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thatwriterchick222 · 5 months

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snakebite (arthur morgan x f/reader) oneshot

summary: you get bitten by a snake and arthur has to suck the venom out... what could go wrong?

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“Shit…” You cursed under your breath, clutching at your thigh as you fought to push down the pain of the snake’s venom coursing through your veins. It was a deep bite, and you barely caught a glimpse of the thing before it slithered away. But the throbbing in your flesh was enough to know it was venomous.

Your horse had gotten spooked by the snake and bucked you off, fleeing for the treeline. The wind was knocked out of you as you hit the ground and unfortunately landed right on top of the reptile. Deciding it had had enough, it lunged and bit your thigh, rightfully so. Its fangs shot through the material of your skirt and bloomers, down into your muscle.

Thankfully, Arthur wasn’t too far behind.

“What the hell?” He asked as he pulled his horse to a stop, seemingly confused by your horse running off and finding you lying on your back in the grass.

You were lightheaded. Nauseous. “A damn snake bit me.” In an effort to sit up, you pressed down harder on your bite, hoping to at least slow the venom as it seeped further into you.

What an embarrassing way to go. Especially in front of Arthur, of all people.

“Christ.” He said, quickly stepping down from his horse. He made his way over to you as you managed to sit up against a tree, breaking out into a sweat.

“I don’t feel too good.”

Arthur knelt down to your level, his eyes scanning yours with a sudden urgency that made your throat close up. “Don’t look too good ‘neither.”

“Thanks.” You chuckled.

He reached forward and felt your forehead with the back of his hand, and your heart fluttered in your chest.

Even on your deathbed, you could not suppress your lasting crush on Arthur Morgan. Pathetic.

“Where’d it getcha?” He asked, looking down to where your hand clutched your leg.

You lifted your hand, “My thigh.”

“Okay…” He thought for a quick moment, scooting closer to you. “Lift your skirt up.”

You froze, swallowing thickly with your dry mouth. “I- Alright.”

Trying to ignore his wording and the pit in your stomach, you did as he said, pulling your linen skirt up to expose the small patch of blood on your white bloomers.

Without a word, Arthur grabbed the fabric, pulling at the holes where the small fangs had broken through, and ripped them wide, exposing the wound.

“What are you doing?”

“Gettin’ the venom out.”

You blinked, feeling the warm pads of his fingers brush your skin. “How?”

His hand reached under your knee, pulling your leg up, and you nearly flinched. Not because you were scared, but because you didn’t want him to know how much you liked it.

His eyes darted up to yours. “I gotta suck it out.”

You took a sharp breath in, adjusting your body awkwardly. “Oh.”

Then, as quickly as he had ripped your bloomers apart, he bent down, gripping your thigh tightly as he brought his mouth to your bite.

And it stung like all hell. He created a suction and you felt as if you were being bitten all over again, a searing pain overcoming the area as you gasped.

But there was still something very erotic about all of this. And you scolded yourself for thinking it. If someone were to pass by, they would see a cowboy with his head buried in your lap, and that brought a blush to your cheeks as he pulled away, turning to the side and spitting the venom out into the grass.

When he went back in, it hurt even worse, the numbness from your adrenaline wearing off. He sucked especially hard, and you grit your teeth, instinctively reaching forward and grabbing his arm. “Arthur–”

He pulled away again, spitting into the grass. When he turned back, he looked at you, his eyes strangely dark and his brow furrowed in concentration. Why was his face so close to yours? Maybe it was the venom. It had gotten to your head. Your skin was heating up, and your heart pounded hard in your ribcage. His hands were on your thigh, your fingers digging into the arm of his shirt, and you only stared back at him.

He broke the eye contact and went back down, this time only sucking lightly. You assumed he had gotten what he could out of your body. But your belly was warm and you felt the overwhelming urge to get closer to him, your body pulsing with pain and… arousal.

You pressed your lips together in pain, and when he sucked one last time, a whimper fell from your lips. But he didn’t suck anything out of you like he did before. His lips were on your skin and then they weren’t, and then they were back, landing higher up your thigh. Your hand loosened on his bicep and you didn’t know why, but you started rubbing him with your thumb.

You couldn’t see his face under the brim of his hat, but you felt him move his mouth higher, his teeth grazing you and his beard scratching against your skin. It tickled. His fingers dug into your thigh, and you drew in a breath, a suspenseful silence overtaking you.

A sudden bravery took over your body. You scooted closer to him, and he moved even further up, his lips pressing lightly against your skin. Was he… kissing you?

You swallowed when his nose brushed your inner thigh. And then you spread your knees further apart.

Any pain you had was replaced with the burning ache for him to touch you.

“Arthur.” You finally got the willpower to croak out his name, but you didn’t know what else to say. You said his name like a question, but also like a request. A demand. Like you wanted him to stop, but you also never wanted him to stop.

He halted anyway, lifting his lips from your skin, the coolness of the breeze on it telling you that you were wet with his saliva. He didn’t look up. He kept his face hidden by the brim of his hat.

You could slice the tension in the air with your knife. But why would you want to? You had been waiting for a moment like this for the entire time you had known him.

He was always shy, and barely ever spoke about how he felt. You figured you would have to make some move or give him some hint… but now, at such an inopportune time… he seemed to want something from you too.

Were you drunk on adrenaline and snake venom? Probably. Was he taking advantage of you in a vulnerable state? Maybe.

You lifted your leg, shuffling even closer. You couldn’t speak. And neither could he. But somehow there was this silent agreement that you both wanted something. You lifted your skirt higher, and he finally looked up at you.

He almost looked like a different man. His jaw was clenched, his pupils large and his eyes burning into yours like a wolf hunting its prey. There was a smudge of your blood on his bottom lip.

You nodded. Please don’t stop.

With just as much urgency as he had when trying to potentially save your life, he quickly reached for the waist of your bloomers and pulled them down. If it had been any other man in any other scenario, you would have hidden yourself in embarrassment and covered your eyes so you didn’t have to see him see you.

But it was Arthur. And he was quickly lifting your legs, pulling your hips up and closer to him, and burying his face in between them. He didn’t have time to take it slow, and you didn’t care, your insides pulsing and your face going hot. Your bloomers were still around your ankles, and his hat was still hiding his face as his breath was on your cunt.

You lay back against the tree and he dove into you, his tongue exploring you aggressively, drinking you in with such passion you thought you might pass out. It suddenly occurred to you as you cried out that you were only meters away from the dirt road, barely hidden by the grass. Now, if someone passed by, it would look like you had a cowboy’s face in your lap because… you did.

Your hand flew to your mouth when he began to suck on you, those same lips that had just been sucking snake venom out of your leg moments prior. Your thighs clenched around his head, threatening to knock his hat off, but you kind of liked it on. He couldn’t see you, and you couldn’t see him. There was some level of anonymity to this act, like maybe for just a moment you could be different people and not have to deal with the aftermath of your actions.

But fuck, he was good. It made you question if he had been practicing on someone. Who had he been practicing on? He could practice on you for the rest of your life if he wanted.

You bucked your hips into his mouth when he groaned into you, already finding yourself nearing your breaking point. His tongue was rough but rhythmic, and it was so quiet outside you could hear the squelching of your wetness against his mouth.

The feeling was building up inside you. You were floating, you were grinding yourself on his nose. Your eyes darted to your snake bite, red and swollen, and to your torn bloomers around your ankles, and to Arthur’s arms holding your legs as he bent over, doing something fucking incredible with his tongue.

You cried out as you came in his mouth, your hand finding his forearm, digging your nails into it. Your back arched and your hips bucked, shuddering with the feeling of it. He groaned into your core, seemingly just as pleased to feel you come as you were to come, and he slowly let you ride it out.

Catching your breath, you looked around, slowly coming back into yourself and realizing where you were. What you both had done.

Arthur’s grip on your legs slowly loosened, and when he pulled away from you, his eyes avoided yours. He lifted your leg and untangled himself from you and your bloomers. You wanted to rip his hat off and look at him. You wanted to kiss him. To taste yourself on his lips.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

You sat up, your bare ass scraping against the dirt. And you couldn’t help but laugh.

Sorry? He was apologizing? Like he didn’t know what came over him. Like he couldn’t help but make me come on his tongue. A simple mistake. Oops. You laughed harder, pulling your bloomers up. The pain of your bite suddenly came back to you, and you winced as the fabric rubbed against it.

He finally looked up at you from under the brim of his hat as you managed to get your bloomers back up. Then he let out a chuckle.

You wanted to return the favour. You sat up and were about to reach for him, grab him and touch him and maybe provide him with an ounce of the pleasure he just gave you, but suddenly a voice came from the road.

“What the–”

You and Arthur both quickly looked up, seeing a man on his horse staring at the two of you with confusion.

You were still flushed, and coated in a sheen of sweat, and your skirt was pulled up as Arthur knelt beside you. Oddly enough, it actually was exactly what it looked like.

“Snakebite.” You fought your smile, looking down at your leg as you spoke to the man.

Arthur nodded, “Had to… suck the venom out–” He stood up, and you noticed the bulge in his pants. Thankfully, he turned away from the man before he noticed.

“We should get you to a doctor,” Arthur said, reaching his hand out to you as if nothing had happened. You were still burning from your orgasm, but you pushed your skirt down and grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull you up.

“Well,” The man cleared his throat. “Good luck, then.”

###

You both rode back to camp in silence.

You wanted to pretend nothing happened, but you couldn’t help but watch Arthur keep adjusting himself in the saddle, clearly uncomfortable with how hard he was. To be honest, you had never experienced a man do something like that and not expect you to return the favour. But, you liked the idea of it, the taste of you in his mouth making him harder than ever. It clearly wasn’t going away, either, because he probably couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You smiled, kicking your horse to ride up next to him. “Need a little help there?” Your eyes flicked down his body, and he looked at you out of the corner of his eye. His cheeks were adorably red, and he looked away again.

“Let’s just get back to camp, first.” He reached down and moved his belt slightly, trying to ease the pressure. “Make sure you ain’t dyin’ on us.”

You smirked. “And what if I am?”

“Then we’ll need to work fast.” He shot you a look.

You felt your cheeks go just as red as his. “I can do fast.”

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan nsft #smut #rdr2 fanfic #oneshot #rdr2 smut #arthur morgan smut #hurt/comfort #literally so random #imagine

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amidnightjen · 1 year

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It was in that unfortunate moment that Merlin realised he was in love with an idiot.

“I’m sorry, you did what?” Merlin asked flatly.

“In my defence - ”

“No,” Merlin cut him off before he could finish that sentence because there was simply no way Arthur was talking himself out of this.

“Well, really - ”

“No,” Merlin said again.

“I think you’re being very unreasonable about this Merlin,” Arthur protested. “It was an honest mistake, I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“No.”

“Merlin.”

“There’s no getting out of this,” Merlin snapped.

“Of course there is,” Arthur dismissed. “They can’t seriously…” he trailed off at Merlin’s stony look. “Merlin,” he began, and now he sounded hesitant and unsure, “did I marry a member of the sidh today?”

“Yes,” Merlin confirmed. “By accident. Apparently.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand.” But the expression on Merlin’s face must have finally registered because he said, “Surely there’s a way out of this.”

There was. Of course there was, it was going to be tricky and awkward and involve him saying words to Arthur he’d never planned on saying out loud. But a marriage contract with the sidh? Even an accidental one - and don’t think they wouldn’t be talking about how that even came about - was binding in ways beyond the standard laws. To get out of this was going to require something deeper and stronger.

Merlin gave a pained sound. Why did he always end up being the one to rescue Arthur from this sort of thing?

“Do you love me?” He asked, blunt and to the point because the moon would be rising soon and they were short on time.

“What? Merlin? What are you talking about?”

“Arthur this is very important, it won’t work unless you tell me the absolute truth.”

“What won’t work? You’re not making any sense.”

“Do you love me?” Merlin repeated his question and this probably should have been a very lovely and emotional moment but instead they were sitting around a campfire and Merlin was very aware that the other knights were blatantly eavesdropping when they were supposed to be very studiously not paying attention.

“Merlin,” Arthur managed to make his name sound like a threat.

“Arthur, I’m serious.”

For all that Merlin had hoped his feelings might be returned, he’d genuinely never thought they’d be having a conversation like this.

But Arthur finally seemed to realise Merlin wasn’t playing around because he swallowed, looked everywhere but at Merlin before he seemed to find it in himself to say, “Yes.”

“Right, then.’ Merlin stood from the log he’d been sitting on and said, “Please don’t kill me after this,” and then summoning his magic around him, embracing his identity as Emrys, Merlin stormed off into the woods to stake his pre-existing claim on the idiot king of Camelot.

He’d have to deal with Arthur learning about his magic once he was done.

#may writing challenge #bbc merlin #merthur #arthur pendragon #merlin #merlin emrys #magic reveal

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dryadalisliv · 1 year

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Merthur ao3 recs

The trouble with Daisies 23.4k words

Merlin is just settling into his new role as Court Sorcerer and trying to figure out where he's exactly standing with Arthur when he finds himself adopting a dog completely by accident.

A dog who seems to hate the king with a burning passion.

Arthur is far from amused.

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The moon stays warped in silence 12.6k words

"What is wrong with me Ma?" asks little Merlin his mother. "What is wrong with me?" asks Arthur Pendragon to the moon. About monsters and their hearts and how they love life so much that it hurts.

