#( & there's bravery in being soft / arthur. )

[goldnsyren]

✦ A Woman of No Importance: The Shelby Children Grown

⤑ Based on this post...

Charles Arthur Shelby - b. 1922; soft and quiet. Charlie seemed to inherit his father's stoicism as he grew older. An infamously mild-mannered man, he never spoke what he didn't know to be true and never smiled unless he found something funny. Nevertheless, few men could find fault in him. A RAF Navigator, he was brave, calculating, and unshakable. He wore the moniker of 'mama's boy' with pride - writing to her every day - and liked to tend to his gardens and feed fish in his spare time.

Dorothy Rose Shelby - b. 1925; spoiled and cunning. Dottie was almost the mirror image of her mother with her father's wide eyes. Blue, and piercing, and full of mischievous, there was never a wheel not turning- a plot always in the making. The apple of her father's eye, she asked for little and wanted for nothing. She kept hunting dogs for the company and wrote poetry when she could. She made a name for herself in the Nursing Corps for being equal parts brilliant and ballsy - earning not one but two military medals for her bravery.

James Thomas Shelby - b. 1926; young and reckless. The truest test of Rose's patience, James never met a challenge he didn't meet with a heavy fist and a cheeky grin. He excelled at most things he put his mind to - from horse riding to boxing to women - and never met a gamble he wasn't willing to take. Too much like his father for his own good, he respected few and listened to none. None, but his mother, that was... though even she couldn't keep him from signing up for the Army on his 18th birthday.

.

Tag List: @drbobbimorse @chlobenet @too-many-cats-in-one-trench-coat @maddiethefashionista @omg-soufflegirl @pillarsofrevolution

[cainluvr69]

Let Me Tell You The Story Of A Rainbow - Chapter 24

Previous Chapter

Murr: Yooouuu got it!

Murr twirled happily through the air, a bright, beautiful smile engulfing his whole head.

Murr: <Eanul Lambru>!

The faded, washed-out sky shined brightly with pure, white light, and starry raindrops of sugar began to fall.

Luca: …So sparkly…pretty…

Luca watched as the rain fell, her eyes glittering with happiness…and then Murr popped his head in front of hers, so close she couldn't possibly see around his face.

Murr: I found something pretty and sparkly he~ere too!

Luca: …Huh?

Murr: Your eyes. What a tragedy you can't see them yourself, as beautiful as they are right now. But worry not, little one, for that beauty will not remain unknown. I've observed it. Everyone here has. Each and every one of us knows how this world makes your eyes shine with light.

Murr grinned mischievously, and Luca must've been caught up in the magic-less spell he'd cast on her, because she smiled, too. It was a small, slight smile, but still a smile nonetheless. The cocoon of flowers that had jealously tried to hide Luca within itself began to fall apart, flower by flower, and where each blossom touched the faded ground below, colors began to ripple out. I watched as the dull, colorless world began to be painted over until the light from Luca's cocoon was so bright I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. And when the light faded and I could open my eyes again, the illustrated world inside the picture book had returned to its bright and beautiful self. Luca almost tumbled to the ground now that most of her cocoon had fallen away, but Rutile was right there to catch her in his arms. Now that she was being cradled by Rutile and not her floral chrysalis, I could see that color had returned to her face--she didn't look like a bloodless porcelain doll anymore. Her soft cheeks and dainty lips had been painted a delicate pink.

Rutile: Oh, Luca…you really did your best in there…!

Aslan: I'm glad you aren't…you aren't hurt. I'm really, really, so glad…!

Aslan tried to rush over to Luca's side, but his legs were trembling as much as his voice was. But though his progress was slow, he still made his way to her, his expression blooming into one of relief as the realization that she was really alright settled in. He knelt down next to her, coming down to her line of sight. He reached out with one shaking hand to gently stroke her cheek. But before he could touch her, some loud, cheery voices interrupted the moment.

Figaro: Oh, here they are. Hello, everyone, glad to see you're all okay.

Lennox: You are unhurt, yes? Master Sage? All of you?

Murr: Everyone's back! Welcome hoooome!

Chloe & Rustica: We're back!

Mitile: Ah… Rutile, there's a cut on your cheek! Are you okay?

Rutile: Yup, everything's a-okay! Thank you for finding that piece of Luca's memories, Mitile. Gosh, you look a little different, somehow. A little more grown up? You must've been hard at work out there!

Mitile: Ehehe… Yeah, I was!

Cain: Was everyone okay on this end of things?

Shino: Yeah, somehow.

Arthur: It was thanks to everyone's bravery, of course.

Snow: Truly, you all did very well. That goes for more than just our dear Sage, of course.

White: It goes for those who protected them and those who recovered the pieces of the girl's memory.

Riquet: I'm so happy Luca woke up. And that this place is so beautiful again.

Mitile: Me too! Good morning, Miss Luca. Um, do you remember who we are?

Luca blinked at Mitile and Riquet, who were kind of crowding around her face. She looked a bit lost in the sudden lively cheer that had wrapped itself around her.

Oz: Reclaiming one's heart is not a simple effort.

Oz's words made Luca's eyes widen.

Oz: Had you fallen to such despair that you would destroy this world yourself, I would have taken all but you back to the real world. You did well to not allow yourself to sink so far.

Luca: ……Mhm.

Luca nodded in response with an odd look on her face, somewhere halfway between relaxed relief and an anxiety attack.

Chloe: I'm so glad everything's nice and pretty again! Now we can all take a moment to relax.

Rustica: You're the one who illustrated this lovely world, yes? It is so strangely beautiful, or perhaps beautifully strange, that I find myself wanting to compose a new song in its honor. I have played many, many songs, you see, and yet I still feel as if I have found something beautiful and new to play within this world. Thank you, little one. Would you give me the honor of a dance?

Luca: …umm…

Rustica smiled gently, and brought the hand he'd elegantly offered to Luca back to his chest.

Rustica: Alas, though I would like to extend such an offer, it shall have to wait 'til next time.

Shylock: Indeed. It would be uncouth to interrupt such an emotional reunion.

And with that, Shylock glanced up at Aslan and winked.

Shylock: Pay us no mind; wizards are creatures that follow their own whims by nature. But this moment is one that should be dedicated to the two of you.

As the cheery atmosphere began to settle, Luca turned to face Aslan once again. Maybe the way things suddenly felt so much more formal was what made her stare firmly at the ground as she took a few steps forward, her hands nervously playing against each other as she held them to her chest. And then she looked up at Aslan with her wide, clear eyes--right then you could've told me they were marbles instead, and I would've believed it. But when their eyes met, the tension melted; the same way a startled gasp becomes a sigh of relief.

Luca: …

Aslan: …Luca. Are you still feeling woozy? Or does it hurt anywhere?

I could hear Aslan's voice shaking, just a little bit. The hand he was gently stroking Luca's hair with was shaking, too. And Luca's little shoulders were trembling as well. They were very in sync, these two. And then the dam broke, and Luca started crying. Her tears rolled down her cheeks like a river.

Aslan: …Huh?! Um-- L-Luca, are you okay?

Luca latched onto Aslan's chest, clinging to him as she wailed tearfully. Aslan, on the other hand, didn't have the first clue what he was supposed to do here. It was such a sweet sight, I felt myself starting to smile at the two of them.

Akira: I think what she's trying to say is that seeing your face right after she woke up, Mister Aslan, reassured her that everything really is going to be okay. She was sleeping all on her own for quite a while, after all.

Aslan: …I…I see. I certainly hope so. This is the first time I've ever seen her cry so openly with me…haha, it's making me feel a bit happy, somehow.

Aslan gently rubbed Luca's back, looking a bit bashful.

Luca: ……I'm--I'm happy…too.

Aslan: …!

Aslan's smile was as pure and simple as that of a little kid's. He put one of his big hands on Luca's head and ruffled her long hair--he didn't look like he'd gotten to do that very much before now. The corners of his amber eyes were crinkled up a bit into the beginnings of smile lines.

Chloe: There's no one here but us, so… Cry it all out until you feel all better.

Shylock: Letting your tears flow freely is its own kind of pleasure, after all.

My wizards watched over them with warm, gentle expressions… And that made me feel warm too, deep inside my chest.

✦✧☾✧✦

By the time all of my wizards had returned, Luca had finished getting all her tears out, too.

Mithra: Oh, you've finally made it back. You're all rather late, aren't you.

Bradley: Hey, looks like things're all settled down now over here. It must be thanks to the one and only Bradley Bain's hard work that everything went according to plan, yeah?

Owen: It's thanks to my hard work, thank you very much. Just who got the pearl back from that lizard again? Think you can remind me?

Mithra: Please don't start saying such stupid things when you're already late to return. Also, it was thanks to me.

Faust: I felt the world tremble at one point on our way back… I'm glad you managed to be patient.

Nero: Yeah. I was gettin' nervous thinkin' one of the Northern wizards had gotten bored and decided to take things into their own hands.

Mithra: Hehe. You did?

Shino: The very guy who tried to sure seems proud of it. Heathcliff: Ahaha… Well, I'm glad Shino…and everyone else came out of it without getting very hurt. Dr. Figaro already closed up the cut on Rutile's cheek, too.

Rutile: It's such a relief nothing too bad happened! Luca, how are you feeling now? Have you calmed down?

Luca nodded nervously, and Roxy alighted on her little shoulder, wrapping her in the soft sound of bells.

Aslan: Roxy was really worried about you, too.

Luca: …! You can see Roxy…?

Aslan: Yeah. We were only able to make it in here in the first place because Roxy led us inside. I'm so happy I was able to meet one of your precious friends, Luca.

Luca: Oh, I get it… It's because this is inside of the picture book. Everyone can see what I see because I made this world myself.

Luca hugged her shoulders tightly. That gesture alone made it obvious how much warmth there was in her heart that she wanted to express. Now that her little mouth had opened, Luca had lots to say, even if it only came out a little at a time.

Luca: There were a lot of things I only learned about for the very first time because of my friends. Because they were the very first ones to ever treat me nicely… My first friend. The first time my heart pounded. The first time I read or wrote anything, too. The first time I felt safe when I slept, the first time I got to snuggle up with anyone… They gave me all of those firsts.

She spoke while carefully contemplating and choosing each word. Each one was as delicate as the writing in her books, as sweet as confectionery sugar… Each syllable was precise, but gentle.

Luca: When I noticed that I'd stopped being able to see everyone…I got so scared. …And now, I can't see or hear any of them but Roxy. I thought that if I finished this book, I wouldn't even be able to see Roxy anymore. And I hated that so much that I…

Aslan: Oh, Luca… I could tell something was upsetting you, but I didn't know what. I thought it was that you were afraid of getting shouted at by anyone at the exhibition. …But that wasn't it, was it. You were fighting the fear that you'd lose your friends forever, and I was just making it worse for you without realizing.

Luca: …That wasn't the only thing I was scared of.

Aslan: Huh?

Luca: I don't think I'm going to be able to draw my picture books as well if I stop being able to see my world. And I thought that…that if that happened, then you'd…

Luca trailed off into silence. She was scared of putting it into words. She was terrified of the idea that if she turned her fears into something as solid as words she said aloud, it'd make them come true.

Oz: If you do not wish to use your words, then you need not speak. However, there are those here who have put much effort into being able to hear what you have to say.

Arthur: Lord Oz…

A warm breeze caught Oz's hair as he looked at the world that unfolded out around us.

Oz: This world is much like the inside of an egg. It envelops all of who you are, keeping you protected from the world outside. But an egg requires warmth, and it cannot provide that for itself. If left alone, whatever is within will die. That which is within can remain in the egg through rain, through storm, and through snow, only as long as there is something outside to keep it warm.

Luca: …

Luca's big eyes turned from Oz to Aslan. Aslan nodded, very slowly.

Aslan: …It's okay, Luca.

Aslan met her gaze, looking deep into her eyes. What he saw was perhaps like the seafloor, something so far away from the surface that few ever saw it. He continued to speak, voice gentle.

Aslan: I'll always be here to keep you warm when you're tucked away in your shell. Although it's not for your sake, I confess. It's for my own. I will continue to keep you warm and safe because I want to keep you warm and safe. And I'll always want to do that until the day you're ready to hatch. Because…the one who told me about a world I would never have known about otherwise…was you. No one else but you. So, will you let me do that for you? It's the least I could do to repay you. Because the day I met you…will always be my dearest treasure.

