#fine Arthur throwing and yelling is abuse

[fuckingfandomfreak]

Just read a fic about the Hunter’s Heart and had to find a gif post just to rant about it

I’m about to get controversial.

Merlin is so completely awful here and the fact that no one ever points it out is insane. Fandom stop sucking Merlin off challenge. (It’s not sucking off actually it’s woobifying and that’s so much worse honestly) Arthur gets frequent criticism for his treatment of Merlin but Merlin never gets ANY.

First, why does no one mention the fact that Merlin has the AUDACITY to act offended that Arthur kept a secret from him???? Like wtf do you do everyday Merlin? And while Merlin’s magic does actually affect Arthur (Merlin frequently ENCHANTS Arthur) who Arthur marries is literally NONE of Merlin’s business. If you want to argue that Merlin doesn’t owe Arthur any of his secrets, then grant Arthur the same courtesy.

And then Merlin’s insane, out-of-fucking-line pressuring Arthur to take back his CHEATING FIANCÉ. Merlin thinks Gwen cheated on her own volition, and he still INSISTS Arthur needs to get back with her. He literally does not care what Arthur feels. This is like the only time where I actually thought that Merlin cared more about his destiny than he did about Arthur bc if he actually did care about Arthur, he would not WANT Arthur to get back with someone that betrayed him and broke his heart. I would literally be losing my mind if my friend tried to do that.

Of course, Arthur threatened to banish him. In what world is what Merlin’s saying not just fucking shitty??? Like why are you rubbing it in his face that he still loves a woman that cheated on him??? This conversation right here would’ve broken any trust i had in Merlin if I was Arthur. Merlin never once showed any real sympathy for Arthur’s broken heart, he only cared Gwen was supposed to be queen. Even in 4x09, Merlin is asking Arthur if he can find it in himself to forgive Gwen.

Not to mention Merlin’s angry expression. And let me fucking tell you why he’s angry. It’s bc Merlin feels just as entitled to Arthur as Arthur does to Merlin. Arthur cannot keep secrets from Merlin that’s ridiculous. Arthur cannot keep emotions from Merlin that’s RIDICULOUS. Anything Arthur has ever thought or felt is Merlin’s to opine over. Arthur wants privacy—and Arthur gives Merlin privacy ALL THE TIME—but Merlin does not allow that. Merlin is not only mad bc Arthur dared to make a decision about his heart WITHOUT Merlin (and how tf could Arthur know own heart obviously?) but Merlin DISAGREES about the decision Arthur made.

Merlin is literally just furious bc he thinks he’s right and he thinks Arthur is wrong when Merlin honestly, rationally has no fucking leg to stand on. Arthur didn’t ASK Merlin for his opinion, and who Arthur marries is Arthur’s business.

Why do people act like Arthur fucking beat Merlin bloody? All he did was tell Merlin to either mind his own fucking business or they’re done.

Usually, I love Merlin’s toxicity and entitlement. I find it just as enjoyable as Arthur’s. But I can’t stand that people act like Arthur’s an abusive, narcissistic asshole that doesn’t realize he needs to worship the ground St. Merlin walks on when Merlin is manipulative, gaslighting, and just as entitled to Arthur’s entire life: Merlin decides he should have the final say on all of Arthur’s decisions.

It just fucking drives me nuts. Bc everyone fucking multiples Arthur’s reactions to anything by 1 million. They make Arthur banish him, they make Arthur hit him, and they make Arthur threaten to kill him because without Arthur overreacting, Merlin might actually not be as righteous as we want him to be.

Endless Merthur scenes (6/∞)

[knybits]

THE HATING GAME — 4

PAIRING —

↳ kochou shinobu x reader

SUMMARY —

↳ Geniuses within the same field yet rivals within each other’s eyes, your colleagues wonder when the sexual tension will break so that you two will become the department’s powerhouse couple so that they can enter you two into the couples contest against the other departments. Some things might have to be done by force.

WARNINGS —

↳ cursing 

[ Navigation ] 

—

Shinobu is one more car ride away from giving you a lobotomy. 

Sure, you’re dutiful to your responsibilities, but the rest of the department is slowly starting to question the relationship. She can tell by the way they blink in confusion when the two of you split up upon entering the lab. They see how quick you are to take your hand back the minute you think no one is looking. 

They can also tell by the way they pull up next to your car at a red light, and there’s music blasting so loud there’s no way you two can hold a conversation. You look disinterested on the road, but Shinobu’s patience is pulled so thin that they can tell she’s pissed even though she smiles in the passenger seat. 

When her friends ask her if everything’s okay, Shinobu would laugh lightly and wave them off, claiming that everything is just peachy (though her fist is clenched by her side and is a perfect imitation of the Arthur meme.) 

The first date over the weekend was fine. 

But that’s it. 

Just fine. 

Pick up at 5, have dinner at 6, watch a movie at 8, drop off at 10. 

No words were exchanged and the only time you two spoke was when you came face to face with someone from college. Painted smiles and palms burning because holding hands with Shinobu meant death. 

The car ride back to her apartment was loud (you two fought for who gets to control the radio station.) And when she stepped out of the car, she knocked on the window. Thinking she forgot something, you rolled the window down only for her to lean in with a smile before she said, “What, no goodbye kiss?” You stared at her blankly before rolling the car window up and slowly pulling out of the driveway. 

She didn’t appreciate how you flipped her the bird as you left. 

In the past week, you’ve gotten good at misdirection. Or, you hope you’re good. 

When people walk up to you to ask about Shinobu, you steer clear of the topic. Araceli is starting to give you weird looks and she’ll kick your shin under the table whenever you say, “Nevermind that,” because Shinobu is not a ‘ithat.’ 

“If you don’t start treating Shinobu better then I’ll snatch her right up,” Araceli warns and a big part of you wants to yell “g o f o r i t.” Araceli can tell that Shinobu wants to strangle you for being so cold and distant. 

At this rate, her plan as well as the rest of the department’s will crumble like ash and she’ll do anything for $7,000 (the reward money continues to go up every few days.) On days where Araceli decides to just walk around campus and talk to her peers, they ask how Shinobu and (Y/n) are doing, and Araceli will give them a thumbs up. 

She might have to give them a thumbs down next time. 

Araceli groans to herself when she watches you split from Shinobu the second you two walk into the lab, and her brain quickly wracks up a plan to save this nightmare of a relationship. 

“Hey. Shinobu!” Araceli smiles widely at the woman, who turns her head to give her undivided attention. “Why don’t you come over to (F/n) and I’s apartment after lab today?” 

You head whips to your best friend at the speed of lightning and you beg Shinobu with your eyes to say “no.” But of course (cue a shitty impression of Shinobu’s high pitched voice) “I’m not that nice,” and Shinobu graciously accepts. 

“Oh fuck me,” you grumble, and Shinobu passes by you before whispering, “Been there done that,” under her breath. You damn near throw a beaker at her but Araceli holds you back, yelling something about abuse. 

The rest of your time in the lab goes uneventfully, much to your pleasure. Rama helps Shinobu, paging through her thick bound notebook with eyes boggling at what she wants to try in the near future. You think you hear him mumble something about an illegal substance, but you try not to pay it any mind since Shinobu doing dangerous things isn’t a surprise. 

But in the final few minutes before you’re done with today’s progress in your experiment, Araceli breaks your concentration and you fumble with a beaker. 

Eyes turn to you and everyone holds their breath at the sound of a loud clinking, but nothing shatters and that’s the best case scenario. Unfortunately, the substance in the beaker spills onto your coat sleeves and you click your tongue in annoyance. 

“Oh my god we need to call an ambulance,” Araceli grabs you, but you yank your hold from her grasp with a roll of your eyes. 

“It’s just water, chill,” you reassure her and she continues to apologize. Anything else and you might have died, but you haven’t had the chance to handle anything too dangerous yet. Araceli can rest easy knowing that you aren’t too interested in performing too many life threatening experiments. 

At the tapping of heeled shoes, you raise a brow when Shinobu holds out a handkerchief to you. It’s not common for someone to just have a handkerchief on them, so you can only assume that Shinobu is either super prepared for everything (typical) or handkerchiefs are normal in Japan (respectable.) 

Either way, you stare at the cloth in her hands warily and she sees your distrust. Shinobu huffs in annoyance, shoulders bunching together as she forces the handkerchief into your hands with a roll of her eyes. 

“Just take it,” she sighs out, and you begrudgingly thank her for her service. 

Araceli takes her time to stare at the two of you with patient eyes, and a soft smile crosses her lips as the thought that this might actually work out crosses her mind. 

—

“I don’t know like don’t break the sink and throw your shit on the couch I guess.” 

Nevermind. 

Shinobu chucks her bag at you instead (“sorry my hand slipped”) and Araceli covers her ears when you start yelling, and then Shinobu starts attacking you with just as much bite (though with the amount of control that Shinobu holds over her tone of voice, Araceli has to admit that she’s much more scared of Shinobu than you.) 

In Shinobu’s eyes, the apartment is… plain, to say the least. 

There isn’t much evidence that you really live in the apartment. It all feels like Araceli, and when Shinobu glances into what she assumes is your room, she can’t pick up an ounce of life in it. It’s unnaturally cold, and she continues on her way to the bathroom. 

You’re fully aware of how drab the apartment is too. Within the 10 minutes of shame that was you scrambling to dress yourself after that one night stand you took notice of how well decorated Shinobu’s apartment was. 

It irks you how she might as well be an interior designer too. 

True to her daily butterfly clip, the theme is purple with little butterfly decorations spread around. It’s a dainty look and you have to pay attention to detail to notice the small butterfly theme. Lilac purple sheets and greenery with wisteria flowers hanging in the kitchen to give a breath of life to the room.

There’s a big, round, gold framed antique mirror hanging near the entrance way that practically screams “I’m a boss ass bitch,” which would explain where Shinobu gets her confidence from. And when you fell into the bathroom to snatch your underwear back you saw bottles and sprays of multiple skincare products. 

 She’s meticulous in everything that she does and her apartment goes to show for that. The only sign of student life that you can see from Shinobu is her lab coat hanging from a (rather elaborate) coat hanger near the doorway. 

But other than that, it just looks like an apartment fit for a queen. 

Your own apartment, on the other hand, has a fucking bunsen burner in the kitchen. And sometimes you boil hot water for your cup ramen with it. Araceli hates the way you live, but as your childhood friend she puts up with the most. 

“Hey, do you want some coffee or something? I’m heating up the burner!” You call out, struggling to click the lighter one (it’s 2 years old and you don’t want to spend the time going to the store to buy another one.) 

When Shinobu doesn’t say anything you furrow your brows in confusion, and Araceli shrugs from her spot on the couch when you give her a look. You decide to give up on the burner (lighter won’t do its fucking job anyway) and instead slink down the hallway, cracking doors open to see where she’s gone. 

At the end of the hallway, you find your door open the tiniest bit, a sliver of a golden ray from the setting sun peaking through. The blood rushes from your face when you realize where Shinobu is, and you’re quick to open the door. 

There she stands, big doe eyes wide with wonder at the way the gold medal in her hand shines. You click your tongue at the sight of the medal and Shinobu finally snaps out of her trance, glazed eyes clearing and processing the words engraved on the back of the medal. 

“Fuck, I forgot to throw that one away,” you snatch the medal from her hands and Shinobu blinks in surprise. Not by your brash and rude actions- she’s used to your asshole-ish tendencies now- but what the medal commemorates you for. 

“Most outstanding athlete award?” Shinobu mumbles out, pondering over the idea. 

Truth be told, Shinobu can’t even imagine you kicking a soccer ball. She can’t see you jumping to dunk a basketball. Hell, she can barely imagine you running a solid mile. 

In the few years she has known you, the closest thing to physical activity that she has seen out of you was when you were running late for a class freshman year and power walked across the lawn (and even then you were late.)   

Shinobu actually found the medal within a packed box in the corner of your room, dusty and sun bleached after years of being left untouched. Almost like an unburied treasure right before anyone’s eyes to see, but forgotten for a reason unknown. 

She sees other trophies and plaques in the box, thrown in with a few awards broken due to lack of care. And yet, they still glow proudly, but the look on your face seems ashamed to be basked in its light. 

“Uh, yeah, I dunno I fucked around with sports in high school I guess,” you play off, tossing the medal back into the box. Shinobu winces when she hears a rather aggressive clanking noise and she’s afraid that something broke, but you seem like you could care less. 

“Why don’t you take care of these more? There’s so many! Surely you have something in here you’re proud of,” she huffs, crouching down to rummage through the box. She tries not to pay attention to the two silverfish she just saw scuttling around at the bottom. 

There’s “Best Scholar” award and “First Place Tennis Champion” and “First Place Debate Team.” Shinobu finds a two-tiered soccer championship trophy that’s been broken in half to make space in the box, and she learns that you speak fluent enough Spanish to have won some speech contest. 

All this hard work and dedication stored away in a tiny box, and Shinobu’s heart twists to see the state you’re in today. Because you could care less of a shit about hard work and dedication, and you care more about just looking smart with no effort. 

In all honesty, you’re kinda just… there. 

Known to be at the top of the class but unwilling to help your peers. Only there for the bare minimum or work required and not an ounce of interest shown towards extracurricular (Shinobu’s in four clubs and even she thinks that’s overkill.) 

The final straw for her is when she sees a thick paper certificate, complete with a golden seal and an extravagant blue bow. It’s coffee stained a little and it’s been ripped in half, but there’s tape holding it together. It’s written proof that you took an international test for chemistry (Shinobu remembers entering this competition herself) and you actually won. 

You beat Shinobu Kochou. 

You beat the whole world. 

“Wh- Why?! What happened?! Why did you just... Give up?!” 

You shrug, hands tucked into your pockets with a bored look on your face. But just by looking at you the reality sets in for Shinobu and suddenly the way you act makes sense. 

Because, “I dunno… When I started college I kinda fell out of love with the world and everything in it.” 

You turn away from her dropped jaw and glossy eyes. There’s a weight on your chest that reminds you of everything you’re doing wrong. And now your enemy knows your most stupid secret. 

Shinobu can’t help but feel sorry for you. 

She sees a burnt out flame sputtering, barely glowing with life and being consumed by the dark. Inky black against a half hearted orange. The only time this flame seems to spark is when you have to gather yourself to enter a verbal fight with Shinobu, and she’s a fool to see how that’s all that’s left for you. 

Her eyes cast its way back down to the box, and her nimble fingers gently fold the flaps back in on themselves. She’s not particularly fond of this treasure. 

So Shinobu decides to do what she does best. 

“Let me make you dinner tonight,” she smiles up at you from her place on the floor. 

Your head whips to face your fake partner before you can even stop yourself from saying, “Ew. No. Why. You’re gonna poison me.” 

And then she laughs. 

Like, actually laughs. 

It’s the first you’ve heard her laugh this genuinely before, her eyes closed and more than just a small chuckle. This laugh echoes throughout your cold room and makes a home in it, a warm laugh that makes you feel like you’ve eaten butterflies. 

“No,” her laugh slowly dies down and she stands with grace, “but as a witch I’ll cast a spell so that you can start loving the world back. And we’ll start with my mean omelet rice,” Shinobu pumps and arm up, patting whatever imaginary bicep she has before skipping out of the room. 

And now there’s another thing you hate about Shinobu Kochou. 

Although this one is an indirect hate. 

Still hate, though. 

Anyway, you hate how you can’t fight the stupid grin off your face right now. 

—

[ Next Chapter ] 

[ohallthecrushes]

Wherever you go I’ll find you //Joker x Reader // part 3

A/N: This is the third final part of this series, after ekhem a little long break, I finally finished this draft. I don't know how and why, but the end is different from what I expected to be. Maybe some of you won't like it, but it just feels right to me, I don't know... Sometimes a story writes itself and a writer can't control it. ^^ Feel free to let me know what you think about it. Feedback is welcome since I've had a long break from writing and I don't know if I'm still any good at it. Summary: Arthur is so ingrained in his Joker persona, he forgets that his S/O has only seen Arthur. Not knowing him anymore, she runs. When Joker realizes this, he is devastated and does everything he can to find her. After hours of searching, he finds her in a difficult situation and takes her back. She is scared, out of her mind, but it ends up being a beautiful reconciliation. Contains: abusing, ugly fight, harassment, blood, wounds. Word count: 2 232

Joker was trying to collect himself up from the floor. You'd really hit that spot between his legs that had knocked him out for a second which had helped you to break free from him. He saw you running away from the flat, but he didn't go after you. He gathered himself up and sat down before lighting a cigarette. He didn't go after you, but not because he gave up on you, no. He still wanted you and wanted you to be near him. Everything in his body screamed to run after you, get you back here, but letting you go was a better idea. Letting you go for now only. So you could take some time to think, it could help you to calm down, which was what he needed you to be. Calmed down to listen. He sat down on a couch and took a drag from his cigarette. He didn't like at all what had happened and how things had turned out. He could have thought of blocking the door in some way or lock you up in the bedroom before he'd started that conversation. Perhaps then you would listen to him instead of running away. He really didn't expect you to react like that. Why had you panicked so much? He wasn't sure. You weren't in any danger and he was ready to explain you everything. But you'd reacted like Penny when she was confronted with an uneasy or uncomfortable truth. Run and hide. That was always her reaction. And it was your reaction too. Run and hide. If that what you wanted to do, fine. He could handle that. He could handle being scratched, kicked, pushed and screamed at. For you. And for your relationship. Because you were still in a relationship with him. It wasn't a breakup, it was only a fight. He was sure of that. He looked at his hand that was marked with scratches and smirked to himself. Hide-and-seek. If that what you wanted...

