and went for my cloak. I grabbed it, then dropped it.

"No. He's not there," I said to myself. "He's on a mission. With the werewolves. Right." I shook my head at my own silliness, my own weakness, and then went to get changed again.

Even after all these months of interacting with so many people, of making so many new friends, it still didn't come easy for me to seek out others when I needed it. Growing up feeling so estranged from my own family, being a loner in school and then becoming an Azkaban Security Official, I was used to getting by on my own and not needing anyone. So why did I now crave Remus' company? Why did I have the urge to go to Grimmauld Place just to not be alone?

I searched through my cabinets for something to make for dinner.

People were in and out of Grimmauld Place all the time, not just to relay messages or leave reports. No one would question it if I just... dropped by. I had before. I could leave a message for Madam Pomfrey, saying I wanted to have another check-up just in case. I could ask if anyone knew how Remus' mission was going. I could double-check the guard schedule. I could even have a drink with Sirius.

But I ended up by the kitchen table, glancing out at the waxing moon lighting up the thin layer of snow that had fallen over the landscape during the day, eating my dinner and making plans to get more food after my shift the next day.

Chapter 13 | Masterlist | Chapter 15

#until next time #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin smut #remus lupin #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x oc #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fluff

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