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Little ones 14.5k words

“Did you just say you found two children in Arthur’s bed, Merlin?” Gaius gave him The eyebrow. Or, when two children who look weirdly similar to Merlin and Arthur appear in the prince's chambers, they have to find out where they came from. In which secrets get revealed, families founded and chaos ensues!

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Sunny in Camelot 14.6k words

"Merlin," Uther says, "For your alleged crimes, I would normally sentence you to death by fire. But, because my son has requested it… I have granted you a fair trial. All witnesses and involved parties shall state their cases, and then a verdict will be reached. Is this understood?"

"Yes sire."

"Now you will each tell me, in your own account, what on earth happened this week."

"Your majesty, it all began Tuesday…"

---

The Hunt for Red Emrys 27.9k words

King Arthur sets out to keep his promise to the spirit of the Druid boy by repealing his father's ban on magic. Unfortunately, this is easier said than done, for reasons including but not limited to the following:

(1) He can't change the law until he understands magic better, but no sorcerer is willing to explain magic to him until he changes the law;

(2) The sorcerers all have some strange obsession with Merlin, which is awakening all sorts of feelings in Arthur that he really doesn't fancy examining too closely;

(3) He is starting to feel like the butt of some Druid-population-wide inside joke involving the mysterious phenomenon called Emrys; and

(4) Oh yeah, Morgana is still trying to kill him.

Thus he embarks on a journey of discovery, diplomacy, accountability, and self-improvement, and maybe even falls in love along the way.

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Forgotten Memories 8k words

Relying on pure luck and Merlin’s inexistent ability to keep a secret was not working any longer. So, Merlin figured better to be prepared and memorized a spell that could erase short-term memories. Honestly, he’d meant it as an emergency protocol, he had no idea how he’d become so careless that he needed it so often. It wasn’t his fault Arthur seemed to be paying way too much attention to him lately. Look, Merlin was just trying to survive while protecting his prince, he hadn’t done anything to deserve all this stress!

Or the 5 times Merlin erased Arthur’s memory of his magic and the 1 time he let him remember.

---

The Laughter From the Next Room 24.5k words

A small ball hovered in her hand, shining with a silver-blue light. It floated there, getting brighter and brighter before dimming again. Wisps of cloud swirled at its center. It was pure magic. And the breath was stolen from Arthur’s lungs. “I thought you’d recognize it. He said it was warm. He said it reminded him of home.”

It has been one year since Merlin's death when Arthur meets Morgana on the battlefield. Somehow, between all the guilt and shame, he discovers that his sister knew Merlin better than he ever did - and ever would.

( actually one of the best fics i have ever read, and it made me sob and ugly cry, my god!)

#merthur #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin #merlin emrys #gwaine #bbc morgana #king uther #uther pendragon #fanfic #merthur fanfic rec #merthur fanfic #merthur fanfic recs #merthur ao3 recs #good morgana

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httpiastri · 1 year

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lucky charm? – al12

arthur needs your support after the feature race in austria.

genre: fluff, comfort

pairing: gender neutral!reader x arthur leclerc (i think i used the female form of a french word, but that should be the only female mention)

warning: hmmmm none!

requested: yes!

author's note: hello hello! i had bigger expectations on myself for this but i haven't been able to write a lot these last few days soooo... anyways! please forgive me if i use the wrong terms when i wrote about the dams garage and drivers room and so on, i don't really know how it all works and where people are allowed to be haha! hope u enjoy<3

f2/f3 masterlist

you feel yourself being unwillingly pulled out of your sweet sleep way too early for your liking. you could just as well just turn over and fall asleep again; the combination of the soft mattress and the fluffy hotel covers could lull anyone into a deep slumber. but just as you’re about to relax again, you hear the shuffle of socks against the carpet, followed by a thud and a quiet swear word.

you open your eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the morning light seeping in through the messily closed blinds, before they find arthur standing by the edge of the bed.

his eyes fix on you too, a guilty look spreading across his face. “did i wake you?” he asks. “i’m sorry, i dropped my phone…”

he reaches down to pick it up from the floor as you shake your head. “it’s fine,” you hum. “good morning, love.”

“good morning, ma chéri.” he flashes you a smile as he scoots over to you, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

you shut your eyes again. “why are you up so early?” you ask. “didn’t we say breakfast at seven?”

“it is seven,” arthur chuckles, but just as you’re about to sit up and scold him for not waking you up in time, he speaks again. “don’t get up, i’ve already had breakfast. you can continue sleeping.”

you frown with your eyes still closed. “what’s that supposed to mean? why-”

“i’ve been called in for an extra team meeting. they want me to meet them there in 30 minutes.”

your eyes open again, looking at your lover now sitting right by you on the bed. he’s got a hint of sadness in his eyes, and he feels another sting of guilt pass through his body.

he still looks as handsome as ever, though, and you can’t help but to let your hand cup his cheek. “when did you get up? you must be so tired.”

he shakes his head, a slight smile adorning his features; half due to the concern in your voice, half due to the love he can feel even in your touch. “we went to bed so early, i’ll be fine. you can still get another hour or so in, though.”

you pout. “i can’t sleep without you.”

arthur’s pretty laugh meets your ears. “you had no problem falling asleep while i was brushing my teeth last night, amour.” he takes your hand from his face, intertwining his fingers with yours. “but if you really don’t want to sleep any more, you could get some breakfast and then watch me get ready in the garage.”

you consider the options for a moment. “maybe i will,” you say, squeezing his hand once.

he takes your hand up to his mouth, placing a few sweet kisses to your knuckles. "my lucky charm." even more kisses. "i do unfortunately really need to go now. but i'll see you on the track?"

you nod, looking up into his eyes. "good luck, darling."

your boyfriend leans down towards you to meet your lips with his. both of you are still sleepy and it's evident in the kiss because it's lazy and slow. yet, it's filled with so so much love. when you feel him starting to pull away, you place a hand by the back of his neck to keep him close. he laughs against your skin before he manages to leave your lips – his neck muscles are apparently stronger than your hands.

"i'll see you soon again, okay?"

"mkay."

and after one last kiss, he's gone through the door, leaving you all alone in the big bed.

arthur was, as usual, quite busy right before the race.

that meant that he didn't have a lot of time to spend with you, but by now you'd learned to enjoy spending time in the dams garage, despite how different it felt to the prema garages you visited last year. you followed arthur on the tv as much as you could during the race, while also having time to chat a little with the crew every now and then.

you found it funny how it seemed like arthur and his friend ollie bearman found each other even on the track, the two of them following their former teammate through the laps and even into the pit stops.

arthur came out on the track just before ollie, which made many of the dams workers cheer. but just a short while after they left the pits, it happened. one of the few things that was not allowed to happen.

in one of the turns, not even one minute later, one of his tires flew off the car.

arthur couldn't have done anything to stop it or make the situation better. it was in no way his fault, and yet, it had all of the worst consequences for him.

thankfully, there was no crash and the tire didn't hit another driver, so it wasn't really a dangerous incident. but when arthur gets up out of the car and you can tell he's uninjured, you still let out a thankful breath you didn't know you were holding. you know this is awful, as it is any time he's forced to retire out of a race, but at least he isn't physically hurt, which was the most important to you.

a couple of minutes later, arthur arrives back in the garage, where he receives a bunch of pats on the backs and compassionate looks from team members. you are still sat on a chair a bit further into the garage, wanting to give him some space instead of approaching him, but you watch his every move carefully. his dark eyes stay aimed on the floor and he doesn't give out much more than small nods to the people trying to talk to him. he's holding his helmet in one hand, his balaclava still on and helping cover what you assumed was a regretful look.

you were so sure he wouldn't notice you, but his eyes land on you just as his hand reaches for the door to his driver's room. you kind of expect him to give you some kind of reaction. a smile, a nod, anything. but just like to everyone else, he looks away.

as he's gone through the door, you feel some kind of disappointment in the pit of your stomach. you know it's not personal, but it still pains a little to think about him treating you just like everyone else.

you wait until the race is over and the staff is busy celebrating the other dams driver's podium before making your way towards the door. after knocking on it a few times, you can hear his voice from the inside, muttering something about leaving him alone.

"arthur, can i come in?" you ask, ignoring his request.

when he hears that it's your voice seeping through the cracks of the door, he's instantly on his feet, making his way to you.

when he opens the door, you're met by an exhausted face. the balaclava is off now, lines on his face still showing where the seams had been pressing for the long race. he steps aside to let you into the room and then closes the door behind you. he sits down on the couch and you take a seat right next to him, eyes never leaving his sad ones. he's looking everywhere but at you, though, feeling way too sensitive to take in the way that you were looking at him. with so much comfort, support, love.

"i'm really sorry," you say, voice low. "that sucked."

he nods, eyes moving to look down at his feet as he leans his elbows onto his knees. "shit happens."

you stop for a moment but then you decide to be brave, putting a hand on his shoulder. when he doesn't shrug it off, you begin stroking over his white fireproof shirt with your thumb, hoping to comfort him even the slightest.

"i just... felt like the pace was good, you know?" you nod, even though he isn't looking. "i was ahead of ollie, and he ended up in p5..." your hand moves to the back of his neck, softly rubbing up and down his skin. "i don't know, i just feel like i could've scored some points too."

"yeah, definitely," you hum at him. "you did really well, love."

one of his hands comes up to wipe over his face, before he finally turns to look at you. "thank you." a slight smile takes over your lips. "and thank you for being here."

"of course. anything for you, mon amour."

arthur leans towards you, molding his lips against yours. the kiss is a lot different than how he kissed you earlier this morning; it's soothing, tender, gentle. yet, it's filled with just as much love.

"sorry i wasn't your lucky charm like you said i am," you tell him once you pull away, faces still close enough to feel his breath on your lips.

his mouth curls into a smile before he kisses you again. "don't worry," he moves to give you a couple of pecks along your jawline. "i'll buy a new charm since having you around doesn't work."

you gasp, slapping his chest as a big, teasing grin lightens up his face. "hey!"

and when his wholehearted laughter fills the room, you smile, despite his insult just moments earlier. you smile because you know it's all going to be fine; you smile because after his next race, he will be smiling too.

#f1 #arthur leclerc #fluff #comfort #x reader #x yn #x y/n #x female reader #x gender neutral reader #fic #fanfic #blurb #drabble #imagine #al12 #x you #headcanons #boyfriend #romance #f2

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pooks · 7 months

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time to nag about my headcanon "Percy has Seer powers" and why that is a great idea

first of all, a little clarification; this isn't common knowledge to the younger siblings. only Arthur, Molly, Bill and Charlie knows. they kept this secret after Fabian and Gideon Prewett died

this implies that they died to protect Percy, who was just this tiny toddler who had absolutely no control over what he could See

the result is to keep his Seer powers secret

some background info; Percy's Seer powers is a rare gift that is apparently passed down from the Black side

Cedrella, aka their paternal grandmother, had it and has taught Percy how to use and control it. that's why Percy had a more closer bond to his granny than the rest of the family.

Arthur did not inherit it, but one of his brothers did. unfortunately, his poor brother is dead (it's not Billius, but someone else cause Arthur had three brothers accourding to the wiki) because he rather die than to let himself being caught by Voldemort and used as a tool.

while he doesn't understand Seer powers too well, Arthur respects it and is trying to be supportive for Percy.

also at a later point, Percy had 1 Bad Incident™ involving his Seer powers and it slightly traumatised him enough to not try to use it again

he takes divination in his third year for two reasons; 1, he also want to achieve 12 NEWTS like Bill. 2, he wants to understand his weird future-seeing power.

Oliver, his roommate (oh my god they were roommates) finds out by accident and keeps nagging him about the future Quidditch match results. Percy refuses cause that's SPOILERS

and now ONTO THE FUN STUFF

Percy can look far into the future, but he settles for the fun stuff

he occassionally makes references to memes and vines

his siblings doesn't understand them at all

at least until they're all adults with families in the future

and they be like "YOU KNEW"

and Percy just smiles innocently even though he absolutely isn't

Harry and Hermione aren't safe from Percy's Seer Shenanigans either

everytime Hermione is working with a crossword, Percy's eyes flashes green for a moment and when he opens his mouth, Hermione hits him with a pillow cause he was about to reveal the answer

Harry asked Percy once if his Seer powers was why Fudge promoted him. Percy simply smiled and said "yes, that was the reason. but the idiot didn't realized that i tricked him all the time and sent him on a wild goose chase."

aaaaand some Ministry shitshow stuff;

HEADCANON TWO; PERCY MADE LIFE SOUR FOR FUDGE AND THE IDIOT NEVER REALIZED IT

ofc Percy would be petty af once he figured out Fudge only wanted him because of his Seer powers. which means the fucker looked at the classified information in his personell file. Percy is obvs mad about that, but it's too late to tell his family about it and he decides to be an absolute menace about it without being caught

"getting caught means that you weren't smart enough to get an escape plan"

Percy takes full offense of being treated like a tool instead of a human with rights

he burns several draft-ups for the "updated law for underage magic" because they're fucking awful and he knows the bastard wants to ruin Harry's education. that also means he would ruin his baby siblings' educations.

he also burnt the suggestion papers about giving Azkaban prisoners the dementor's kiss without trial.

the law suggestions about banning human rights for werewolves, wizard hybrids and squibs also got BURNT INTO ASHES

Percy: I decide the future now. >:)

Scrimgeour makes an early bird appearence cause Fudge can't find the law suggestions anymore and he was the idiot to not keep copies.

after investigating privately, Scrimgeour finds out that Percy burnt them up and this madlad explains why.

suddenly Scrimgeour fully supports Percy and says his late uncles would be proud. bonus: Scrimgeour simply says to Fudge that he can't find things that may be gone forever, it's sadly "lost media" now.