So time passed by as you were wandering through Gotham, without any place in mind to go to. Your feet were hurting from walking so long and your eyes were burning from tears you'd cried. You were also cold, because temperature dropped at evening and you didn't have any sweater to cover yourself with. It reminds you of all the times you'd stolen sweaters from Arthur, telling him you forgot yours and you're cold, when really, you just liked to be covered with his scent and his...being, having something of his on yourself. You sobbed as your mind was wandering on its own through all those happy memories you'd had with Arthur. How could this happen that he had changed so much? That he had become someone you couldn't recognize anymore? Joker. Was he still your sweet loving boyfriend? Was he still someone you could trust? You wasn't sure. You stopped for a moment to look around. You were somewhere between your favourite coffee shop and Arthur's workplace. You didn't want to go to any of those places. You wanted to go somewhere where Arthur... Joker wouldn't find you. You decided to go on the left and pass a mall to get away from the busy street. You knew that people were ignorants and cold here, not paying any attention to a lonely crying girl, but even unseen, you still wanted to be away from people. Your legs walked you to the right as you passed by the mall and you got far away from Ha-ha's and the coffee shop. You hugged yourself and rubbed your cold arms with your also cold hands. It was getting dark and you found yourself beside a park's gate. You sighed as you realized there weren't many places in Gotham that didn't remind you of Arthur. You took a path to the park and sat down on the nearest bench. You took off your shoes and massaged your hurting foot for a moment. A cold wind blew onto your face, sweeping your hair away, making you shiver again. You cursed the weather and Gotham and everyone in it. You were tired, cold and upset. And the worst thing - you couldn't do anything about it. You couldn't express your emotions which you felt so many right now, cause you didn't even know how. You could only curse under your nose and cry, which wasn't very helping to be honest. You heard footsteps and you looked up to see a young, obviously drunk man approaching you. As he set his eyes on you, you knew that he was going to bother you. You leaned back at the bench and observed him, wishing you could just go away from you. But he stopped in front of you and chuckled as he looked at your naked feet. - Too much walk, eh? Tired, aren't you? - he came closer to you and you wanted to run away, but you reminded yourself not to show him you were scared. Besides, with your tired hurt feet, you doubted you would be able to run faster than he, even though he was drunk. - Go away - you said with a firm tone. - Why, eh? Don'cha want me to walk you home? - No, just go away. My boyfriend is near. - Your boyfriend? - he snorted as he moved to sit beside you. You moved away from him to the end of the bench - Where is he now? Taking the piss, eh? - Y-yes - you lied looking around, searching for help. You wished Arthur was here. - Let me take you home - he reached out his hand to touch you and you stood up right away. - I said go away! - you yelled as you walked a few steps back, ready to run even with your bare feet. - Don't be like that, princess! I'm just trying to be nice - his tone changed to anger and you were really scared at this moment. You started walking away backwards to still has him in your sight. - Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you! - he pointed at you before he leaned down to take your shoes - What about your pretty shoes, eh?! Dont'cha want them back? - he threw a shoe at you, hitting your arm. Before he threw the second one, you were already running away. Ignoring the pain in your calves, the rocky subgrade and his screaming behind you. You weren't sure if he was running after you, but you were too scared to look behind to see. You decided to run as long as you could, trying to find a way

out of the park. Unfortunately you lost your direction and you didn't know what path you were on. You didn't hear that man screaming anymore, but you didn't stop running until your foot stepped on a sharp stone, making you fall on your knees. - Fuck! - you screamed as you shifted your body to sit. Your knees were scratched and your foot was bleeding. - Look at you princess - you heard the man's voice and you saw him coming your way - hurting much, eh? Wanna help? I can help you if you come with me home, hehe. - H-how did you? - You know you just ran a circle, right? - he chuckled as he approached you. You tried to stood up and he caught your arm to actually help you stand - See? I'm a gentleman. - No, you're not - you glared at him and shook your hand from his grasp, you were angry and frustrated - You're awful, you're drunk and you're harassing me! I told you to stay away and you didn't listen! - Oh, screaming at me now, eh? - he chuckled and came closer to you - I'm harassing you? Really? - he grabbed your arm too tightly for you to shake it off - Maybe I should just show you what real harassment is. He grabbed your hair with the other hand and you yelp in pain. You were so much in pain that you couldn't bear it anymore. It came to the point where you couldn't even recognize what hurt you more or even where. It was like you weren't in pain, you were pain. And that pain somehow gave you strength. You felt helpless for a moment when he grabbed your hair, but then you felt furious and fierce. You didn't want to be helpless, weak or a victim to him. You could and you would fight. You screamed as you kicked him in his groin and your nails went for his face, scratching his skin ruthlessly. - You bitch! - he yelled as he crossed his legs in pain and covered his face with his hand. He let go of you, but you knew you couldn't run anymore. You had to fight him to the end, until you were sure you were safe. You had to knock him down. He tried to jumped on you, but missed. He only scratched your arm and you punched him in the face. You tried to push him on the ground but he grabbed you and threw you away. Luckily you landed on a grass. You saw him coming at you and you kicked his knee, making him fall to the ground. You tried to stand up, but he grabbed your foot, the one that was bleeding. You screamed in pure anger as you jumped on him aiming for his stupid, drunk face. - You fucking piece of shit! - you screamed as you grabbed his head and hit it against the ground. Your thumbs pushed onto his eyeballs and he screamed in pain, but he managed to easily throw you off of him. He was stronger than you, but he was temporarily blind now and you knew you needed something to defense yourself with. You looked around and your eyes set on a larger rock. You took it and you didn't hesitate as you took a swing and hit him in the head. He fell on the ground, not moving. You waited a few seconds, but he stayed unconscious. You finally knocked him out, you finally had him defenseless as you wanted. But you didn't feel like you finished at all. It really scared you of how much you wanted to hit him again and again. To release your anger at him. You really reconsidered it for a moment, but you stopped yourself. You didn't have to take it that far. Even though he very much deserved it. You put the rock away and just sat there, more tired than ever. - Y/N? - a familiar voice came from behind you and you looked back to see Joker running up to you. - Y/N, what... what happened here? - he crouched down and took you in his arms. As your face hid in his chest you started sobbing. He hushed you as he rubbed your back to try to calm you down. - Hey, it's alright, I'm here now, no one's gonna hurt you anymore - he kissed the top of your head - Just don't run away from me again, Y/N and I will protect you. You kept sobbing as he slowly pulled away from you to look at you. - My god, you're hurt, Y/N - he said in a very concerned tone - What this scumbag did to you, to my precious angel? You saw tears in his eyes, an apologizing look

of not being here in time when you needed him, and you sobbed even more. - A-arthur... you said with a pleading tone and he knew exactly what you needed from him. - Let's get out of this place. I'm taking you home. I'm gonna take care of your wounds, darling - he said as he knew you learned your lesson already. He didn't like that you got hurt, but at least now you knew how much you needed him to protect you and how was he the only person that would never hurt you. He helped you stand up and you took a final look at your abuser. - Fuck him, Y/N. If he ever get near you again, I will fucking kill him. You knew Joker was serious about it. You knew he meant it and he was able to do it if he had to. And you would be lying if you said you cared. You didn't. You knew what people could do and how awful some Gotham people were. But as long as you had Joker on your side, you were safe. It didn't mean you approved murdering people, but you got what it felt like to be taken to extreme, to be pushed to breaking point. You understood Joker now. He went a long way to become what he became and you could either accept that or walk away. And you knew already that walking away from him wouldn't do any good. It wasn't what you wanted anyway. Joker spitted at the man and then he looked back at you. - Let me carry you, love. I won't let you walk with your feet hurt. You looked up at him and you recognized Arthur under his greasepaint, behind Joker persona. It was weird to see both of them at the same time, there were so many things in him to figure out for you, but there were also things you could be sure of. He would never hurt you and he would do anything for you, cause Arthur still loved you. - How did you find me? - you asked as he lifted you.

- I was looking for you in all the places we've ever visited until I trusted my guts and got here - he smiled at you - you should know darling, that I will find you wherever you go.

[moral-turpitudes]

Swan Lake:

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

A/N: This idea came to me at like 3 am and idk why, it’s totally not canon or whatever but it was fun to write. I also don’t know anything about ballet so don’t come for my neck lol. 

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Fluff, Angst, Slight Mentions of/Implied Physical and Emotional Abuse, Descriptions of Death/Fighting etc.

Word Count: 3,977

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader

+ Jack Timmons (OC, albeit a shitty one)

Requested: No

Summary: After constant threats of losing her position in a prominent ballet company, Y/N feels trapped in her circumstances. That is until an infamous blue-eyed gangster stumbles upon her one night, helping her leave her past behind, because sometimes that’s the best thing you can do.

“One, two, three. One, two, three.” Y/N counted to herself as she rehearsed in the quiet concert hall. Her nerves still a mess as the ear-splitting voice of her department head played on a loop in her mind. His harsh words stinging as she continued on.

With every leap and pirouette, her toes and tired muscles screamed to be free from their routine binds that held them together. Her corset digging into her skin, the paper thin pantyhose ripping on her knees from a nasty fall, and her feet cracking and bleeding with each new pair of ballet slippers she broke-in. On nights like this, she often questioned what she was doing this for. Was it for glory? For money? For distraction? It seemed only time could tell.

Unbeknownst to her, a man looked on from the dark entrance. A cigarette in hand as he observed her movements. His eyes alert as he’d heard a man yelling moments before.

Smoke escaped his lips as he watched in silence. The only music coming from inside the woman’s head, her body moving in strict motions to the beat she’d memorized from the orchestra that would usually play during shows. Her instructors voices in her head, threatening to fire her if she didn’t do better.

She never thought that something that brought her so much joy could bring her so much pain, but that seemed to be how things went in life, at least for her.

As she ended her dance, she sat on the cold stage, untying the stiff slippers and wincing as the fabric clung to her bloodied feet. No matter the cloth she put around them, she always found cuts and blisters ambushing her skin. This was the price she paid for perfection. Dancing was her “thing.” Her one gift to the world. The one thing that she’d always have, that no one could ever take away from her.

But with tear filled eyes she looked up at the spotlight beaming down on her, the makeup that was once well kept, slowly being washed away by the tears rushing down her cheeks.

As she ripped her gaze from the blinding light, she thought she felt eyes on her. Feverishly blinking the colorful spots on her vision away as she looked out into the empty seats, where a set of blue eyes stared back, their owner stoic and unmoving.

“Hello?” She asked, her heart racing slightly as she painstakingly walked off the stage and down the middle isle towards the man. Trying her best to wipe her tears away.

“Sorry to startle you miss. Just observing.” He said gruffly, cigarette smoke escaping his lips.

“Why are you here...? What’s your name...? Who do you work for...?” She asked in a barrage of questions, her nerves frazzled as she stood before him.

His blue eyes pierced hers as he took in the state of her. Elegantly hiding the pain behind a powder pink façade.

“I stopped in while on business and I heard yelling.” He said, adjusting his peaked cap, the razor blades glinting off the dull light from outside the theater.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she realized what gang he was a part of. Remembering talk around the city that they were moving in on London. Making threats and crashing party halls more often than not.

“Everything’s fine, sir.” She said, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

“You don’t look fine.” He said.

“You haven’t answered my questions, sir.” She said, deflecting his comments and looking at him skeptically. With a sigh, and a long drag from his cigarette, he spoke.

“My name is Thomas, Thomas Shelby. But you can call me Tommy if you like...” He said walking towards her. Her heart racing slightly as she stood in place.

“...and I’m a man who does bad things. But don’t worry love, I have no bad business with you.” He said, gradually walking towards door.

“Wait....” She said, looking around the empty theater nervously as he stopped in his tracks.

“Why exactly were you watching me?” She asked, walking to him.

He sighed as the cigarette burnt down to the last little bit, ending with him throwing it on the tiled floor and stomping it out.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright....and then I saw you dancing to no music. It intrigued me.” He said flatly.

“How so?” She said, crossing her arms at the infamous gang leader.

“Because I can hear it too.” He said.

“You memorized the song? How? You haven’t seen the show.” She said, walking down the stairs with the mysterious man.

“My mother used to play it at home and she’d dance, quite like you. I recognized the routine.” He said, standing near the exit. The streets bustling with people under the moonlit sky.

“You don’t look like someone who listens to music. Do you dance?” She asked, beguiled by the rather handsome blinder.

“I liked a lot of things before the war. Dancing was one of them. But now?.....No.” he said shaking his head slightly as he continued.

“Sometimes life has a way of taking things from us.” He said softly, lighting another cigarette as he stood before her.

“That it does.” She said, glancing at her tired hands as he observed her once more, how she stood and how her hair fell limply around her face, framing it ever so gently.

“I’m probably overstepping my bounds...Tommy. But uh, if you’re ever in need of dancing lessons...I can help. Free of charge.” She said, the thought escaping her lips on a whim. Her mind racing with wanting to dance anywhere but there in that dreadful theater.

“Free of charge aye? Do you make a lot at these shows?” He asked, his eyes boring into hers.

“No. I’m actually on my way out. Was almost fired for the last show. I wasn’t good enough.” She said looking down.

“That’s a shame. I thought you did great.” He said.

“Tell that to the department head. I’m tired of ruining my body for something that doesn’t pay. I’d rather do it for fun. At least then life might be worth living.” She said, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her pent up feelings slowly trickling out as the minutes passed.

“What do you do for fun, Tommy?” She asked, changing the subject.

He stood in thought, never really taking into account anything besides the noise in his head or the ache in his heart. Never giving himself the time for anything reminiscent of fun.

“I uh, work with horses I guess.” He said.

She nodded and sat in a chair near the exit, wincing and fiddling with the tulle of her tutu.

“So what do you say? Dancing or no?” She asked, a small smirk playing at her lips.

“I’ll accept your offer, on two conditions.” He said.

“Alright, what are your conditions oh infamous Mr. Shelby?” She asked, seeing a small smirk on his face. One that seemed to be uncomfortable, like it had been hidden for years.

“That you give me the name of your department head, and let me employ you.” He said bluntly.

“I’m not a killer, I’m just a dancer.” She said, looking down at her wrists. Bruises forming from many routines throughout the week and from her vile department head.

“You won’t deal with that kind of business. But I’d like to pay you. I can see that you work hard for what you want.” He said sitting next to her.

“You want me to dance for you? What like at some whore house?” She scoffed.

“No. You can dance for fun or teach or whatever it is you want to do. But a job with me, in my shop, can bring you the money you’re looking for. You won’t have to beat yourself up anymore.” He said, noticing the bruising hand prints around her wrists.

“I’ll think about it.” She said quietly, getting up and stretching out her arms, her muscles aching at the movement. Thomas headed towards the door abruptly, not wanting to keep her any longer considering he’d given orders to his brothers a while ago.

“Hey...” She said, stopping him.

“Mhmm?” He mumbled, lighting another cigarette.

“His name is Mr. Timmons. Jack Timmons. I hope you find him.” She said giving him a small, hurting smile before heading back towards the theater.

“Oh and miss?” He called back, making her turn around.

“Yes?”

“I never got your name.” He said.

“It’s Y/N...Y/N Y/L/N.” she said. Thomas nodded and reluctantly turned around, walking slowly into the night the next man on his hit list already buzzing through his mind.

As he stepped onto the cold London streets, he saw his brothers drinking and waiting by the car. Their faces covered in smoke-residue from their mission.

“Oi! What the fuck took you so long aye? We torched the bar down the road so we need to go.” Arthur said, taking a swig from a bottle of whiskey he’d stolen.

“I was doing a bit of legitimate business. Did you lot get the money?” He asked, revving the engine and peeling out onto the cold, damp roads towards Small Heath.

“Yeah. Got the whole thing. They won’t mess with us again. What kind of business were you doing in a fucking theater?” Arthur asked.

“Probably fucking one of the dancers.” John said, the toothpick dangling precariously on the edge of his mouth.

“I saw people leaving the show and decided to go there to clean off from our last raid. And I heard a man yelling at some woman there. He’s uh, been a bit of a problem but I can’t tell by how much just yet. He’s been working the woman to death for little pay...so I offered her a spot here.” He said.

“Why are you so caught up on the woman? What, is she gonna dance around the shop all day?” John asked, earning a chuckle from a drunken Arthur.

“I’m thinking she’d make a good assistant. I watched her after he left. She was the only one there, working on the same routine for an hour straight. Was bleeding by the time she was done.” He said.

“Well besides the woman, what are you wanting to do with the man aye? We’ve caused enough trouble here so far.” John said.

“I have a feeling this man is abusing the whole company or at least the woman I spoke to. She’s miserable, you can see it in her eyes. I only saw eyes like that in the trenches.” He said quietly, looking out at the sky through the thin windshield.

Over the next few days, it seemed her plight only grew as the dancers rehearsed, their instructors criticizing more than helping them as they moved to the beat. Y/N’s eyes fearful as their department head entered the room. The music stopping as they all sat on the stage as instructed.

Behind the stage, Thomas watched silently as the instructor eyed the women. The mans eyes only seeing money and fame instead of them as people. But his gaze seemed reserved for Y/N especially.

She was bruised from the repeated practice, the falls, and from the mans calloused hands that beat her beyond the theater walls. Threatening to fire her if she didn’t improve. Claiming he was “trying to save the company’s image.” Telling her she’d be working the streets in no time if she failed again.

Even though she tried her best, often putting in more work than her peers, it still wasn’t enough for Mr. Timmons and his dreadful company. The only thing getting her by was knowing that after the big show, things would settle down, knowing he’d go back to just yelling at her and occasionally at the others, instead of talking with his fists. But the pay remained the same, barely keeping a roof over her head throughout the years.

“Y/N, I’ve seen your performances these past few weeks and they’re all the same. The turns are too loose, your footing is off, and you’re out of step with the others. I don’t see why you can’t do better.” He said loudly as she stared him down. White-hot tears brimmed in her eyes as her face heated up in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. None the wiser to the blinder who’d watched it all unfold.

“Meet me backstage after this will ya? We have to discuss some matters over your position here.” He said, walking to the next girl and nodding his head. He moved on from each person giving small snide remarks, but they were nothing compared to what she’d gotten, and it filled her with rage. With a sigh, she wiped her tears and stood up. Decided then and there that she’d walk out. To make a scene like she’d dreamt to during the 5 years she’d worked there.

“Mr. Timmons...the only thing you’ll be doing backstage is shoving these up your ass.” She said, chucking the bloodied ballet slippers at him before exiting the stage and going to her dressing room, locking the door.

Thomas watched silently until Mr. Timmons excused the rest of them, leaving only him and the poor excuse for a man in the dimly lit area back stage.

As the man walked with a master key towards Y/N’s dressing room, Thomas quickly came up behind him. Hitting him in the back of the head with his gun and wrestling him to the floor. The man screaming through a bloodied mouth as he landed punch after punch to his face. Thomas soon removing his cap and slicing the mans eyes, blinding him instantly before shooting him.

Y/N watched from the doorway, dressed from head to toe in her normal clothes she’d came in with. Her eyes red and swollen from crying and her body aching from the mornings work.

She stood there silently, the sight of the man who tormented her making her smile slightly as she realized she was free of him.

“Y/N....” Thomas said, wiping the blood from his face as best he could as he stood up from the mans limp body.

“Thank you.” She said, sniffling a bit as she kept her tears at bay this time. Walking quickly out the door to the outside of the building, the cars whizzing by as the cold wind crept through her clothes.

Thomas quickly draped a nearby blanket over Timmons’ body, dragging it to the dressing room. But before leaving he retrieved the master key from his limp hand, locking the dead man inside as he cleaned up the mess from his handy-work.

As he looked in the bathroom mirror minutes later, he could see the blood on his skin, the metallic smell barely phasing him as he washed it down the drain. After cleaning up, he headed out the door, finding Y/N sitting on the pavement smoking a cigarette.

“Mind if I join you?” He asked, sitting by her and lighting his own, his hands bleeding slightly from the blows to Timmons’ face.

“Why not.” She said, fiddling with a pink ribbon in her hands that once kept her hair tightly in place.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He said, sighing as he looked out at the mid afternoon sky. The city bustling around them.

“It’s alright. I’ve wanted that to happen for 5 years. Don’t worry though, after knowing him, nothing really scares me.” She said with a small smile, relief finally hitting her as she realized she’d probably never have to face the man again.

“He’s dead though right? Like you made sure he’s never coming back?” She asked, her eyes still nervously scanning the roads out of habit as the doubt crept in.

“He’s never coming back. I’m burying him tonight.” He said.

“Make sure it’s deep.” She said, the bruises on her wrists more prominent in the daylight.

“Always do.” He said looking at her wrists with a clenched jaw. Knowing full well Timmons was behind it.

“I’ve uh, thought about your offer by the way.” She said looking down at the ribbon.

“You have aye?” He asked, flicking the ash from his cigarette. Her voice bringing him out of his thoughts a bit.