Luca: …

Aslan: If you don't draw anymore, that's fine. If you don't even want to draw anymore, that's fine, too. If that happens…let's go on a journey together.

When he said that, he looked up at the rest of the wizards assembled here. Trust and respect glittered in his eyes.

Aslan: How about we go see everything they talked about wanting to show you?

Shino: Hey, that's a good idea. The view from the top of the tallest tree in Sherwood Forest is the best there is. I'll proudly take you there.

Heathcliff: When you do, please pay a visit to Blanchett Castle as well. There's a factory where they make all sorts of interesting things I'm sure you'll enjoy seeing.

Next Chapter

[alohcmcrax]

open.  location:  Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour

   “It’s called sudoku.”  Arthur said as he showed the other what he was working on. He had been shown it by one of his muggleborn colleagues and the male was instantly hooked. Although, he wasn’t particularly good at it, he still tried his best to figure it out and it passed the time. He took a spoonful of ice cream. “It’s really neat, I think! Makes you actually use your head, I could show you if you’d like?” Most times his amazement at the little things muggles had annoyed others or surprised them. However, that didn’t prompt him to stop being excited each time he discovered something new. 

[pastel-detective]

Favorite things about Jughead? 👀 Inquiring gay minds would like to know.

Okay, inquiring gay minds.

• His smile/teeth

• The way he analyzes literature and media

• His ability to get into the minds of criminals and ascertain their motivations in his own unique way

• The way his voice sounds like a cross between the mocking detectives from Forensic Files and Rod Serling when he narrates crimes for his show in a deadpan voice

• His extensive true crime knowledge

• His style of writing and the ideas he comes up with

• The fact that he is always authentic to who he is and will often become an iconoclast for the greater good, even if nobody backs him up

• His glasses

• His rings/jewelry

• The many tattoos he has

• The fact that every single video he’s ever showed me online has been completely new to me

• The fact that he lets me put my makeup on him and will use my beauty products

• His singing voice

• Our movie nights

• His ability to make me laugh

• When he shares what books he’s reading with me and is willing to lend me any copies I want to borrow

• His love of bookstores and libraries

• His boldness

• The fact that I can successfully drag him out of the house

• When he quoted Arthur Conan Doyle to Penelope Blossom while believing he was going to die

• Not to encourage reckless behavior, but I thought it was impressive that he was able to survive a fall out a (three?) story window with a few bruises

• The sentimental value he has towards his possessions

• The fact that he loves cats and is good with them

• His ability to make me feel accepted and listened to

• The way he’s always encouraged me to express myself

• How creative he is

• His sleep shirts

• The fact that he cutely hid behind me from Nana Rose

• His overcoats, particularly the flannel ones

• How seriously he takes free press

• His kinks, and no I will not list what they are specifically

• His sweater vests and pants chains

• The fact that he has no issue with just telling someone extremely disparaging information about themselves to their face

• His love for food and being fed

• Our nap dates

• Our investigations and suspect boards

• The smell of his books

• The fact that he thinks I’m similar to Nancy Drew and the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

• His nasally voice

• His bravery and resourcefulness

• The fact that he will instinctively punch a person who disrespects me

• The meals he makes for me

• His hands

• Suspenders

• How soft his sweaters feel

• How much trust me puts in me

• The fact that lighting fires is an interest of his

• The essays he’s written that ripped into certain holidays

• Being able to read his vomit drafts

• How smart he is

• The fact that being a referee really brings him out of his shell

• His dramatic rants

• His possessive nature and how it offsets mine

• Him helping begin a smear campaign against the Farm and traumatizing Evelyn so badly that she had to take a break from Twitter

• The soft side of his that only comes out with me

• His chess abilities

• His eyes

[theshelbyclan]

Defiance

Summary: When your brothers went off to war, you couldn’t just sit and wait for them: you had to work, so as nurse Shelby, you started nursing in London

(Gif by @nofckingfighting​)

A/N: Anon requested: Hello, I saw that you write Shelby sister imagines? Is it ok for you to do me one please? I always imagine her being the same age as John and very close to Tommy. I was thinking along the lines of when the boys go to war she goes to a hospital in London dealing with soliders who need rehabilitation and help with PTSD. She doesn't come home until a year after the boys? Here's they are in trouble with Campbell and Billy Kimber Obviously take it wherever you like to I'm happy for whatever x I’m making this a two-part story, to be able to combine two different requests that had a lot of similarities. I’m using your request for the first part, and let me just say, this is such a beautiful idea that it deserves to be a film on its own. Hope I did it justice! :) Part 2 is Acceptance 

Warning: mentions of death, war and suicide.

Words: 3107

***

“I will not,” defiantly you stood in front of your superior, arms crossed in front of you and a rebellious scowl on your face. “Excuse me?” the head nurse turned around to face you, “This again, nurse Shelby?”

For a moment, you faltered. Going against a senior nurse was something that wasn’t tolerated, at all. And with good reason! The hospital wouldn’t be able to function properly. During the war, it’d been constant chaos, with men coming in and going out constantly. Dying was often a blessing, and there had been so much, so much death. But the war was over and still the men kept on coming.

“I’m not trying to rebel, nurse Miller,” you said, more meekly this time, “I just don’t see how this is going to help any of them.” “Doctor says it works,” nurse Miller replied matter-of-factly. “But does it?” some fire was coming back into you, “They are able to talk and walk again, sure, but that’s not the same as recovery, is it? The problem is not of a physical nature, it’s a mental struggle these men face.” The head nurse looked up from her work and turned fully towards you now, “Remember your place, nurse Shelby. Do as you’re told. Go on, off with you.” “What research has really been done concerning these…” you waved your hand in an annoyed manner, “methodsthat the doctors employ these days!” Thoroughly irritated now, nurse Miller dropped her work and one look told you all you needed to know: you were in trouble. Again. And so you were back to scrubbing bedpans yet again. All nurses were required to do this work and the long days without much sleep had hardened you all to the blood and filth. Still, some nurses were given this job more than others. Especially the nurses who couldn’t control their mouths around their superiors. Silently, you cursed your Shelby spirit.

But then your mind drifted off to the subject you had been discussing with nurse Miller and your blood began to boil again. ‘The soldier’s heart’, that’s what they used to called it. These were the men who could never sit still, felt anxious all the time and were constantly on edge. It had been considered a ‘normal’ condition for decennia, but it had taken on the form of an epidemic after the Great War. Brave men could no longer function and the severe psychological trauma haunted most of them still, even though the war had been over for several months now! ‘Shell-shock’ was now the popular term and doctors everywhere tried to fix the physical symptoms of the condition. You simply couldn’t fathom how none of them seemed to acknowledge that these were just symptoms: the real problem had taken root in the brain or the heart, maybe even in the soul.

“What did you do this time?” Daisy, or nurse Wells as was the proper term, asked you, when she saw you sitting on your knees in front of piles and piles of bedpans. You looked up and grinned sheepishly, “I disagreed with nurse Miller.” 

“Again.” “Again,” you admitted contritely. Daisy put down the towels she had taken in for washing, “If you’re going to disagree with anyone, choose someone less uptight! Might save your knees.” A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. Daisy was the perfect nurse: she could function on two hours of sleep a night, see the most horrific stuff and still work on tirelessly, while aiming to make the others smile. Where you’d be without Daisy you didn’t even dare think about. “Alright,” she sighed good-naturedly, “Tell me. What did you argue this time? And tell me you’re sorry afterwards, just to practise!” Full of anger, you threw down the brush, “Electro-shock therapy doesn’t fucking help anyone! These men went to hell and back and now their brains are protesting against all the horrors they witnessed. Their minds are revolting, as they should be! The only thing ever accomplished by shocking the men into talking again or walking again is that you’ve taken away their last manner of protesting against inhumane practises. Bravo! You’ve made them into full human bombshells now, without a peep of opposition. How in the fuck is that even medically sound!?” Daisy waited a moment, “So you’re not actually sorry.” “Fuck, no.”

She looked around the door for a second and then whispered, “Fuck.” Your head shot up and you grinned broadly, “Nurse Wells, what did you just say?” “I suddenly felt brave,” she shrugged a little, “thought I might be brave enough to say the F-word, with just you here to hear me.” Full of theatrics you stood up and offered her your hand, “I congratulate you earnestly. You have now crossed a line. Welcome to the fucking party!” Beaming, Daisy tried to scold, “You’re a bad influence on me.” “You should see the rest of the Shelby clan,” and a sudden pang went through you the very moment you had spoken the words. Your friend noticed at once, “Y/N, when are you going back?” “Can’t abandon the men now,” you said briskly, leaving very little room for discussion. Daisy hesitated and finally asked, “They did all come back from France, didn’t they?” “Yes.” “When did you hear?” Scrubbing again, you replied, “I never heard, but I’d know if something had happened to them.” Daisy nodded: she knew you well enough to know your instincts never failed you, even if it got you in trouble. A lot.

***

You were lying in bed and even though the shifts weren’t as long as they’d been during the war, sleep was still scarce. Many of you got five to six hours of sleep now, which had been unimaginable during the war! Still, exhaustion wasn’t unfamiliar to any of you and when the nurses hit their pillows, they often slept at once. Still, you were wide-awake at this very moment. When the war started, it didn’t take long for the boys to sign up. Your brothers went, full of energy and bravery and all women were left grieving at home. Ada kept her mind off it, something you were never good at. You couldn’t bear the thought of all these men dying out at the front, and for what? No one seemed to know. But aunt Polly had really send you over the edge. Every morning she got up to pray and at first you had joined her, but unrest had grown inside of you and praying simply wasn’t enough anymore. So, just like your brothers, you had decided and left for training in London. There was no arguing with you and no one tried.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the things you’d seen during your time here as a nurse. The broken men, shattered limbs, blood and gore and death were easy enough to get used to. That thought alone made you frown in confusion: what has become of us, that we think that’s the easy part? But the endless streams of young men, hopeful men once, now broken and shattered like the fields of France themselves, that was the hard part. You fed them, nursed them, mended them, talked to them and held their hand if they went. And each and every face changed the moment just before they died: they were all one of your brothers. They were still alive. Aunt Polly had the gift of second sight and even though you weren’t sure what to believe, you had some of it too. Either way, you would’ve known if they were dead. But what were they like now? Because that was the real reason you daren’t go back to Small Heath. What is they were like some of these men, like ghosts trapped in the body of a once healthy human being? You wouldn’t be able to cope.

People always said that twins have a certain connection. You and John had never noticed anything of a special connection, apart from a certain gift for squabbling. But once he was at the front, when the bombs started falling, you could hear his screams in your mind. That’s when the connection had suddenly kicked in and it kept you up and made you tear your hair out for fear. God was cruel like that. “Are you a Shelby or not?” you suddenly whispered strictly to yourself. “Who is this, cowering away in London and fearing what she might see at home? Be a grownup and fucking face your family!” But something just stopped you.

***

For the next couple of weeks, you tried to get back into the swing of things. You worked harder than ever, with your exhaustion as a form of atonement. Daisy was worried and even nurse Miller told you to slow down at some point.

And then you sat next to a bed of a dying soldier. Your shift had finished already, but still you’d refused to leave him. And why? Because he reminded you of Arthur. “Nurse?” he asked feebly. You shook your head to get rid of the thoughts roaming about, “I’m here,” you comforted him. “I can’t see,” he said, “Is that normal?” You took his hand, “I’m right here. Can you feel my hand?” He grabbed it a little tighter, “Yes. You have soft hands.” You smiled warmly at him. He asked again, “Nurse?” “Yes.” “When I get better,” he tried to sit up a little, “Can I maybe take you out some time?” He sure as hell wasn’t the first one to ask, so his request didn’t embarrass or shock you in the slightest. You tried to put on a chipper voice, imitating Daisy, “I don’t know. It depends, I suppose: where would we go?” The wounded soldier smiled, “I can take you to the movies. That’s what the Americans call it, did you know? The movies…” You couldn’t help but smile, “Which film would we go to?” “I’ll take you to that new romantic film, the one with that famous American actor.” “You quite like the Americans, don’t you?” you joked. He smiled again, suddenly revealing how handsome he actually was, “Americans, they have a way with women.” “So do you!” “Does that mean you’ll go with me?”