Percy, getting the idea from the twints, orders dragon fertilizer (it's dragon dung lol) subscription from norway's dragon research center and sanctuary and sends it to Umbridge, using her forged signature

he's careful to not get caught, so he looks into the future (a bit at the time, though)

feel free to add some of your own ideas/suggestions/headcanon about Seer!Percy Weasley :)

#percy weasley #hp headcanon #seer percy weasley #pooks rambles

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acewritesfics · 11 months

Text

Nothing Else Matters | Tommy Shelby

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: No.

Warnings: Mentions of war. Not my favorite imagine that I've ever written.

Word count: 800

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. YOU CAN FIND THE ORIGINAL POST STILL FLOATING AROUND ON TUMBLR SOMEWHERE. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.

"Nothing else matters as long as we are together," Tommy speaks softly to Y/N as they slow dance to the classical tune that is playing through the gramophone in the corner of their living room. "You make me forget about everything and everyone but you."

She shuts her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder. His arm around her waist pulls her closer to him as he sways to the rhythm of the music. His words make her heart skip a beat. Tommy hardly ever talked about his feelings. When he did, he was alone with her.

Y/N was his longest and dearest friend before she became his wife. Tommy and Y/N have known each other since they were babies since their mothers were more like sisters than best friends.

The two women became pregnant around the same time, with Tommy being born two months before Y/N.

Even though Y/N's affections for the Birmingham mobster deepened throughout the years before Tommy was sent to war, their friendship never blossomed romantically until Tommy returned home when the war was over. She didn't confess her love to Tommy until he was ready to board the train that was taking him away from her and his family. She pleaded with him to return home because she couldn't bear to live without him.

Throughout the war, the two exchanged letters between his visits home. Once his letters stopped closer to the end, she feared the worst. During his visits home she could see how much the war was changing him and the others. He wasn't the Tommy she'd grown up with but her love for him never wavered.

She hugged Arthur and John after they hugged their aunt and sister, kissing their cheeks, delighted to have them home alive. Her heart ached for John, whose wife had died not long before his return. She had helped Polly and Ada take care of the kids and Finn, the youngest of the Shelby siblings.

It wasn't until the most of the families had left the station that she spotted the Shelby brother, whom she had feared was lost. She was filled with emotion when she saw him standing there, bruised and broken but still alive. Her eyes welled up with tears as she ran towards the man she loves, his arms stretched out to greet her as she landed in his arms. Tommy kissed her before she could say anything, afraid that this was all a dream.

The couple's relationship was not easy. Tommy was overcoming the trauma he had experienced while in France and readjusting back into society. Tommy frequently awoke believing he was still in the French trenches and that he was still being tortured all over again. He tried numerous times to convince Y/N to leave him, but the more he tried, the more she proved she would not leave him. The nights he spent with her, the nightmares, the memories, and the mental scars faded to the back of his mind.

He realises in those moments just how much he loves her, how much he appreciates her, and how much he had been taking her for granted. It's always been her for Thomas Shelby. And for her, it's always been him. It took a war and years apart for him to realise it.

"Tommy?" she asks, lifting her head from his shoulder to look into his magnificent icy blue eyes.

He responds, looking intently into her eyes, "Yes, love?"

"I need you to be safe tomorrow," she says, recalling his meeting at the horse races. She is aware that things with the Shelby Brothers hardly ever go as anticipated. "At the first sign of trouble, you get out of there."

Her greatest fear throughout the war was Tommy not returning home. She still feels the same fear even though there is no longer a war.

"I may come home a little banged up from time to time, but I always return home to you," He makes an attempt to soothe her worries.

She moves away from him and says, "It's not only me you have to return home to, Thomas; I'm not raising our child without you." His gaze travels to her belly, to the small bump where his baby is growing. "And you still have to marry me. We can't be married if you're not here."

"Everything will be alright," Tommy promises her as he brings her back into his arms. He places his hand on her tiny bump, "Now, instead of worrying about me, you worry about Tommy Jr. in there."

He sways to the music once more as she puts her head back on his shoulder. "I'll always worry about you, Tommy, the both of you because I have no doubt this child will be his father's son."

#acewritesfics repost #tommy shelby x reader

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springsylph · 7 months

Text

WITCHING HOUR, CH 2/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: the prodigal son returns tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but now a little more than kinda), original side character(s), does arthur count as a tag, he needs his own warning, its more exposition please don't leave

word count: 4.9k

a/n: HERE! DAMN! (i'm so sorry this took so long)

<< previous chapter | read on ao3 here | masterlist

you can find a link to the playlist here! tag list (look how crazy. i have a LIST.): @photo1030

The subsequent mornings are painted with varying shades of gloom. It was smeared over the sky in thick coats, and if it was just a little thicker, it might be able to keep out the spears of light.

Sometimes, they tickle. Sometimes, they recoil from the rigid mounds of snow and blind you and anything else unfortunate enough to get caught in the line of fire. Pain in the ass, really. A particularly nasty pain in the ass flickers in the cloudy metal of your spoon one morning while you’re shoveling grits into your mouth.

“You planning on eating the table too, kid?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, as does your spine once you lower your spoon back into the chipped bowl.

“My apologies,” you gulp. “You’ll uh, have to forgive me, Mrs. Campbell. Seems the winter air’s gotten to my head.”

Mrs. Campbell was a wiry, dark-haired woman of 63, and had spent more time rearing cattle than children. She was rough, tough, and at present, leveling you with a stare so doubtful that you wonder if the look you often catch on the livestock is embarrassment.

After holding your gaze for a few moments more, she resumes the rocking of her chair from the corner and returns to her darning. A large red sock, the same one she’d whacked Mr. Campbell over the head with after she’d found it on the floor of the living room only thirty minutes ago.

“No, no, you’re alright.” Mrs. Campbell pauses, though her hands continue to work. Under, over. In, out. Not a single finger pricked. “Think that’s the most I’ve seen you take down in one sitting, is all. You bite like a bird.” She makes a funny chewing motion with her mouth—or, at least you think it’s supposed to be funny. It seems to amuse her well enough; most strange things did.

She then asks how much horse feed is left, and you tell her enough to last for the next two weeks. You ask how her daughter’s baby boy is doing, she tells you he’s been picking his nose, and the two of you return to your respective distractions: the pulling of thread and a spoon fishing around a now empty dish while you consult silently with the peeling floral wallpaper.

Arthur Morgan’s appearance had set you on edge, loathe as you were to admit it. The fact that there’d been no sign of him since you’d first spoken only hastened the growing dread, more so than the lack of response after your father’s men had been so kindly disposed of.

Contingencies had been thoroughly accounted for, leaving you mildly inconvenienced at best and dead at worst. There were other conclusions you’d drawn up, of course, but dealing in extremes had its benefits.

You press your thumb absentmindedly into the corner of the dining room table. Could the Campbells have heard your exchange? No, they couldn’t have, too old. And that was excluding the fact that the main house was rather far from the cabin. Given the time frame, it would have been well beyond what was reasonable for your…situation to have been brought up.

Besides, this was important. Better to sort this out now than when—if—he showed up at your doorstep again.

“I have a question.”

Mrs. Campbell snorts. “I presume you’re lookin’ for an answer.”

You set your spoon down, and stand to clear the table. “Do the two of you get…stray cats often?”

This time her hands waver. “During the warmer months, sure. But in this weather? I mean, if it had the guts to get through all that ‘winter air,’ I don’t see why not.” Her eyes flick up. “Would have to be real hungry, though. Or stupid, which I doubt, ‘cause cats ain’t stupid—sonuvabitch!”

You jerk as her needle clatters to the floor. She lets a curse slip as she hunches over to retrieve it; another follows as she tugs the string loose, just a little, and her fingers trip over themselves before falling back into a steady rhythm.

Her brows pinch in concentration. “Never met a stupid cat,” she repeats.

“I…I see.” Moving around to the other side of the table to collect what's left, you frown when you catch your warped reflection in a bent spoon. You pick it up, and your fingers brush over the bump unconsciously. “I saw one,” you say slowly. Mind fumbling over any disastrous outcomes. “A cat, I mean. He’s been hanging around my cabin for a while now. I was only asking ‘cause he’s been spooking the chickens.”

When Mrs. Campbell doesn’t answer, your mouth gets the better of you. “Only, he turned up again a couple nights ago. Acting real docile, you see.” Not docile. The farthest thing from it. “Nearly shot him then and there, but—oh, he just looked so pitiful! He’s real mean looking, all scratched up and such, but I was tired, so when shooing him off didn’t work I let him in. Didn’t hiss, didn’t bite, nothing. But, I think I may have scared him. Skittered right out the door, quick as lightning. He’s been pissin’ me off—pardon my language—but, I just don’t see why he’d go through all that trouble to show up if he was just looking to leave the moment I raised so much as a finger.”

You only cease your rambling once you realize that you’ve bent the spoon too far in the wrong direction. “I…should turn him away, shouldn’t I? If he shows up again?”

Mrs. Campbell lets out an exasperated exhale, smooths out her apron, and sets her mangled sock down in her lap. “He kill any chickens?”

“No, but—”

“You feed him?”

“No?”

“Well, I think you should. It’d be real funny.”

Funny. Funny, she’d said.

You look to the silverware for consolation, but they can only produce a weak gleam.

“Quit making faces at my utensils, I hate when you do that. If you got something to say, say it now so I can finish this damned sock.”

Instead of making faces at the spoons, you reserve them for the tablecloth. “I just—don’t think it’d be wise.” A wanted man, with a lofty bounty at that, and you were comparing him to a mangy feline. Attempting to see him as anything other than what he so obviously was would be disingenuous.

And maybe Mrs. Campbell wasn’t the right person to be speaking to about this, because her nose crinkles with such distaste that you have to remind yourself that you’d remembered to bathe. “You’re grown,” she says, “and you work here. I’m inclined to believe that you have enough know-how to keep yourself from doing anything too dumb. If not, oh well.”

“…Right.”

Sometimes you wonder if her daughter had moved out not for marriage, but to escape Mrs. Campbell’s dreadfully indifferent way of speaking. Still, you take her words with relative care and pray that the “feeding” portion of her advice can be altered into something much more metaphorical.

When you attempt to bring the dishes to the water bucket, Mrs. Campbell’s head snaps to you and she clicks her teeth. “Drop it.”

“I was just—”

The sock finds its way into a basket of other half-finished projects at her feet, and she pushes herself up to stand just as tall (if not taller) than any tree before snatching the dishes from your hands. “I don’t pay you to do my dishes, girl.”

You smile. “I don’t believe you pay me at all, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Precisely. Your Pa pays me. And enough with that ‘Mrs. Campbell’ mess; makes me sound like an old crone. Told you to call me Fran, didn’t I?”

Shrugging past the bitterness in her tone at the mention of your father, you turn to the doorway and pull your coat off of the hook you’d tossed it on the night before. It’s only slightly warm from where the sun has touched it.

The beams have softened their assault on the curtains; it’s still fairly cloudy, but there’s no sign of incoming snow. Chores would be alright, if only for today.

“I’ll work on it, Mrs. Campbell. But, I do have one more question, if you don’t mind.” You wait for a nod while you pull on your boots with a wince. “How come you don’t take on any other help?”

Like most of her responses, Mrs. Campbell doesn’t give much away. Nothing remarkable that you can discern, at least. She merely winks and carries on with her washing. But just as you set a foot out the front door, she calls out to you.

“Hey, kid?”

You turn.

“If the worst you can call him is a spooked cat, he can’t be all that bad, can he?”

You freeze. “Pardon?”

She looks up at the ceiling, as though her next words will appear if she gets her eyes to narrow enough. Glasses had been the first of many neglected suggestions you’d offered upon your arrival. You’d even offered to buy them yourself, with what little you’d been able to bring with you. But Mrs. Campbell, being Mrs. Campbell, had simply laughed.

Squinting, she returns her focus to the bucket and reaches for a cake of lye soap. “Ah, and tell that idiot if he slams my doors, I’ll send my foot so far up his ass that them science folks won’t have any animals left to call him.”

Illusory warmth finds you a few weeks later.

It isn’t quite spring yet; winter is a stubborn mule, and though the snow has receded into the dirt it still stamps its hooves into the wind. In the water, too—freezing rain taps its fingers onto the windows. Soft and melodic, it nearly puts you to sleep from your place on the floor before you remember the annoyances it’s dragged along with it.

There’d been no sign of trouble tonight, and the chicken wire had been reinforced a few hours prior. That’d mostly been the work of Mr. Campbell, though. He’d chirped about some promise he’d made to his “lovely wife,” and went on his merry way after leaving you with some choice words from the wife in question about the importance of rest.