“Yeah. I’d like to try it out, if you’d still want me there. I don’t know what a ballerina could offer the company but, it beats where I was.” She said, cringing internally at all the painful memories which unfortunately often overshadowed the good ones.

“I’ve seen you work hard so far, so I figured making you my assistant would be a good position. You’ll come in at 8, and leave by 6 on most days.” He said.

“Most days? What happens on the other days?” She asked.

“On those days you keep busy so you don’t think about how or if we’ll return. You’ll help keep the shop in line along with my aunt Polly until one of us walks through the door. For your safety.” He said.

“Do all the assistants and secretaries work that late?” She asked.

“Only on those nights they do.” He said.

“Alright. May I ask one question?” She said.

“Mhmm.” He mumbled, blowing smoke from his lips. He stared at her while she thought over her words, her eyes not as miserable as before.

It made him feel better knowing that even though he couldn’t save the men in the trenches, he could at least save her. Someone who shared their same eyes, their same exhaustion, their same fear of not knowing what was next.

“Why me? You could hire anyone else. Any other woman for that matter. But you chose me...” She said, putting her cigarette out on the damp dirt road.

Thomas sighed for a moment, not wanting to tell her he couldn’t help but fall for a beautiful woman even though they’d just met. No matter her profession, he didn’t expect a ballet dancer to steal his heart so quickly and effortlessly.

“I could see you were different.” He said.

“How so?” She asked, his answer not enough as she looked into his eyes. They were like looking into the ocean, threatening to pull her under.

“When I came in after doing some business and saw you there practicing, you intrigued me. You were dancing with no music, but still trying no matter what happened.” He said.

“You saw me fall aye?” She said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, but I also saw what you did after....It’s always about what someone does after the fall, that makes a person who they are. I guess I chose you because you didn’t give up.” He said.

“And I thought it was because I was wearing a pretty pink ballet costume.” She said, smirking.

“That might also be a reason.” He said with a smirk. After a long pause, he spoke again, this time more quietly.

“For the record Y/N, I truly don’t see why the others treated you like they did....But I won’t hurt you. I promise.” He said.

“A man like you making promises? That’s a bold move.” She said, her heart racing as she held his hand gently, nervous to touch someone in a way that wasn’t done in self defense.

“I’m a bold man.” He said, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

“Oh really?” She said with a smirk.

“I can show you.” He said, leaning towards her as she did the same. She couldn’t help but feel differently towards him. He didn’t make her feel scared or on-edge like so many people before her. Instead oddly enough, the dashing blinder made her feel safe.

It was in that moment that he too realized he hadn’t felt this way in a while, since before the war. The only comfort he’d ever found previously was at the bottom of a bottle or beneath the sheets in a brothel. The feelings felt out of place, the noise from the war competing with the song in his head, the same one from her shows. The same one from years ago at home.

With a calloused hand, he caressed her cheek, looking into her as eyes as the sun shined into them. Their color illuminated by its rays as he brought her lips to his, a wave of relief washing over him as he felt her relax into the kiss instead of pulling away.

“So...when do I start?” She asked after he broke the kiss, her eyes trailing to his lips.

“Tomorrow. I can pick you up.” He said.

“Won’t you be tired from burying Mr. Timmons? I can drive myself.” She said.

“It’s not my first time burying someone love. I’ll swing by in the morning.” He said, getting up.

“Alright...see you then.” She said, a genuine grin forming on her face for what felt like the first time in years as she watched him head off towards his car.

Over the next few weeks, she became acquainted with everyone in the shop. Polly taking a special liking to her as she loved dancing as well.

“You’ll never catch me dancing ballet. Maybe a waltz but never ballet.” She said one morning.

“I can teach you, it’ll do you some good. Keep you strong.” Y/N said, thinking about how she’d get by with teaching in her cramped apartment.

“Tommy taking classes from you yet?” She asked with a smirk.

“God no. I think he only said that to get me working for him.” She said, thinking back to his first deal with her.

“What are you two talking about aye? We have work to do.” Tommy said, walking into his office where they sat in his chairs nonchalantly.

“Pol was just asking me if I’d taught you to dance yet. You did say you used to...but there would be no ballet of course.” She said, smirking at him as she blew smoke from her lips.

“Well, I have business at the races soon so I guess you’ll have to teach me. Especially since I’ll need someone to accompany me.” He said.

“I never thought you’d ask. What shall I wear?” She asked.

“Something red.” He said, giving her a peck on the cheek before heading out the door.

Their banter carried on like this months after her employment. The only thing different though was where she stayed. Everyone knew he’d had the hots for the woman as soon as he laid eyes on her in the theater. John joking that going to London was the best decision Tommy had ever made. Seeing as she helped him find himself again even if it was just in simple ways. From the nights spent keeping the sounds of the shovels at bay, to the weekends spent helping him learn a few dances. They both healed each other with each step. He never thought he would enjoy dancing or even something as simple as sleeping ever again, but she helped him and he helped her, and he felt the only way to pay her back was to help her still live out her dreams. Eventually converting one of their many rooms into a dance studio, where she’d help teach children on the side, without mean words and harsh fists beating her down.

By this time, she finally knew what she was dancing for, or more so who. And it pleased Thomas to see the life finally return to her eyes as she did so. Knowing that one of the best decisions she made was to dance for herself. Even if it didn’t garner any grand applause, she knew she had people who cared, and who saw the value in what she did, considering it was her gift to the world after all. Even if it was the gangly Shelby family as her audience, she knew it was better than any theater.

Thomas Shelby Tag List:

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @psychkunox, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy,@dreamwastakenx,

@lovemissyhoneybee @thomashelbyswhore​, @xxbeckybeexx-blog​

If you’d like to be added or removed, just send an ask/message! :)

[fatesdeepdive]

Entry 53: Home Sweet Abusive Home

I unlocked the Conquest version of My Castle at the end of the last chapter. It’s basically the same; there are different building styles, Lilith attacks instead of heals, the shops sell Nohrian weapons instead of Hoshidan ones, etc. I’m going to be ignoring castle stuff this time and instead analyzing classes.

Class Profile - Nohr Prince/Princess

Corrin and Kana’s default class, wields swords and dragon stones. Balanced with good HP and Strength. The class’s first skill, Nobility, boosts EXP gained. The other skill, Dragon Fang, gives a skill stat determined chance to do a special attack that does 1.5 damage. Dragon Fang also has unique animations that have Corrin attacking with dragon arms. Design wise, the black and white stripes are nice but a bit busy. The cape is nice, but the random slits over the princess version’s thighs are dumb.

Class Profile - Hoshido Noble

Nohr Prince/Princess’s promotion in Birthright and an optional promotion in Revelation. Stat wise, it has better Strength, Skill, and Defense than its Nohrian counterpart, as well as the ability to use staves. It’s first ability, Dragon Ward, gives nearby allies a luck based chance to half damage taken. This fits with its more supportive role. On the other hand, its second ability Hoshidan Unity gives a 10% boost to the activation rate of all skills. Design wise, it’s a silver and gold version of Corrin’s normal design with a few details that make it look more Hoshidan. It’s a great design, assuming you ignore the fact that the female version isn’t wearing pants.

Class Profile - Nohr Noble

The Conquest version of Hoshido Noble. Has slightly better Speed, Magic, and Resistance, as well as the ability to use tomes. Its first skill, Draconic Hex, lowers the stats of enemies after combat. The other skill, Nohrian Trust, is really interesting, allowing Corrin to use the battle skills of supporting allies. I love the black coloring with hints of magenta and the tattered cape, but I have to groan at the cleavage and continued lack of pants for female units. Also something I noticed: Nohr Nobles have a shield on their left shoulder, while Hoshidans have a shield on their right shoulder. It’s a nice little detail.

Also, you know how I stole Rinkah and Sakura’s weapons? The damn game gave them back!

Conquest Chapter 7: A Dragon’s Decree

Moron and his Nohrian siblings return to Castle Krakenburg. Garon praises Xander for invading Hoshido. Xander brings up Moron, who Garon apparently can’t see from ten feet away, and Garon is shocked that Moron isn’t dead. Garon yells at Moron for coming home and accuses him of being a spy. Xander insists Moron is loyal and brings up the fight with Ryoma. Iago believes this to be a ruse, which makes sense. He did that shit in Birthright.

Moron asks about the exploding sword. Garon very convincingly pretends to know nothing. Garon uses the fact that Moron is suspicious of the repeated attempts on his life as evidence that Moron is a traitor and orders Xander to execute him. So glad we came back.

Camilla and Elise beg for mercy and Xander refuses to kill his brother. Iago says that makes Xander a traitor, too. Moron says he’ll kill himself to protect Xander. Garon, overjoyed at the idea of suicide, decides to leave it up to Anankos, the dragon god who was mentioned like once in Birthright. Anankos whispers to Garon to spare Moron, if he passes a test. Moron must suppress a rebellion in the ice tribe to prove his loyalty, without any help from his siblings or the Nohrian military. Something about Moron going off alone to enemy territory to prove his loyalty feels oddly familiar...hope this isn’t secretly a ploy to kill Moron again.

Xander says that taking out an entire army singlehandedly is impossible. Moron agrees to the mission. After Moron leaves, Garon monologues about how Moron is going to lose all hope and wish for death. Real glad we chose to side with Nohr, this truly was the right decision.

Xander, hearing Garon say evil shit out loud, does not decide to stop working for Garon. He says he knows what he has to do, but spoiler alert, it isn’t overthrow his evil father.

Moron goes through the woods of the Forlorn, where you fight Leo in Birthright, with only Lilith accompanying him. Faceless show up and attack, surrounding Moron. Felicia shows up and takes one out with a dagger. Moron points out that he had to destroy Felicia’s friends and family without help, but shrugs it off because they aren’t technically at the Ice Village yet.

This battle is actually pretty good, taking on a ton of enemies with only two units. At the start of turn three, Silas and Elise show up to rescue Corrin. At the start of turn four, Elise’s retainers Arthur and Effie join them. Arthur mentions that he’s late because a bird stole his map and Effie’s late because her armor made her sink into the swamp. Elise mentions that Xander planned out this rescue behind Garon’s back.

Arthur

Arthur is Talitu's rude Wind Mage son...wait, wrong Arthur. Arthur is a Monk who...okay, once more time. Arthur is Elise’s unlucky but heroic Fighter retainer. I love Arthur as a character, this boisterous, cheesy, superhero fighting for justice. His design has this massive lantern jaw and he wears a superhero costume with a cape. His personal skill, Misfortune, makes critical hits more likely on both him and his enemies. This is fitting for the running gag of him being supernaturally unlucky, something reflected in gameplay by him having an abysmal luck stat.

Effie

Elise’s other retainer, a Knight. She seems to be a protective warrior. Honestly, I didn’t pick up too much about her personality because I was distracted by her utterly monstrous strength star. Effie is buff. Her personal skill, Puissance, pairs well with this by boosting her damage if she’s far stronger than an enemy. Personally, I’m not too fond of Effie’s design. Her face feels to girly and looks like she’s wearing make-up, which doesn’t match her personality. The big shoulder pads look weird and the boob plate is eye-roll inducing. At least it’s better than her Heroes design, which is atrocious.

After battle, Felicia volunteers to lead us to her village. The camera pans over to reveal Iago was responsible for the faceless attack. Because he’s an evil asshole who I hate.

Also I grabbed Mozu between chapters.

Support: Corrin/Elise

C: Corrin stumbles upon Elise practicing punching in a field. Elise insists she's just picking flowers because she's sweet. Eventually, Elise admits that she's training so she won't be a burden to the army.

B: Corrin trains Elise to grow stronger. Elise struggles to do push-ups.

A: Elise sobs about being pathetic. Corrin insists that war isn't about fighting, it's about having a pure desire for peace. The amount of people Corrin kills contradicts this.

S: Corrin gives Elise flowers to propose to her. I vomit.

Review: Setting aside the incestuous pedophilia that ends this one, not bad. I think Elise works more than Sakura because at least she’s entertaining when complaining about being a burden.

Support: Arthur/Felicia

C: Felicia tells Arthur she's a bad maid because she's incompetent and clumsy. Arthur relates.

B: Arthur explains that the best way to deal with problems is to be carefree. As he walks, he almost slips on a banana peel (despite the army not storing bananas) and is swarmed by mosquitos (which don't exist in this region).

A: Arthur tells a story of a time he tried to save a drowning person, hit his head, and almost drowned. The person he tried to save was helped by someone else. Arthur explains that he and Felicia shouldn't worry about mishaps.

S: Arthur asks Felicia to meet with him so he can propose. They fall in a pit, Setsuna style, and Felicia accidentally freezes Arthur's fingers so he can't get the ring out of his pocket.

Review: Paring up these absolute messes of people is hilarious.

Support: Mozu/Silas

C: Mozu asks Silas if she should just leave the army and go back home (to the corpse filled ruins of her village I guess) because she isn't very strong. Silas volunteers to train her to be stronger.

B: Mozu says Silas shouldn't waste time training her. Silas tells her her "I'm too weak to be good" mindset is holding her back and that her wasting her potential is a sin against her murdered parents. Goddamn.

A: Mozu, believing she has potential, improves. Silas says he wasn't talented as a kid and only became a good knight because he never gave up. Mozu promises to cook for him.

S: Silas proposes so he can have pie every day. Mozu fantasizes about killing people with S-Rank pair up bonuses.

Review: Not bad, but needed a certain spark to be great. Silas telling Mozu that attitude is everything is interesting, but it kinda falls off towards the end.

Support: Effie/Jakob

C: Jakob bakes a cake for Corrin. Effie eats it. Jakob tries to physically stop her but she shrugs off everything he throws at her.

B: Effie works out by lifting water barrels and tells Jakob that she needs to be strong so she can protect her friends, even if it costs her her own life. Jakob says he doesn't want her to die for him because he'd have to spend the rest of his life feeling guilty. Ugh!

A: Effie says that she can't not protect him because they're friends. Jakob says that's fine, just don't die in the process.

S: Jakob bakes a cake with protein powder instead of flour to propose to Effie. Effie says she isn't going to marry him for his baking skills, but for his good heart.

Review: Pretty good. Effie is amusing throughout this Support and the discussion of dying for friends is nice.

[hoewkeyesblue]

Not My Family

requested by: anon

“can you write shelby sis ( #105 & #113 angst list and #21 fluff list) being quite the troublemaker recently so everyone is upset with her and she tells the family that there's someone following her often but they don't believe her and just send her away. she gets attacked quite badly and stays with johnny dogs in his caravan (and he doesn't tell the family cause he's upset too) and when they see her again she doesn't want to talk to them cause they let her down? you can decide the end :)”

angst #105 “I thought you cared about me. someone who cares about someone else doesn’t let them down like you just did.” and #113 “I can’t look at you anymore.”

fluff #21 “I need a hug.”

pairing: shelby!reader x john shelby, shelby!reader x arthur shelby, shelby!reader x tommy shelby (no incest)

summary: once your brother told you that you had a family that would never let anything bad happen to you. when you grew up, you understood that thomas shelby was a motherfucking liar.

word count: 1, 239

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of aggression and abuse, the word “fuck” is used a lot in here.

author’s note: I wanted this oneshot to be awesome because I loved the prompt, I really did!!! thank you for requesting this, thank you! and also thanks to my best friend who’s helping me every day with my writing. love you, boo.

“I told them”, your voice was full of pain and resentment. “I told them there was someone following me, but they didn’t listen. They never listen to me”, you hissed under your heavy breath.

“I think you may have some broken ribs, Y/N. I should take you to a hospital”, Johnny said, clearly worried. You denied.

“If I go to the hospital, people will see. People will talk and they will come, I don’t wanna see those bastards right now. I don’t know if I want to see them ever again, to be honest”, you tried to look strong but it was difficult. Really difficult.

Everything was hurting; your legs, your torso, your head. You could still feel the warmth of the blood running through your hair, there’s probably a concussion. You felt off, you felt sad, but mostly, you felt angry.

“You could die”, he tried but were instantly interrupted by you.

“If it’s my time to die, so be it”, now your voice was lower, cracking a bit. “Thank you for taking care of me, Johnny.”

“Someone has to.”

***

Days passed by and you were getting better. Physically, at least; mentally, you were only getting sadder. Every day you would close your eyes and suddenly you were back at that night, being spanked, touched in ways that made you throw up just for thinking about.

Every day you would remember how you told your brothers countless times that someone was following, watching you. Every day you remembered they didn’t listen.

Your heart ached every time you thought about it.

“No one will ever hurt you, Y/N”, that’s what Tommy said when you were younger. “There are bad people that will try, but there’s us, your family, that won’t let them.”

Fucking liar.

“Y/N”, Johnny greeted as entering the caravan. “‘Was with the boys today, they’re convinced that you’re dead”, he told and you opened a wicked smile.

“Did you tell them?”

“Of course not. I think they deserve to think that for a while, at least until you get better”, he explained. “How’s your head today, by the way?”

“Still hurts a little, but it’s fine”, you tranquilized. “I guess I won’t be coming back home after. Maybe I should go to America, what do you think?”

He never had the chance to respond, because in a split second, Tommy was there.

***

“What the hell, Y/N?”, Arthur screamed as soon as he entered Tommy’s house. You were sitting on the sofa, eyes on your hands. “We fucking thought you were dead! Fucking dead!”

“Well, I almost was!”, you screamed back, standing up to impose yourself but regretting it when you felt dizzy because of the agonizing pain. You sat again, but added: “And that’s on you, all of you! Fucking bastards!”

“How is that our fault? We didn’t put a fucking gun in your head and told you to stay in the fucking caravan instead of going to the bloody hospital!”, now John was screaming.

Tommy, of course, didn’t say a word.

Maybe he didn’t care enough to do so.

“You put a gun in my head when I told you what was happening and you decided to ignore it. That’s what you did, you fucking ignored me!”

“I’m sorry if you’re always lying and fucking around, none of us could possibly imagine that you were being serious”, his voice was filled with irony and anger.

“I was being dead serious, John, don’t put it on me.”

You were exhausted, your hands were shaking and you felt like throwing up again. You did throw up every single day since the unfortunate event happened. Soon there were tears running down your cheeks and you hugged yourself, feeling alone.

“I thought you cared about me. Someone who cares about someone else doesn’t let them down like you did”, you cried out. The room was now in silence, the only sound you could hear was your own sobs.

Arthur was the first one to approach; he kneeled in front of you and tried to hold your hand, but you didn’t accept the gesture.

“Y/N...”, he hesitated. You knew he regretted everything, but it was too late now. “Look at me.”

“I’m sorry”, they could hear your hurt in your voice. “I can’t look at you anymore.”

A thunderous noise made you jump in your place and you looked up to see John, his face red, throwing everything off a table.

“Fuck!”, he yelled.

Tommy seemed tired of everything that was happening and that’s what hurt you the most. He stood up and walked in your direction, saying in a bittersweet tone: “We’re your family, we need each other. You can’t be mad with us forever.”

“You’re not my fucking family”, you spat. “Once you told me my family would never let anything bad happen to me, remember?”

“If we’re not your fucking family”, he sounded so cold, principally when added: “Go home. And only come back when you change your mind.”

You stood up again, ignoring the pain you felt and looking into his eyes while saying: “Fuck off, Thomas Shelby.”

***

You were incredibly drunk.