“When you get better, we’ll go to the movies,” you confirmed. But he didn’t get better. The next day, he was back to his ailing and screaming. The trouble with his mind was that sometimes the fragments seemed to recompose again and he was as sane as any man, but at other times, the war bombed his soul. His physical injuries were extensive and his chances of survival were slim. Still, the doctor was adamant on trying shock therapy on him, thinking it might help with both his physical and psychological ailments. You didn’t agree, but kept your mouth shut for once. Still, you screamed into your pillow the next night, feeling so fucking helpless at the sight of pointless suffering. The next morning, nurse Miller send you over to that soldier once again to change his bandages. All light had left his eyes. Practically inaudibly, he said, “Nurse?” “I’m here,” you took his hand again in yours. “Would you’ve done it? Would you’ve allowed me to take you out?” “Of course!” you exclaimed, “Not every day a handsome young man asks a girl like me out!” He paused for a moment, “Honestly?” “Honestly,” you said. Suddenly, he relaxed and fell back into the cushions. You frowned a little though, slightly worried about why he was no longer sure of his recovery. But there was more work to be done and you had to be on your way again. When nurse Miller told you he’d gotten hold of a razor somehow and killed himself in the night, something inside you shattered. That was it. You were done. ***

On the train to Birmingham, you couldn’t help but think about how much you’d changed. Once a Small Heath gypsy, being on edge about not being useful enough, you’d left full of innocence. Well, maybe not innocent, you were a Shelby after all. But you’d grown up being protected by young brothers, fighting them and others constantly, and still you considered your childhood a happy one. The amount of times you’d screamed at them, “I’m not a child anymore!” was insane, but only now you felt like that sentence was justified. The war had changed you too. Quickly, you’d send Aunt Polly a telegram before departing London. It said: ‘I’m coming home. Still alive. Make sure the boys save me some whiskey.’ She wouldn’t be pleased with a message like that, but you couldn’t wait to deal with the consequences again. Stepping off the train and back onto familiar ground felt like entering a dream. Oh, how you had missed the stench and noise! Without a thought, you took off your shoes and walked barefoot through the muddy streets. Watch out, Birmingham, you thought cheekily, the pauper princess is back! All nerve left you as soon as it’d come when you stood in front of your house at Watery Lane. And while you were still plucking up the courage to open the door, it swung wide open and nearly hit you square in the nose. A flash of green came rushing out and two arms squeezed the life out of you. “Where the hell have you been?” they demanded. Softly, you breathed in the smell of her perfume, “Fucking working, Ada, unlike you.” “Aunt Pol is going after you with the wooden spoon and I won’t lift a finger to save you,” she scolded, without letting go. You rolled your eyes into your sister’s hair. And then you suddenly noticed, “Looks like you’ve been busy as well!” Ada stepped back and looked down, “Seven months. Can’t even see my toes anymore, I’ve gotten so fat.” “Not much to look at anyways,” you commented. Ada slapped your shoulder and you winced. At least nothing had changed between you two.

With Aunt Polly it was an entirely different story. As soon as you walked into the house, she froze and fixed you with one of her stares that could make empires crumble. You could feel your shoulders slumping, your heart racing and you held your breath. Nothing had changed there either: it was like you were eight years old again. Slowly, she walked over to you and took a long hard look at you, never releasing eye contact. Then she grabbed your face and you almost winced, but instead she said, “You need to eat. Sit.”

Not hesitating, you obeyed at once. Without a word, she threw your telegram on the table. The silence was filled with anxiety-fuelled electricity and she let you calmly simmer in it for a few more moments. Then she spoke, “You have ten seconds to explain, before I slap you back to London myself.” So you took a big gulp of breath and explained, “I got into another fight with the head nurse and then everything went to shit and I didn’t know what to do, because I felt guilty, because he died and I fucking cannot with those doctors, because I knew work would be hard and I signed up for it, but all of a sudden I was just done, and I wanted to come back sooner, but I was scared Tommy and Arthur were dead and that John was, well I wanted to come sooner but didn’t know how to come back, and also I was you know scared that you might not take it well, and how I left, and yeah well, I was afraid this was going to happen…” “Leave her be,” Ada said to your aunt, “She’s worn out.” “It’s been eight months since the war ended,” Aunt Polly said, her face still not betraying any emotion, “We thought you were gone.” “I’m okay, Pol,” you said carefully. “How the fuck were we supposed to know?” She burst out, “No note, no letter, nothing. And now you think you can just show up, like the queen of fucking Birmingham, after writing some shitty telegram that made me drop my favourite teacup?” “Oh no, the blue one?” you asked. Ada glared at you, her eyes saying: not the right fucking response right now. So you cast your eyes downwards, “I’m sorry, Pol. The work, it just drags you in. I kept on seeing their faces in all the wounded soldiers I took care of. It was the only way I could cope.” Aunt Polly’s face softened a little, “It’s the waiting. The waiting almost killed the women.”

Images of wartime nightmares flashed in front of your eyes. Waiting was the thing you were terrible at, as it turned out. It ate you up inside, and now you’d done it to them. Finally, Aunt Polly’s reaction made sense.

“Forgive me,” you pleaded.

Your aunt walked over to the table and sat down next to you. She took your hand in hers and a wave of reassurance washed over you, “You’re like a working horse. They go crazy when they rest. You leaving shouldn’t have come as a surprise to us. It’s good to have you back. Welcome home, Y/N.”

No longer able to contain yourself, you flung yourself forwards and hugged your aunt. Tears fell from your eyes and finally, ease came over you.

Then you heard voices from the other room. Arthur’s voice first, loud and angry. He hadn’t changed much either then, perhaps a little angrier than before. Then Tommy’s reply, cold and business-like. He sounded like dad now. Finally your twin: John laughing like he was still playing in the gutter. For a few minutes, you didn’t move. You just listened to them and revelled in their sounds. These were the sounds of brothers, still alive, and you couldn’t be happier about it.

“Billy Kimber has a bloody army!” Arthur shouted.

You looked towards Ada for some kind of explanation, but she just rolled her eyes. Aunt Polly sat back and lit a cigarette. The fact that she gave that one to you, before lighting another for herself, showed she now thought of you as an adult as well. The moment was brief, but so intimate.

With a bang, the door slammed open en Arthur came storming in. Tommy was sighing deeply and still cursing right behind him, and through the open door you could see John. They all froze when they saw you, all at the same time, jaws practically hitting the floor.

“Billy Kimber, eh?” you merely said, “Looks like I showed up just in time.” 

***

Masterlist

[blue-jeens]

Prompt: After trying to get Eiji to go back to Japan(episodes 12-13), Ash comes back to the empty condo

The whole world seemed to have gone silent as Ash trudged back up to their apartment.

My apartment, Ash corrected himself, trying to ignore the sharp pang of betrayal his own words sent through him. Eiji didn’t belong here. He never belonged in this snooty Manhattan high rise the way birds didn’t belong in gilded cages. And when you set them free, they didn’t come back.

He had kept Eiji trapped here for far too long, without so much as doing him the courtesy of some company. No, he was too busy getting his hands dirty in back alleys and coming home late to pollute Eiji with that ugliness. Even now, exhausted, covered in blood and sweat from an afternoon of massacring misfortunate amateurs, filthy in a way that ran deeper than a simple shower could wash away, he longed for Eiji. His words, his presence, his warmth, his kindness.

The curtains were drawn, and the whole room was bathed in a calm, warm glow: a cruel contradiction to the tempest inside him. It was a beautiful sunset too. Eiji would have liked it. “Golden hour” he used to say – and run for his camera.

Ash smiled to himself. Let himself pretend he could hear the patter of Eiji’s footsteps in the other room, and any moment now he would rush in to take pictures of Ash lounging around their apartment, and Ash would act like he was annoyed – like his heart wasn’t somersaulting in his chest.

But the seconds ticked by, and Ash leaned his forehead against the window only to feel himself tremble. He closed his eyes; everywhere he looked, it felt like negative space anyway.

He didn’t pack or nuthin boss. Jus’ left for the airport like you asked.

If there was any breath left to spare in Ash’s lungs he would have laughed. He did it on purpose, he thought bitterly. Ash had half a mind to get rid of the condo and never look back. He couldn’t bear the thought of sorting through their possessions and finding reminders of the best thing that had happened to him.

They say if you love someone you should let them go, but they never talk about what you do after. What do you do to make it not hurt? Ash didn’t exactly have the luxury to pine.

But he did anyway; he thought about Eiji and everything he meant to him. He let his guard down, only registering the creak of the door after it had already shut. For a moment he stiffened; out of fear or anticipation, he didn’t know. His mind ran through the possibilities, the likeliest being that he had left someone from Arthur’s gang alive on that train, who had now followed him all the way back here to finish the job.

He could still fight. He could grab his gun and duck behind the kitchen counter and take the intruder out in seconds with the ease that came from years of practice fighting.

But he was so tired of fighting.

So, he stood there, thinking about Eiji’s face and laugh and his smile and his food – and waited for the inevitable bullet to rip through his chest.

“Ash?”

He whipped his head around, felt his stomach turn and heart leap.

Eiji was right there, looking sheepish and windswept and beautiful and – he looked like home. Ash blinked to make sure it truly was Eiji, and not a vivid afterimage of his previous thoughts.

Eiji stepped forward, and in spite of everything Ash actually wanted to do in that moment, he held up his hand, and tried to summon frustration. Eiji froze mid-step.

“Ash, I – ”

“Stop. You’re…” Ash not-so-discreetly wiped a stray tear and composed his wavering voice. “You’re supposed to be in Japan.”

“I couldn’t go. I got off the plane.”

“I don’t want you here.”

He looked hurt, but his face hardened. “Tell me you hate me, Ash. And I’ll leave. I promise.”

“I can’t – that’s unfair.”

“You keep trying to make my decisions for me. Isn’t that unfair?”

Ash clenched his fists at his side, trying not to break down. To start sobbing and make Eiji comfort him when he was hurting too. Because of Ash. It was disgusting.

“I just want you to be safe,” he whispered. “If something happened to you, I don’t know what I would…”

His vision blurred and he only heard Eiji’s shuffle across the carpet. Eiji’s hands settled on his shoulders, featherlight, like he feared breaking Ash.

For a while Eiji just ran his palms over Ash’s arms in silence. When Ash finally stopped shaking, he asked quietly, “You remember that story about the leopard you told me?”

Ash nodded.

“Did you consider you were sending me up my own mountain?”

He looked up in confusion. “Eiji, you’re not – you’re a bird. You can fly and I – I keep you trapped for myself because I’m… you should hate me,” he pleaded.

Eiji put his hand on Ash’s cheek; he must have only meant for it to be a light touch, but Ash leaned into it anyway.

“I know you think you’re being selfish for wanting me here. I know you feel like you’re taking something from me but Ash, I have nothing you could take that I wouldn’t give you anyway.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re so stubborn,” Ash said miserably.

“So are you. Must be contagious,” Eiji shrugged, trying for a smile, but his eyes glittered like the sky at twilight.  “Ash, I- I’m the selfish one. And I ask you for everything. You – you’re everything.”

You’re my purpose, Ash heard. That Eiji, who deserved everything the world had to offer had settled on him – it felt good, in a rotten sort of way. But maybe it wasn’t about what they deserved, just what they wanted.

They were leaning heavily into each other, in more ways than one, so it didn’t take much for Ash to tentatively gather Eiji in his arms. Eiji, in turn, clung to him desperately – the domino effect of this kind of bravery.

“That can’t be healthy,” Ash mumbled into his hair.

Eiji scoffed, still holding on. “You’re going to tell me what is and isn’t healthy?”

“Coaches don’t play.”

He felt Eiji’s laugh against his shoulder, then the dampness of his tears.

“Ash please let me stay. It doesn’t have to be forever. Just for now.”

Ash nodded, soft hair tickling his nose. “Okay,” he choked out and Eiji relaxed under him. “Okay, yeah. Okay.”

Ash was still afraid, terrified. If Eiji ever wanted to leave, he knew would pack his bags and buy him the tickets. But until then, he wouldn’t force him, or assume he understood Eiji better than Eiji understood himself.

Birds don’t return to their cages. But Ash supposed they always come back home.