The rain had started not long after. Which was great, for someone out there. But, bad for you. Pretty bad. Ugly, messy bad—because it was cold, dark, and the dirt hadn’t the moral backbone to keep itself together for any longer than two blinks before your boots were practically swimming in it.

The trudge back to the cabin was only slightly humiliating, considering the fact that the sole witnesses were the owls you knew were hiding out in the safety of the trees.

Scampering from the uneven path to the front porch, however, was another story. Although the pliant (no good, backstabbing) earth was quick and eager to drag you to its depths, you were aggravated enough to be slightly quicker, and your palms shot out to catch you just before your chin could meet the full wrath of the wood.

But the word “just” was a pebble cast into a pond, and the first ripple was the metallic tang that flooded your mouth. Diatribes were spat onto the ground alongside the blood, tongue throbbing with a vengeance before you drove the heels of your palms down to push yourself up. The second ripple was a little less red, but just as irritating. The rain had pulled the wet fabric of your work shirt and trousers tight over your limbs, and it had begun to border on painful when water droplets struck like one might strike the skin of a drum.

“I’m grateful, I’m grateful, I’m oh so fucking grateful…” It was a mantra you often found yourself repeating whenever nature’s pranks sought to drive you mad. Rain was good. Rain was fine, actually, so you’d ignored the creaking of your knees and hobbled your way inside.

And here you sit: back propped up against the wall, shivering like a fool with your knees tucked into your chest. The mud crusting between your fingers barely registers while you work on releasing yourself from your wet clothing.

Which, of course, is when the light tapping on the window takes its cue to crescendo. It’s a rather flimsy cloak for the uneven thunks outside that make no attempt to conceal themselves. But your bones know better.

Awful timing, that man.

You feel the weight of his fist against the door before he makes contact.

(One.)

You shoot up.

(Two.)

You lunge for the table.

You decide against greeting him with the rifle, which is a significant improvement. It’s a revolver. But you did have the good sense not to kick the door again; the rusty hinges were fragile enough without your meddling. Instead, you let it creak open with one hand on the doorknob.

You’re met with a bruise, planted right atop a cheekbone. A swollen bottom lip, blood threatening to split it wide. He’s got a button missing from his rumpled jacket, and the caving of the porch underneath his feet clues you in on the fact that he’s favoring his right leg. He’s been fighting. Fighting, and he looks about ready to keel over and die. Or pick another fight. Probably both.

Part of you unwinds at the sight of him, battered as he was. Present as he was. But the more logical part of you senses that he’s here for something, and the even more logical part of you remembers exactly what it was that stood at your doorstep.

It’s then that the stench of alcohol hits you, and the familiar smell of mud sweeps in not long after. Arthur is completely covered in it, save for his face. And—

There. There it is again.

That look.

Your pulse trips in your throat, and you pray that he’s inebriated enough to ignore it. “You’re on my porch. Why?”

Bright blue comes back into focus, and his hands fall to his hips. “I can go where I damn well please.”

“That’s all well and good, but why are you on my porch?”

He sniffs. Peers just over your shoulder. “...House call.”

You step to block him. “Now that’s two chances. I have it on good authority that one is just fine these days, but I’m feeling generous.” And confused. Extremely confused.

His face contorts into a heatless grimace, and the doorknob squeals. You’re suddenly reminded of the odd tales of shapeshifters you’d stumbled upon as a child: one moment a man, the next a bloodthirsty predator. Not a particularly helpful development—especially since your talk with Mrs. Campbell—but it was a development nonetheless.

Arthur rattles off the courtesies typically extended toward esteemed guests while you look him over again, and your eyes lock onto his hair. Another familiar connection—doe brown strands, streaked with mud and nearly plastered to his head from the light downpour. Much less ferocious than the rest of him. But, tonight, if you have to pick, he’s a wet dog. A wet, potentially drunk dog, who was missing his hat.

And suddenly, the natural chatter of the trees comes to a halt.

“What’d you just call me?”

…You idiot.

“I didn’t call you jack shit,” you lie. Arthur gives a loose smirk, and your next protests become nothing but bluster. “What, the little girl that hit you knock your ears shut?”

“Figured I’d let her get a hit in, out of the kindness of my big ol’ heart.” Arthur sways on his feet a bit, peering down at you through the water that he hasn’t bothered to wipe from his lashes. Gravity finds eventual triumph, and he leans into the post before eying the revolver still in your hands. “Don’t suppose you’re plannin’ on pullin’ that trigger any time soon.”

“What’s it to you?”

Arthur’s face begins to harden, and he crosses his arms tight over his chest. “You know, last time I was here I said you were lucky. Well, I’d like to make an addendum: lucky and stupid, lady.”

You cast a disbelieving look at the leg he’s been keeping his weight off of. “And you’re drunk. The fact that you got here without your horse cracking your head open is a miracle.”

His brows draw low, and he rubs the heel of his boot against the muddy spot where you’d fallen earlier. Blinks at the ground. Then, with the vigor of a child caught sleeping in church, wipes angrily at a speck of mud on his thigh. “M’not drunk,” he finally mutters, flicking the offending dirt out into the yard and crossing his arms again. “And I’ve got enough trust in my horse to fill at least half of that barn y’all got.”

“Just half? Not the whole thing?”

“Whole thing would be two horses.”

You almost laugh. Almost. When you don’t reply, his eyes drop back down to the gun, gaze contemplative. “You got any idea how easily I could’ve knocked that flimsy thing outta your hands?”

“Why of course I do, Mr. Morgan.” The dampness you’d been struck with pulls at you, bones heavy and patience now worn thin. You give the revolver an exaggerated twirl, the metal snatching what can be seen of the moon through the rain and reflecting it at him. “I’m real lucky you’re here to tell me so, ain’t I? Matter of fact, why don’t you go and fetch me my chair before I topple right on over? ”

“That ain’t what I meant, and you know it.” You think he sounds somewhat regretful. But somewhat isn’t enough.

“Do I now,” you say dryly. “You seem to ‘not mean’ an awful lot.”

Arthur pushes himself off of the post with his shoulder and shoves his muddy hands into his muddy pockets. “I just don’t see why you people are so eager to act like you got your life for dog-cheap.”

“You people?”

“Yeah, you heard me. You people.” He’s looking at everything but you now, eyes wild but body frighteningly still. “You’ll look trouble right in the eye, and lie right through your damn teeth till it gets you laid out cold in a ditch somewhere.” Arthur gestures to the embarrassing height your shooting arm has dropped to in the time that he’s spoken. “I can tell each time you open that door that you won’t shoot. Can’t, I’d argue, ‘cause if you didn’t have my big head within one inch of that barrel, you’d be some deep shit.” His words are a forlorn echo amidst the rain, now nothing more than a light haze.

You could shut the door and go back inside, you think. Tell him he’s wrong, because he most certainly was. Peel out of your damp clothes, because standing outside in the chill spelled nothing but trouble. Arthur wouldn’t push. He was just as prone to bluffing as you were.

And yet.

“I could say the same about you. Don’t think your kin would take too kindly to the fact that you’re hangin’ around someone that knows your face. Who you are.” You steady your aim. “That’s a loose end, Arthur. You don’t seem like the type of man to keep many of those around.” It’s the first time you’ve said his name all night; you’re only sure because the moment it leaves you, his entire body tenses before he sags back against the wooden post.

The way he looks at you then might be considered cruel and unusual punishment. You think of butterflies, embroidered into blankets from childhood. Tacked to the wall of your father’s study. The only difference between them and you is that you’re free to leave.

If only you possessed something to sweeten the deal—whatever deal you could come up with in the next five seconds. To mask the returning waver of your voice, now laden with inconceivable realities. “Am I a loose end, Arthur Morgan?”

He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Untucks a hand from the arms he’s wrapped around himself to scrub at his beard and finally wipe at the water you’ve been eyeballing from his lids. He opens his mouth again, now on the precipice of what might be an explanation.

“S’dangerous,” is all he says.

You see red.

The arm holding the revolver is dropped so you can poke a finger into his chest. “You’re not making any sense!” Each word is enunciated with a jab, and you cringe at the feeling of rain rewetting the mud underneath your fingernails. “You cut and run, turn up drunk and beaten half to death, practically beg me to let you inside, and then you get upset when I say I won’t pop a bullet into your head?”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, voice beginning to escalate. “Now if you would just listen for more than two seconds—”

You cut him down with a harsh whisper. “Listen? Listen?” Your eyes momentarily check for any sign of a light being turned on in the main house. Nothing. Your finger falls away then, and a violent chill wracks your body from head to toe. “No, you listen. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You said your piece the last time we spoke, and you left, so why are you on my porch!”

“I don’t know!”

Something cracks, and your vision blurs when you whip your head to recheck the lights. Still nothing. The crack fizzles out into nothingness, and you return to find Arthur close. Awfully close. And your hand is warm and—oh.

It seems his pluck is rather contagious. The noise you’d heard wasn’t thunder, but the sound of your treacherous hand clapping right over Arthur’s mouth.

Time stills. Or speeds up, more like. The only thing you can be certain of is that ring of greenish gold around his pupils. The brush of his lips against your palm. Humid air being released in slow, steady clouds. You briefly wonder what else this warmth has dominion over, save for your cupped hand. Who else.

The speed of the exhales increases, and envy wriggles in the dirt of your heart like unearthed worms. Did his mind wander, as yours often did? Surely not as emphatically. It no doubt ambled from one thought to the next, attention snagged only when he had the energy to do so. Had you been interesting enough to snag his?

The spell is broken by a lamp flickering on in the distance.

“Shit!”

Sheer panic sinks its claws into you before rationality can, and you’re curling a hand around Arthur’s wrist and yanking him inside before he can protest.

You’re both panting ragged breaths once the door shuts behind you, in spite of the mere two steps it’d taken to cross the entryway. Tangible confusion permeates the air, and Arthur looks at you expectantly. It’s only fair that the (secondary) perpetrator speak first.

But words are tricky, tricky things. And as much as you partook in your fair share of falsehoods, finding the right ones when you didn’t feel that your life was on the line was an unfamiliar practice.

Voice quiet, you blink at the muddy footprints on the floor. “You left my door open.”

“I remember,” he replies. Simple.

The silence returns, eerily reminiscent of your first encounter. You consider telling him about the warning Mrs. Campbell had wanted you to relay to him. But then you think about all of the other things he’s missed since he’s disappeared, and your mind becomes saturated with just about everything, and somehow nothing at all. But Arthur’s voice, once again, cracks the fragile quiet.

“God damn it!” He begins to pace, rubbing at the shadows under his eyes. You’re thankful that he’s finally lowered his voice to a whisper, though the close quarters don’t seem to help with the intensity. “I ain’t supposed to be here. Not like this.”

“Not like what? Arthur what do you—”

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he says, voice edging on the side of desperation.

“How what was supposed to go?” You look at his hands, fumbling with his belt loops. He sucks in a brittle gulp of air when he catches you looking, like he’s surprised you’re looking at him at all.

And then, miraculously, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

“I’m to kill you. Ideally this evening.”

Until it all promptly falls apart.

You turn away. Begin to work open the half done buttons of your shirt. Arthur turns to face the door. You decide to humor him. “Who.”

“Some man, your Pa, I presume,” he says. For the first time in what feels like eternity, his voice is devoid of any feeling. It sounds small. Not defeated, not yet, but oh so small. “Willing to pay big bucks to get rid of a ‘financial thorn’ in his side. Knew ‘bout my business in Blackwater, which I assume you’re also aware of. Said he’d had some bonds on that boat.” Blunt fingernails scratch lightly at the curtains. “He said I could sniff things out, see if I wanted to to his dirty work.”

Shirt falling to the floor, you allow yourself some time to stew numbly in your naivety while you get the fire going; you could be disappointed all you wanted once you were warm. You can hear Arthur scrubbing at his beard again when you begin to drag a chair in front of the fireplace. You sit, or collapse rather, and shuck off your boots with little care for where they land. Where the mud splatters.

“How’s Marlene?” You ask.

Rustling. He’s turned around. More frantic rustling. He’s turned back to the wall. “I’m sorry?”

“Marlene. Chicken. ”

“Ah. She’s uh, good. Eating good. Still pecks like hell, though.”

And, once again, more silence.

You bark out a dry laugh. It hurts—hurts like hell, but it tumbles out of you with a sharp snap. It snowballs into pure, unadulterated laughter. Bouncing off the walls, the drinking glasses, the mud, right into the fire and back out again. It continues until you’re left with nothing but a pathetic wheeze rattling your lungs.

Settling into the back of the chair, your head lolls back till you can see an upside down version of the bewildered Arthur you’d turned away from. The angle is awkward, and the blood rushing to your head makes him look all warm and fuzzy, but it’s precisely why you’ve chosen it.

“Didn’t think finding all this out would be so funny.” He speaks as if poking a tiger.

Another half-hearted chuckle slips out of you. “Good god, I thought you were trying to proposition me.”

“Proposition you?” He scowls. “What on earth would I—”

Arthur stops. Blinks one of his blinks. Gives his eyes another rub. Blinks again. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. This “blinking” thing.

“Oh.” He frowns.

Frowning right back, you push yourself to stand and toss some old papers from your table into the fire. “No need to seem so put off by it, gosh. Should’ve told me you were out for my head from the start. Would’ve made this a hell of a lot less embarrassing.” Disappointment had beat out the warmth.