You knew you should keep alcohol away for a while, but you needed to forget what happened that afternoon. Fucking Shelbys.

Normally you’d be listening to some music, but your head still hurt a lot, so you decided not to.

That was it.

Your new life; you and whiskey.

“Fucking good life”, you said to yourself, laughing out loud. “Who needs family, eh?”

You swear you could hear a knock on your door but ignored it while looking at yourself in the mirror. The whiskey’s bottle in your hand, the messy hair, the purple marks on your face, arms, and legs.

“Fucking family”, you muttered again.

Knock, knock.

“For fuck's sake”, you walked to the door and opened it to see John and Arthur, looking lost and guilty as fuck. You groaned, “What are you doing here? Get lost!”

“We’re here to apologize”, John murmured.

“What is that now?”, your voice was bitter.

“We don’t agree with Thomas and... we decided to come here and apologize, Y/N. Properly”, it was Arthur’s time to speak. You could see their eyes examining your bruises.

“Come in”, you muttered, lying on the sofa.

Arthur closed the door and soon enough they were sitting on the same sofa as you; John on your right, Arthur on your left.

“We did this to you”, John started while Arthur nodded in agreement. “We didn’t listen to you and we’re really sorry. I only wish we could go back in time and...”

“Cut the bullshit”, you blurted. “There’s no going back, John. Let’s stick with the present, shall we?”, you didn’t notice, but you were crying again. Maybe the alcohol had cut off your control over your body.

“Fuck, Y/N...”, Arthur hissed.

“Please, forgive us. I’ll ask some man to guard your front door and if you need anything, anytime, you can call me and I’ll be there. I promise”, John seemed like he was going to fall apart.

You were his little sister, he couldn’t forgive himself.

“We promise!”, Arthur corrected. “What can we do for you? Just tell us. Anything. If you want me to go to Tommy’s and beat his ass I swear to God I’ll-”

A little, soft smile appeared on your face amongst the tears.

“I just need a hug, boys.”

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

blinders taglist

@haphazardhufflepuff @iwillboilyourteeth

tommy shelby taglist

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @kassandra-of-troy

[peakywitch]

Welcome to Small Heath - Michael Gray

THIS WILL BE A SERIES

words: 2.6k

warnings: none wtf just um throwing up ?? a little bullying and nothing more

masterlist

“Michael, Y/N…welcome to Small Heath.”

That was the beginning of the end.

When Henry was just a few weeks from turning 18, his real family came to visit him, letting him know he was awaited in a small town in Birmingham.

“Y/N? Are you in here?” a voice asked, calling her through the door.

“Yes, come in!” She allowed the voice to come inside the classroom.

“Hey, love.” She turned around, leaving the papers on the desk, and saw her boyfriend coming in.

“Hey, Henry.” She smiled, passing by his side and kissing him quickly. She was cleaning the classroom, getting it ready for the week ahead.

“So…my cousin came by today, he told me they are waiting for me, and that they’d like to meet me.” He said, watching her clean the classroom’s blackboard.

“Cousin?” she asked, confused. As long as she knew, Rosemary had no brothers, nor did his father “But you have none…what are you talking about?”

“No, I do. My um…My real mom, has like three…maybe four nephews? One came by, today. My mom wants to see me.” He said, he was still a little bit confused. She stopped walking around the room.

“Oh.” she felt a bittersweet flavour in her mouth, Henry was going to leave her. She kept on walking after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, playing it cool.

“So…” she cleared her throat, trying to sound as normal as possible “Are you going to go?”

“Yes, I believe I am.” He answered, doubtful.

She chuckled a little bit while reordering the books on the shelf that was beside the blackboard.

“What?” he asked, not understanding why she was laughing.

“Well, you don’t sound so secure if you ask me.”

“Do I need to be more secure about the fact that I want to leave this…bloody hell hole?” he exclaimed, making goosebumps go through her body. He realized he yelled at her and felt bad almost immediately “I’m sorry, I really am.” He reached out to her and hugged her, trying to apologize.

“It’s okay, you surely are stressed.” She hugged him back, letting him know she was there for him with a little whisper in his ear.

“I just… Don’t want to leave you. Here. In this no-future place.”

Both of them were standing in the middle of the room, he had his hand around her waist and she was caressing both of his arms. 

“Well, I may not have a good future, but I’m trying to educate kids who may will and won’t have to fight a war, you know?” she smiled, and he looked up at the ceiling. Then, after a few seconds in silence, he realized. His eyes met hers, and she got a funny feeling.

“What?” she asked, with a smile. He didn’t say a word, he just kept on smiling. “Henry, love, what are you thinking?”

“Come with me.” He said, with the sweetest smile on his face.

“Henry…” she murmured, trying to understand what he was asking.

“I don’t want to meet them alone, please. I…” he laughed softly; the poor boy was as nervous as he could be “I don’t want to do this alone. Please? For me, baby.” He pleaded, trying to catch her eyes with his because she was trying to run from his gaze.

They both stood there in silence for a few seconds. With a deep inhale, she stared into his eyes, watching them beg.

“Only if you bake me your famous apple pie.”

He smiled; he was so happy. The boy took her face into his hands and kissed her repeatedly.

“Yes, yes, yes. Thank you, you are amazing.”

So, as promised, she went with him. They were both greeted by a loving family on a warm Sunday morning. They had bought a few things to have breakfast with and they took out a few drawings a gypsy did on a fair.

“So, that’s how your babies will look like, Y/N.” Arthur said, teasing them both. Henry got all red, and she started laughing nervously.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Arthur. He is still a boy!” laughed Polly.

“Yeah well, when I was his age I had already two kids, didn’t I?” laughed John, trying to make his aunt even more nervous.

“Oh, would you stop this nonsense! You are making both of them hate us, and we want to spend more time with ‘em!” said Polly.

“John, I think these kids have more things in their minds than just sex, unlike you did.” Said Tommy, lighting up a cigarette. “You are a teacher, aren’t you?” he said while staring blankly at his guest.

“Um…Yes, yes I am. I teach first and second grade.” She smiled, quite insecure.

“Well, our school here in Small Heath needs a teacher.” He said, smoking calmly.

Y/N looked at Henry, uncomfortable.

“Oh, well…um…there are a few teachers that would like to leave our town and…” she scratched the back of her neck.

“No, Y/N.” Said Polly. “We want Michael to stay here, with us. He agreed, but he wants you to keep on teaching.”

At first, it was a hard decision, Y/N was mad at Henry because he set her up. But there was nothing he couldn’t fix with a slice of freshly baked apple pie. So, after a warm slice of homemade cake, tea and an apology, they were both off to Birmingham.

A car was waiting for them at the front door in Henry’s house. They both said their goodbyes and after loading their suitcases, the trip started. And it was there, in the middle of the drive, where he said something that marked a before and after:

“I’d like it if you…umm…started calling me Michael, you know?” he asked, a little bit unsure of how it would be received by her.

“Oh…Yes, okay, no probl-”

“But” he interrupted “but you don’t have to do it if it makes you uncomfortable, you know?” he stated while caressing her hand.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” He stared into her eyes, having that feeling that nothing was actually fine. “Don’t look at me like that, everything IS fine…Michael” she lied, but the cute smile she had on her face was enough for him to actually believe that lie.

The drive was calm, the only bumpy road was in her mind, where she was leaving her hometown behind.

“You know,” said Michael, “I think you will be an amazing teacher in Small Heath.” He smiled.

“You really do?” she smiled back, and she told him how nervous she was.

“Oh, come on. You? Nervous? This will be amazing, love.” He said, taking her hand and leaving a sweet kiss on it “Believe me, it will be amazing, you will be the best teacher.” He smiled.

They both spent the rest of the calm trip imagining how many new things they would do and how many new people they would meet.

It all sounded lovely, for both of them.

A good life in a good place.

“What?” asked Michael to the chauffeur, interrupting his conversation with the girl next to him.

“We are here.” He said, leaving the car.

“Okay…” she suspired, with a smile.

“We are here.” He smiled, kissing her rapidly, so he could get out of the car.

He opened the door, got out, and helped her get out while holding her hand. The chauffeur gave both of them their suitcases and when they turned around, there they were: the Shelbys.

“Michael, Y/N…” started Tommy, after exhaling smoke from his cigarette “Welcome to Small Heath.”

They both smiled.

In the beginning, it was almost surreal how well it was going. They were living with Polly in a beautiful house a few minutes from Watery Lane, so he could go to the betting den and she could go to the school, where, of course, she got into with no trouble.

When the first month was almost over, things started to change.

Although the other teachers didn’t like the fact that Y/N started working because of the family influence she had, they had to admit she was a good teacher. Despite them recognizing it, she still was being ignored by them during lunch. And, even though Michael told her they were just nervous or something, she wasn’t feeling better about the fact that they were not even looking at her.

So, as always, she was eating alone in the classroom, just as when she was a little girl. That’s how she met Michael. She was alone, he saw her through the window and joined her. She never ate alone after that day.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” a woman asked, coming inside her classroom.

“Hi.” She smiled, cleaning her lips with a napkin.

“I’m Susan, she’s Gretchen and this is Esther.” The fifty-year-old woman presented herself and the other two.

Susan looked like a goose, had big lips, a long neck, and blonde hair. Gretchen had a strange noise and looked like the type of teacher who hits kids and well, Esther had a greyish hair and a sour face, she looked like a dried lemon.

“I’m…” she was about to introduce herself out of courtesy, but they interrupted her.

“Yeah, we know how you are. Mr. Shelby got you into here.” Said Esther, putting an even more sour face, looking down on her.

“Oh yeah, well, he spoke with the headmaster and…” then again, she was interrupted but this time by Susan.

“Talk?” she laughed “You are a little blind to be a teacher, aren’t you?”

“No, not blind.” Said Gretchen, continuing with the verbal attack “She might be a little stupid.”

“Pardon?” said Y/N almost choking on her food, not understanding what was going on, nor why were the three witches attacking her.

“Yes, Gretchen is right.” Laughed Esther.

“I don’t know who you are, but please stop attacking me, I’ve…”

Y/N hated confrontation, it always left a black hole in her stomach, and she ended up feeling like she would throw up.

“You little girl, are a fool if you think you got this work because of your experience.” Started Susan “The only experience it was talked about, was the threat Mr. Sallow got from Tommy gipsy Shelby.”

It shook her. Threats? The void in her stomach was only growing, starting to reach the being sick part. She rapidly checked the clock on the wall. In two minutes, the bell would ring.

“Okay, I’m sorry but I have to ask you ladies to leave. I don’t deserve this abuse and…” she started, but she knew. She knew if she kept talking, she would puke on Esther’s horrible and old pink blouse.

The three ladies stared blankly at her, waiting for her to continue.

“Come on, speak.” Gretchen hurried her, but she maintained silent.

The bell rang, and the three ladies left her alone after saying a few more things to her. When the last witch got out, she ran to the bin in the corner and threw up while her body was shaking, nerves and stress always got the worst of her.

“Ugh, fuck.” She muttered, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

“Hi, everyone.” She smiled shyly entering the betting shop. The clients saluted her with a smile and Michael called her, letting her know he was in the back with his cousins and his mom.

She walked over to them and hugged her boyfriend, who was waiting for her with his arms open.

“Hi, beautiful.” He smiled and tried to kiss her, she just kissed his forehead and sat by his side, while hearing all the questions the Shelbys were asking about her day. 

While Michael stood confused for his rejected kiss, she could only smile and comment that it was a lovely day. After her lie, they all got back to their horse discussion.

“Is…everything alright?” he asked with concern while staring at her.

“I…don't know.” She whispered, as he left his arm on her shoulder.

“We can talk about it if you want.” He said, softly enough for only her to hear. YN nodded and tried to focus on the race that was being discussed.

“So…I threw up today.” Y/N said while undoing the braid Esme had done while they were in the betting shop.

“You what?!” screamed Michael from the bathroom, while brushing his teeth. He got out of the bathroom, with his mouth full of toothpaste and a brush. “You did what?”

“A few teachers came up to me, and started…” Michael cut her off, after going back to the bathroom:

“I’m listening! Just cleaning my mouth!” he told her, while the water was running.  

“They started nagging me!” she complained while taking her clothes off and putting on her pyjamas. “These three women, well, witches came into my classroom while I was eating.”

Michael came out of the bathroom with a clean mouth and a concerned face.

“What did they say to you?” he asked while starting to undo the buttons on his pressed white shirt.

“That I got into the school because Tommy threatened the headmaster teacher…and they started to attack me, calling me names and…”

The black void was appearing on her body once again, making her sick to her stomach. Michael could always sense when she was getting that weird feeling, so he instantly knew what to do.

“Oh, love, come here.” He said, forgetting about his half-buttoned shirt and only thinking about his girl. She hugged him tightly, trying to forget the uncomfortable day.

“So I got all nervous and I threw up when they left.” The poor girl was starting to cry. “I don’t want to go back, I seriously don’t.” she stated sadly.

“But…if you don’t teach, what would you do?” he asked, trying to get her to think through with more clarity.

“I will…umm…bake, yeah.”

“Bake?” he laughed slightly, making her laugh “Love, you don’t know how to cook. I always did the apple pie, you chatted.”

Y/N laughed and let him know he was right.

“Of course I am right, Y/N. And I could start driving you to school, and picking you up.” He suggested, “So the three old ladies know you have someone who will walk through fire for you.”

Y/N's heart grew bigger, he was the kindest man alive. That was something she always liked in him, he tried to make everything better, and would do everything in his power to make people happy.

“Drive me to school? Baby, we don’t have a car to make ‘em jealous.” She reminded him.

“Well…” he thought for a second “Oh! I know!” he smiled, placing both of his hands on his girl’s cheeks “I will walk with you, will kiss you goodbye and they will feel jealous because their old husbands don’t love them the way I love you.”

Y/N could only smile.

“Oh no, Esther is definitely a widow.” Laughed Y/N, making Michael smile “And! And Gretchen knows his husband cheats on her, while Susan never got married, lives with a fat cat and hates her neighbours.”

“How do you know all that?” he smiled, amazed by her beauty.

“I don’t. But they have a miserable life, there’s no other way to explain their bitterness.” She smiled, staring at his blue eyes “I am glad I have you by my side, so my bittersweet days can become delightful with your apple pie.”

“Why are you thinking about food?” Michael wondered.

“I’m not!” she replied with laughter.

“Yes, you are.”

“I always think about your pie, that’s a different story.”

“You love my pies.”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Just as much as I love you.”

A good night swept every inch of sadness on her. Michael’s body was around her, warming her through the cold night.  

[lost-tanuki-tales]

Frathouse Boxboy - Z2 gets thrown in the trash

Z2, Tyler and Alex belong to @deluxewhump (Frathouse Boxboy series).

All the pledges present tonight have to wade in the big bin that was stolen off the streets but it's Z2 who has to stand a few feet away completely immobile so that they can aim and throw trash at him. It's a game, he was told. Whoever hits the target most often wins. There are open tin cans among the missiles and their edges are sharp with the lid gone. Z2 knows that dirty cuts can be dangerous and that's why he worries about those on his thigh, shoulder, and cheek. They sting. He'll have to clean them as soon as he can, before it's too late. Nighttime fell a while ago and the pledges can't see very well so a lot of the missiles land wayward. The competition stops eventually and he hears someone claim that the winner is someone called Arthur, but he doesn't really look for the winner's face because he's busy trying to clear gunk out of his eyes.

They're hosed down with cold water after that. The pledges scream and yell and curse but Z2 just takes it, as silently as he can, shoulders hiked up to his ears and eyes screwed shut. The water forces its way up his nose and it burns. It drips into his mouth when he tries to breathe with wet gasps, and he has to turn away to choke and cough but the stream follows him. Z2 tries his best to push down the memory that assails him. He's been ignoring what happened in the bathroom for a while but these familiar sensations make it harder to do. He reminds himself that he's fine, he's standing, no one is forcing his head into a tub, this water is cold. The hosing down lasts longer for him.

Z2 can't stop shivering now that it's over and he's standing in line with the others. His skin aches where the strong stream of water hit him. His clothes are dripping wet and he doesn't have a lot of fat on him to keep the warmth in his body. The cuts still sting but the feeling is distant, like his head is filled with wool. It's not so bad. If Z2 hadn't been there another pledge would have taken his place and they would've had the same little injuries. That's what he tells himself as he stands there, wondering what's going to happen now. He's so cold that even his thoughts are slowed down and muddled. He's still dirty, of course, the hosing down wasn't meant to actually clean them up. He doesn't think he'll be allowed to go back inside yet.

Z2 is right: they're asked to do push-ups next. They have to lie in the muddy grass where the dirty water has pooled and push their bodies up and down at an unreasonable pace that's even got the other guys grunting with exertion. Z2 can't keep up, of course, he can barely even last more than three slow and misshapen pumps. He's too thin and he hasn't eaten in too long. His airless lungs and the muscles in his arms burn from the quick exhaustion. He tries his best, strains to lift his stomach off the fresh ground but his arms finally give out for good and he lands wetly against his front. Immediately, heavy footsteps come closer to him.

He feels a big hand grab him by the collar and lift him up. Tyler crows in his ear: "Wimps get thrown out with the trash!"

Z2 realizes he's being carried to the big bin and is hit with the horrifying realization that Tyler is going to shut him in there and forbid him from getting out. Z2's breath catches in his throat when he remembers the box he was shipped in, the terrible acrid smell of his own sick, how he could barely breathe. He starts thrashing in the boy's grip.

"No! No! Wait, wait, not in there, please not in there!" His hands fly out and he tries to grab onto Tyler's wrist, he hangs onto it for dear life. "Please, Tyler!"

Tyler shakes him like an unruly stray cat and his slurred words sound annoyed. "Shut up."

Z2's hand slips but he scrabbles to regain that hold as the yawning bin draws closer. It's dark in there and he's hit by a wave of nauseating odors that make his chest heave. He strikes a foot out and pushes back against the side of the bin to resist getting thrown in there. He hears laughter from afar.

"Tyler!" Z2's voice is rising in pitch. "Tyler, please! Wait! No, please, I don't want to-"

"In you go!" singsongs Tyler, and he gives Z2 one final push.

There's not much Z2 can do but topple forward. His hands shoot out to grab onto the edge of the bin to hold himself up, to try and scramble back over to the outside. He can feel slimy, spongious things sliding against his calves and he retracts his legs in revulsion, but someone is forcefully prying his fingers away and suddenly there's nothing left to hold onto. Z2 tumbles to the bottom of the bin, something wet permeates his short hair. He quickly pushes himself up on his elbow and reaches towards the gray, cloud-laced night sky.

"Wait!"

The lid drops shut above his head and he's suddenly plunged in darkness amidst the stench of rotting food and waste. Something scrapes atop of the lid. It takes Z2 a full two seconds to fully grasp the terrifying situation he's trapped in, and then he starts hitting the walls of the bin with his fists and feet, pleading for someone to get him out of there. There's enough room to move around in but he can't stand straight up, he can't budge the weighted lid at all when his arms are already tired and trembling from their earlier exertion. It stinks, the walls are closing in on him, he's completely powerless to escape and he feels hot tears dripping down his cheeks.