---

Based on a prompt by @coconutlimeverbena 

[alwaysbeliev]

Snapdragons

happy (very belated) Valentine’s Day, @the-awkward-outlaw ! i hope you enjoy this!

summary:  Arthur Morgan has never been very good at talking about his thoughts and feelings. He finds it much easier to show them, and he hopes he's doing it the right way.

relationship: Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

word count: 1838

link on AO3

The First

Sunlight filtered delicately through the trees in the early morning. Birds chirped somewhere above, hidden among the flourishing summer canopy, a shadow dashing here and there between the branches. A squirrel scurried around roots on the forest floor, pausing only to dig at a spot and sniff before deciding it was fruitless and moving on. 

You idly watched them, bundled in your coat as you stood by the morning campfire, holding a tin cup of coffee in your hands. The heat had pierced through the metal and was warming your cold hands. In slow, deep breaths, you inhaled the fumes, grateful for the steam that wafted upwards. It would be another hour before the air truly started to warm up.

Most of the camp was stirring now. You heard the rustling of Pearson at his wagon as he dug through the cart in search of ingredients. Jack emerged from his family’s tent, Abigail’s voice trailing after him in kind fashion, followed by a grunt from John. Miss O’Shea was combing her fingers through her hair just outside hers and Dutch’s tent. It was nice to watch them all in these moments and learn more about them than they might know about themselves. They were tiny snapshots into their lives.

But the one person you enjoyed watching the most was markedly absent from the group. His cot was visible to all the camp in these summer months, the little table with the flower and the photographs pinned to the side of the wagon. There was no indication he had slept there last night. You inhaled deeply, allowing it to lift your shoulders as you took a drink from your cup again. You didn’t dare ask where he was. You were determined, for some unknown reason both to you and externally, that nobody knew you were sweet on Arthur. You were sure it might give people the wrong idea. 

For several months, you had been learning about the van der Linde gang. You had found them in New Austin, scouting the streets of Tumbleweed, and Dutch thought you were after them. Instead, you partnered on a score, and were ultimately invited to work with them permanently. “Family”, he said they were. You had never really known “family”, but were happy to be included. Now, you knew it meant you belonged.

Arthur had been wary of you for a long time. It wasn’t until Blackwater when he started focusing on keeping everyone together that he softened. “Softened” was the mildest word available for it, as he merely stopped shooting you disdained looks and avoiding you, but shortly after, he started having actual conversations with you. Not much longer after that, you would even call him your friend, and you wanted to be more. You knew his past now, though, and were sure it wasn’t in your cards. For now, you were content.

As you finished your cup and stepped away from the fire, the sound of slowly approaching hoofsteps made your head turn. Arthur and Hosea were riding back into camp, the former atop a new horse and the latter looking his age. You smiled involuntarily and hurriedly turned away in hopes that nobody saw. You busied yourself with placing your cup near the dishes that needed washing, certain you would be asked to do those later, and tugged your jacket tighter around your shoulders.

Someone called your name. You were surprised to see that it was Arthur, approaching you with a hand behind his back. Jack had done the same thing to you more than once, gifting you both frogs and candies on separate occasions. 

“Mr. Morgan,” you greeted with a genuine smile, “how are you gettin’ on?”

“Jus’ fine, thank you,” he replied. He smiled, too, but abashedly. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, of course, I just, ah… I ain’t very good at this kinda thing, but thought you might appreciate these.” With a clumsy flourish, the cowboy pulled a cluster of flowers from behind his back, gripped tightly in his fist. Your heart skipped a beat when you recognized your favorite, snapdragons, in the center. Your mouth dropped open and you fumbled for words. Emotions raced through your head too fast for you to capture any of them.

“I, er, heard you the other day,” he admitted, “tellin’ the girls that you missed having some color around. We was out huntin’ and I saw ‘em and, well…” Arthur was out of words. He offered them again. Gingerly, as if nervous they might disappear, you took them from him, carefully thumbing through them with your other hand to identify what else was in the bouquet. It looked as though they had all hung from his saddle on his return journey, the leaves a little wilted and dusty, but the gesture was enough to bring a small sting to your eye.

“Thank you.” You barely managed to get the words out. You swallowed the emotion before looking up at him again. “That was mighty kind of you, Arthur, thank you very much.”

“Course,” he muttered, one hand gripping his belt while the other rubbed the back of his neck. 

The Second

The gang had to move camp. Again. It felt like there was no chance to make a real home, more and more trouble coming your way. There were rumors of Pinkertons out here. How they had followed you through the mountains, you were at a loss, but there they were and away the gang had to go.

Following Mrs. Grimshaw’s orders, you helped Karen, Tilly, and Mary-Beth pack up the bed rolls and take down tents. You walked Horseshoe Overlook back and forth to make sure no identifying items were left behind. Soon, you were sitting in a wagon watching the fading camp. Recent memories of laughing, drinking, and even dancing with Arthur rolled through your mind. Mary-Beth took your hand and squeezed it. You gave her what you hoped was a reassuring smile. 

Since bringing you flowers, Arthur had become an entirely different person. There was a strange kindness to him. You had seen it before, but now it felt tenfold, and most of it was directed to you. He would share his treats, his coats, sometimes part of his meal if he thought you might still be hungry, even showing you some of the sketches he made in his elusive journal. Tilly and Karen hadn’t missed it. Mary-Beth even sighed dreamily over some imaginary scenario in her head and called it “romantic”. It made you feel giddy.

Charles greeted the head of the wagon train. After entering a cove of trees, the wagons rolled onto a grassy clearing that edged up to a lake. A large tree took up the center, providing a great ceiling to what you hoped was the last place you would have to make home. Everyone circled in and you were immediately put to work again. 

Hours later, the sun was setting on yet another day, and you watched it from a log on the lake shore. The smell of the evening stew was drifting towards the water. You had finally cooled off-- as much as you could, anyway, with the humidity-- and were just beginning to think of going for your shawl. Gravel crunched behind you and you turned to see Arthur approaching. He seemed down, the golden light highlighting all of his scars and frown lines. 

“Mr. Morgan.” You hoped your eagerness wasn’t visible to him in the low light. His face, however, lifted instantaneously.

“Hope your day weren’t too rough,” he mumbled, stepping over the log to sit beside you. Casually, as though he had done it a million times, Arthur pulled some flowers from his satchel. They were more snapdragons, different colors than last time, and your face split into a wide grin. 

“Well, it’s much better now.” Feeling a rush of bravery, you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. It was rough and smelled different than you expected, but it fit him perfectly. The tinge of red in his cheek might have been explained away by the sunset turning a shade of pink by someone who wasn’t paying much attention. The bravery was gone almost as soon as it had arrived and you turned your gaze back to the flowers in your hand, gently picking at the leaves. 

“Anyway, thank you,” you murmured. He grunted about it being nothing and you fell into silence together, your head burning with questions you were too nervous still to ask.

The Third

Early morning in Saint Denis had its own little charms. The city made you uneasy, that was for sure, and you knew you would long to return to the untamed wilderness soon, but as you studied the way the light shone on the buildings and listened to the sounds of the streets waking up, you could understand the appeal. Vines grew up the balcony, bees buzzed lazily between the small buds, the occasional neighbor greeted the other. Slowly, you grew aware of your immediate surroundings; the soft blanket, the real mattress beneath you, the new pillow under your head. Memories from the night before were beginning to set in and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning widely. 

Arthur had gone with Dutch and a few others to a party the mayor was throwing. You knew it was important, and what they were doing was dangerous, but he looked so good in his suit, you couldn’t find it in yourself to worry too much. The friendship between the two of you had blossomed into something more, something both soft and fiery, comforting and passionate. With the move to Shady Belle, you found yourself spending more nights in Arthur’s room inside of the house than on your bedroll outside. He seemed to have read your mind when he saw you looking at him dressed up, slipping cash into your hand and giving you whispered instructions to meet him at a hotel that night, after the party.

Inhaling deeply, you turned onto your back, stretching your arm over to find who filled the space beside you. It was surprisingly empty, and your head turned to find the blankets poorly pulled back into place. In the dip on the pillow, however, were snapdragons. Pink, red, white, mixed with a few other wildflowers. It was a bigger bouquet than he had given you in the past and it was tied together with a piece of twine. A paper with a short message was laying beside it. Picking it up, you read:

Went for a ride. We both needed to stretch our legs, you understand. I will be back soon. Stay in bed, I will have breakfast soon. Yours, Arthur.

He was yours. He brought flowers, he was bringing breakfast, and it was all for you. Finally feeling content, you closed your eyes again, allowing sleep to pull you away until he made his return. This was your happy place, you thought as you drifted off again. You could stay here forever.

[manicmarsupial]

Tiny Arthur

Sorry for the crappy title. My brain did a dumb and couldn’t think of anything better.

I think both @tiny-james and I are equally responsible for the shenaniganary that made me write this. I’m not happy with the last sentence, but whatever. On with the story

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

Hosea Matthews has seen a lot of shit in his life, not to put too fine of a point on it. But this takes the cake. And he’s stone cold sober…this time.

His sharp eyes track what appears to be a miniature person dart across the floor of the grimy saloon. He keeps his eyes on it as it stays skirting along the walls.

When a group of people leave a table, the little person bolts under, grabbing crumbs from the floor and stashing them into a bag. Hosea leaves his untouched glass at the bar and puts on a drunkard act, making wobbling steps toward the table. With deft fingers, he fumbles through his pocket, spilling coins as he pays the bartender, ensuring some of the fallen change rolls under the table.

“Oh dear, I’m all thumbs, aren’t I?” he gives a drunken laugh as the bartender grunts in reply.

Hosea crouches down and grabs the coins he had dropped, making sure to scoop up the tiny being as well.

Using the well-practised dexterity of a lifelong pickpocket, he drops the coins into his pocket and keeps his new passenger securely within his hands.

He maintains the alcoholic fool act until he’s out of sight of the saloon, feeling tiny fists pummelling his palms the entire time.

Once he reaches a secluded area, he unfurls his hands, his own eyes meeting the frightened blue ones of a teenager no bigger than his thumb.

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

At first, Hosea thought he was dreaming. It would have been convincing but for the slight weight in his hands. For once in his life, the eloquent silver-tongued con man is speechless.

“My word…” is all he manages to whisper after a long pause.

He moves his hands slightly closer to his face to get a better look at the tiny teenager, who unfortunately appears even more terrified by the slight movement.

“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you,” Hosea attempts to calm the small person in his hands.

Based on the fact the poor teenager is taking panicked breaths, it’s not working. Gently tipping the tiny human into one hand, Hosea rummages through his satchel and pulls out a broken bar of chocolate. He snaps an even smaller piece off and offers it to the frightened person, who backs away shaking his head.

“Take it. You must be hungry,” Hosea holds his hand flat, the small piece of chocolate resting on his fingertips.

The tiny teenager shakes his head again, but his stomach betrays him with a grumble which Hosea actually hears. The teen pouts and takes the chocolate. Hosea gives a slight smile as a look of delight passes over the tiny features as the teen gorges the chocolate.

It doesn’t take much thought for Hosea to decide that he’s going to take care of this tiny, half starved street kid. All that remains is gaining his trust. He waits until the teen finishes the chocolate.

“I’m just going to put you in my pocket. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe,” without waiting for an answer, Hosea slips the miniature human into his shirt pocket, feeling the little hands scrabble for purchase on his palms.

Quickly righting himself after dropping into the pocket, he begins fighting, attempting to escape the confining material.

It nearly breaks Hosea’s heart how averse this teenager is to kindness yet makes him set in his determination to care for the young man. He calls for his horse, trying to ignore the tiny fists punching his ribs. Mounting up, he sets his horse to a gentle trot, trying not to jostle his tiny passenger too much.

Sometime during the trip, the fighting stopped, replaced by faint soft snoring. The tiny teen exhausted himself, Hosea restrains the urge to laugh lest the shake wakes up his passenger.

 After setting up camp in a secluded area, Hosea gently takes the tiny human out of his pocket. The teen grumbles, beginning to stir. Hosea softly brushes the teen’s dark blond hair with his finger, lulling the small person back to sleep. Using a glove and his neckerchief as a makeshift bed, he places the sleeping figure down before settling in for the night himself.

 Arthur sits bolt upright. The last thing he remembers is being captured and dropped into a human’s pocket. Part of him wished the human had outright killed him, get it done quickly. But why give him chocolate? Red flags go off in Arthur’s mind. Maybe giving him a false sense of security before torturing him. Humans aren’t as nice as all that.