You wait for an apology, or a joke. Or something. Anything. But you’re met with nothing. The paper eventually crumbles into nothing, too, smoke tickling your nostrils alongside the smell of rain.

His voice sounds from the back of the room.

“I didn’t say that.”

You whip around.

“Say what.”

He speaks as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t say I wasn’t. Interested, I mean.” When you point to yourself, he rolls his eyes. “No, the couch.”

There was no couch.

The two of you watch each other for a bit. Then Arthur finds another annoying spot on his thigh to rub at, and you’re watching him.

“You’re drunk,” you conclude, voice flat. You pull on a blanket, suddenly conscious of the bareness of your shoulders. “You’re drunk, or tired, or both. You weren’t here. I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me. Am I clear?”

You stand on wobbly feet and motion for him to leave.

“You don’t think I’m joking, do you? I meant what I said.” He brushes past your outstretched hand to clunk into the chair, mirroring that same awkward position you’d found yourself in earlier. Strong neck arched, fire light catching the water that’s begun to bead on his cheeks. “I don’t do charity. Don’t think I have the money for it, actually.”

“How kind of you.”

“I mean it. Truly.”

“Then come back tomorrow,” you blurt.

Fuck.

What the hell were you doing? “You come back tomorrow night, sober, and we’ll see.” No, we would not.

But it’s too late—Arthur is rebounding off of the chair, straightening out his jacket (he’s noticed the missing button, finally), and striding to the door before you can retract your mistake. Even so, you follow after him like a besotted moron, only stopping when he turns to face you once the door is back open.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says. Eyes dark. Searching.

And then he’s stooping down. Reaching for your hand. Pulling it to his dry lips, and pressing a chaste kiss right to the top of it. He chuckles when you shiver, still clutching the blanket tight around your shoulders.

You’re released soon after. And Arthur gives you one long look, tells you to lock your door, and leaves.

—

next chapter >>

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #witching hour

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dullgecko · 1 month

Note

Riz obviously suffers the most from racism, often needing to be disguised when they travel or just straight up murdering the assholes that can’t keep their mouths shut. Obviously the bad kids made a Riz Protection Squad… Wait, why is Riz the president of his own protection squad? “Riz, wait, put down the knife. We’re supposed to protect you.- WHO GAVE HIM A MISSILE LAUNCHER!?”(Missile launcher was a joint effort of Fig, Adaine, and Gorgug. Made to specifically target racists.)

It wasn’t very surprising that Fig also had to deal with racists, mostly from religious humans and elves. She didn’t know what to do the first time a Helio follower berated her for existing, it was one of her old friends in middle school too, she ended up crying in her room and wouldn’t let Sandra Lynn comfort her. After the second time she just started hissing exaggeratedly to scare them off, as well as threatening to set them on fire, it still hurt though.(After sophomore year she started expressing how much it actually effected her, mostly with the bad kids but she did open up to her parents too…Eventually.)

Gorgug was mostly left alone, simply because the racist were scared of him, but the times he does face discrimination he sorta just stares at the person until they walk away or until one of the bad kids just suddenly appears and beats up the person insulting him. (Adaine and Ayda made a spell that signals them if someone is being mean to Gorgug, since Adaine canonically believes that if someone is mean to him then they’re automatically evil. Ayda fully agrees.) The first time it happened was unfortunately in elementary school with his teacher and it continued the whole school year, he didn’t tell anyone until he brought it up during a family dinner in between sophomore year and junior year. No one had ever seen Digby and Wilma look so pissed before, not even Gorgug.

Fabian got a lot of shit for not being a “pure blood” of a human or an elf, but he never actually cared about it. It confused him the first time, like yeah, of course he’s not fully a human or fully an elf, that’s how genetics works. Fig and Ragh had to explain it to him for about two hours before he realized what they meant(Power-points had to be made), which resulted in a very long overdue murder trip to the assholes house. (He’s very proud of himself for finding the address without Riz’s help.)

Adaine never really had to deal with it, at least not towards her. She would get the odd comment of being uptight because she’s a high elf, but they would already be on the ground before they could say anything else. One of the few things her and Aelwyn agreed on while growing up was how horribly racist their parents are and how they would never be like that. After getting adopted she would speak up more openly for her friends and new family, gladly standing in the line of fire to lessen what the others had to hear. She also verbally abused Arthur until he made a system in the school that would make someone unable to speak if they try to be racist, sexist, or homophobic.

Kristen faced racism towards humans maybe two times, and each time she just laughed and screamed “So this is what I was missing out on!”. The others were not impressed, in fact they’re all very pissed and on the hunt for the asshole who insulted her.… “Riz…Get the missile launcher.” (Kristen got a little emotional and hugged them all after they got back. No, she doesn’t care about the amount of blood they’re all covered in. And no, she won’t ask about the weird bag or why they’re taking it to the basement…Or why it’s still moving.)

BONUS! Ayda makes them all write down the names and descriptions of people who hurt them(There’s no way out of it, they have to.), then goes to each person’s home and either makes sure they can’t say anything hurtful again or, if they’re already taken care of, just burns down the place and curses their blood line. Good pirates don’t discriminate in any way, and she will see to it that everyone will pay for hurting her paramour and her friends.

Riz has to deal with it a lot, but most of the time he just ignores it because it isnt worth getting into a fight over. ESPECIALLY when he was younger, and infinitely more puntable (its how he got so good at sneaking, he had to deal with it less if people didnt even notice he was there). It became less of an issue when he started packing heat, and EVEN LESS of an issue once he became a multiple confirmed dragon slayer. Sure, he still encountered the assholes sometimes but absoloutly /ruining their lives/ is just a fun little side hobby now. Oh you called me a slur? Oh no how did your wife find out you were cheating and where did she get that folder full of proof?

Outside of Solace its a bit rougher but he humors his friends desire to protect him, he even accepts a souped up arcubus from them that he keeps as a backup weapon just in case (but he's too attached to his own to use it). Anyone that gets past his friends to attack him though is leaving with more holes than they came with initially.

---------

Fig just laughs off anyones attempts at being racist these days. Fig is an archdevil, if anyone is racist towards her she simply makes a note of it for later. She might not do anything to hurt them in the moment but there are receipts, and she will be collecting her dues when they finally kick the bucket.

----------

The generally racist opinion of half-orcs is that they're dumb, slow and violent. Gorgug is none of these things, he's just quiet and actually thinks things through before replying (which might make it seem like he's a bit slow but its more that he's thoughtful). One of his teachers in middle school constantly made him the butt of jokes, and propped him up as an example that none of the other kids would want to be. He was careful to never loose his temper around that teacher just so he wouldnt fit the stereotype the way they wanted.

When his parents find out about it years after the fact, the teachers car is found dismantled in their driveway the very next morning. Every single piece that could be taken apart done so, and most of the metal pieces were left in a bucket of salt water. No one saw who did it and there was no evidence at the scene.

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

While Adaine doesnt have to deal with much by way of racism she /does/ have to deal with a lot of gross race-based fetishisation. Especially since she fits the idealised archetype of thin, blonde, kind elven wizard woman. More than one person has tried to flirt with her in a very gross way and been absoloutly /laid out/ by whichever of the bad kids was with her at the time (she's once witnessed Riz notice her getting harrased after coming around a corner, climb a chair, table then partially onto a display shelf to knock a guy out once. Very funny because it was one the only time she's seen him strike someone with a closed fist, rather than claws.).

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

Kristen laughs it off at first but she's a little more upset about it than she thought she would be later. She just doesnt have the same experiance with it as the others so she doesnt have the same coping mechanisms.

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

Ayda is a force to be reckoned with and is /usually/ the reason why Figs racist-punishment-wing is receiving their guests early. If they sincerely apologise and make amends she will let them off with a warning, but since she herself is not of the same race as the ones she enacts firery revenge on the ofen double down on the assholery and seal their fate.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #d20 #bad kids #riz gukgak #fabian seacaster #gorgug thistlespring #fig faeth #adaine abernant #kristen applebees #ayda aguefort #fig x ayda

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prosepoetryanddrama · 3 months

Text

Put Your Money on Me

Fugitive Sirius Black x Bounty Hunter Remus Lupin

___

Remus grimaced at the bitter taste of the cheap beer and pushed the plastic cup away from him. The bar in which he was currently situated was grimy and filthy, although the dark red and black tones hid it quite well. Unfortunately, the inferiority of the beer could not be hidden.

He sighed quietly, discreetly glancing at door. His patience was running thin and the dodgy nature of the rough-faced men sitting around him was putting him on edge.

Many times in his twenty-five years of life, he had found himself questioning why he made the choices he made. Why had he, at the tender age of eighteen, decided to pursue a degree in Criminal Justice rather than sequestering himself in English Literature? Why had he not gone to Law school, Grad school, or any of the other places he could have gone? Instead, he had found himself writing an exam, and rubbing shoulders with bond agents.

All this had led him to this exact moment where he sat in a grubby bar, waiting for his informant, a shifty-eyed man named Arthur, to arrive.

Not for the first time, he cursed Sirius Black.

Depending on who you asked, Sirius Black was the heir to the criminally rich, Black crime family, but he was also the black sheep, stepping out of his family’s footprints, and joining the opposite, clean side of the law, at least for a while.

The one thing that everyone could agree on was that six months ago, Sirius Black had, through many eye-witnesses and his DNA found on the murder weapon, brutally murdered Peter Pettigrew, a fellow cop, in the back of a Knockturn Alley, a drug-breeding ground.

The story was that Black had a change of heart, and had turned his back on the law, following in his family’s footsteps. He had been dabbling in drug distribution, and Peter had found out. It was believed that Black had gone mad after the death of his estranged, younger brother, Regulus, leading to his actions. Technically, there was no actual evidence found proving that Black had done anything illegal, well anything illegal other than the eventual murder.

Peter had notified the police force, but being a new, nervous rookie, he had wanted to prove himself. He had followed Black that day, and Black, trying to cover up his crimes from being discovered, had shot Pettigrew.

Sirius had then been apprehended by his fellow officers, but Pettigrew, who had fled with a bullet wound was no where to be found. The Leuitenant, Barty Crouch, had later confirmed that Peter had been found dead.

Remus didn’t care much for the details of how and when. Despite the homicide charges, Black, through his influential name, and many connections, had managed to get out on bail. This is where Remus had come in the picture, when five months ago, Sirius Black had not shown up to his court date.

An extended search had been done, but Black had disappeared into thin air. He had taken a large sum of money and had fled, officially making him a fugitive.

Remus, a bounty hunter, had been contacted by a cop named James Potter, Black’s partner, to help hunt him down. For reasons, Remus didn’t want to ponder, Potter had promised to pay Remus a hefty fund to find Black before the FBI did,

Remus personally did not really care for the details. He was here for the check and the check alone. Well, before atleast. Now he thought mournfully of the money he would never get, based the ways events were unfolding.

“Remus?” rang out a voice from behind him.

Remus spun in his seat to see a short, chubby man with a receding auburn hair line. Mentally matching him with the profile in his head, he nodded.

Gesturing for Arthur to take a seat, Remus fixed the collar of his black trench coat and raked back his brown hair, scanning the bar one more time for any eavesdroppers.

“Thank you again Arthur, for reaching out. Any information you share, small or big, will be very helpful.”

Arthur simply fidgeted in his seat, looking down at his lap.

Remus, mentally sighed, before softening his voice more, “I understand you’re nervous but I’m not a cop. I’m not going to arrest you, Arthur, I’m paying you, remember?”

At the mention of money, the cost Remus would have to pay for Arthur’s words, the shabbily dressed man looked up with resolve in his gaze.

Taking a look around the bar, like a ghost would jump out from the corner, Arthur began telling Remus what he knew.

Arthur was an, alleged, member of the Death Eaters, the most notorious gang in the city of Gryffindor.

Perhaps through a final attempt of honour and honesty, Arthur had reached out to Remus, revealing a different tale to Remus, one that the Daily Prophet, had not been telling.

Hours later, Remus felt drained, staring blankly at the dirty bar counter, long after Arthur had scurried off into the night. The knowledge that Arthur had confirmed sat heavy on his chest.

He tightened his coat around him as the cold, night hit him when he walked out the bar. Despite the late hour, the city was mostly silent around him. Even the partygoers of Gryffindor knew to not stay out too late. You never knew who would find you.

Remus, still and stealthy in the night, cut through the side streets, one hand firmly around a sleek, black gun, under his coat.

Pausing in the corner of an alley, as a patrolling officer passed by, Remus glanced up at the night sky. Despite the smog that covered downtown, Remus glanced to where he knew he would otherwise see the bright, constellation Regulus, and felt emotion bubbling in his throat.

Shaking himself out of it, he stepped back out on the street and slinked around the block.

He only relaxed and released the gun, firmly hiding it’s shape from sight, when he stepped into his apartment complex.

It took him a few minutes to find his key in his messy pocket, but he quietly inserted it, swinging open the door of his apartment, and immediately turning around and re-locking the three locks on the door. Throwing the keys into the bowl beside the door, he kicked off his shoes, and stepped into the kitchen, not bothering to flip the light on.

Moonlight filled the apartment from the now slightly open blinds, that Remus swore he had fully closed before leaving.

He busied himself looking for a snack in the cupboards, humming quietly under his breath.