It stinks and he's breathing too fast, he can't stop. His own panicked, wet breaths echo in his ears amidst the thunder of blood rushing to his head. He feels horribly nauseous and hot. It was like this in the box, he felt the same, and there was nothing he could do about it and there's nothing he can do about it now. Z2 is trapped and he's going to be sick. His shaking legs suddenly buckle beneath his weight and he doesn't see where he's landed but he thinks he's going to throw up right here in the dark, his stomach burns, bitter saliva pools in his mouth. Terror threatens to rip his mind to shreds.

He hears footsteps approaching and immediately rears up, hope pushing down the terrible nausea even for just a moment. Z2 knows that it's stupid to hope but he can't help it.

"Please! Please let me out!" he starts begging with renewed energy, "Please open the lid! Please let me out, I'll do anything you want me to, just don't leave me here, don't leave me in here please!"

"Zee?"

He almost falls over again from the sheer relief he feels upon hearing Alex call his name and the frantic words spill out of his mouth. "Alex, please, I can't- I can't, please open, Alex, please open, please open it!"

He hears Alex curse to himself and the scraping sound happens again, and then the lid moves and  he sees a shape against the moonlight like a cutout shadow. He throws himself to the side and tries to heave himself over the edge, slips right away because his shoes are covered in sludge and so are his hands. Alex catches his shirt and loops an arm beneath his shoulder to pull him up.

"Come here," Alex says.

He pulls on Z2 to fish him out of the bin, and Z2's legs kick wildly as he frantically tries to help so he'll be out of here faster. He topples over the side and Alex barely catches him.

"Shit!"

It's clumsy and Z2's wrist jars painfully when he lands on the ground but it's the ground and he's out of that box, no, out of the bin. The air is cool and smells like grass down here. It's heavenly.

"Thank you," he breathily mumbles, relief making him near delirious. "Thank you Alex, thank you, thank you."

Alex crouches next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders to help him up. "Are you okay? What happened to you?"

That's when Z2 realizes that he's shaking worse than before, when he feels his own tremors against Alex's steady arm. Z2's legs feel weak and he thinks it's not just from the strain of trying to push against the lid. His heart is pounding and dry sobs catch in his throat.

"Zee?"

Alex's other arm presses against his chest to hold him up and Z2 can feel his heart hammering against the boy's palm. The other smells so good, clean and fragrant, and Z2 is suddenly awash with shame when he realizes how bad he must smell. He guiltily pushes himself away from Alex.

"Your clothes- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," he quickly apologizes.

He can't see Alex's features very well in the dark but he can hear his voice clearly, and his tone is comforting the way he'd try to comfort a spooked cat. "That's why we've got a laundry machine. It's fine, Zee." Z2 feels a warm hand wrap around his arm and Alex's voice turns into something sterner, but he gets a feeling it's not against him. "God, you're freezing. Come on, let's get you cleaned up before you catch a cold."

/!\ Please proceed with caution if you want to explore the Boxboy Universe as it features trafficking/slavery, and so often abuse, nonconsensual acts and institutionalized/pet whumpees.

N.B.: Thank you for being so enthusiastic about me posting this part completing the other one, guys. For those who haven't read it and would like to, here's the link!

[mylittlemarston]

Hi, I have a request! I’d love to read Arthur x f!reader with #79, 65 and/or 4 from that prompt list. I just think all three of those lines go well together, so I’d be happy with just one of them or all of them ;) Thank you so much, keep up the good work!!

Thank you so much!!!

I’m sorry that this took me so long to write, but I really enjoyed doing it and I even went back and spaced out the speech lines so that it’s (hopefully haha) easier to read !! I really hope you enjoy!!!

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Arthur Morgan x female reader

Warnings: gore, violence, swearing, torture, abuse  

Summary: After reader goes missing, Arthur starts worrying about her whereabouts, despite being told everything was fine. 

word count: 3063

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          Those damn O’Driscoll’s

     June 16th, 1899

18:17

       “All right Jackie. You ready for me to get ya back to mama?” I ask Jack. I took him into Valentine today to let him get out of camp for a while and get him a few things, my treat. Poor kid needs to get out every now and then.

 “Yeah! Thanks aunt y/n!” He says with a big smile, hugging my waist. I rest my hand on top of his head, rubbing it gently.

 “No problem kiddo. Come on.” I say, getting on top of my horse, cooing at him. I hold my arm out for Jack and pull him up, putting him behind me. 

“Ride fast aunt y/n!” He cheers.

 “Hold on tight!” I say speeding up. 

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

      “Thank you so much, y/n. He really needed it. I appreciate you even offerin’ to take him out. I would’ve but-“

 “Abigail, it’s fine.” I say. “Anytime. I love that boy like he’s my own, you know that. If you ever need anyone to watch him, you know I’m here. I needed to get out anyways.” I tell her with a smile. She smiles back and takes Jack by the hand.

 “Did you have fun with Miss y/n?” She asks him.

 “We had a lot of fun Mama!” 

I smile, kicking my foot around in the dirt for a short moment before heading over to Arthur to let him know I’m leaving. “Hey Arthur. I just wanted to say goodbye.” I say, heading into his tent.

 “Well where  you goin’?” He asks me, walking closer with his brown hair shining gold in the faint evening sun. 

“Just gotta do a few things. I’ll be back soon.” I tell him, walking out of the tent. Getting on my horse, I head out of camp.

 “Be safe y/n.” John says, guarding the camp.

 “I always am John.” 

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

I ride for a few minutes when a man on a horse charges into mine, knocking me off and onto the ground. “What the hell! Watch where you’re goin’, you son of a bitch!” I stand up, wiping the dirt off of my knees.

 “I wouldn’t talk that way missy.” The man says getting close to me. Before I can do anything, he pulls out a revolver and hits me with it, knocking me unconscious. 

      June 17th 

03:17

            “Wake up, bitch!” A man yells, his voice deep and heavy. He kicks my side, forcing me to cough. I cry out in pain, and the man just laughs.

 “What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice angry.

 “We want Dutch. Your leader. Whatever the hell you call him.” He says. I try to move, but realize I’m tied up with rope and reinforced by heavy chains. They’re as tight as they can go around my wrists and ankles, every subtle movement causing me to wince. He gets closer to me and I try to back up but am greeted by a cold wall.

 “You’ll never get a damn word outta me! They’re my family!” I say, anger growing within me at the thought of whoever these people are scarring poor Jack and hurting anyone within the camp. The man doesn’t take no for an answer, and I’m greeted by a hard smack on my cheek. I forget about being tied up and try to lunge at him, the rope digging into my wrists. I feel something wet drip down from them, and when I look back behind me, I see blood on the rope and my wrists cut to shit. Tears start to fall down my cheeks, dripping onto my shirt that has been torn and dirtied. I try to ignore all the pain I feel in my body, but it’s too unbearable.

 “Let’s try this again, girlie.” I wince at the pet name, wanting so badly to kill this pile of shit.

 “I already told you. I’m not tellin’ you a goddamn thing! You can keep me here forever and I wouldn’t tell you!” I fire back at him, my voice going hoarse from all the yelling. The man gives me a cold smirk before grabbing me by the throat and squeezing down hard on it.

 “We’ll just have to do this the hard way then.” He says. “Boys! The boss said we can do what we want to her. Get the knife.” He lets me go, and I cough while trying to catch my breath. Another man walks up to me with a knife while two more men stand on either side of me, the original man who kidnapped me undoing his belt.

 “What are you doing?!! Stop! Get away from me!” I thrash around, the rope digging deeper and deeper into my skin as I scream and kick with all my might. Tears are flowing down my face, my throat sore and my head pounding. The man with the knife holds it to my throat, putting a little bit of pressure down onto it. Just enough to draw blood, but not enough to make me bleed out. While trying to pull away, I slam my head against the wall, making everything fade to black. The last thing I saw was the two men standing beside me undressing me. 

09:32

      I wake up in more pain than I was before; my eye swollen, lips bloody, stomach and legs bruised, and an ache in my lower abdomen. Another man walks up to me, forcing my head up to look at him. His thumb brushes over my lips, the cuts on them burning as he does.

 “Good mornin’ sweetheart. Hope you got yourself a full nights rest. We got a lot of fun things to do to ya.”

 “Who the fuck are you? Why do you have me here?” My voice is a little hoarse, but nothing I can’t handle.

 He flashes a cold smile as he licks his lips greedily. I look away, thoroughly repulsed. “I’m Colm O’Driscoll. I’m guessin’ you  know who I am?” 

I meet his eyes again, tensing at his name. I make as much distance between us as I can but am not very successful. His face is inches from mine, his hot breath laced with alcohol and tobacco.

 “Yes, I do. But why do you have me here? If you’re gonna kill me, just do it already.” He chuckles, stepping back.

 “I don’t wanna kill ya, honey. I want Dutch to come find you.” It was my turn to laugh at him.

 “Then what. He and the boys  kill you? You don’t stand a chance.” I say, laughing a bit harder than before. Colm’s eyes go dark and cold, his face showing pure anger. 

“I won’t stand a chance… if they come for you. If they don’t… well…” anger pools inside of me again. 

“You hurt anyone in that camp, I’ll find you and kill you myself! Don’t you go anywhere near it!” I smirk at him, realizing what I said. “Oh wait. You can’t. You need me alive to tell you where it is, right? So you wouldn’t kill me anyways.” He gets close to me again, his hand going across my face with a hard slap. 

“You’ll tell me where he is. Trust me.” He turns and walks away, grabbing a gun and vanishing into the shadows. I drop my head down, tears stinging my eyes. Maybe he’s right. What if they don’t come for me?

14:48

Arthur’s pov

      “What if she’s in trouble, Dutch?” Arthur asks, his voice gruff.

 “It’s only been less than a day, Arthur. We’ll wait another day or so and go from there.” Dutch says, lighting a cigar and taking a puff from it. Arthur walks away from him, going to sit on a log by the fire. He rubs his face, his mind only producing thoughts of you and your safety. John joins him on the log, sighing.

 “Arthur, what’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up and examining Arthur’s slouched position. 

“It’s y/n. I’m really worried about her. What if she’s in danger? With the amount of people after us, anything could’ve happened.” He sits up, staring into the dancing flames.

 “She’s strong. You know that. She won’t deal with our bullshit, let alone anyone else’s.” John tells him, chuckling. Arthur chuckles too, loosening up. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Dutch said to wait a little longer and if she doesn’t show up, we’ll go find her.” John nods, patting Arthur on the back.

 “She will. And if she don’t, I’ll go with you.” He says standing up. Arthur nods, staying on the log and sighing. What if she really isn’t okay…? He asks himself, the anxiety only growing within him.

June 18th

07:53

      I can barely lift my head up from yesterday’s torture. I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this. I try to swallow, my throat in so much pain from screaming. My eye is even more swollen than before, forcing a wince from me when I try to look up. I lick my dry lips, greeted with the taste of blood. There’s no telling if it’s from my mouth or my nose at this point. I can’t imagine what I must look like; bruised and battered to hell. If only Arthur could see me… he’d kill every one of these monsters. I smile weakly at the thought, even though it hurts. I force my head up, leaning it against the cold stone wall. A heavy door swings open and a silhouette approaches me. “Colm.” I can’t be bothered to try to look at him as I say his name.

 “We found the camp. Turns out we didn’t need you after all.” I forget about the pain and take every ounce of energy and might that I have to look at him.

 “Don’t you dare…” I say angrily.

 “Calm down girlie. We’re only givin’ ‘em a warning. No harm from a warning, right?” He sneers.

 “From you, who knows. Anythin’ could happen. They’ll kill you in a heartbeat and you know it.” I say. He chuckles, getting close to my face and caressing my cheek. I try to pull away but can’t.

 “Let’s just see how that goes, hm?” He walks away.

 “Let’s see…” I say quietly. 

19:23

Arthur’s pov

      Arthur finished his bowl of Pearson’s stew, setting it down on the ground and walking to his tent.

 “Arthur,” Hosea calls out for him. “we need to find her.” He tells him while Arthur rummages through his things, throwing a bag together. 

“Yeah we do.” He says, turning to the older man. 

“There’s no telling where she is. But we need to look.” Hosea tells Arthur solemnly. Arthur nods. They head out of the tent and into Dutch’s for a game plan.

 “What are we gonna do, Dutch? We can’t just sit around while she’s out god-knows-where with god-knows-who, getting hurt or lost or whatever the hell she’s going through.” Arthur says angrily. 

“I know, son. We’re leaving first thing after we come up with a plan and get everyone who’s goin’ with us together.” Dutch says, clearly exasperated. Arthur rubs his face again as he tries not to let his emotions get the best of him. He’s truly worried about you. Just the thought of someone ‘having their way with you’ vexed him. How could someone so monstrous harm such a fragile, delicate flower such as you? His mind raced with thoughts as the other men conversed in front of him about what they’re next move will be. Suddenly, Miss Grimshaw rushes into the tent.

 “Dutch! It’s those damn O’Driscolls! They’re here!” She whisper-yells. 

His face flushed red with rage and he storms out, everyone in camp forming a line with the men in the front. Colm walks up to them, three men of his own behind him with their guns out. 

“Van der Linde.” He says, leering.

 “O’Driscoll…” Dutch says, his hands moving to his hips. The only sound between them is the wind blowing between the trees, rustling the leaves on them this warm summer night. The smell of firewood and thick atmosphere that made it hard to breathe.

20:37

I woke up peacefully from a painful nap, having only terrible nightmares of what might happen if I never make it out of here. I lift  my head up slowly as to not bring myself more pain then I’m already experiencing, but it’s no use. I groan, letting my head gently hit the wall behind me. I hear the door open again. That goddamn dreaded sound of a creak and heavy footsteps. It’ll take a while to not hear them in my mind at night when I close my eyes. I whimper and try to get as far back as I can before my body meets with the wall. The man who entered mumbles under his breath angrily about something, quickly taking the shotgun by the door and practically running out of the room again. Even when I’m not talking, my throat is in agonizing pain. God what I would give for a hot bath right now. Then again, I would give anything just to get the hell out of here. There’s audible yelling outside followed by a couple of gunshots. There's footsteps above me, and I can’t help but hope that Arthur came for me. That they all did. Then I hear it. That familiar gruff voice that only seems to soften when near me. 

“Where is she?!”

 It’s muffled, but I know that voice from anywhere. I lift my head up too quickly for my liking, groaning at the discomfort. “Arthur…” I try to croak out, but it forms into a whisper. I hear another gunshot from where I heard his voice before, along with heavy footsteps headed towards the door. I sit up straight, tears welling up in my eyes. “Arthur!” I say louder, this time making it audible for him to hear. 

He busts the door down, looking at me while he slowly and gently places his gun in his holster. “Y/n…” He says softly, freezing up as he looks at me with sorry eyes and a mournful expression. 

“Please… Arthur please get me out of here… I wanna go home…”

He rushes over to me, freeing me from the restraints that held me to the wall. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m gonna getchu outta here. You’re safe now, I’ve got you.” He says with his voice as sweet as honey wine and as soft as silk. Oh how I missed it. He picks me up and slings me over his shoulder, retrieving his gun from his holster once more and holding it to his side. He opens the door, walking up the stairs. I grunt at the subtle movements that make my pain even worse. “Shh… You’re alright… You’re with me now.” 

I can’t help but start to cry softly at his sweet words. I hold onto his shirt, missing the way his eyes lit up and the faint flush that rose to his cheeks. 

Arthur’s pov

How could he not feel sorry for you? How could he not freeze up when he entered the room where you sat with dull eyes and blood on multiple wounds on skin that was once clean and soft. Lips that he so badly wanted to kiss that were now bloodied and chapped. The image of you with Jack while inside of camp and the way you would play with him. The kind, loving smile you would give him when you spotted him across camp that made his day a hundred times better. You had held onto his shirt as you cried onto it, and he had never felt so protective of anything or anyone before. He swung the door that led outside open, looking around for many O’Driscoll’s. Thankfully there weren’t  any, thanks to the rest of the gang that had tagged along. Dutch and John rush up to the both of you, John turning his head away when he sees your face. 

“Christ… we need to get her back to camp immediately. You two go on ahead. We’ll meet you back there.” Dutch says with eyes locked on you. Eyes of guilt.

----------------back to reader----------------

The ride back to camp was anything but enjoyable. Everything hurt. Arthur laid me down in the medical tent, fetching a bucket of water while I changed into the clothes he brought me from my tent. He came back with the bucket and a rag, smiling at me  sadly as I tried to sit myself up on the cot. He brought the bucket next to me, sitting in the chair that was next to the cot. He dunked the rag in the water, squeezing it and gently placing it to my busted lip. 

“You can’t keep doing this.” He says after minutes of silence. 

“What’s that?” I ask him, a whisper being the loudest I could speak. 

“You can’t keep getting yourself into trouble like this. I worried about you so much. You really scared the shit out of me, y/n.”

A weak smile spreads across my lips as I fidget with the blanket laid on top of me. “I’m sorry. But goin’ through all this made me realize… Never mind. Forget I said that.”

Arthur pulls the rag away from my face, laying a gentle hand on my forearm. 

“Y/n, what is it? Talk to me. You can tell me anything.” 

I smile down at the blanket, watching my fingers play with the soft pelt. “It’s a silly thought, really. I don’t know why I even thought I could say it out loud… it only makes sense in my mind.” He takes a gentle hand and turns my head to look at him. My heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest and my cheeks feel red. I shift so that my face is just mere inches from his. I put my hand on his cheek, looking deeply into his blue eyes that shine like the ocean on a midsummer day. I lean forward and place a kiss on his lips ever so gently. He very carefully wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into a sweet embrace. I bury my face in his neck, smiling against his skin as he places a gentle kiss on my neck.

/////fin~/////

Sorry if this isn’t lined up either haha I tried

[sennextheassasinkingoflight]

Redemption, My Love

Chapter 7  Cross posted here on Ao3 Cursed TV 2020 Lancewain Rating Explicit for lots of reasons. I Suggest viewing the tags on Ao3. The major ones: Referenced/past child abuse (all types includes noncon) angst,  canon typical blood and gore, language dark themes. 

Chapter Summary:

Merlin and Morgana search for Nimue.

Pym is a leader in the making ( you can't change my mind).

Lancelot reveals a secret.

Adjusting his feet on uneven, slick stone Merlin holds the widow close against his chest. The rain and waterfall spray soaks them through their layers of clothing and chills them to the bone. Or it would have, if not for the fact that the woman is Death and death could not feel such trivial things as hot and cold, nor could Merlin focus on such a mortal difficulty as magic hummed through his veins once more. The whir of magic crackles in the air around them, lightning flashing, visible even through closed eyes. The spell works as it should; for a moment they fall through shadow and nothing, then they land, feet rejoining the earth. Opening his eyes, he squints against the spray seeking to destroy his retinas and scans the turning water for his daughter. Nimue had to be here, in this pool. Certainly she could have been pushed further down stream, but it seemed at this moment, unlikely. The widow with her new face pulls away from him to begin her own frantic and frightful search. He blinks against the light and the spindrift as he relishes in the vibrancy that is his returned magic. He feels renewed, whole again. He can feel the singing of magic in his veins, awakening long since closed off passageways and igniting a part of him he feared would never exist again. While he would love to bask in the ecstasy and relish the pulsing of life in his skin, he knows there is a more urgent matter to attend. He joins the widow, the new widow, in her search for Nimue. 