That didn’t explain why the human gave him a glove and a scarf as a fairly comfortable bed. He whirls around at a soft noise, biting back a yelp upon seeing the human frighteningly close to him. Although the man is asleep, he still towers over Arthur. Choosing not to linger, Arthur wriggles out of the glove.

Only a few steps and he pauses in thought. He was at his most vulnerable. Not only asleep, but asleep in a human’s pocket. Yet here he was, unharmed and in comfort. Ever wary of humans, Arthur turns to leave.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a booming voice makes him jump and whirl around

The human is awake and sitting up.

“Why not?” Arthur demands with more bravery than he felt.

“You gonna hunt me down?”

“Me? Nah. I’d be more worried about coyotes,” the human sounds calm, almost friendly.

A chill goes through Arthur’s spine at the mention of those carnivores.

“I don’t much like coyotes…humans neither,” Arthur mumbles.

“Can’t say I blame you,” the human chuckles.

Arthur almost smiles. The human’s laugh seems so genuine.

“Ah, where are my manners?” the human exclaims.

“I’m Hosea Matthews. You got a name?”

“…Arthur”

“A good, strong name,” Hosea smiles.

Arthur stands still in confusion. This human, Hosea, is simply talking to him, making no attempt to harm him. Everything he’s heard about humans being cruel, soulless, Hosea is being anything but.

“You got family?” Hosea’s question interrupts Arthur’s thoughts.

Arthur shakes his head.

“Not anymore”

“I’m sorry,” Hosea replies softly.

“s’not your fault,” Arthur mutters.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Humans caught ‘em. I never saw them again,” Arthur trembles as he holds back a sob.

He stares at the ground avoiding looking at Hosea.

As Hosea studies the tiny form of Arthur, he wants nothing more than to embrace and tell him he’ll be okay. As Arthur trembles, Hosea slowly places his hand behind the tiny teenager and gently strokes his back, hesitating as Arthur flinches.

“Hey, it’s alright. You’ll be okay, Arthur,” Hosea croons.

Arthur leans into Hosea’s hand, then buries his face into the older man’s palm, quietly sobbing. He doesn’t flinch as huge fingers wrap carefully around him.

“If you want, you can come with me.”

Arthur wipes his eyes and looks up.

“Is it safe?” he asks.

“Well, no. I have the law constantly after me.”

Arthur looks worried.

“But you’ll be safer from animals and being trod on,” Hosea digs through his satchel, taking out the chocolate bar, breaking off a piece.

“You’ll be better fed too,” he holds out the tidbit.

“Unless you’d rather keep having stale saloon leftovers.” Hosea smiles.

Arthur thinks about this. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s taken the food from Hosea, then clambers into the older man’s palm, munching the chocolate.

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

It’s fair to say neither Hosea nor Arthur had planned their day to end up like this. It took a lot of negotiation for Hosea to think of a safe place for the much smaller Arthur that the teen was comfortable with. His pocket would’ve been too restrictive and riding on his hat would be too unsteady.

 Arthur wakes up due to the noise Hosea was making packing up the camp.

“Good sleep, Arthur?” he smiles.

Arthur responds with a noncommittal grunt.

“We’ve got a long day’s ride ahead of us,” Hosea stands up, lifting the camp accessories onto his horse.

Arthur’s voice catches in his throat as the human stands to his full height. He knew humans were big, but to be so close to such a towering figure made Arthur’s stomach churn, terrifying him slightly. Seeing the human so casually lift up a bundle hundreds of times heavier and larger than he was. He shudders at the thought of what the human could do to him with strength like that.

Arthur flinches as Hosea turns around to face him, heart pounding as the human’s ground-shaking footfalls approach. He trembles a little as Hosea’s huge form crouches down.

“Ready to go, Arthur?” Hosea holds out his hand next to Arthur.

He nods and climbs onto the hand before him.

“Careful now. Hold on,” Hosea warns.

Arthur wraps his arms around Hosea’s thumb, the wind rushing through his hair as the human stands up. Awe fills his face as he looks around.

“You okay there?” Hosea asks softly.

“Y…yeah. Everything looks so different from here,” Arthur mutters.

“Hmm, I suppose it does. I haven’t given it much thought,” Hosea muses.

He moves his hand near his neck where there is a slight gap by his scarf.

“Go on, hop in, Arthur.”

Arthur slides off the hand, landing on Hosea’s shoulder. It’s not a bad spot. He can easily hide and see what’s going on. The scarf provides a nice wall against the chill breeze, and the human’s body heat is creating a nice warm area wrapped by the scarf.

Arthur’s slightly startled when he’s practically squashed against Hosea’s neck by the older man’s hand. He yelps as he feels a wide swinging motion, then a steady clopping. The pressure of the hand releases.

“You alright there, Arthur?” the closeness to Hosea’s booming voice, Arthur gives a frightened squeak.

“Sorry. I didn’t want you to fall while I mounted up,” Hosea apologises.

“’s alright. I’ll be fine,” Arthur mutters, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Why do you have the law after you?” Arthur pipes up.

He won’t admit that he likes this spot. He can still talk to Hosea without shouting, being seated below the man’s ear.

“My friend and I steal valuables from people who can afford to lose them.”

“Then what?”

“We give it to people who need it.”

“Why would the law chase you for that?”

“It’s complicated. Rich people don’t like having their stuff stolen, much less being given to the poor. The people who are supposed to keep the law…well…they like money. Whoever has the most money, has the law on their side,” Hosea explains.

“Humans are confusing,” Arthur replies.

‘My dear boy, you just said a cotton-pickin’ mouthful,” Hosea chuckles, the shaking of his chest jostling Arthur.

 There hadn’t been much sound nor movement from the tiny person snuggled on Hosea’s shoulder. He was still there. Hosea could feel Arthur huddled under his scarf. Carefully turning his head, he sees the teen sound asleep, curled up under his shirt collar. He smiles and lightly brushes some stray locks away from Arthur’s eyes with his finger.

 Arthur stretches with a groan. It only slightly shocks him that he’s right next to a human. If he were honest with himself, he should be worried at how quickly he got used to it.

“Comfortable there?” Hosea asks with a smile.

“No,” Arthur lies, yawning.

“You think we should stop for some food?” Hosea asks.

“I suppose,” Arthur mutters.

“Hold on then,” Hosea dismounts when he feels Arthur grab the scarf.

He takes his hat off and holds his hand up to his shoulder. Arthur clambers onto Hosea’s palm, holding on as the human places him on top of the hat.

“You will be safe there while I set up the fire,” Hosea gives Arthur a friendly smile.

 Arthur had seen fire before, but never like this. Normally raging through a building, however in this case, slowly licking at some dry wood. The flickering was mesmerising and soothing.

“Arthur?” Hosea’s voice brings him back to reality.

“Hmm?”

‘I asked if you’ve ever tried rabbit.”

“Uh…no…”

“Now’s your chance.”

Arthur wouldn’t admit it to Hosea, but seeing the human rip apart the rabbit with his bare hands so easily honestly scared him, an uneasy feeling in his stomach as Hosea impales the chunk of meat with a knife. Continuing to remind Arthur of his insignificance alongside the towering human. He shudders despite the warmth of the fire. The sun has some bite to it, yet the chill seeps into his bones as he sits in Hosea’s looming shadow. Arthur quickly turns to face the fire, distracting himself from his terrifying thought processes,

 “That should do it,” Hosea sits up, testing the meat tenderness with his fingers.

He slices off a sliver and hands it to Arthur. The tiny teen cautiously takes it, warily sinking his teeth into it. Admittedly it tastes quite nice, if a little weird.

“So, what do you think?” Arthur hadn’t realised Hosea was watching for his reaction.

“It’s alright, I suppose,” Arthur mutters.

He can’t help but look up as the human takes a bite of the rabbit meat. The chunk bitten off, he notices, is almost four times his size. His blood feels like it turned to ice seeing Hosea’s jaw move, his teeth probably bigger than Arthur’s head, no doubt mashing the meat into a pulp. He shudders at how easily this human could eat him, a mere snack, barely enough to fill his stomach.

Arthur feels the blood run from his face as he watches the mush descend as a lump down Hosea’s throat, disappearing under his collar, on its way to the digestive system.

“Arthur, you okay? You’ve gone pale,” Hosea looks concerned.

“I’m fine,” Arthur mumbles.

“We shall see,” Hosea says, reaching a finger toward Arthur.

‘Whoa, what are you doing?” Arthur protests.

“Relax, dear boy. I’m just seeing if you have a temperature.”

Arthur pouts as Hosea presses the pad of his finger to Arthur’s forehead.

“A bit low, but nothing to be alarmed about. Don’t want you to get sick,” Hosea scoops up the teen, gently depositing him between his neck and scarf.

Arthur holds on to the plush material as the huge form of Hosea packs up the camp and mounts onto the horse.

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

“Now, my friend may be loud and scary looking, but he won’t hurt you,” Hosea explains.

“But what if he does?” Arthur hesitates.

Hosea turns to face the tiny figure of Arthur.

“You can stay with me if you feel safer that way,” Hosea suggests.

Arthur nods and snuggles against Hosea’s neck as he approaches a campsite. Dismounting and securing his horse to a hitching post, he puts his hand to his shoulder.

“Come on, Arthur,” he urges softly.

Reluctantly Arthur climbs onto the offered hand, holding on to Hosea’s thumb as the human walks to a tent in the middle of the campsite using one hand to shield Arthur.

 “Hey, Dutch,” Hosea calls to the man sitting under the tent.

Looking through the gaps between Hosea’s fingers, Arthur can see another man sitting down reading.

“Welcome back ‘Sea. Anything good?” the man looks up.

“Well, I may have found a new gang member,” Hosea replies.

“Really? You only went to scope out targets. Where are they, then?”

Heaving a sigh, Hose opens his hands to reveal Arthur to his friend.

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

Arthur thought he had mentally prepared himself enough to meet another human. He was wrong. This new man had an air of darkness surrounding him, whether due to his clothing choice, or the fact he was looking at Arthur like prey, just as a hawk or a snake studies a mouse. The smile Dutch suddenly makes doesn’t make Arthur feel any better. In fact, Arthur’s survival instincts kick in, and he goes to hide. The only place he can go is under Hosea’s shirt sleeve, causing a yelp from the older man as Arthur climbs up, stopping and hanging on for dear life near Hosea’s elbow.

‘I take it you didn’t expect that?” Dutch’s laugh thunders in Arthur’s ears.

“I didn’t expect him to be that scared of you, Dutch,” Hosea’s voice rumbles beside Arthur.

“You want to try saying ‘hello’ to Dutch again. You don’t have to go that close to him,” Hosea whispers.

Dutch smacks his friend’s arm.

 It doesn’t take long for Arthur to poke his head out from under Hosea’s sleeve, then crawling onto the human’s palm, clutching the shirt material like a security blanket.

“Arthur, this is Dutch. Dutch, Arthur,” Hosea introduces, gesturing with his free hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, young man. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Dutch greets formally.

Arthur nods in acknowledgement, slightly tightening his grip on Hosea’s cuff. He can’t help but suspect that Dutch is a conniving sort.

[prongsies]

Flirt • Remus Lupin

PAIRING: Remus Lupin x Reader

REQUEST: Could I request a Remus x Reader? Reader is a well know witch and member of the order, which is how they met. She’s very suave, casually flirty, basically a female Sirius LOL. She has her sights set on Remus and they have both fallen for eachother but he doesn’t think he’s good enough for her or something to that effect, so he’s dodging all her advances. However, shes pretty bold and persistent. Feel free to take creative liberty!! Thank you!! xx

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood, mild language

________________________________________________________________

Being personally invited by the infamous Albus Dumbledore to be a member of the newly reformed Order of the Phoenix was an honor that you wouldn’t wish to reject. Being a member of the original Order before it disbanded, you were quite familiar with the risks it puts you in, especially now that you’re a renowned Auror.

“Oh, wow” You breathed out as you entered the household addressed Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Your eyes catch the rows of house-elf heads on the staircase walls, and the thick layer of dust on the furniture and fixtures, “This is a grim old place”

"You have my mother to thank for that" a voice joined you. You looked towards the threshold to what appears to be the kitchen, where Kingsley disappeared into. There stood a man, hair curling around his face, face sculpted by his goatee and the scruff of the rest of his beard growing around it. He offered a hand, "Sirius Black"

"(Y/f/n) (y/l/n)" you introduced, shaking his hand gently.