Remus stilled when he heard a noise from behind him , and before he could blink, someone had wrapped themselves around him.

Remus gasped before he smiled, relaxing into the hold.

Sirius’s arms wrapped themselves around Remus’s waist and Remus leaned back into his broad and warm chest. He sighed happily as Sirius placed his chin on the top of Remus’s head.

Taking a minute to breathe in the man’s comforting scent, Remus spoke, “I thought I told you you to not open the blinds. Anyone could see you!”

Sirius let out a laugh, “Someone is going to see me in the dark room, in the middle of the night, on the sixth floor, through the barely open blinds?”

Remus huffed, “Siriu-“

Sirius simply tightened his hold on Remus, nudging him for a kiss. At the last moment, Remus turned his head so that Sirius’s lips met his cheek instead.

Sirius sighed before murmering, “Ok, I’m sorry, my love. I’ll be more careful. I'm just-, I'm getting a bit antsy in here.”

This time when Sirius leaned down for a kiss, Remus happily obliged.

He pushed out the thoughts of his troubling conversation out of his mind. That was something for tomorrow, tonight was just for them.

___

This idea would not leave me alone until I wrote it. I'm not sure if I intend to write more or leave this as a oneshot. Let me know what you prefer!

#wolfstar #remus x sirius #remus lupin #sirius black #hp #harry potter #remus loves sirius #hp fandom #hp fanfic #james potter #peter pettigrew #hp marauders #marauders era #marauders #fanfic

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emotionally-damaged-carrot · 8 days

Text

Harry Hart x Kingsman!male reader

The sword and the knight

No Warning

Just fluff or something

I got back into kingsman and saw a lack of male readers, so I am fixing that. I could do a lot better than this one, it's pretty boring and long, I am still trying to get back into the game and that will take a long while. But for the mean time, enjoy 🫰

Didn't have time to proofread, sorry.

Eggsy entered the tailorshop with his casual wear, jacket, shirt, cap and all. He looked out of place as he looked around until he saw Harry looking at him with a man beside him, his head was on Harry's lap with eyes closed, while Harry stroke his hair. Eggsy found it amusing and was about to talk until Harry put a finger to his lips, signalling him to shut it.

"Keep your voice down, he gets very grumpy if he gets woken up."

Harry said in a hushed tone as he beckoned Eggsy closer.

"Who is he exactly?"

"You'll know when you get into kingsman, now, are you ready?"

"way to leave a bloke in a cliffhanger, yes, I'm ready."

" Alright, head to the third fitting room, I will follow you shortly."

Eggsy did as he was told, still looking at Harry and the mystery person. After waiting a few minutes in the fitting room, Harry got inside and stood beside Eggsy.

"Apologies, he reacted not how I anticipated he would. Now, what do you see?"

Harry asked Eggsy as they were both looking in the three mirrors infront of them.

"Because I see, a man who is loyal, who can do as he is asked, and wants to do something good with his life."

Eggsy looked intently at the mirror.

"You ready?"

"What have I got to lose?"

Harry placed his palm on the mirror, a few moments later the floor began to descend into a subway. They got into the pod and travelled to the kingsman HQ.

As they arrived Harry told him everything he needed to know and brought him to the dorm with the other candidates. A few moments later Harry was joined by a bald man and the man earlier.

"Alright you lot, listen here and listen close, what I am about to say is vital. Your recuitment into kingsman is to take up to 3 months, more or less depeninding on how well all of you do."

The man from earlier spoke, and looked at Eggsy.

"I am Excalibur, and the bald scotsman beside me is Merlin, and this tall as shit fellow here is Galahad."

Excalibur said as he pointed to them respectively.

"I do not appreciate being called that, Excalibur."

"I just described you, what you want from me?"

Merlin just sighed as Excalibur crossed his arms in sort of a pissed off kid kind of way.

"Your test is already underway, the moment you stepped into this place the test has started. Now get some rest, and goodluck."

The three of them left after saying their farewells.

–—–

"When are you going to make them swim?"

Excalibur asked Merlin as he stood beside him.

"In a bit."

Merlin pressed the button, making the doorm fill up with water, Eggsy was the first to wake up. Noticing the water, the others were not far behind.

"Loo snorkels, loo snorkels."

Charlie said as he pointed towards the toilets.

"Showers heads."

Roxy followed behind, Eggsy was confused looking around as he looked at the door. After the room was full of water, he swam towards the door and tried to open it, unfortunately it was locked. He looked towards the mirror and began to swim towards it, as he got to the mirror he repeatedly punched it until it broke.

"That was fast."

Excalibur said as he looked towards the candidates on the floor.

"Good job, Charlie for quick thinking, as well as Roxy. However, all of you failed, you forgot the most important thing, teamwork, look inside."

Merlin said as the candidates now looked inside the dorm again, finding the lifeless body of a girl named Amelia.

"Still commendable, get some rest, we will continue tomorrow."

Excalibur said as he smirked at them, Eggsy looked quite pissed off.

"Are you trying to kill us?"

He asked angrily as he looked at Excalibur.

"Our job is to narrow down the candidates to one, Arthur never said how."

"For an old man you sure are fuckwd in the head."

"I am not old, I am just 3 years younger than Harry, I am Y/n, by the way."

Y/n reached out his hand for Eggsy.

"Proper sadist you are."

Eggsy shook his hand as he followed where the others went.

"If you see Harry, tell him I am looking for him, he knows where."

Y/n said before Eggsy was out of sight.

As Eggsy was walking to his dorm, he stumbled upon a tired Harry sat against the wall as he turned the corner. He looked to be asleep but with a cut on his head and he is sweating profusely.

"Harry!"

Eggsy ran towards him.

"You good, mate?"

Eggsy shook his shoulder as Harry slowly opened his eyes.

"Just got into an accident, no need to fret."

Harry said with a tired face as he closed his eyes again.

"You sure? Well, Y/n is looking for you."

"thank you, Eggsy."

Harry nodded at Eggsy as he began to stand up, although struggling, he managed to be on his feet. He began to walk but he was stumbling and seemed to be in pain.

"You sure, you good? You don't seem proper, Harry."

Eggsy walked beside Harry as he put one of Harry's arms around his shoulder.

"I am feeling quite tired, my apologies, but I may need some assistance if you don't mind that is?"

Harry looked at Eggsy.

"You are tall, never realized just how tall until now."

Eggsy joke, trying to lighten the mood as he went with Harry.

"I am indeed tall, tallest in this place not to boast."

Harry chuckled.

"where are we going?"

"Just to Y/n' office."

"Where?"

"Right, I forgot, just on the second floor and last door on the right."

Eggsy hummed in acknowledgement.

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you lot named after the knights of the round table? Guess it fits the name, dunnit?"

"We are named based on our capabilities."

"And why is Y/n named excalibur?"

"Because he is the best of us, he is quite literally, Arthur's weapon. When Arthur deems it necessary, Excaliber will be there to slay the foe. He is a cold blooded killer, he does not show remorse, he has his own justice. He is the one Arthur sends when his Knights are in trouble, Excalibur has never failed a mission yet, and Arthur trusts him with his life."

They reached the door to Y/n's office after Harry explained.

"Well, here we are, would love to know more about the others. But Your duty calls, and sleep is pulling me down, Night."

Eggsy gave a two fingered salute to Harry before making his leave, leaving Harry infront of the door. He knocked six times in a pattern, alerting Y/n of who is at the door.

"Come in."

The voice from inside said, just as Harry opened the door to the office, he collapsed. Y/n immediately ran to Harry and shook his shoulder while gently tapping his cheek.

"Harry? You good, Love? Come on."

Y/n aid as he was getting emotional, his voice wavering a bit. Harry woke up after a few moments, later.

"I'm alright, nothing to worry about."

Harry said as he forced himself to stand, Y/n noticed and helped him, holding his hips so he doesn't fall.

"Why don't you lay down, hm?"

Y/n offered as he looked at Harry with distress.

"If it calms you down."

Harry laid down on the couch in the office.

"What did you call me for, my dear?"

"I just missed you."

Y/n said shyly as he looked everywhere but at Harry.

"Needy little thing, aren't you?"

Harry chuckled as he motion for Y/n to join him in the couch.

"Was the mission hard?"

Y/n asked as he snuggled into Harry, his small frame fitting perfectly with his head on Harry's chest with Harry's hand playing with his hair.

"Smooth."

"Then why are you injured?"

"I fell down a flight of stairs."

"Don't lie."

"I jumped off a plane."

"Come on, Harry, why so secretive?"

"Whatever do you mean, my love? I am telling you nothing but what happened as best as I remember it."

"You're so annoying sometimes, I wonder why I even married you in the first place."

"Because you fell for me 27 years ago, why? Do you regret it?"

Harry said as their bodies relaxed, the playful banter becoming softer and quieter.

"Very much, I would rather have been with someone else if I knew you would be this annoying, posh twat."

"That is not a gentleman thing to say to someone."

"Look at my eyes and tell me whether I care or not."

Y/n raised his head hid chin now resting on Harry's chest.

"I love you."

Harry said as the hand on Y/n's hair now rested on his cheek as he caressed it carefully and lovingly.

"You cheeky, bugger, I love you too."

They leaned in for a kiss, not rough nor was it delicate, just the perfect kiss to fit the moment and to slightly calm the fire of their love just for a moment of respite between them. They fell asleep in each other's arms, not wanting to let go, Y/n face buried in Harry's neck and his face in Y/n' hair. Just the way they like it, close and feeling the love they hold for one another.

#kingsman #x male reader #x reader #y/n #gay #kingsman x male reader #kingsman x reader #kingsman x y/n #Harry x male reader #Harry Hart x reader #Harry hart x male reader #harry hart #harry x reader #colin firth #colin firth x reader #colin firth x male reader

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victimsofyaoipoll · 1 year

Text

Round 1

Propaganda Under Cut

Alana Bloom

she kissed will graham in s1 and dated hannibal in s2 so you can imagine how bad the fandom is to her. fun fact she's in a canon lesbian relationship now tho <3

The show literally does the yaoi treatment of victimisation for the benefit of the male leads to her. And then the fandom mistreats her

I'm not sure if this even counts but...Literally a victim of Yaoi along with several other characters in-series, but she got it almost the worst. The entire show is just people dying because the two male leads are OBSESSED with each other and can't be normal about anything. Alana Bloom, actual PhD of psychology and consultant to the FBI, got kissed by one guy, fucked and fed people-meant by the other, and pushed out a window by the murder husbands' forced-surrogate daughter. Like. Actual victim of several crimes caused by yaoi. She's probably one of the few examples of a Yaoi Victim overcoming and evolving past her yaoi-related trauma into a stronger person/character, though: She gets an entire character overhaul and a hot, millionairess for a wife. She kills a man with an eel. She becomes head of the BSHCI, effectively putting her in complete power over her jackass cannibal ex-bf. She does quite well. Unfortunately, the rest of her screen time is spent trying not to get killed in the ongoing fallout of Hannibal and Will's fucked up courtship, but hey. Can't have everything. I don't even know if I'm saying anything valid here: the fandom loves her, but I supposed her position outside of the Hannigram relationship relegates her to a non-subject in a lot of Hannigram-focused fanwork. She's an 'obstacle' to their relationship only in the sense that Will had a crush on her once that went nowhere and Hannibal started an actual relationship with her SPECIFICALLY to piss off Will. I guess she's also a more literal obstacle as Hannibal's jailer and Will's friend who's constantly pointing out to him that Morals exist and he should try having some of those, maybe.

Gwen

She stands in the way of Merthur, by far the most popular ship in the fandom. I haven’t seen it as much in recent years, but back in the days of fanfiction.net she got slut shamed so badly for having been romantically interested in three of the male characters over the course of the show, which is just... normal straight woman behavior, meanwhile Merlin crushed on pretty much every woman who even looked at him in the early seasons of the show and got no hate for that whatsoever. I barely even read Merthur fics (not because it’s m/m, just because certain aspects of their relationship don’t appeal to me) but the “Gwen is a slut” attitude was so pervasive across the fandom, even fics that weren’t explicitly anti-Gwen would “jokingly” call her a slut. I even saw a few fics demonizing her for having an affair with Lancelot despite the fact that SHE WAS ENCHANTED when that happened, and surprise surprise, Lancelot (who was also under the influence of magic) got none of that hate, and neither did Arthur, who got enchanted to fall in love with multiple women over the course of the show.

Canonically Arthur Pendragon's love interest and an important and interesting character in the show who's completely shoved aside and ignored in favour of the medieval bbc yaoi ship. At best they put her and Morgana in Lesbian Timeout (ie make them get together and then reduce them to wingwomen at best because god forbid we focus on the medieval bbc yuri). Justice for Gwen right now!

She is prince Arthur's love interest (eventually wife). Arthur is MADLY in love with her. He tells his tyrannical father he would give up his crown to be with her (she's a servant in the series). He forgives her cheating on him with Lancelot (!), which in the show is caused by an evil enchantment, but the characters never find out about it. He chooses her time and time again. His love for Gwen is literally never put into question. Many fans insist to this day that there was no chemistry between Gwen and Arthur compared to Arthur and Merlin. Arthur isn’t even particularly nice to Merlin most of the time! The funny thing is that Merlin himself ships these two so hard and does everything he can to help them get together!! Gwen & Arthur are adorable and too many fans were drunk on the yaoi fumes to see it. ARTHUR WAS A SIMP FOR GWEN.