He circles opposite the woman cloaked in black, drenched clothing leaving nothing to be imagined, and seeks out signs of blood in the water, hair on the surface, anything to tell him where Nimue has surfaced. They cannot search farther downstream until they are completely certain she is not here, and that might take a while with only the two of them. Walking slowly, deliberately, he looks for signs in the grass and the mud on the edge of the shore for signs of his daughter. Finding none, he fears that the current may have carried her further downstream; He groans. She doesn’t have time for them to be wasting it, walking around. He will not lose her now that he knows of her. Now that he has a chance to get to know her. The sun is beginning to fade, and they will quickly lose the ability to search for her. They must be brisk in their search, careful but quick. Glancing across the basin he finds the widow doing the same. When their eyes meet they share a grim shake of their heads. There is nothing that indicates she is still in the tarn. Drenched from head to toe, clothes clinging tightly to their bodies, they rejoin one another nearest the mouth of the narrow river.  The only place they could not see was directly beneath the waterfall, and the power of the torrent alone would have pushed Nimue, unconscious or not, outward from its base. “She must be further downstream.”  The woman insists. “Who are you and how did you become the widow?” He yells against the roaring of the falls and the deafening humming in his ears. The woman flinches back and stares at him, eyebrows pinched together creasing her forehead. Shaking her head in annoyance or disappointment she pushes past him and begins the trek down stream. Instinctively he follows, crossing over to the other side of the small river; despite its size, it is flowing quickly and roughly. From this side he can see into the reeds of the opposite bank better. In this way they can cover both sides more effectively, and be ready to assist her as soon as they find her. And they will find her, of that he is certain; the only question that remains is whether she will be alive when they do. 

The pair walk in silence down the banks separated by the roar of the rapids and the thundering of the falls.  Merlin's eyes dart between the bank, the river, and the new widow. This does not bode well. He wonders what has happened that the widow is no longer an old friend but a young and unknown face. He knows that it means she was killed, at some level, but it is surprising all the same. Whatever happened can't be good. Pushing that train of thought away he turns his attention back to the grassy banks of the turbulent river. Pointedly, he ignores the familiar itch in his right hand, and pushes down the haze that comes with having not used his magic in so long. 

When the sound of the falls has died to a mere whimper he calls across the river, repeating his previous question.  The woman answers, voice steady and unwavering. She does not meet his eyes, and that is fine. “Who are you and how did you come to be the widow?” “I’m Morgana, Nimue's friend. Don’t you recognize me?” She barks out, shaking her head at him and rolling her eyes. “My dear, when you have lived as long as I have, you stop remembering faces that aren't important.”  This is the best answer he can offer her. “And I killed the widow with that sword.”  Shrugging, she turns her attention to a reedy area. There is an odd break in the foliage growing in the shallows of the bend. The tall grasses are folded over and there is an indentation in the berry bush. Without thinking he runs ahead to the visibly shallower section of the river and splashes his way back to her. His robes drag in the water behind him but he can’t be bothered to mess with them as he hears Morgana cry out. HIs heart constricts in his chest and he redoubles his effort to reach them. 

“Nimue, Nimue!” Morgana calls and kneels beside the form of a body he can barely see from his vantage point. He bats the branches of the bush away with the sword and kneels in the water to get a better look at the wounds. Initially he can see that the arrow from her shoulder has dislodged itself completely and is oozing blood, the other arrow has broken off leaving a short nub where the shaft should have been.  He knows his magic and his knowledge could help her, but they don’t have any supplies here. He inhales sharply, his mind made up. “We need to get her to a healer.” Morgana's wavering voice catches his attention and for a moment all he can do is stare. 

These two women, his daughter and her friend, the widow, are so young. Blinking he nods, “I know. Now take my hand and hold tight to her. I haven’t done this in years.” +++++PYM+++++

Looking out from the cave she can see that they have lost a great many in this betrayal. She swallows and pushes past Kaze. She isn’t the best healer but she could certainly help. She needed to help. The sight of the Red Spear and her men only encourages her to do so. She had tended to those men and it had kept her alive, and now they had helped save her people. For their own reasons she was sure, but the least she could do for Doff's brothers was help them live. Beyond that her own people need help, and she has enough skills to be useful now. 

The sand under her feet gives way and she nearly falls several times as she avoids puddles of blood forming on the still wet sand and corpses alike, searching for those that are alive and can be helped. She doesn’t get far before Arthur and The Red Spear are calling for her. Their voices are barely audible over the wind blowing through the beach. She whips her head around and wipes stray hairs from her face, annoyed. What could they possibly need that is more important than this? Why aren't they getting the others to help? Moving much more quickly than she had been she makes her way towards them. Her shoulders draw inward as she comes under the gaze of the Red Spear, and she ducks her head in acknowledgment. “You have found your people again, healer.” Fidgeting with her braid she nods. The Red Spear does not seem at all enthused. Arthur looks between them and huffs out a laugh. “Well then, I suppose you can act as our go-between since you actually have an understanding of the raiders.” “We aren’t raiders, we are warriors! That is beside the point now. The wounded need tended to. We have put down the last of Cumber's men.” “Our healers will do everything they can for your men as well as our own. Pym organize those who can help with this.” “Me!” She lets her hands fall away from her braid and stares at Arthur in surprise. “Yes, you. The people will listen to you. Nimue left me in charge but I’m not a fey. Work with me.” 

Throwing her hands up she turns her back on the couple and mutters, “Sure thing, as if Cora or the others wouldn't be better matched for this.” She trudged back across the body strewn beach, towards the other fey. As she approaches, some of the older fey moved towards the front of the group. Expressing a strength she did not feel, she pulls her shoulders back and tries for an air of authority. “I need volunteers to tend to the wounded. And volunteers to sort through the bodies of the dead, so we can send them into the twilight properly.” She lets her words hang in the air, her throat constricting. They have all lost so many people, family, friends, loved ones. When the silence has stretched untowardly long, she collects herself and pushes the distraught faces from her mind. “If you are strong enough to carry the wounded and dead, I need you out there doing so. Wounded go near the cave, the dead get sorted here on the beach. If you cannot lift the injured I want you setting up tents to tend them in near the caves. If you are a healer or have any knowledge or practice in the area, we need to get the supplies set up so we can all access them.” Her voice is soft on the wind of the coast, and for a moment she fears no one has heard her, but then they start moving. Men and women both in groups to the cave, the boats with their supplies, and towards the red stained sand. She takes a moment longer to collect herself and joins the others at the cave. Kaze has gone, joining Arthur, the Red Spear, and several other warriors near the center of the battlefield. Ignoring them, Pym sets to work laying out blankets and weighing them down on the edges. They use crates and rocks to lift their tools, salves, and bandages from the ground, to put their pestles and mortars on. It isn’t long before the injured start filling up the space around them. She answers questions as best she can, and fields the others to Yeva or Cora or any of the elders who have come to help. They know more than she, she thinks. She is surrounded by the noise of the dying, and wounded, of healers, and mothers and fathers treating them as best they can. Whispered prayers and howls of pain are her companions in the fading light of day. The smell of sea water and herbs cover over the smell of death, but infection is the main concern for those who yet live. There are those they can’t save, as there always are after a battle. She does her best to make them comfortable, but does not waste the medicines they have on bandaging the wounds. They give those who are entering into the realm of the dead only pain relief and make them as comfortable as possible. She knows what those who have no hope of life left look like, and when she glances around she sees that she is not alone in this. The moans and groans of the dying men and women around her cause her heart to ache. There is nothing for it, nothing but to continue doing as she was and tending the injured she could still help. 

Her hands have stopped shaking as she works at stitching up a gash in a Tusks arm. Willing herself to breath evenly, she focuses on the individual stitches. They aren’t as neat as some of the others, that’s for certain, but they get the job done. It stops the bleeding and presses the flesh together in a seam. With quick and definitive movements she covers the flesh with a poultice and wraps it with clean bandages and sends this one on his way. They work well into the dark, the torches and bonfires their only light. It’s harder this way, but there are still many injured, and it would not do well to let them wait until morning. Finished with another patient, she stretched out her neck, rolling her shoulders and stretching out her arms before slumping forward on one of the crates and closing her eyes for a moment. She barely reacts when something warm is draped over her shoulders. It seems to her she has only rested a moment when she was shaken awake. ‘Wha-what is it?” She slurs, wiping sleep from her eyes and attempting to grasp at the blanket falling from her shoulders. As it landed in the dust it was forgotten. There, at the center of the camp stood Morgana, soaking wet and dressed in black, with Merlin; and in their arms a limp and bleeding Nimue. 

++++Lancelot++++

 They’ve been traveling for three days in varying degrees of silence and conversation. It’s just after noon, the sun is high above them, though it is blocked by angry black clouds. The air is heady with the scent of rain, and the trio has fallen into another silence. Their moods sour by the idea that they may be traveling while soaking wet. It is not ideal, but there would be a day yet before they arrive at Beggars Coast with no certainty that they would be met with the rest of the Fey. It wears on The Green Knight, and even Percival begins to show signs of concern. 

The scenery has changed at least. The paths that they follow now are not so open and full of short shrubs and weeds. Instead, the narrow trails are hidden among the trees of the woods; they are little more than those created by the deer. He follows behind Gawain, Percival in front of him in the saddle. He can’t help but cast his gaze to and fro, tracking movement in the woods. Normally he is very good about blocking out scents he doesn’t need to focus on, but today he lets them invade his senses. Everything from the scent of the boy in front of him to the fox scurrying over a log 30 feet from them. It’s fresh and puts him at ease. Familiar in a way nothing has been in a very long time. There is no blood, smoke, or burning flesh, no infection, rotting flesh, or soiled goods to assault his senses. Silently he watches as squirrels scurry across the forest floor seeking out food before the storm comes.

 The shift of wind around them breaks his focus and he turns his eyes forward to study the tight line of Gawain's shoulders. The warrior sits rigid and still, he would be a statue if not for the gentle sway of riding a horse. Something is bothering him, but Lancelot does not know if he has any right to inquire as to what. Instead, he tries to think through what might have The Green Knight of the Fey so concerned. The problem with this, is that he doesn’t know anything about him. Well nothing personal.  Lancelot knows that he is the most prominent and perhaps skilled fighter of the Fey, that he was their one of their leaders (if his silence in Brother Salt's tent was anything to go by) and that he is concerned that they won’t make it in time to meet with the others. While these are all pertinent pieces of information, they do not account for the other man's foul mood. Perhaps he has a loved one or lover among the Fey whom he is concerned for? The possibilities are endless. “Lancelot?” He nearly misses Percivals uncertain voice as it bleeds into the wind. “Yes?” “You never answered my question.” “Hm, which of your questions? You asked many questions.” The acknowledgment makes his stomach turn. He does not want to return to discussion on his actions. Not at this moment at least. “Why did you name him Goliath?” The boy pats the horse's neck and gives it a scratch, which Goliath seems appreciative of. There was no harm in telling him the truth now that he wasn’t dying. “Because he is large and powerful. Goliath was a giant who nearly conquered an entire army single handedly, according to the scriptures.” He had thought it impossible for Gawain to look more uncomfortable but he notes the twitch in his shoulders as he stops himself from turning to look at them. Lancelot has not looked away from the other man since he started trying to determine the cause of his melancholy. “Nearly? What happened? Why Didn’t he?” As predicted, Percival seems excited about the prospect of a new story. Unfortunately Lancelot intends only to paraphrase. He doesn't think Gawain would appreciate him spouting his beliefs, the paladins' beliefs, at the boy. “He was hit in the head with a stone, and once unconscious his head was cut off by his enemy.” “That's stupid. Why would you name your horse after someone who died like that? It’s ridiculous.” “Perhaps, it is a reminder that even the greatest can fall. I believe it suits him.” “ Do you...do you think he likes his name?” The hesitation in Percivals voice combined with the new scent coming off him set Lancelot on alert. He is up to something, even if The Weeping Monk does not know what. “Do I…. He responds to it. I imagine it doesn’t matter to him as it does to us.” He furrows his brows as he considers the boy's implication, but keeps looking ahead. “But do you know that for sure? Maybe he’s like me. Maybe he doesn’t like Goliath but likes being called Midnight. But you call him Goliath anyways because Midnight 'is a time of day'.” 

Ahh so that's what it's about, then. The thought makes him feel lighter; he could almost laugh at the absurdity of it. “Percival… Is this about me telling you Squirrel isn’t a real name.” “I don’t know, bloody idiot, figure it out.” The boy crosses his arms in front of him, and Goliath whinnies as if in agreement with him. Gawain huffs the barest laugh in front of them, and his shoulders relax the barest amount. 

Lancelot's lips twitch uncertainly in the ghost of a smile and he refocuses on the boy in front of him. “Why don’t you like your name?” “I just don’t, okay.” “Why do you want me to call you Squirrel instead?” It’s the same question in different words and he hopes that maybe the boy will answer. Though, he knows he is smart and may see it as the repetition it is. “Because I do.” “Percival, those are not answers.” He tries to be gentle, but his voice comes out firm. He is accustomed to giving orders, not making requests. “Yes. They are.” Percival pouts and lets his hands fall to the saddle horn in front of him. “They are not useful answers.” He does chuckle lightly at this, so lightly it goes unnoticed, “I will make you a deal. If you can tell me why it is that you do not like your name and prefer me to call you Squirrel, then I will try to call you the name you prefer.”  

Percival fell silent as though he is thinking about what he wants to say in response to Lancelot's offer. He fidgets slightly with the reigns he is holding. Lancelot watches his movements carefully but does not worry much, Goliath is well trained. He notes Gawain casting a curious and unreadable look over his shoulder, but says nothing; there is no reason for it. Percival draws in a deep breath and Lancelot's lungs ache in reaction to it. He longs for the day when he can breath deeply again without his ribs protesting, or to ride without the constant dizzying reminder that they are broken. They are still far from healed enough to do something like that. Instead Lancelot focuses on breathing shallowly through his nose. “Gawain. Stop.” He hisses as he takes the reins from Percival and reigns Goliath up short. Gawain follows suit just in front of them, eyes darting around the woods for whatever he has seen. ‘What is it?” Percival asks in a harsh whisper, Gawain looks at them quizzically, waiting silently for an answer.

“Paladins, I’m not certain how many,” glancing around and taking a deeper breath he adds, “Five or six maybe. Less than a mile ahead.” “How can you know that? There’s no sign of them.” The knight responds irate, eyebrow raised and eyes searching. Lancelot realizes that Gawain believes this to be a trap. It is not far from the reality of what could have been. He will have to speak the truth and hope that Gawain believes him. Shifting uncomfortably under The Green Knights relentless gaze he clears his throat and answers more quietly than necessary: “I can smell them.” 

He watches realization unfold on Gawain's face as everything falls together. Certainly Lancelot as a Fey could have led them to Nemos or elsewhere based on the old Fey signs they left, but he had been a child when he was taken, he wouldn’t have known all of it, maybe not even enough to take him to where the others were. But this, this information puts it all into perspective. He watches as Gawain shifts between surprise, confusion, realization, anger, and alarm. Before Gawain can open his mouth to respond, they hear shouting over the bluff.

[in-tua-deep]

How would Ravenclaw! Klaus react to the ghosts in Hogwarts? Like, would he ignore them until he realizes everyone else can see them? Does he discover that he can make ghosts corporeal and/or levitation and telekinesis now that he's not on drugs? Does he accidentally talk to a ghost that no one else can see, like the ghost of a muggle, and everyone thinks he's crazy? Basically, what are your Klaus headcannons for your HP AU? (Sorry if this was too long, I've just been thinking about this alot.)

asdfFGDH no worries - I also like the idea of Ravenclaw!Klaus but for the purpose of this au he is a baby Slytherin bless his heart

okay okay okay

So the thing is, while the kids stay at the school for winter break and that’s fine, they have to go somewhere for the summer. Headmistress McGonagall took them for the remainder of the summer before they went into their first year, yeah, but she wasn’t exactly planning on housing seven magical kids. She was just the best bet to transfigure them seven beds (can you say bunk beds?) as a temporary measure

The summer between first and second year they end up with the Weasleys who have an empty nest after Ginny moved out. They have room for seven magical kids at least, even if they kind of tiptoe around one another and it’s kind of an awkward placing

Molly Weasley is very physically affectionate and loud. The kids are very used to violence and getting yelled at so this is not a fantastic combination. Five thinks Arthur Weasley is an idiot of the highest degree after several questions regarding muggle things (and the other won’t say it but they’re kind of thinking it as well) not to mention their general wariness of male parental or authority figures. 

Diego volunteers to cook with Mrs. Weasley and likes it but then immediately feels guilty because that’s something he did with Grace and he misses her so he swings wildly between liking Mrs. Weasley and hating her for not being Grace and then feeling guilty for liking her AND guilty for hating her and it’s a vicious cycle 

Luther still resents the fact that they can’t go home, even if he’s starting to clue in to the fact that the way Reginald treated them was way beyond not normal and that he’s actually way safer than he’s ever been before? It’s weird and he feels guilty for what he perceives as disloyalty for enjoying himself and having fun and so he’s kind of moody like Diego is

(this combination is somewhat explosive oops. at least they don’t share a room unlike they did at McGonagall’s place)

now this is a somewhat long winded way of saying that during the summer, the Weasley kids do come and visit their mother of course! And, one fateful day, one half of a matched pair shows up to cheerfully cause chaos. George Weasley comes home with a big smile and free samples from the shop to distribute among the little kiddies under his parents roof - have to keep them on their toes after all!

And Klaus sees ghosts. Which, if you said this to any wizard or witch, they would nod and tell you that they also see ghosts! Except Klaus sees more than the ones like Nearly Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron. He sees souls that are only wispily tied to the world, who haven’t had time to solidify their presence. Who follow behind their family.

Now, Klaus doesn’t mention this. It’s not normal, after all, and all of the Hargreeves have agreed to keep their... extra issues under wraps in case the grown ups decide to return them or something, or decide they aren’t magic after all, or whatever. They’re eleven going on twelve they’re allowed to be afraid.

So Klaus doesn’t mention anything when the red headed man comes in followed by an identical (albeit slightly younger) man. Klaus only cottons onto the fact that this man is a ghost because Molly Weasley introduces George to them and not the other one. No one notices the other one. And they’ve seen pictures, they know that there used to be Fred-and-George until the war happened and then there was only-George. 