He walked aside to allow the other members to enter the room, stepping into the space in front of you with a glint in his eyes, "I'm surprised you didn't run at the sight of a mass murderer"

“Falsely-accused” You corrected, catching the smile forming on his face, “Kingsley filled me in on the way here - I do hope the Ministry does something about your case”

“I hope so too” He replied before motioning you to the threshold, allowing you in first as you prepared for the introductions about to come your way. 

Everyone was gathered at a long table, all ceasing their conversations to welcome her as she walked in. “Over there are Molly and Arthur Weasley” Sirius stepped beside you, fingers brushing the small of your back while his other hand gestured towards the group of red-heads sitting the farthest. “Those are their children Bill and Charlie - the others are upstairs”

“I believe you’ve met Tonks, Kingsley, and our dearest Snivellus - I mean, Severus” He snickered silently at the glare sent his way, before turning to the last person sitting nearest you - a mousy-haired man with scars littering his face, “and that’s Remus Lupin”

He smiled a tired smile towards you, a handsome look on him, before his eyes darted towards the door where Albus Dumbledore strode in, carrying stacks of parchment in one hand while his other shut the door. 

He welcomed you back warmly into the Order, asked how you’ve been after all those years, then proceeded to thank you for even considering rejoining. He proceeded to the main task at hand, assigning the missions, as he distributed the parchments towards all of you.

After the meeting, you were pulled aside by him, wanting to speak to you about private matters concerning the task he gave you. By the time you returned to the dining area, the table was already full of laughter from red-haired children (whom you could only assumed to be the Weasleys) as they watched Tonks morph her face into different animals.

“So (y/n)” Remus started when you chose a seat between him and Sirius, watching you as you started filling your plate. You turn towards him with both eyebrows raised questioningly, “Dumbledore mentioned you were in the first Order - how come I’ve never seen you before?”

“Oh, I was in between Auror training and Order missions then” You explained, taking your time to drink for your goblet, “I only returned to the headquarters to report back to Dumbledore and receive my next task - although a handsome man like you isn’t necessarily hard to miss”

“You’re clearly mistaken-”

“Not a chance!” You exclaimed, suddenly gaining the confidence as you straightened in your seat, “I remember you at Hogwarts before - a year above me. Always tucked in the corner of the library, you were, writing like you’re running out of time”

“An admirer” Sirius piped in, grinning.

“Clearly”

“How about me, though, (y/n)?” Sirius asked, playfully nudging your shoulder, “Did you happen to keep my devilishly handsome face in mind?”

“Eh,” You shrugged, “You have a really common face”

This erupted laughter from Sirius and Remus, and apparently from Bill too who had been watching the exchange in amusement. 

As dinner concluded, you stayed behind to help Molly with the dishes, engaging in a conversation about the original Order where you’ve worked with her late brothers Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Growing fond of you immediately, she insisted you stay the night, not wanting you to leave the house alone especially with how dark it is outside. 

Tired from your trip, you thanked her with a soft hug and a kind smile, before bidding the others good bye and retreating towards your temporary room for a good night’s rest.

___

Remus couldn’t explain the flutter in his stomach upon seeing you the next morning, hair unkept as you tightened the knots on your robe. It was far too early more, the sun barely up as you joined him in the kitchen, watching as he cooked breakfast for everyone.

“Smells amazing” You cooed as the scent of eggs and sausages filled your senses, “Merlin, what can’t you do, Remus Lupin?”

“Be a normal person, I suppose” He replied, giving you a half-hearted smile and a chuckle to indicate that he was joking.

You were aware of his lycanthropy - it seemed everyone in the Ministry of Magic knew about it, after a student’s parent in Hogwarts had let it slip (Of course Remus knew who it could be, but he didn’t wish to give a shit about it anymore). 

Turning back towards you, confused of your silence when he noticed your face softening. He immediately regretted making such a joke that could ruin the mood, but he was pleasantly surprised when you grinned at him.

“Who wants to be normal anyway?” You asked, making a move to wrap an arm around his and bring him closer. Seeing you smiling up at him made it impossible for him to fight his own grin back, his cheeks almost hurting. “Normal is boring - and you, Remus Lupin, are far from boring”

With that, you released him from your grip, greeting Molly Weasley good morning as she shooed the two of you away from the kitchen, wanting to continue cooking on her own. 

As everyone descended the stairs one by one, chatting happily among themselves as they ate their breakfasts, you found yourself caught in a conversation with Fred and George Weasley, who were more than happy to show you their inventions until Molly interrupted them by giving them the task of cleaning out one of the rooms.

You, however, have been convinced by Molly to stay at least until the childrens’ start of term, clearly loving having you around the house. Although hesitant, you agreed, roping Remus along to accompany you to Diagon Alley so you could purchase some extra supplies since you’ll be an extra head in the house.

He walked alongside you the whole time, keeping his distance yet allowing his fingers to brush your knuckles as your arms swayed. While he was busy, you couldn’t help but marvel at his beauty - eyes scanning over each scar that has silvered with age. They were a story of bravery, as you believed, how brave he is to conquer everyday despite his illness.

Catching you staring up at him, he couldn’t help but blush but he soon turned his face away from you, walking ahead and leaving you in the middle of the alley.

___

Eventually, your days in Grimmauld Place turned into weeks, and before you knew it, it was the night before you were to set out on your mission. To say you were nervous is an understatement, mainly because you’d be carrying out the most crucial of the missions Dumbledore had assigned - a mission that should lay out the foundations for the ones that should follow.

Being an Auror poses more risks as well, since there’s a high chance you’ve been the cause of many of the Death Eaters’ family’s imprisonment - and believe me when I say they can hold a deep grudge.

You found yourself unable to sleep, thoughts plaguing your mind about what may happen to you. You pushed your blanket away from you, putting on your slippers are you tried to go down the stairs as quietly as you can - until a floorboard creaked loudly underneath you.

“Well, that proved useless” You muttered under your breath before descending in a normal fashion. A chuckle sounded from behind you, startling you to the point where you’ve pulled out your wand from your pocket, aiming it towards the source.

It was Remus, watching you in amusement as you scoffed in his direction. Hiding your wand back into your robe, you continued your journey towards the kitchen, ignoring him as he mumbled an apology under his breath.

“I’m surprised you’re not flirting with me” He said, still watching you as you cast a silencing charm on the kettle so it wouldn’t make any noise and wake anyone.

Placing it over the heat, you turned towards Remus who was leaning against the table, eyes studying you as you placed two mugs beside him.

“I’m surprised you recognized flirting” You quipped, raising an eyebrow at him as he stared back at you with a smirk, “from how the last weeks had gone, you’ve been nothing but avoidant”

“You know, you’re very straight-forward” He strayed away from the topic, moving closer towards you until you’re shoulder to shoulder.

“Life’s too short not to say what you want”

“You remind me of Sirius far too much”

“As Molly had also said”

“Why don’t you pursue him instead?”

“Because I like you” You turned to him, a smile on your face as you stared up at him, seeing doubt cloud his eyes, but you were quick to place a hand on him in reassurance, “I like you - not Sirius, not... anyone else. You. It’s not that hard to understand”

“You don’t even know me” He mumbled, looking away, “I’m a monster - I’m a monster and I-”

“You’re not a monster - hey, look at me” You stepped in front of him, taking ahold both his cheeks so he meets your eyes again, “You’re not a monster. You’ve never been one and you never will be one. You’re Remus Lupin - a kind, generous man who gives as much as he can give. You’re adorably grumpy in the mrnings but you try to smile nonetheless, you snore even when you nap”

He chuckled at that, hands now coming up to cup your forearm as he relaxed into you.

“You’ve got an immense love for everyone around you - and a special and more intense kind of love for chocolate. You’re a fierce and selfless friend, and it’s an absolute honor that I’m allowed to even look at you every single day”

Remus was almost teary as you concluded your statement, his hands falling onto your waist as he looked at you with so much trust it made your heard want to burst out of your chest. He started leaning in, eyes closed, lips brushing yours softly - just a little more.

Until he opened his eyes. He pulled away, a look flashing in his orbs as he blinked a few times before he pulled away, body rigid. He stepped away from you as if you had burnt him, distancing himself to the point where he’s practically standing across the room. And without another word, he left, leaving you in the silence of the kitchen.

___

The ticking of the clock has been bothering Remus for ages as he sat on an armchair near the entrance, foot tapping against the floor in anticipation for your arrival. It had been more than a month since you left for your mission - which lasted longer than it should’ve.

No one had updates from you in fear of being exposed, and well, in that time span, guilt had bubbled into Remus’ stomach. You didn’t really leave off in good terms, since Remus walked out on you that night.

The morning after, you ignored him as you bid everyone farewell, taking your time with the Weasley children who seemed to grow very close to you. 

Shouts echoed through the entrance hallway as the door slammed open. It was Kingsley, holding you up as you coughed out blood. Sirius was the first down the stairs, followed by Arthur who immediately screamed out for Molly’s aid.

With Remus’ help you were placed gently onto the sofa, wincing as you applied pressure over the wound that had continued bleeding. 

“What happened?” Remus asked, turning to Kingsley whose robes were damp with blood, “Does Dumbledore know? Does-”

“He knows” Kingsley said, managing to remain calm as everyone fussed around you - Sirius coming back from the kitchen with a glass of water while Arthur sends a message out to the rest of the Order members. “She-she managed to do it but there were a tad bit of complications”

“Tad bit?!” Remus exclaimed, “How is- how is this a tad bid?! She’s bleeding out for Merlin’s sake-”

“Remus” Your voice called out.

His features immediately soften as he turned to you, seeing you beckoning him over as Molly finished up tending to you. Everyone understood to leave you two alone, all of them disappearing into the dining area to talk as they wait for Dumbledore to arrive.

“Are you alright?”

“I’ve been better” You chuckled, wincing when you tried to straighten up. “Might’ve ran into a few snatchers on the way back, it’s nothing serious really”

“I was so worried about you” He mumbled after a few beats of silence, kneeling down to be at eye level with you as he held both your hands. “We didn’t- we didn’t really left things at the right foot”

“Well, you did embarrass me by leaving me in the middle of the kitchen” You teased, smiling when you see the faint blush forming on his cheeks, “But now that I think about it I might have come off a bit strong. I apologize, it certainly won’t happen again”

“No! I mean- I mean, no please don’t stop” He turned even redder.

You stared at him, a smirk forming on your lips, “You like it when I flirt with you, don’t you?”

“Yes” He shamefully admitted, biting back the grin forming on his lips, “Yes, I do”

“Well, you could’ve said something earlier before I set out on a mission!” You laughed, wincing again at the pain in your stomach, “I thought we would end up avoiding each other awkwardly for eternity after this”

“well, we could if you want”

“Sod off, Remus”

“I know it’s the wrong time to ask you this, with you in that state and the war going on” He started, his grip on your hand tightening, “But I’d really love it if we could start over? Maybe go on a few dates?”

“And fuck?” You suggested playfully, earning a laugh from him.

“And fuck” He added, nodding.

“Well, then,” You leaned down to give him a gentle peck on his cheek, “I’d love that Remus Lupin”

[zodiyack]

Take My Breath Away

Pairing: John Shelby x Female!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, minor angst, minor violence, me not proofreading again

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace​, @simonsbluee​, @peakysputain​, @fandom-puff​

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

“Listen. There is a ball, being hosted tonight. A woman wants to find a husband for her daughter, so dress your best.”

A man opened his mouth to interject, only to be stopped by Tommy, “It’s only to blend in, so remember, we are not going to be there for women, we will be there there on Peaky business. Got it?” The men nodded as Tommy picked up his hat and put it on, walking out the door of the gambling shop.

He was right, the ball did happen, and there really was a woman in need of a lover. The Peaky Blinders walked through the front doors to the mansion, greeted by a maid who guided them to the ballroom. Tommy nodded, signaling that it was time to be serious, before they took their separate ways.

John walked along the crowd, people gathered around something he couldn’t see. From the murmurs he heard, it was the girl Tommy had spoken about. He smiled with amusement, rushing past people to get a glimpse and possibly try his luck.