#poll #round 1 #alana bloom #hannibal #bbc gwen #bbc merlin #merlin

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cowboyfromh3ll · 10 months

Note

ok this might be a lot but it’s a purely self indulgent vision i have: a one shot about reader who’s a young shop owner in town and is sweet on a certain arthur morgan who’s been frequenting her shop more and more lately. she is aware that he’s an outlaw and doesn’t care but unfortunately an odriscoll does notice arthur in her shop talking to her multiple times so one day he comes in demanding to know what business she has with him and where his camp is. she pretends not to know what he’s talking about but it just makes him lock the front door so he can force the answers out of her. noncon but not all the way, just a lot of touching and taunting her about how she must wish it was morgan touching her like that. but of course arthur realizes something is wrong and breaks the front door down and saves her just before the man takes her, go crazy with the beat down since i know you like gore lol. and some comfort in the end please, happy ending and him promising not to let anyone lay a hand on her again 🫶🏻 sorry this is very very specific i’m excited to see what you come up with!

Love/Hate

(Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader)

Sorry if I went too far with the gore

Warnings: Graphic depictions of gore, violence, non consensual touching

You were often reminded of all the way he was likely dangerous—you tried to imagine that the scars littered across his hands and scarcely visible on his arms from under his rolled up sleeves were some sort of malicious incantation carved into his skin; if uttered aloud, some sort of evil being would conjure up before you. And you would ignore the morbid implications of the specks of blood dotted on his skin; a few missed spots while he was cleaning himself off you guessed. You supposed that the gun belt that sat loosely on his lips would’ve been enough to cement fear inside you had it been anyone else, but there was something so undeniably charming about this stranger.

After inheriting your late father’s general store, you were left with a loneliness so palpable you saw it in every corner and crevice of your life. The solitary emptiness of your home seemed terribly occupied by feelings of grief and emptiness. Even something meant to signify something so destitute took up space.

You truly believed that your attraction to Arthur wasn’t rooted in your loneliness, though it certainly eased those feelings, but rather, a longing for something new. You had noticed he had been frequenting your shop more and more lately despite claiming he was constantly moving around, so that had to count for something. You sneaked a few free items into whatever he came to buy, insisting he take it with him and to consider it a gift. Transactions would allow for brief conversations about what Arthur had been up to as of late, and slowly over time he’d be much more transparent about what he did. Normally, Arthur would’ve expected some sort of stern warning from shop owners telling him to steer trouble clear of their shops, but he never got that from you. In fact, his returns were subtly encouraged by your welcoming smiles that spoke of a familiarity so tender he couldn’t help but feel at peace in your presence.

Arthur would find himself handing you trinkets from his journeys in return for free items, subtly flirting by telling you they reminded him of you. There was a certain magnetism about your shop, because no matter how far he was from Annesburg, he always returned there just to visit it. He became a regular visitor, and you were not at all put off by his past and the life he was living.

The passing of your father also forced you to grow up much faster in a way, but the idea of boys not ever crossing your mind. There was hardly any time to spend dallying around them when you had to worry about taking care of yourself. So the thing you and Arthur had made you feel like a teen girl again, giggling and tripping over yourself to get one last glance at him as he left your shop, and trying your best not to fiddle in place the closer he got to you. You never imagined a man would have you running home and screaming into your pillow while kicking your feet.

Living in a mining town meant the regular passage of patrons going through your shop. The grimy faces of miners blurred into one, and overtime it seemed as though the interior of your shop adopted a smog from all the filthy visitors that would visit you. There was the occasional kind stranger, and in a town like this, even a small polite smile was a greater show of kindness than you could ever ask for. You guessed that was another reason Arthur stood out so much to you.

You hadn’t been the only one to notice Arthur’s frequent visits, though. The regular passing of patrons meant anyone could easily pass themselves off as a local. And in a town so corrupt, there was the lingering threat of violence that would pounce on you when you least expected it. Even innocent shop owners weren’t safe.

It was a situation you couldn’t have foreseen. One Saturday evening where you had closed particularly late, you were left with only a few more customers until you had to shoo them out. One particularly persistent patron insisted he stay a little longer. You stood behind the counter exasperated, tapping your foot and looking at the clock hung on your wall. You were ten minutes past closing, and your patience had been stretched far too long now.

“I’m sorry sir, you’re going to have to leave. We’re past closing.” You said firmly, you cleared your throat and pursed your lips, feeling an unexplainable sense of dread. The man did not respond, he simply kept pacing past the walls, looking through the shelves as if he were waiting for an item to show itself and conjure up before him. But you knew he wasn’t actually looking for anything; he would’ve found what he was looking for by now if he were truly shopping, or at the very least, he would’ve asked you.

“Sir.” You said a little louder.

“Do you know Arthur Morgan?” He asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks and turning to face you. You tried to pretend the sudden stillness didn’t disturb you, trying your best to not appear intimidated as you shuffled behind your counter. If anything, you thought, you’d be able to reach for the gun behind the counter as quickly as you could. The question itself was strange. You knew Arthur was an outlaw, and that he probably dealt with some less than formidable people, but why would he come to you about it.

“Excuse me…?” Your mouth became uncomfortably dry, the words squeaking out.

“Don’t act dense, Miss. You know who the hell I’m talking about.” He raised his voice, making you flinch. He seemed to get a sense of enjoyment out of seeing you so scared, taking a sudden step forward and laughing at the way you moved back as well.

“I see you two, flirting and giggling all the time. You know him very well, I’m sure of that.”

You said nothing in return, only staring back intensely.

“Now I know he tells you stuff about his life,” he locked your front door. “So tell me where his camp is.”

Your stomach squeezed and dropped, flipping painfully as fear hit you like a punch to the gut. A cold sense of panic rattled through your ribs and your body became painfully rigid, all sense of direction and resolve leaving you. In your petrified state, you could not bring yourself to reach for the gun. You had never been in such close proximity to the possibility of violence. You had been cat called occasionally, some people would yell outside your shop, too drunk out of their minds to know what they were even saying, and Annesburg wasn’t the safest, but you never thought that it would actually happen to you. You felt the pressure of tears build in your sinuses as he rapidly approached your counter, his patience far past spent.

“TELL ME WHERE THE FUCK HE STAYS.” He slammed his hands on the counter, leaning over it. Your bottom lip quivered as he yelled at you, your sense of sight and hearing becoming fuzzy as your body gave into panic.

“I-I don’t know!” You sobbed, unable to move even when he rounded the counter. You stiffened your body as one would before receiving a large impact, but it did not come. Instead, he grabbed your shoulders and pulled your body against his. At this point, your fight instincts had kicked in.

“Liar.”

“Wait, stop! What are you doing?!” You put your elbows up between your chests, attempting to push him off in that manner. He caged you in by wrapping his arms around your waist, and as much as you pushed away his face, he remained persistent in keeping close to you. Your body began to thrash wildly, kicking and throwing your limbs every which way to force him off.

“I don’t want this!” Your porcelain voice quivered with cracks. You craned your neck away as far as you could as he began stroking your cheek with a bony finger.

“You’re lying.” He said flatly. “I’m sure you wish it was Arthur doing this to you, right?” He grabbed your ass harshly, so hard that the dig of his rough fingertips squeezing the flesh became unbearable.

“I’ll scream.” You threatened.

“I know. Which is why I’ll fill your mouth before then.”

Those words were the perfect kick in the rear to set you into a full blown fight. If you weren’t thrashing before, you definitely were now. Several more waves of terror swept over you, pulling you deeper and deeper into its mindless depths. He meant it. He meant to violate every part of your being for his own sick enjoyment. It wasn’t about getting answers anymore, it was about satiating some sadistic part of him. You were trapped, and there was no getting out. The only time you remembered feeling remotely this afraid was when your father passed and you realized you would be on your own.

You avoided his leering gaze as you felt his vulgar hands continue to paw at your chest and ass, attempting to snake his hand between your legs as you squeezed them together as hard as you could. He continued to tug at your clothing, successfully untucking your shirt and struggling to undo your buttons. Your thrashing, thankfully, made it too difficult for him to undo them.

The two of you raised your heads as Arthur came crashing through the front door, shards of glass flying from the window, shattered from the sheer impact of Arthur’s full body weight pummeling into the door. What he saw before him was terrifying; your clothes half undone as a stranger groped you mindlessly, struggling and thrashing against his hold while trying to keep your clothes on. Arthur saw all this in the split second it took for him to rush towards your assailant, rounding the counter before the two of you could react, and ripping the man away from you. With a guttural yell, he threw the man over, punching him square in the jugular. The clip to his jaw caused his eyes to flicker up to whites; you saw blood on his lips, his teeth; and you wondered just how powerful Arthur’s singular punch must’ve been.

You weren’t sure if Arthur intended the full damage done to the stranger’s skull—partially the angle of the counter, and partially the momentum of Arthur’s punch. The back left corner of the stranger’s head slammed into the sharp corner of the counter and produced a gash that began bleeding heavily in mere seconds. The life threatening wound didn’t stop Arthur from beating the man further, instead spurring him on to increase the damage; and in the next moment, Arthur’s hands and clothes were covered in so much slick blood he appeared to have just gutted a wild animal.

The stranger cowered on the floor, curled into a fetal position with both hands cradling his skull as he tried to protect himself. You stood there in bewilderment as Arthur deliberately targeted the tender wound on his head, willed by some force other than terror to stand there and watch.

“You son of a bitch.” Arthur spoke through grit teeth, beating the swelling flesh of the stranger’s face. Every few seconds, quick spurts of gore consistently and theatrically sprayed out of the man’s head; it had a strangely mystifying feel to it, as though it were some morbid fountain in some wealthy person’s back yard. He kept trying to stand, only stumbling back down and crawling away a few more inches.

There was something terrifying about the way Arthur took the ankles of the man and dragged him back beneath him, and in the second that it took him to do this, he unsheathed his knife at the same time. With a knife in hand, Arthur was on top of the man like a lover. The stranger still had some fight in him as he attempted to gouge Arthur’s eyes, smearing blood all over his face as Arthur slammed his shoulders to the floor. Arthur twisted his head to avoid the man’s pressing fingers, catching them with his teeth and biting down; if he bit any harder, he might’ve snapped them like carrots. With his left forearm, he forced the man’s head back, splattering more blood onto the floorboards. There was a hideous familiarity in Arthur’s eyes, something that was downright chilling to the stranger.

“I’ll kill you again in hell.” With that, Arthur dug the tip of his knife against the man’s jugular and dragged, a sanguine wound opening immediately in its wake. His neck transformed into a gaping red cavity of muscle and exposed arteries, and once Arthur saw the last inklings of life evaporate from the man’s eyes, he rose.

His chest heaved as he stared down at the body, wiping his forehead on the back of his jacket sleeve before he turned to look at you. Arthur looked down at his hands then at you with all the confusion of a recent amnesiac; as if he were the victim of some unlikely attack.

“(Name). I-”

You shook your head, your bottom lip quivering again as you threw yourself at him. You found his imbrued clothes and skin to be strangely comforting, and he quickly returned the hug. Neither of you cared for the staining of clothes. In the moment, all that mattered was your well being.

“Arthur, he-” You sobbed, unable to finish your own sentence. “I know sweetheart, I know.” He cooed, stroking your hair, which quickly became bloodsoaked. He kissed your temple repeatedly, coming to cup your cheek and stroking it with his thumb. You relaxed your tense body against his, occasionally becoming rigid with sobs and trembles. You buried your head in the junction of his shoulder and neck, staining his clothes with your tears.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Arthur’s own voice began to crack. “I should’ve never let that happen to you. I’m so so sorry. You didn’t deserve that”

You raised your wet face, nodding your head at Arthur. “I’m just glad you got here when you did. And… Thank you. That crazy bastard. Who knows what else he would’ve done…”

“Let’s not think about that sweetheart. Let me take you home. I’ll uh… take care of the mess later.”

You sniffled and nodded, glancing briefly at the body. “Thank you.” You repeated.

“No need to thank me, (Name). I’ll make sure no man ever lays a hand on you again. You understand?”

You nodded again. You understood the violence it took to be this gentle.

Love/Hate - Dystopia

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption community #writing #red dead fanfiction #van der linde gang x reader #arthur morgan

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the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf · 1 year

Text

You're waiting for a train...(11)

Go to sleep, Miss Y/n

Robert Fischer x reader

description - Robert learns the truth of the plot to infiltrate his dreams...well...Cobb's version of the truth.

word count - 1.6k

warnings - betrayal, shitty fathers

a/n - I've realised the chapters are getting shorter and I think it's because when I'm writing I'm finding natural stopping points and I find I get more productive if I'm writing small chapters frequently than stressing about getting a large chapter finished.

Previous Chapter Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

We arrived on the fifth floor, exiting out of the elevator, Robert first with a gesture from Cobb in faux attentiveness. I lagged behind, the tremendous terror I felt in combination from my last encounter and whatever was about to befall us buzzed within me. Even as the two men entered before me, my stride was shyer than theirs. Every so often Robert would chance a peak behind him at my frame. So I was ready at a moment to right myself once again.