(related: Klaus is actually very happy with the wizarding world ghosts and also very pissed off about them. On the bright side, the killing curse leaves no visible wounds! So there’s not as many incredibly disturbing traumatizing ghosts to look at! Downside here is that Klaus cannot tell if a ghost is a ghost. Unless they’re wearing fancy ass historical period clothes :/

Klaus memorizes pretty much all the years students out of sheer self defense. If there someone who Klaus knows Is Not a Student, he just quietly asks the nearest sibling who is In The Know about his powers

He gets anxious when they’re out in like, hogsmeade or diagon alley though, or when there are a lot of strangers. his general rule of thumb is to only interact with people his siblings interact with, or people who he touches first. He’s perfected the ‘accidental bump’ move thank you

The other sibs are all very accommodating because if Klaus’s secret gets out, then all their secrets get out)

Anyway so Klaus’s modus opperandi is to ignore ignore ignore! Usually if ghosts don’t realize he can see them, they leave him alone. Unfortunately, Klaus is sharing Fred-and-George’s old room with Ben (they organized themselves this way so that Ben can wake Klaus up when he has nightmares)

and Fred floats up to reminisce while Klaus is in there and Klaus would ignore him except he keeps making comments and looking sad and just UGH and he’s lurking in front of the door and Klaus can’t just walk through him to leave. That’s weird and gross. So eventually, eventually, Klaus snaps at him “Can you please move?”

and he’s tired and he had nightmares last night (he can’t just ask Five to carve the good dream runes into some random lady’s son’s bed) and he just wants to go downstairs okay?? and he’s not thinking about it and the guy looks young and friendly and almost alive and it just slips out

and Fred stands there in shock for a solid second before finally whispering a simple - “You can see me?”

and this is a mistake

Fred tries to convince Klaus so hard to tell George and to pass messages and and and - he’s just so excited! He’s been following George around, watching him wallow in grief and watching his family wallow in grief and he’d thought that ghosts were just. Ghosts. He didn’t realize it was even possible, this invisible existence. He’s been silent for so long 

But Klaus is a traumatized eleven year old okay he is Not About Any of This

eventually Fred gets it into his head that he’s freaking the kid out and softens, because Fred’s always been pretty good with kids anyway. He listens when Klaus haltingly explains why no one can know and then kind of hedges, because Fred is really nice, so he makes a deal

He’ll tell George about Fred, but only when he’s 17 and a legal adult in wizarding society with no chance of being sent back into Reginald’s grasp. Fred thinks this is stupid, but he’s waited fourish years already and didn’t expect to have any chance so (and Klaus is very adamant about keeping away from his ex-Dad and Fred knows there’s a reason)

anyway Fred follows Klaus when he goes back to Hogwarts to start second year. Well, kind of. He splits time between the shop/lurking after George and then going to bug Klaus. Klaus is very resistant to this at first, because if the other ghosts realize he can talk to Fred, then they’ll want to talk to him.

Fred fixes it though by basically just going around (because Fred is still legendary and his pranks are to be feared and all the ghosts in Hogwarts uniforms with haunted eyes that fell defending their school know that) and warning them off. He takes requests and messages and passes them to Klaus to write down in a notebook to be distributed when Klaus hits 17 - so Klaus isn’t bothered by any ghosts

besides being bros with Fred is actually a very excellent thing to be because Fred knows everything about the school. He knows all the secret passageways and all the trick steps and trap doors and empty rooms. He mentions missing having a map in passing, but tells Klaus it would have been so much cooler to have an invisible ghost to scout ahead and warn them about professors or anyone coming

Klaus doesn’t keep Fred secret from the others, so the whole family gets to benefit from Fred’s vast knowledge

(Klaus’s written test grades increase, to the bafflement of his professors - it certainly helps having a ghost to help you cheat!

none of the family are above cheating tbh, they are all very wary of the concept of failure in general and are willing to do a lot to avoid becoming acquainted with the consequences of failing)

Klaus probably figures out making ghosts corporeal when he’s hmm. 15? There is. a lot of drama in Klaus’s fifth year and it’s stressful and there is an Incident where Fred going corporeal saves Klaus’s life

(Fred helps out a lot in Klaus’s fifth year, actually, the kids would probably be in serious trouble without him)

anyway this sparks another freak out where Fred says they HAVE to tell George - because this changes everything!! They fight and don’t speak for like two entire weeks before Fred comes back and grudgingly apologizes. After so long hanging around the Hargreeves, he knows very well that they were Super Fucking Abused and are fearful of being returned for Good Reason

so Fred gets to be the one that Klaus practices with and figure out corporeal ghost stuff with

I’m going to say no levitation/telekinesis in this au (pending the results of season two maybe?) but I will say that the first year flying class? Klaus fucking excels. You think about Klaus on a broom and it should be a disaster, but Klaus is the best flyer in Hogwarts, he treats the broom almost as an extension of himself

Slytherin keeps trying to recruit him onto the quidditch team but Klaus always laughs it off saying that he’s not a jock - also his flying skills do not translate into catching/throwing skills thanks. He’s graceful as all fuck but if you try throw him a quaffle or whatever, he will drop it

i feel like it should be noted that with all seven of them, the Hargreeves could form their own quidditch team lmao

But yeah to sum up, Klaus ignores ghosts (his housemates tease him about being scared of ghosts and he laughs them off), he does discover his ability to make ghosts corporeal due to no drugs, no levitation/telekinesis, he can absolutely see ghosts that wizards can’t see (and not every wizard/witch who dies becomes the wizarding version of a ghost), and I have headcanons about Klaus being very good on a broom lmao

[abarbaricyalp]

In A Hundred Lifetimes (i'd find you and i'd choose you)

@pynchpromptweek

Pynch, Prompt: Reincarnation/Historical AU, Rated: G

No Archive Warnings apply

You know you weren’t getting out of a prompt week without at least one thing that went multi-chaptered. More later ✌

AO3 Link

It was a bright spring Friday and Ronan Lynch was not in school because Richard Gansey III was not in Henrietta to annoy Ronan into going. He was in DC at some Gansey approved missed-school-day event, a rare occurrence for a family that didn’t even let Gansey take a day for his Grandmother’s funeral.

Ronan, for his part, was cheating on his day off because normally a missed school day would earn a lecture from Gansey about responsibility and education, but Ronan was exploring an old map he and Gansey had re-cobbled together that may or may not lead to a clue about Glendower, and Gansey couldn’t yell at him for that. He was much like his family in that regard--Ronan also got Gansey sanctioned skip days.

It was already late in the morning, the church’s ten o’clock bells had chimed half a mile ago and the scenery was beginning to look familiar, though Ronan couldn’t tell why. The map he and Gansey had been re-working  had taken them in an opposite direction from the ley-line and their previous endeavors. It was most of the reason that Gansey hadn’t given as much energy to it as he did to throwaway lines in journals and folktales.

Ronan came around a bended line of trees and realized with a start why these woods were familiar. He’d been skirting the property line of the Lynch Estate half the morning. As children, he and his brothers had never been allowed this far back in the wild forest surrounding their home, but a handful of times they hadn’t been stopped. The last time Ronan had been this far back had been the day he and his brother had been taken away from the Estate for forever, per his father’s will.

He also realized there was a tomb lid thrown across the clearing he was staring at.

Which was weird because there was no graveyard on the property and Niall Lynch certainly hadn’t been left at his murder site.

Ronan crept forward, hand slipping into his jacket pocket so his fingers could curl around the pocket knife there. He followed the deep scoring left by the lid in the dirt, though another thicket and out to a stream that eventually crossed through the Lynch property.

Hunkered over the water was a body.

They were facing away from him, but Ronan was pretty certain it was a man. He was tall and built, but still slim, bent over like he was on his knees, hands on the river bank, face almost in the water.

Stranger  still was his outfit. It was dusty but not really dirty and it looked like something out of a fantasy show, all brown robs and billowing shirts and tall boots. He was absolutely anachronistic.

Jesus, there was a psychopath right outside of his childhood home.

Or, worse yet, they were doing ren-fairs in the forest.

He stepped forward to confront the guy, because he was an idiot. But when a branch snapped under his foot, the man barely reacted, no more than throwing his arm out behind him. Then Ronan realized he couldn’t move. HE looked down and found vines snaking around his ankles, climbing up his legs

He yelped, tried to step back, fell flat on his ass.

“The water here is too fast for scrying,” the man said, like Ronan should know what the fuck that meant. “Why did you put me here?”

“I didn’t put you anywhere, you fucking weirdo,” Ronan snapped, struggling back to his feet.

The man turned and Ronan almost fell over again. Despite all the cobwebs hanging form his curly hair and the dust that covered his skin in a fine sheen, he was devastatingly handsome, all fine bones and striking colors.

“Who are you?” the man asked and had the gall to sound confused.

“Who am I?” Who the fuck are you?” Ronan demanded, shifting his feet in the vines.

“Even knights aren’t that stupid,” the man scoffed. “You woke me. You must know who I am. You must have found the king.”

“I didn’t fucking do anything to you. And I’m no fucking knight. What are you tripping on, dude?”

The man frowned at him and Ronan frowned back harder. He jerked away when the man reached a hand out, but it wasn’t like he could go very far. The man pressed his calloused, knobby, tanned hand over Ronan’s head, palm flat against his forehead, making Ronan self conscious of a scar right under it.

A sharp zap shot through Ronan--not quite electricity, more like the force that woke him before nightmares, like the feeling of Cabeswater falling in love with Gansey, like holding something dangerous and impossible when he awoke--and the man must’ve felt it too because he stumbled back.

“What are you?” he asked, wide eyed. “You’re...drowning in magic, but you’re no magician.”

Ronan’s eyes widened too and he repeated, “Who are you?”

The man was already rushing by Ronan and taking his vines with him. “My name’s Adam. I am a magician,” he said over his shoulder as he tore through the thicket again, making his way in a stumbling zig-zag back to the tomb.

Studying it now, Ronan realized why he’d never seen it around before. Dirt and soil and roots were still falling off of it and the ground around it was a breathing mound and sinkhole at once. The tomb had come out of the ground.

Adam had kneeled over the lid briefly, long fingers tracing over what looked like just stone to Ronan, before he was jumping up again and running to the tomb. He climbed into and Ronan’s stomach turned over when he realized the tomb had been made for Adam’s body exactly.

“What the fuck kind of shit are you into?” he asked, horrified.

Adam shot him an unamused look and went back to looking for what he wanted. “My name’s Adam Parrish,” he repeated.

“First son, house of God,” Ronan said. “Real subtle.”

“I’m the King’s magician. I’m supposed to wake the king when he’s found. I’m supposed to be brought back by a knight who has found the King in the world’s hour of need. I’m supposed to scry for his location, which begins the process of waking the King and his magic. The King and I are soul-bound. My magic is the only thing that can wake him.”

Ronan frowned deeply. His eyebrows even frowned. “Glendower shares a reincarnation mythos with King Arthur?”

Adam frowned deeply back at him and his eyebrows could do it too. “We based the soul-spell on King Arthur, yes, but I don’t know who Glendower is.”

“If you’re not looking for Glendower, who could you possibly be--” Ronan started, but Adam was climbing back out of the tomb and stumbling away to hold his hands against the trees around them. “Wait, wait, wait, back up. How do I know you’re not just some guy tripping out here?” he asked. Because only him and Gansey were crazy enough to search for dead Welsh kings without any kind of substance abuse involved.

Adam shot a disbelieving look at him. “I know you felt my magic, but fine.” He crossed over to Ronan on long legs and grabbed Ronan’s hand, turned it over, ran his calloused fingers over Ronan’s palm. “Your wisdom line is hidden by the rest. You don’t show your intelligence very often, but you’re very smart. Your life has been extremely hard. It breaks at one point, you almost died. But even before that, something terrible happened to you that changed you forever. You changed track entirely,” he said, following a bend in a line on Ronan’s hand. “You love deeply, but in secret. You’re hiding something. You hide your feelings all the time, but there’s a bigger secret you’re hiding when it comes to love.”

Ronan snatched his hand back and shoved it back in his jacket pocket. “Lucky fucking guess,” he muttered.

Adam rolled his eyes and went back to the trees. “This place is somewhere special to you, but I can’t figure out what. You’re disconnected from it now. Someone took it from you.”

“Enough, you circus-tent freak.”

“What is a circus?” Adam asked, sounded just as lost as ever.

Ronan brought his hand up to his face and let out a suffering groan. “Listen...just...what king are you looking for if not Glendower? My friend and I have been searching for him for years. We haven’t found anything about any other kings being buried out here.”

Adam held his hands against the trees for a moment longer before apparently not getting an answer he wanted. “What do you mean what King? Haven’t the stories survived? Someone woke me. Someone found him.”

“Who woke you? Who found him? Found who?” Ronan demanded.

Adam ran a hand through his hair and looked at the middle distance. “King Richard Gansey. Someone found Gansey.”

[emily-strange]

Growing Pains...

So this is a bit of a long one! I hope you bear with me haha also I apologise for the slooow burn....kind of ;)

Summary: Emmy has been with the gang since she was a little girl. Her mother moved on, leaving her to be raised by Dutch, Hosea and Susan. Arthur and John are her brothers (argue and she will fight you). Becoming a woman is hard when everyone still sees you as a child. Since the Blackwater mess she’s trying to find her feet while dealing with her new feelings for the gangs resident douchebag.

Tagging @strwxberrymilk @porkchop-ao3 @arthursgirl and @angelsjudge but if you’d like to stop being tagged just let me know! :) Also if anyone else would like to be tagged just say the word xx

Pairing: Slow burn Micah x female OC.

Warnings: Swearing (I think...), comments alluding to abuse, sexual themes

Chapter 14

And so, life went back to normal.

For about three days.

I started helping Hosea forge some legal documents that’ll hopefully put some decent cash in the box. Dutch was smart enough not to come to me himself.

So, life goes on and here I am bored out of my mind. Again.

It’s early evening and everyone’s finishing up their day. I’m pouring out the water I’d used to scrub some clothes when the sound of hooves gets my attention.

I dump the bucket in time to see Micah lighting up a cigarette and sauntering his way over to me. I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s being all mysterious but I just wait with my arms crossed. I can’t, however, help the smile that pulls at my cheeks. He’s been out of camp for the last few days, as have Javier and Sean who’re yet to return.

Hence why I’ve been so bored.

“Hello there darlin’” he drawls once he reaches me and I can see Arthur’s scowl from all the way over by the camp fire.

“Micah. How goes it?” I reply as I walk over to my tent. I can see John’s joined Arthur now and both keep glancing my way. I was actually quite thankful that Micah was gone by the time me and Arthur got back from our shooting practice. He didn’t push me any further about wearing Micah’s shirt but I just knew Micah would take any chance to wind him up.

“Ohhh not bad at all miss” Micah answers while reaching into his pocket and fanning himself with a large stack of dollar bills, “Had quite a good time actually.”

I stop when I get to my tent and pick up his black shirt.

“Well look at that. Make sure the camp gets its cut.” I say handing back the shirt.

Instead of waiting outside like most men in the camp would, Micah waltzed right in behind me. We’re now shielded by the surrounding canvas and as Micah goes to take the shirt, he tugs hard and I lose my footing. Sending me crashing into his chest.

He looks me square in the eye while he whispers, “Why don’t we keep this our little secret eh? Maybe, go out into town. I’ve been awful lonely out there these past few nights.”

I manage to catch my breath without making it obvious that his advances have caught me off-guard. I’ve spent every night thinking about Micah since the morning at his little camp but now he’s here I just can’t help but want to tease. To see him squirm.

So I lean in close. Our lips barely touching. And I whisper.

“Same here Mr Bell. Been awful lonely. And bored. I may have taken to wearing your shirt to bed. See, it still smells that little bit of you…..just enough to get a girl where she needs to be in the late, late hours of the night. Alone in her tent…”

After my hushed confession, I can see Micah’s eyes dilate and his tongue darts from his mouth to wet his lower lip. The very tip of it grazing my own lips.

I lean in as if I mean to bridge the gap.

Then at the last second, I pull back and walk over to my cot, sitting down and crossing my legs like the lady I’m pretending to be.

It happens so quickly; I can almost see the cogs turning in Micah’s head. And the strained crotch of his riding pants.

He clears his throat and slings the shirt onto his shoulder.

“Mmm and to think I came all the way back here with a gift. And all you do it torture a poor fella.” He says putting on his best fake pout.

I lean my hands back on the cot making sure to push my upper body out towards him.

“Money isn’t a gift Micah. You know you won’t get to keep it all.” I scoff and Micah takes a long drag of his cigarette before discarding it out of the tent.

“The gift is information little miss. Information about some very bad men, who do some very bad things, to very innocent people.” Micah says nonchalantly but he knows he has my attention.

“You found the men my father was running with?” I ask as I shoot up from the cot.

He chuckles, “Oooh now she’s interested.” And I roll my eyes.

“How’s about this. I tell you where they are, I may even help you kill a couple of ‘em and you….” He continues while lifting my chin with his finger, “….you come with me into town and get room.”

For a moment I just look into his eyes. He’s daring me to react.

So, I do.

I glance round his head to see if anyone’s near us and once I see no one in sight, I place my hands on either side of his face.

With one hand I push into the hair at the back of his head, shifting his hat a bit and gently scratching my nails on his scalp. Using that and the hand on his face, I finally bring his lips to mine.

He lets me take control. I think he actually likes that.

I nibble on his bottom lip and our tongues meet. He tastes like cigarettes and whiskey. Normal for Micah. Probably for most men around here.

He takes my waist and pulls my centre closer to his and I moan into his mouth. I’d like to say it’s for show but we both know it’s not.

Before we go too far in the middle of camp, I tear my lips from his and he smirks.

“Micah” I say quietly and after a moment he visually softens. Dropping our little game completely.

I take a step back and he adjusts his hat, not looking directly at me.

“They’re holed up in some ranch house past Strawberry.” He says after clearing his throat.

“When do we leave?” I say probably a bit too excitably and I find myself clutching at the bit of shirt covering his stomach, making him look at me properly again.

He smiles that almost, sadistic, smile he has and under these circumstances, it’s thrilling.

“Whenever you want darlin’” he answers.

I turn around and grab some string to tie my hair back with and grab my satchel and gun.

As I breeze past Micah, I crash straight into the wall that is Arthur Morgan.

“Woah there” he says and looks at Micah then back to me, “What’s goin’ on ovah here?”.

Micah just can’t miss the opportunity and answers before I can, “Whatta you think cowpoke?” he says with a wink.

Before Arthur can lunge at Micah, I push back against his chest and almost shout, “Arthur! Will you ride with me?”

Arthur and Micah both answer at the same time.

“What!?” they yell, both confused.

I roll my eyes and walk past both of them to the ammunition wagon. They both follow.

“Micah, Arthur’s the best gun in camp and we don’t know how many men will be there. And Arthur, I’m asking you. Will. You. Ride. With. Me?” I say bluntly stuffing my bag with ammo. Before Arthur can answer, John appears.

“Wats this?” he asks and I turn just in time for Arthur to send him a concerned look before approaching me.

“Men? Emmy what’s goin’ on?” Arthur asks cautiously.

“Micah found the men my father was running with. Men who…..are like him. I didn’t get to put a bullet between his eyes so I’ll put one in theirs.” I say smiling. Micah seems to appreciate that.

I find myself getting increasingly annoyed by Arthur’s blank stare.

“What?!” I ask maybe a bit too harshly.

John jumps in saving, saving Arthur who seems speechless.

“Micah found ‘em?” he asks and I nod like it’s the most natural occurrence.

“Yeah. He found them for me.” I say bluntly and Micah pushes his way into the fray.

“Ho, hey, never said it was for you. I just enjoy a bit of…..excitement” he scoffs trying to distance himself from me. I just roll my eyes.

“Fine Micah, either way, he’s found them and I’m going. Arthur, John, will you ride with me?” I ask them getting increasingly frustrated.

“Wait a minute now!” I hear behind me and Abigail comes into sight from behind the wagon.

“For God’s sake!” I shout throwing my hands up.

“John’s not going on some, some, wild goose chase, wandering into lord know’s what with MICAH of all people” she screeches and Micah makes me laugh by covering his heart with his hand, as if wounded.