There she was, the beautiful Y/n everyone had spoken of. John found himself staring, mouth agape and eyes widened to full circles. As the man turned Y/n, she caught John’s eyes, inhaling sharply and keeping her eyes on him until the end of the dance.

“Who else would try for the lady’s hand?” A man queried from behind her. John stepped up, taking off his hat and wiping his sweaty palms on his shirt.

He took her hand in his and began to dance with her. It felt like he’d been dancing forever, somehow knowing the exact moves to make. Tommy wouldn’t be happy to stumble upon John and the lady of the party dancing around when he was supposed to be doing his job.

The way she looked at him after his panicky thoughts began to appear; It was like she could read his mind.

“Nervous?” She whispered into his ear as they continued to dance, perfectly in sync and timed with the rhythm.

“A little. What about you? Must be kind of awkward dancing with all these strangers in front of even more strangers.” He smirked when she started to giggle quietly, the sound making his heart skip a beat. “You’re like a princess, ya know?”

“How so?”

He spun her around, “Well, for one, you’re gorgeous, and for two, this whole situation. You in a rich house, an expensive gown, as well as having a mother who wants to find a suitor for you. Tell me that isn’t ‘princess-like’.”

“I suppose you’re right, Mr...”

Her arms draped over his shoulders as his found her waist. They looked into each other’s eyes slowly, a spark in their hearts and butterflies, rather large ones at that, in their stomachs. 

“Shelby. John Shelby, but for you, miss, it’s John.”

“Please, call me Y/n.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” John smirked, “angel.”

Y/n chuckled softly, spinning around and letting him dip her, “While meeting you is also a pleasure, my mother wouldn’t approve of a Shelby being here, not to mention marrying me off. She will learn to deal, however. Unless that was not your intentions when you had asked me to dance?”

They stopped, John finding her eyes again with a type of smile he swore he never thought he’d have. “Your mother said whoever wanted to take your hand in marriage is to dance with you, correct?” She nodded, confused by his questioning. “I danced with you, did I not?”

She smiled widely, a blush spreading across her cheeks. The two ignored the crowd, feeling as if they didn’t exist in the little world they were in, leaning in for a harsh kiss before a loud voice pushed them away. Anger filled the voice. It felt almost like a slap in the face, or a blade being stabbed into one’s heart.

“And just what are you doing to my daughter, Shelby boy?” Her mother boomed from the top of the staircase. She spoke John’s last name with venom and hatred, like most who knew of the Peaky Blinders did.

“Mother. He danced with me. Whomever I marry, it’s my choice, and I pick him.”

“A Shelby?” Her mother drawled. “You can’t be serious-”

“Yes.” She reached behind for John’s hand, holding it tightly and standing her ground. “John Shelby. Mother, he did what you asked for, and my heart did the rest. Please...” Y/n pleaded.

Her mother pressed her lips together, studying the two carefully. A few seconds later, she lifted her eyes behind them and widened her now terrified orbs. The plot twist was almost ironic, had it not been horrifying for everyone there.

“Look out!” Someone shrieked. Gasps and similar yells began to fill the room.

John pushed Y/n out of the way, taking a bullet to his stomach, and landed on the floor. Y/n’s eyes flicked to the gunman her mother had seen after he shot John, hurt and anger filling them with tears. Blood soaked through his shirt, red soaking a small part of his lower abdomen, as he coughed. Y/n scrambled over to him, tears falling down her soft cheeks and choked up sobs leaving her mouth.

Some guests held back the gunner until a copper, who’d been invited, grabbed him and escorted him out, leaving Y/n with John and the guests, and her mother, to watch. Y/n sat in the middle of the ballroom, still, crying and pleading with John.

“John! No!” She cupped his face, slowly bringing him onto her lap. Moments prior, she had received nothing but coughing as a response and it was only beginning to scare her even more. “Breathe! It’s going to be okay...just breathe...please...”

“Princess,” he coughed with a lazy smile, “You stood up to your mum... I guess um... I guess your bravery really took my breath away, huh?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, wiping tears away from her own face with a small chuckle of relief. His joke, though kind of dumb, especially to make at this moment, caught her off-guard. She helped him up, one of her hands joining the one of his that covered his wound as his other arm slung over her shoulders.

“Mr. Shelby. You- you saved my daughter’s life.”

“Guess I kinda uh,” his head titled down to their hands, covering and putting pressure on his bleeding torso, then looked back up at her, “forgot to think of my own while doing so.” 

Mrs. L/n’s eyes scanned over the reddened part of his shirt, leaning over and whispering to the man next to her, the man rushing down to aid John, before talking to them again.

“That is something I will forever be grateful for. Thank you, John, for saving my darling girl. As a thank you, I can only agree to what has been asked of me, as it seems to mean quite a lot to you and her. You may take my daughter’s hand in marriage, and we will welcome you and your family into our home” John smiled, “for as long as she is still alive and thriving.”

“You will not regret this, madam, I promise.” He tried his best to be formal, despite it not being his particular expertise. Plus, the fact that he was still very much in pain didn’t help prevent him from cursing like a sailor a whole lot.

“I better not.” She had a maid escort the remaining guests out of her home and collect John’s siblings, giving her time with the Shelby family and her daughter. “You Shelbys are different from what I had in mind. I suppose some chances are worth taking, no matter the risks. Oh! Yes, one more thing-”

Tommy lit his cigarette, “And what may that be?” he quirked a brow as he spoke.

“Did you get what you came for? Although you are different, I can still tell you came here for business. Please, finish what you came to do, it’s the least I can do in addition to my thanks.”

Mrs. L/n walked next to Tommy and smiled at her daughter, who was holding John’s arm as they began to walk out of her home, “Please, tell him to take care of her, and make sure he does as he promises. That’s all I ask of him.”

“I promise, Mrs. L/n, no harm will come to your daughter. I know him well, and my brother seems to have fallen for her. You can trust him, he’d give his life for that girl, and it looks like she’d just about do the same.”

“Talk about love at first sight,” Arthur chuckled from behind his brother and Y/n’s mother.

“Love at first sight indeed.”

[merakiaes]

The Soldier And The Nurse - Arthur Shelby

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x reader

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: This is just a short drabble. Not proofread so apologies in advance for any possible mistakes. I hope you like it xx

Wordcount: 752

Summary: You’re a nurse during the war, and Arthur is a soldier that keeps getting hurt and landing himself in your care. 

The Birmingham boys were truly a breed of their own. They were as stubborn as mules, had bravery and determination unlike no other soldier, which was both a good and a bad thing.

Arthur Shelby, his brothers and the rest of the boys form Small Heath had a habit of running straight into the line of fire to help their fellow soldiers which was, in truth, an honorable act.

But it left them all in the medbay enough times for you to have developed a genuine, friendly relationship with all of them, and with that also a constant, never-ending worry for their lives, more so for Arthur’s as he was the one to get hurt the most severely.

The man in question was, once again, lying bloody and beaten in a bed, along with Tommy and Freddie at the other side of the room.

“You know… I’ve never been with an American lass before.” Arthur spoke where he laid in his cot, looking up at you through heavy eyelids.

His voice was hoarse and weak, just like his body currently lying limp as you worked with soft and careful movements to get the bullet out of his shoulder.

It was the fourth and last bullet you were picking out of his flesh, the other three all having been in his upper right arm, but it was also what seemed to be the hundredth time you went through this routine.

“No? You’re not missing out on much.” You chuckled in return, focusing your gaze on your hands but still being able to spot the lift of his lips in the corner of your eye.

“I’d say that I am.” He argued, and only then did you fully look up at him, to see his eyebrows raise. “What do you like to eat, eh? I’ll take you out to dinner, when all of this is over.” He continued, and at that, you raised your own eyebrows.

“Well, for that to happen you’ll have to not die first.” You told him, smiling in amusement.

“As long as you’re ‘ere to give me something to come back to, that shouldn’t be a problem.” He smirked back.

You could only shake your head and laugh. “My God, you’re such an asshole.” You told him, raising an eyebrow. “Did no one ever tell you it’s rude to flirt with your nurse?”

“What can I say?” He didn’t miss a beat, smirking at you. “You’ve been inside of me so many times, I’d like to repay the favor.”

His grin was so wide it reached all the way up to his eyes, the blue orbs sparkling even under these circumstances which really amazed you. Still, the words falling from his lips didn’t fail to bring another laugh from yours.

“Picking bullets out of you is hardly the same as- Well, that.” You told him, and at that, his smirk changed into a huge, goofy grin, no doubt partly caused because of the intense blood loss.

Before he could say anything else, however, you finally finished patching him up, tying the ends of the bandage into a knot so that it wouldn’t fall off from around his chest. “There, all done and as good as new.” You told him with a bright smile, beginning to stand up. “I have to go tend to your brother now, you gonna be alright on your own for a while?”

You raised a teasing eyebrow at him and in return, he narrowed his eyes toward the bed where Tommy was laying limp, just staring into the ceiling.

“He best not try anything.” He said, even though his younger brother was neither looking nor listening to him.

He then turned back to you, his face softening. “You’ll come back?” He asked, his voice now slightly uncertain and shy, which only caused your smile to widen.

“You know I will.” You answered simply.

Looking around to make sure no one was looking, you then bent down to press a quick peck to his cheek, coming back up with an eyebrow raised.

“You’re my favourite, remember?” You continued, and before he could say anything else, you turned on your heel and headed over to his brother.

Arthur’s eyes stayed on you for a moment longer, before he scooted down in the bed, tucked his arms under his head and smiled up at the roof, feeling like the luckiest man in the world to have met someone as great as you under these dark and unfortunate circumstances.

Tagged: @thelonewolfdies​ @knrivera16​ @peakyhermione​ @fanficflaneuse​ @lucillethings​ @springsoulofengland​

(If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, send me a message, ask or leave a comment)

[ladyofthelake]

Merthur goodies from ‘Sword and Sorcery’ aka Excalibur BBC Children’s Book

Arthur had come of age now; should it become necessary he could rule the kingdom with no need for advisers or guardians. *cough what should I do Merlin? I don’t know what to do Merlin? Should I do this Merlin? What do you think Merlin? MERLIN cough*

Merlin felt a swell of pride as Arthur knelt before the king and swore a solemn oath to protect the people of Camelot and rule them well.  Of course, he wasn’t going to admit to feeling like that.  He didn’t want anyone to think he was getting soft or beginning to enjoy being Arthur’s servant.  He might admire the prince hugely for his bravery and nobility, but Arthur was still the man who ordered Merlin around and made him wash the royal socks and things like that. 

“Men don’t just rise up from the dead though”, said Merlin, “No matter how angry they are.” hahaha *sobs*

Merlin wasn’t just running to get away from the knight.  He needed to see Arthur straight away. His plan had failed and he didn’t have another one - the only thing he could possibly do now was persuade the prince not to fight. 

After so many failures, most people would have given up.  Not Merlin.  Arthur’s obstinacy had made him even more determined to help because it  had shown him that nothing would dissuade the prince from fighting the Black Knight.

“If Arthur fights the wraith and dies, Camelot will have no heir,” he tried.  “I will have no destiny.” 

Even without the Dragon’s warning, he knew it was Arthur’s sword; he felt that no man should see it before the prince. 

“Tom is not the royal swordsmith”, said Uther.  “I’m surprised Arthur went to him.”

Merlin fetched the kings breastplate, his mind still racing.  “Oh, that was me.  I felt he needed a better sword”, he added, trying to sound more plausible.

Uther seemed even more surprised at that.  “You show him the most extraordinary loyalty.” 

“That is my job sire”, the Warlock said.

“But you go beyond the line of duty”, said the king.

“Well...” said Merlin, not sure how to answer.  Almost to his own surprise, he heard himself being honest, confiding in the king as the king had confided in him. “You could say there is a bond between us.”

“I’m glad”, Uther looked at Merlin and he had the strangest feeling that the king was seeing him for the first time as a person, not just a servant.  “Look after him.”

Merlin  drew it from it’s covering.  The blade glinted in the sunlight, looking for a moment as if the Dragon’s fire were still on it.  As he gazed at it, Merlin felt suddenly that this was Arthur’s sword - it had been made for him, it was his.  He had a desperate urge to ride back to the castle and present the blade to the prince.  

[alohcmcrax]

tag dump. 

[showmeahero-a]

chara. tag drop, pt. 2;;

[soulsbetrayed]

firestormmaidenanddragon asked:

Look into my eyes - Arthur through Shirae's eyes.