With only his back to look at, I still managed to discern the shudders that racked Robert’s body. As I saw one sliver down his spine, the same feeling was repeated on my own. As if our hearts were actually the same, being passed back and forth between the two.

Silhouettes appeared out from the end of the hallway and Robert stumbled at another presence, the memory of our previous encounter merely one picture away.

“They’re with me.” My dad assured with a hand on Robert’s back. Offering a comfort I had yet to know. “Go on.” With this confirmation Robert’s eyes darted around the room numbers in search of any sense of familiarity. His body moved faster than his mind could comprehend. His eyes ended up bearing the brunt, shooting back and forth to catch what his mind had missed the first time.

Feeling dismissed in my current position I found my feet shuffling towards Arthur. I clasped his arm in mine, leaning into his body to inhale his scent. The embrace I’d shared with Robert had cured my aching heart but to truly be healed I needed the feel of something I’d known before. In Arthur’s arms I could feel safe, whilst being undoubtedly assured no harm could come. He raised his arms so he could meet my hand with his. He clasped them together and brought them back down, my two fitting in his one. He looked at me, and I willed myself to meet his eyes. I gave a gentle nod. No more words were required before he met my hairline and christened it in his kiss. Unfortunately, I was unable to convey the platonic nature of this interaction before I saw Robert’s head fall low upon witnessing the two of us. I so badly wanted to jump back out into his arms but my sense of duty to the team and to my own promise held me still. Upon pondering this I also failed to catch the steel glare that landed on my father and the fist clenched close to where my own were being comforted.

The door labelled 528 stood before us. Robert’s panic grew as the familiar numbers jumped out to him. His head flicked back and forth from the door to my father in a silent agreement of what they both knew. Cobb gestured for Robert to stand with Ariadne and I as him and Arthur brandished their guns. They kicked the door down in perfect choreography for the scene they were trying to convince. They were led in by their weapons and they scoured the room in search for imagined intruders. Arthur paced towards the bathroom in perfect timing to ‘discover’ the briefcase.

“Mr Charles,” He announced. I did wonder if Arthur was going to do a different voice, remembering fondly when he would try different accents to make the jobs more fun.

“Do you know what that is Mr Fischer?” Dad asked.

“Yeah I—I think so, yeah.” Robert stuttered out and I sensed how close he was as he had gravitated towards my frame. My pinkie extended in search of something to hold. It was rewarded as I felt his own curl around it.

“They were trying to put you under.” Dad hurriedly uttered out.

“But I’m already under.” Roberts confusion spread through his adrenaline, linking the two.

“Under again.”

“What do you mean, a dream within a dream?”

An intruding sound alerted the room and we became aware of the fact we were no longer alone. For Robert he feared the oncoming consequences. The rest prepared for the next arrival.

“Shh.”

Cobb was aimed at the door as Arthur approached from the side. The door was unlocked, and Browning entered with his own key card. Arthur swiftly grabbed his arm in order to subdue him into compliance.

“Uncle Peter?” Robert appeared desperate to go to his godfathers aid, but I held him back with a slight tug on his sleeve. He responded to my action and remained still.

“You said you were kidnapped together?” My father asked.

“Well not – exactly – they –they already had him.” Roberts stutter was starting to become more prominent in the high-pressure environment and I had to wonder whether this was something he had been prone to before. Returning when he is placed in an environment which strains his heart. “They were tor—torturing him.”

“You saw this happen?” He breathed heavily when the question of sincerity was placed on the table. His eyes flitted to his godfather and seemed to truly focus for the first time. His conclusions became fully formed in the slight slouch of his godfather.

“The kidnappers are working for you?” Robert managed to push out in a whisper of disbelief.

“Oh Robert.” Browning sighed out as if in shame of the boy before him. The situation may have been an allusion but in Robert’s fallen expression I sensed that a scene like the one before was not unusual in his memories.

“You’re trying to get the safe open?” Robert’s voice shook. “To get the alternate will?”

“Fischer Morrow has been my whole life.” Browning said. “I can’t let you destroy it.” I had never had more of an urge to punch a projection in my whole life. And Robert knew it through the hand he gently placed over my newly clenched fist.

“I’m not gonna throw away my inheritance!” Robert shouted. “Why would I?”

“I couldn’t let you rise to your father’s last taunt.”

“What taunt?”

“The will Robert. That will? That’s his last insult. A challenge for you to build something for yourself. By telling you you’re not worthy of his accomplishments.” Browning hit the final nail.

Robert faced away and brought his hands up as if he could wipe away all the unpleasant feelings which were being forced upon him. I followed where his body paced, hoping any semblance of my presence would make him hurt a little less. He returned incredulously asking Browning to continue.

“What, but that – that he was, um, disappointed?” His words were intertwined with self-effacing laughs.

“I’m sorry.” Browning had the decency to refuse to meet Robert’s eyes in light of what he was revealing. “But he’s wrong. You can build a better company than he ever did.”

“Mr Fischer? He’s lying.” My dad approached to whisper to Robert.

“How do you know?”

“Trust me, it’s what I do, he’s hiding something, and we need to find out what that is.” Eames stalked into the room with Saito tailing behind. His weak frame confirmed my worry that the temporary heal of the deeper dream was starting to peel off to awaken a new countdown to the end. “I need you to do the same thing to him, that he was going to do to you.”

Eames and Arthur both held Browning down to "prepare him" for the next level. Ariadne and I did the same thing but in preparation for the others.

“We’re going to go into his subconscious and find out what he doesn’t want you to know.” My father continued to explain.

“All right.” Robert agreed determinedly. He approached where Arthur had his IV prepared but he faltered and angled himself towards where I stood. I was busy arranging for Ariadne and failed to notice him until he tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and was taken aback at his choice to converse with me. “Will you do it? For me?” He softly spoke and offered me the IV he had taken off Arthur. His eyes pierced down to capture just the two of us and they spoke to me to convey that I was the only one he could trust. I felt the burning glare of my father at the deviation from the scene. It had startled me as well but I was nothing if not an improviser.

“Of course.” I soothed, and gently clasped his bare arm in my hand to lightly insert the needle. I guided him to sit down on the bed. As the sedative seeped through my hand glided towards his neck. His weight fell onto it and I laid him down offering as much care as I could to ease him into this change. Once his head met the soft mattress, my fingers dragged back to the front. They lingered on his soft cheek and danced their way to his full pink lips. I was overcome seeing true peace line his features. But I was shot back to the situation at hand once Eames clapped my back in a warning.

“He’s out.” I announced.

“Wait whose subconscious are we going into exactly?” Ariadne questioned.

“We’re going into Fischer’s.” Cobb answered. “But I told him it was Brownings so he’d come be part of our team.”

“He’s gonna help us break into his own subconscious?” Arthur looked towards my father with doubt in his brow.

“That’s right.”

I laid down on the floor as Arthur kneeled over me, helping to prepare the IV.

“Security’s gonna run you hard.” I warned understanding the danger of leaving the dreamer at the whim of the projections and feeling genuine fear for Arthur up here on his own.

“Then I will lead them on a merry chase.” He teased as he smirked down at me knowing to reassure me in this moment, so my head would be clear of frivolous worries for his safety.

I giggled at his choice of words. “Just be back before the kick.” I relaxed my head back in wait of my slumber.

He lowered his voice to a soothing whisper. “Go to sleep, y/n.” he hushed.

LAYER THREE: THE SNOW

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Because y/n will have experienced stuff like the previous chapter before, it makes sense she would want to go to Arthur for comfort as it's her tried and tested way

Also like I said at the start, I know its a short chapter but I felt like it was a natural stopping point and it means I'm not trying to cram loads of plot at once.

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07 @viarosemcmissile @noirrose21-blog @thepoeticfirefly @xoxo-gothic-girl @skeletonwrite @jellyzelek @kaylamarie306-blog

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think-like-a-poet · 4 months

Text

Continue the legacy pt 2

Leclerc son x Verstappen daughter

Masterlist of the story

Wc: 1100+

Summary: The families are happily spending the holidays. Well one of them is happy, the other has a bit of drama.

A/N: I know almost nothing about Nelson Piquet. His reactions are for the story and I do not know what he thinks of it.The same counts for Kelly. Keep in mind everything is fictional.

2028- Christmas

Winter break had been going great for Charles. He didn't have to leave every week to go to the other side of the world. He could wake up next to his wife, sun shining through the curtains. The sound of snores coming out of the living room from Leo and Jules quietly asleep in the room next to theirs. It was heaven in his eyes.

Charles feels Alex move next to him, trying to get out of the bed, but Charles trows his arm around her body to pull her back. He laughs and escapes her lips as she turns around to face her husband. "Charles, we have to get ready to meet your family." she went with her hand trough his hair, making him smile and kiss her on the cheek

"They can wait five more minutes." Alexandra gave into her husband, knowing that he would just pull back if she tried to leave again. Unfortunately for Charles, Leo started whining, meaning he had to go out. Charles groans and Alex laughs at his antics as she stands up to let Leo in the garden.

He follows her out of the bedroom and walks towards Jules's room. "Bonjoir mon étoile, did you sleep well?" he asks, even though Jules couldn't speak yet. Jules was at the age that he started to brabble a bit more and sometimes he tried to say words. Charles finds it adorable when Jules looks up at him, giggles leaving his mouth as he energetically moves around. He had made it his job to let 'papa' be his first word.

Later that day the family of three entered Pascales home. "Merry Christmas, Maman." Charles says to his mother, placing three kisses on her cheeks. She thanks him before embracing Alexandra in a hug and gives her kisses too. "Merry Christmas everyone." Jules lets out a little giggle from the touch as his grandmother places a kiss on his cheeks.

"There is my favorite nephew," Artur says as he walks up to Jules to give him a hug. Jules lets out a laugh as Arthur tickles him. "Can you give me a high five, give your favorite uncle a high five," The youngest Leclerc brother puts out his hand, but his nephew just walks back to his father. This caused them all to laugh at him.

"he is also your only nephew," Charles tells his younger brother as he picks up his son from the floor. He walks over to his mother to greet her and gives her three kisses on the cheek. "Where is Lorenzo?"

"Him and Charlotte are stuck in traffic, they will be here shortly." She answers her son as she walks over to her daughter to give her a kiss. "Great to see you again. "

Alexandra smiles at the older woman, "We brought tiramisu for dessert. "

¨ You didn't have to do that. We already have so much,΅ the older woman said as she took the tray from her daughter in law and went to put it in the fridge.

"You can never have too many desserts Maman." Arthur says as he picks up a cookie from the table. His mother is quick to pat his hand away and give him a look of disapproval. "Get your hand away and wait for your brother to arrive." Arthur lets out an annoyed puff and goes to sit on the couch.

At dinner later that evening the family of 7 are seated at the dinner table, talking about if Charles and Alexandra were going to put their son into karting.

"If he does, let's hope he doesn't get a rival with his peers like his dad did. Always looking for trouble on and off the track.." Pascale laughs as she remembers her son's attics from his karting career.

"You never know. Maybe Verstappen's child does karting too and they just become the smaller versions of their dads."

"It had been so long ago that Max and I pushed each other off the tracks. But sure, time will tell." Charles says he can only hope that wouldn't happen.

As they continue their conversation, Charles can't help but feel grateful for this moment with his family, surrounded by love and laughter. He knows that these moments are precious and fleeting, with him being away all the time and he's determined to cherish them every step of the way.

It was quite funny moment that the Verstappen's were discussing the same topic in the grand villa in Brazil. Only, it was being spoken about rather poorly. The atmosphere was tense, with the air thick with unspoken emotions. Nelson Piquet had been eyeing his youngest granddaughter lying in her crib with concern.

"Shouldn't you like to try to get a son to continue our legacy?" Nelson Piquet commented, his voice dripping with condescension. "After all, family is everything, isn't it?" He glanced at Max, who was already rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"Sofie can always pick up racing if she develops an interest in it," Max replied, trying to politely steer the conversation away from the sensitive topic. But the older man wasn't having any of it.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, his tone growing increasingly annoyed. "She's a woman, they don't belong on a race track." He looked at Max with disappointment.

"I never asked for your opinion on her career, so you can just keep your mouth shut," Max shot back, his temper flaring.

Kelly scolded him sharply. "Max, don't talk to my father like that," she said, trying to intervene. But Max was too angry to listen.

"I don't give a fuck if he is your father," he said, his voice rising. "He's a sexist person. If any woman wants to get into motorsport then she does what she wants. None of them asked for your opinion on it." He picked up Sofie and walked towards the door.

"I am just going back to the hotel," he said, as he reached for the door handle. "Merry Christmas and a Happy new year." With that, he walked out of the room, leaving Kelly and her father looking at each other in stunned silence.

Kelly didn't even try to stop him from leaving, but instead walked over to her father and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Don't mind him," she said, trying to calm him. But her father just shook his head, his expression clouded with disappointment and anger. "I never liked him. You could do so much better."

At that moment Penelope walked back into the living room, having gone to the toilet. "Where is Maxy?"

"He decided to leave earlier with Sofie. We will see him tomorrow." Kelly walked over to her daughter, who looked confused at the people in front of her, feeling the tension from miles away. She just dropped the topic, not wanting to steer anything more. She would have to ask Max.

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Next chapter will be better because Sofie and Jules will be older. I just giving some background chapters.

Tag list: @hiireadstuff @nikfigueiredo @elliott-calls @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e

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