I see:

Absolute Conviction  |  Aggression  |  Ambition  |  Anger  |  Anxiety  |  Apathy  |  Arrogance  |  Bloodthirst  |  Bravery  |  Compassion  |  Confidence  |  Conflict  | Courage  |  Darkness  |  Defeat |  Denial  |  Desire  |  Despair  |  Determination  |  Devotion  |  Disappointment  |  Distrust  |  Dominance  |  Emptiness  |  an Enemy  |  Enlightenment  |  Envy  |  Excitement  |  Exhaustion  |  Elitism  |  Experience  |  Fear  |  a Friend  |  a Future  |  Gentleness  |  Greed  |  Grief  |  Guilt  |  Honesty  |  Honor  |  Hope  |  Hostility  |  Ignorance  |  an Illness  |  Insecurity  |  Integrity  |  Intoxication  |  Kindness  |  Lies  |  Loneliness  |  Longing  |  Loss  |  a Lover  |  Loyalty  |  Malicious Intent  |  Mania  |  Melancholy  |  Misery  |  Negativity  |  Overcompensation  |  Pain  |  Paranoia  |  Passion  |  Perseverance  |  Pettiness  |  Pity  |  Positivity  |  Pressure  |  Pride  |  a Purpose  |  Racism  |  Regret  |  Resentment  |  Resignation  |  Resolve  |  Sadness  |  Self-Hatred  |  Sexism  |  Shattered Remains  |  a Shining Light  |  Something Familiar  |  Spite  |  Stress  |  Stupidity  |  Submission  |  Tranquility  |  Trauma  |  Trust  |  Vengeance  |  Warmth  |  Wisdom  |  Wrath  |  a Cry for Help  |  Something Eating Your Mind  |  the Years have Changed You

You’re:

Animalistic  |  Approachable  |  Broken  |  Closed-Off  |  Cold  |  Crafty  |  Crazy  |  Defensive  |  Devious  |  Difficult  |  Disheartened  |  Emotionally Detached  |  Frightened  |  Frightening  |  Genuine  |  Guarded  |  Headstrong  |  Heartless  |  Human  |  Immature  |  Impatient  |  Inhuman  |  Insane  |  Intuitive  |  Lost  |  Mature  |  Noble  |  Patient  |  Pitiful  |  Primitive  |  Pure  |  Reliable  |  Remorseless  |  Reserved  |  Resourceful  |  Short-Tempered  |  Simplistic  |  Sly  |  Soft-Hearted  |  Struggling  |  a Threat  |  Trapped  |  a Troublemaker  |  Trusting  |  Understanding  |  Unique |   Unpredictable  |  Unwavering  |  a Victim  |  Wicked  |  Feeling Vindictive  |  Guilty of Something  |  Hiding Something  |  Lost in Thought  |  Planning Something  |  Scared of Me  |  Scaring Me  |  Someone I can Trust  |  Someone I Can’t Recognize Anymore  |  Someone to Fear  |  Someone Worthy of Respect  |  Weak to Manipulation  |  Weighed by Something

You:

Aren’t Being Yourself  |  Belittle Yourself  |  Don’t Want to Hurt Me  |  Don’t Want to Leave Me  |  Drown Yourself in Something  |  Feel Alone  |  Feel Empowered  |  Have a Plan that Involves Me  |  Have No One Else to Turn to  |  Have Nowhere Else to Go  |  Have Seen Some Things  |  Haven’t Been Sleeping  |  Lie to Yourself  |  Lost Faith/Trust in Me  |  Lost Something/Someone Important  |  Need Me/my Help  |  No Longer Believe Me  |  See Me as a Thing  |  See Me as Someone Else  |  Seek to Hurt/Harm  |  Seek to Manipulate  |  Think Highly of Yourself  |  Think I’m Hiding Something  |  Think Little of Yourself  |  Think You Know Best  |  Want to Hurt Me  |  Want to Protect Me  |  Want to Sleep with Me  |  Want to Use Me

@firestormmaidenanddragon

[sylvermidnight]

Rusame’s Rival Waltz

I never intended this to be this long but I couldn’t stand splitting it into parts. So here’s a rusame one shot based on their relationship over time, and a waltz. Lovers to enemies to lovers.

1811 St. Petersburg Russia~

His hand grips his glass just a little too tightly. If he had not been wearing gloves one may have seen that his knuckles had gone as white as his face. Alfred F. Jones had never felt so out of place in all his life and he’d been in some odd situations. Parties like this just weren’t...His scene. They never had been despite how desperately Arthur had tried.

But with his first official ambassador having arrived in Russia two years prior, he didn’t have much of a choice. John Quincy Adams had managed to meet the Russian personification before him and that was just the slightest bit disrespectful. So here he stood, against the wall dressed in finery he felt much too uncomfortable in, swaying slightly to the sound of the music. He had to admit the Winter Palace was...More than he’d expected, almost intimidatingly so. As was his elusive host. He’d only met the man once for the customary greetings. He still didn’t have the man’s human name and he knew he was unlikely to get it. Despite how long and hard he’d fought he still wasn’t exactly an equal. Not yet.

Over the din of music and conversation he hears someone call his name, he takes a drink. He’d recognize that voice anywhere waking or sleeping. The British Empire had located him at last.

“America- Don’t ignore me boy I’m speaking to you!” His glass hits the table, almost shattering. He would have to remember to mind his strength, he’d been growing a lot lately. But something about his ex-caretaker’s presence burned him up inside. Angered him beyond reason. But just as he opens his mouth to speak, to give some snippy fiery remark, he feels a gentle arm wrap around his waist from behind and he’s pulled forward out into the center of the room.

The dance floor. Once the world stops spinning and confusion leaves him he understands that’s where he is and that someone had pulled him there. Which means- He looks up to discover his surprise partner and his heart stutters. Russia looks down at him with the strangest warmest smile. He’s amused clearly and something in Alfred feels offended yet intrigued. It’s so far from the belittling laughter and smiles of the others. His eyes despite being cold in color and nature appear warm in that moment.

“I assumed you could use the assistance.” The man clarifies placing his hand against his waist to lead him in a waltz. Alfred struggles here, used to leading, not being led. He nearly trips over his own feet but regains himself in enough time not to make a fool of them both. 

“I could have handled him. It’s just Britain. Nothing I haven’t experienced before.” He didn’t want to appear weak. Not in front of the man he wanted as his ally. Not in front of someone he was admittedly eager to impress. 

“That’s true, but I doubt you would have wanted to. With all kindness he can be quite a pain.” Before Alfred had time to think of a response he was being led in a spin and eventually an actual twirl and then all hope of furthering that conversation came to an end. He even began to enjoy himself just a little bit, and that was a first. He’d never really liked dancing before, he was clumsy and awkward. But this felt right...Perhaps even natural. And even though he knows he shouldn’t, that in their world it would be seen as disrespectful, he looked up and he smiled.

Perhaps that’s what did them both in. That smile, the gentle hand against Alfred’s waist tightening just so slightly. The way Russia’s eyes showed a pure form of awe and surprise, and the way Alfred’s shown with stars. When the smile was returned something was sealed between them. A mischievous look passed Russia’s eyes and though it doesn’t break the moment he decides now would be an excellent time to dip his partner just to feel his grip on him tighten in surprise. Seeing if he could shock that daring bravery right out of this little upstart of a nation. But he doesn’t, and when Alfred comes back up his grin has widened even further, assuring that yes, they were both quite entranced.

The night progresses in this fashion. Eventually the dance dissolves into something with a little more showmanship. Something Alfred claims is popular at his home, adding more dips and spins than perhaps either of them could keep up with. But with breathless laughter and warm smiles shared neither of them cared. It came to an end all too quickly, one of Alfred’s men coming to gently inform him they must leave that very night. The moment stirred but did not break as the young nation looked up at his host. A quiet confirmation. They would see each other again. They would experience yet again this purest form of happiness and they would vow to know each other better. They simply must.

And so before Alfred could slip away Russia pressed him close to his chest one last time to finish their dance. “Ivan Braginsky,” he says in the softest of tones. For Alfred’s ears only. “I thought you would be curious.”

A human name was a high honor. One of trust and respect. To have earned it in one night was not a small accomplishment. But Alfred simply smiles coyly and slips from his grasp. “Write to me. Then I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

And he leaves Ivan there, with the image of stars and a million questions.

1955 Geneva Switzerland~

What was the point of all this? He didn’t even know. His head is pounding, his drink just isn’t strong enough. He needs to get out of here and find something stronger. Perhaps snag one of his allies on the way out to go with him. He didn’t really like hitting the bars alone; it made him feel pathetic. Alfred’s eyes scan the party lain out before him. It wasn’t anything special really. It didn’t hold a candle to anything they had held back in the day, but Switzerland had tried his best.

He had heard that Eisenhower and Khrushchev were going to attempt a civil meeting and he’d taken it upon himself to try and put this together as a celebration. Of what though? It wasn’t as if things were going to get better. Alfred had even insisted upon this to Eisenhower’s face. But the man didn’t listen. When had they stopped respecting him? And when had he pulled his flask from his pocket? And-

An all too familiar touch on his arm. Not gentle but forceful and pulling. He drops the flask but the metallic clang is hidden by the sound of the music and so are his cries of protest. Once steady on his feet he looks up into Ivan’s bright violet eyes. He’s probably drunk. But it doesn’t matter. So is Alfred. He sets his face into a grimace and once again tries to pull away again but Ivan is unrelenting in his silent insistence of a waltz. So Alfred goes along to get along. For now.

“What are you doing Braginsky you’re going to make a scene!” He hissed as the other twirls him around with the practiced ease of a lover. To distract him surely.

“What does it look like Jones? Is it a crime to wish a dance from you these days? Once upon a time I needn’t even ask.” That was true. But that was thin and this is now and America could not be seen being pulled around the dance floor by Russia which is why Alfred pulled away to swap their roles. If only for a moment.

“You know damn well why. I don’t even want to look at you let alone dance with you. You might spread something just by breathing on me.” He says aggressively dipping the man in his arms. He was lucky he was strong or that would have toppled them both. But he was older now and better on his feet. Or so he thought until Ivan came up and brought him into a lift that landed him distracted and once again being led.

“We both know that’s not true Солнце(1). If it was you wouldn’t be here now. You have the strength to walk away, and I the decency to if you truly asked it of me.” Alfred hated to admit he was right. Something in him felt alive again from the simplest contact. The rush of the music and the familiarity of the dance. And Ivan...He had missed him but he would never admit that to himself or anyone else.

And that’s why he decided he wasn’t going to make this easy on the other. Even without leading he pulled the Russian into dips and twirls. Thrusting all his weight and trust into the other. If Alfred fell they both would and in this state he was willing to risk his own reputation to bring him down too. Because he couldn’t stand this, this feeling. Like his heart was being torn from his chest. Like that first dance all those years ago soft and sweet but now forbidden and that longing turned him into some unrecognizable thing. Something he was so certain Ivan couldn’t love, and he was sure that’s why he had left. To bigger and better things leaving him behind.

The heat in their steps was obvious. But love also. It was clearly a battle, anyone looking could see that. But there was love there as well. Neither let the other fall and they blended together with well thought out practice and prediction. Neither actually hurt each other physically but they knew what they were during. Pouring accelerant on an open flame. Awakening and denying old feelings they knew had to be kept locked away and tearing them apart in the process. Funny. No one really realized this sort of destruction. No one really realized the state they were in. 

With a final dip the dance comes to an end and they stay there a moment catching their breath. Or perhaps reveling in this last moment in each other’s arms. Alfred closes his eyes and he can imagine a place centuries ago now. Warm and safe where the world wasn’t out to get him and love was a reality and not a fantasy. It was nice but it wasn’t real. So when he straightens his eyes are cold and though Ivan can still see the stars they seem so far away now. He worries he cannot reach them.

“Nice try Braginsky. But we both know this changes nothing.” His voice is cold but his heart strains. He will not leave for the bar. He will head to his hotel room alone and he will try to forget using any means he can find.

And Ivan just smiles “Not yet Милый(2). But perhaps soon. If we are truly lucky.”

Alfred walks away and he does not look back. If he looked back he would shatter and he feared he’d never be able to pick up the pieces again.

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

1- Sunshine

2- Darling