“You ain’t going John Marston.” She says pointing a finger at him and he tries to calm her by gently saying her name but she just responds with, “You’re my husband and you ain’t goin’.”

“I’m sorry Abigail” I say turning to her properly, keeping my voice deadly calm but no less biting, “but he was my brother before he was your husband. And I’m asking him. Not you.”

As Abigail gears up to begin a slinging match, Arthur finds his voice.

“Okay, okay!” he starts, holding his hands up between up, “Okay. I think, we need a minute.”

Arthur grabs my arms and drags me away from the other three.

“Look” he says with a hushed, gruff voice, “I know you wanna do this. But Emmy, it ain’t safe. We don’t do stuff like this.”

“Stuff like what Arthur?” I ask pointedly.

“Revenge killin’s” he hisses.

And my blood boils.

“No, Arthur. Dutch doesn’t do revenge killings. Unless they benefit him directly of course. But I very much do. When I’ve got revenge that needs taking and heinous men that need putting down.” And with that I walk to the camp’s table, full of rage and high on adrenaline.

I push myself onto the table and whistle loudly.

“Hey!” I say getting everyone’s attention.

The camp members begin to gather and I can already see Susan seething because I’m on the table with my dirty boots.

“We all know what’s been going on these past few days. Let’s not pretend…..” I start, stopping briefly when I see Dutch emerge from his tent.

“But I have a chance to put this to rest once and for all. Not far from here are men. Bad men. Men that like to hurt young girls and children. Men who, along with my own father, were willing to sneak into this camp….OUR camp….and take me. They would of taken me….and….” not being able to finish, I look from my brothers to Dutch, “For all we know that’s what they’re doing to some poor young thing as we speak.”

I take a breath and find myself looking for Micah. He’s smiling. But not his trademark smirk. A real, albeit small, genuine smile. And it gives me the push I need.

“I need guns. Well, maybe I don’t” and I can’t help but laugh at my own awkward speech, “I don’t really know what I’m walking into but despite that, I’m going. And I would feel a hell of a lot better having my family with me…I….I need you to ask yourselves what kind of men you are.”

I find Dutch’s eyes in the early evening darkness and keep the connection.

“Are you cowards?” I ask and his nostrils flare.

I then look at Arthur.

“Or are you outlaws? Men who run and live free? Men who…sometimes….do what’s right. Even without the promise of a payoff.”

It’s quiet for a very brief moment until:

“You have my gun” Charles says and I can’t help but smile, throwing myself into his arms from the table. He holds me tight for a second before lowering me to the ground.

“Why the hell not” Lenny shouts, grabbing his rifle.

I see Abigail pulling John’s arm but he gently moves her hands away. He approaches me slowly and kisses my forehead before walking off to grab his things. I don’t have it in me to worry about Abigail right now. I just hope deep down she understands.

“I hope you understand why I won’t be joining you on this, this crusade” Hosea says, struggling to stand from his seat. I help him up and smile. I know if he could, he would.

And that’s when Dutch appears in front of me for the first time in over a week.

“I hope you understand the enormity of what you’re asking these men to do. If something goes wrong, that’s on you Emmeline. It’s hard being the leader.” He says in a stern voice to me.

“They make their own choices Dutch. I just appealed to their humanity, not their wallets.” I say just as sternly before I make my way towards Arthur. I can hear Bill asking Dutch what he should do. “Just stay home Bill. Don’t want to get in trouble with daddy Dutch now would you.” I shout over my shoulder.

Before I can approach Arthur, Sadie appears in front of me.

“I assume that little speech was directed at the women as well?” she says while leaning on her left leg, popping out her hip. Looking every bit the picture of a perfect gunslinger.

“You know it does Mrs Adler” I say smiling. She winks at me walks over to Lenny patting him on the back and joining in the conversation with him and Charles.

I finally get to Arthur who’s checking over his guns.

“Do you hate me?” I find myself asking timidly before my brain has time to think it over.

Arthur holsters his guns slowly and puts his hands on my shoulders.

“I’m very proud you wanna do some good Emmy but I’m also shit scared of what’s happening with you. I think….I think maybe you need to….talk to someone after all this is done with.” He whispers, shaking his head.

“What….a priest!?” I ask incredulously while glancing to Reverend Swanson who’s tapped out under his lean-to with Uncle. Both snoring.

“What!? No!” he laughs and it catches, “I just mean….”

“I know.” Is all I can manage to say in reply. Because I really do. I do know.

“You stay behind me. And if not me, Charles.” Arthur says sternly and I hear John shout “Hey!”.

We laugh for a second and I hug him while I promise.

Everyone makes their way over to a horse and I join them once I finish getting told off by Susan and given some ‘good lucks’ from the girls. Mary-Beth is way too hyped up from my little speech, going on about how it was like something a hero in one of her books would do. I can already see Karen and Tilly getting annoyed.

I mount Jett and tie back my hair.

“Let’s move out!” Arthur shouts and we file out of the camp one by one.

As I’m trotting out, Micah sidles up next to me and pushes me to get my attention.

“Sooo. The speech.” He drawls and I laugh.

“Bit much?” I ask and he makes a small measurement between his thumb and index finger. I laugh harder.

“What can I say. I’m a natural.” I say winking at him.

“Oooh don’t go doin’ things like that before a gunfight miss. The excitement does somethin’ to a man.” He smirks before wetting his lower lip.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you in action Mr Bell.” I reply quietly.

“Ohhh, it’ll be my genuine pleasure Miss Grace.” he says, voice dripping with sin.

Thankfully he spurs Baylock into a gallop before the blush reaches my cheeks.

I’m in trouble.

[sleepypeaky]

its all fucked

2/2

part 1

shelby!reader

au where michael is chill with tommy, gina isnt there, and aberama lives

Summary: in the immediate aftermath of season 5, tommy desperately tries to find ways to take Mosley down. You might have a way,,, and its not one they were expecting.

Warnings: violence, sexual themes, hehhe, i mean,,,,, obvs swearing

You knocked lightly on the heavy wooden door and awaited your entrance. 

The Mosley’s London house took up the whole block, and was plastered over with white. The street was empty of cars, and there were no pedestrians at 12 o’clock on a tuesday afternoon. Everyone, much like your cover story, would be out to lunch.

You turned back to the door as you heard the heavy metallic latch being drawn back.

You took these last 3 seconds to calm your nerves. Utter surety overcame you when you remembered that at the end of all this, that horrible son of a bitch would be missing the back of his skull.

That put a smile on your face, a smile that you greeted the woman who stood in the doorway with.

_________

Sunday

“Because i’m fucking Mosley’s wife. And therefore i am the only one who can kill him.”

The silence was broken after a long while by Arthur.

“You fucking what?!”

You rolled your eyes and pinched your nose.

Tommy still stared at you with his mouth slightly open. Upon closing it, he furrowed his eyebrows and trod over to where you were seated.

He looked down at you,

“When the fuck were you going to tell us? You could have fucked this up for me! What the fuck were you thinking!? Do you want to get yourself killed?!”

You returned his gaze,

“I should ask you the same question! Fucking assassinating a very powerful man in front of hundreds of people? And for your information, who i decide to fuck does not concern you!”

Tommy scoffed,

“You are unbelievable! Everything concerns me. You are a fucking Shelby and were interfering with my business!”

Before you could yell back Polly stood up.

“Enough!”

She slammed her glass down on the table.

“Stop bloody bickering and focus on what really matters right here and now.” She turned to you.

“(y/n) does Mrs. Mosley know that you are a Shelby?”

You shook your head. You had resigned yourself from most family affairs at the age of 16, and left to travel abroad before the Shelby name became renowned. And that, paired with being the 4th child (between Ada and John), you were virtually unknown, and definitely not assumed to be affiliated with the Shelby’s.

“Ok so thats a start.” Polly sighed. “Tommy do you have any immediately pressing questions?”

Tommy clenched his jaw. Running his hand over his chin he asked,

“What makes you think you can kill her husband and get away with it?”

You responded without a beat,

“She hates him. He’s a faschist, abusive, monster to whom she was practically forced to marry. And add to all that, she evidently does not care for men.”

“Have you ever discussed killing her husband before?”

“No, tommy. I’m not a complete idiot. But she has told me many things; its easy to infer.”

Tommy nodded slightly in acceptance.

“Fine. This is our best choice so let’s see what you got.”

_________

Monday

Tommy paced the room while twirling a pen in his hands.

“We need to perfect this. There can be no flaws.”

You lay back on the couch, rolling your eyes.

“Tom, i know! Do you really want to go over everything again?”

“(y/n) you know the answer is yes.” Polly replied, taking a drag of her cigarette.

After yesterday’s meeting Ada, Michael, Finn, and Arthur had returned home. Polly stayed to make sure you and Tommy didn’t strangle each other. (she always said that you two were too alike and would try to kill each other if left unsupervised)

You sighed.

“Ok here it is again.”

The plan was simple: You would meet Cynthia Mosley at your usual time, 12 noon on tuesday. There were only 2 servants at the London House and they both kept to themselves, only thinking that you were a friend who called weekly for lunch. You would eat, talk, and go up to her room. You both never feared the appearance of Mosley, as he was in the house of commons for a few hours, and then would always retire to his office where someone would keep him occupied for much of the later afternoon. Tomorrow, however, Tommy would catch Mosley before he got to his office and give him cause for suspicion. Mosley would return home to find his wife in bed with, well, you. Then bang. You would then break the bedroom window and scream. The goal was to make it seem like one of Mosleys enemies had shot him through the window. Before any serious inquiries could be made, Cynthia would be on a ship headed for america, along with the 2 maids. And you would have left before you were seen.

All set.

_____

“Hello Sally”

You greeted the maid who opened the door.

“Mrs. Cynthia is in the study, ma’am. You will be taking lunch in there.”

You thanked her and made your way down the hall.

Lunch.

Chitchat.

You climbed the stairs.

She sheds her clothing.

Tommy pulls Mosley aside.

Whispers in his ear.

Mosley’s face flushed with anger.

Cynthia moans.

The car screeches to a halt.

The bed hits repetitively against the wall.

You hear the door open below but double your efforts to make sure Cynthia doesnt hear.

___

Mosley enters the house with a bang. The maids are nowhere to be found. He waits for a second and sure enough, hears enough to confirm his suspicion. He throws his hat to the floor and flies up the stairs. 

He kicks the door open, causing it to slam against the wall with a loud crash.

Cynthia yelps and opens her eyes, which widen with shock as she sees her husband.

Mosley only sees you, frozen in shock and confusion as you lift up from between her legs. 

He is so confused that his normal instincts dont kick in when you reach under the sheets and produce a gun. 

His eyes finally widen, too late.

“Courtesy of Tommy Shelby.”

You pull the trigger. Mosley slides to the floor, blood fanned out behind him on the wall.

You stand and look down at his lifeless body, spitting at him fro good measure.

“take that you faschist fuck.”

You turn back to the much stunned Cynthia.

“Ok,” you start. “I guess i should explain.”

_______________

_________

____

_

[mowulf]

How to Train Your Downer CH2

Previous | Next

TRIGGER WARNING! Near the end of the chapter, Arthur gets a pretty hefty beating. The actions described may be triggering, but I'm more worried about the fact that Dr Green says some things that I know can be triggering for anyone who's gone through heavy abuse. It starts when he says, "Why can't you behave?" and goes through to the end of the chapter. Also, swearing.

If you feel there is a warning that I'm missing, PLEASE tell me! I want to make sure that no one is caught off guard by anything!

Arthur woke up to strong hands hauling him upright. It was the worst possible way to wake up and Arthur yelped as pain shot through every bruise and broken bone in his body. He jerked himself forward, which seemed to catch the hands off guard because they let go and he slammed his head into something hard which pulled away with a sharp, “Aaah FUCK!”

“Language!” another voice snapped.

“He headbutted me!”

There was a laugh from behind and Arthur growled as he was grabbed again and pulled back. “Pretty impressive if you ask me.” Was that… admiration? Or were they just impressed?

“Well I’m not asking.” There was a huff before the man in front leaned close enough that Arthur was able to recognize him as the doctor from the previous night. “Now look here,” doctor Green said, grabbing Arthur’s chin in a tight grip, “you’re going to relax and let us take care of you and that will be that.”

“You’re living with us now,” the constable - they were far too tall to be anyone else - said cheerfully, “so don’t bother complaining about it. Besides, the sooner you let it happen, the faster you’ll heal up and the sooner the good doctor can start working with you.”

Arthur didn’t even bother thinking the offer over. He spat on the doctor’s face and snarled, “Make me!”

The look he got was thoroughly unimpressed. The doctor gave Arthur’s head a hard shake and then let go. “Make sure you hold him securely, Davies,” he said as he grabbed the medicine bottle off the bedside table. Arthur blinked in surprise. When had that gotten there? He didn’t get to think about for long, though. The constable pulled him closer and wrapped one hand around his chest while the other tilted his head back and pried his mouth open.

Oh no. No no, not this again. No way was Arthur letting that sludge back in his mouth. He didn’t care how much he hurt, he would rather take the pain than taste that hellish concoction again! He squirmed, kicked, yelled, and tried desperately to close his mouth until he’d thoroughly chewed up the insides of his cheeks. Davies clicked his tongue to catch the doctor’s attention, who turned around, gave Arthur a quick once-over, and shook his head.

“Honestly, Arthur,” he set the bottle down and placed a hand on Arthur’s knee. Perhaps it was supposed to be comforting but Arthur only shuddered and pressed himself as far back into the constable as he could as the doctor leaned in close.

The spoon didn’t scrape against his teeth this time, but Davies didn’t close his mouth in time, either. The hand clamped over his mouth just in time for Arthur to spit, resulting in a slimy coating between his face and the officer’s hand and an exasperated “Oh good lord!”

As soon as the bobby pulled away, Arthur let out a triumphant laugh and immediately regretted his decision when the spoon was jammed back into his mouth. Only this time the doctor didn’t pull it out, but pushed further and dumped. It was far enough back that Arthur choked and swallowed without thinking and the doctor smirked.

“There we go. Much better than last time,” The doctor said cheerfully as he set the bottle and spoon to the side. He gave Arthur a friendly pat on the cheek and then set about cleaning up the mess. Arthur snapped at the doctor’s fingers only to have his head grabbed forcefully and given another hard shake. “Bad! We do not bite!” Arthur snarled but was unable to move until the doctor finished wiping his face and finally let go.

Once finished, the officer took some time to get Arthur carefully settled back on the bed while the doctor rubbed his face. “He’s fine, Davies. Give him some space before he takes your fingers off. Maybe he won’t fight back as hard tomorrow.”

Arthur growled at them until he heard the door shut. Only when he was absolutely certain that they weren’t immediately coming back did he finally relax into the bed and close his eyes. The medicine was drugged to make him sleep, he was certain. Still, better to sleep with the knowledge that he wasn’t in any immediate danger.

---ᕕ( ᐕ )ᕗ---

Keeping Arthur perpetually drugged was a fantastic idea on paper. In practice it was… Hm. Medicating him during the day was easy. He was already drugged out of his mind and too tired or medically high to do much beyond ramble at the two men. Mornings, however, were a fight from start to finish. Arthur had gotten very clever as spitting and biting and already constable Davies was beginning to collect a rather impressive collection of bite scars on his hands. Even so, neither men were willing to stay up all night to make sure that the medication never wore off.

Worse still, Arthur was beginning to have unpleasant side effects. Every dose came with an ever increasing risk of him throwing up, and the doctor found himself spending more and more time making sure that Arthur was still breathing. He’d developed a nasty habit of rolling onto his stomach and almost smothering himself in his pillow, whenever he didn’t just stop breathing spontaneously.

A month and a half and both men were thoroughly done with having to keep 24/7 watch.

“I think it’s time we cut back,” Davies said.

“What?”

“Arthur.” He opened the fridge, considered, and then closed it again and instead sat at the table. “This isn’t working and I vaguely remember Verloc saying he wanted Arthur alive. You know, breathing and such.”

The doctor nodded with a sigh. “How long until he starts fighting again? A week?”

“I give it three days.”

It did not take three days, or even a week. It took three weeks of twice a day dosings before Arthur finally started fighting back properly again.

This particular morning was no different. Arthur spat and screamed while Constable Davies tried to hold him still and Doctor Green did his best to get Arthur to actually swallow for a change instead of making a mess over himself and the bed. In a fit of frustration, Green had stormed out of the room and returned with a syringe without a needle.

“Since you insist on being difficult, let’s try something different,” he snapped. Arthur yelped as as the syringe was jammed into his mouth and he bit down hard. “Don’t bother,” the doctor said, his frustration already beginning to ease off. Now that Arthur had something else to chew on, he didn’t have to worry as much about risking his own fingers to get the job done. “Now, let’s just get this over with-”

Green didn’t get to finish. Arthur gave a sharp jerk of his head and snapped his jaws open and shut. There was a sharp crack and suddenly Arthur was yelling in surprise as he spat out a mixture of medicine, glass, and blood.

Green was stunned. The glass of the syringe was thick. It took effort and determination to break one of those and he’d never run across someone who could consciously break one. Then again, this was Arthur, rather famous among the doctors for his willingness to do anything necessary to escape.

Even so…

“Oh for the love of- Davies, hold his mouth open!” The doctor jerked a pair of long-nose pliers out of his jacket pocket and silently praised himself for accidentally sticking them there. A part of him felt bad for Arthur, who now clawed desperately at the bobby’s hands which held his mouth open uncomfortably wide. The rest of him was beyond done with the whole mess.

Thankfully, there wasn’t much left to pick out. A few pieces of glass had managed to lodge themselves into Arthur’s gums and Green took pleasure in each yelp and whimper as he jerked them out. Once he finished, he pushed himself up and sighed. “You really aren’t going to behave, are you?”

Davies’ brows shot up at the doctor’s tone and even Arthur stilled in confusion. “Sir?”

The doctor shut him down with a quick wave of his hand and said, “Shouldn’t you be leaving for patrol? Wouldn’t want to be late. Again.”

Davies considered for a moment before nodding and letting Arthur go. “Well, if you’ve got everything under control-”

“I always do.”

“-Then I suppose there’s nothing more for me to do here.” He tipped his head as he stood up and left the room.

The doctor waited until he heard the front door shut before he rounded on Arthur with a snarl. “Why can’t you behave?” He roared, grabbing Arthur’s shirt and yanking him forward. Arthur yelped in protest and was about to retort when the doctor shoved him on to his back. “All you had to do,” the doctor continued, Grabbing Arthur’s hips and digging his fingers into the joints as hard as he could, “was listen to me!”

Arthur howled as white spots danced across his vision. He’d forgotten just how bad his hip hurt and having someone actively trying to hurt him only made the pain worse. As the doctor refused to let up, he twisted sharply to free himself and flopped onto his stomach with a wheeze. He didn’t get a chance to recover as the doctor yanked him back and climbed into the bed.

“You brought this on yourself!” The doctor spat, grabbing Arthur’s left arm and pulling it back sharply. Arthur shrieked as his shoulder threatened to pop out of its socket again and did his best to angle his shoulders to ease the pain. The doctor only followed the motion with a snarl. After a moment of twisting, he finally eased Arthur’s arm back to the bed.

Arthur gasped into the mattress as the pressure from his arm finally let up. Once the doctor let go, he started to crawl forward only to have his hair yanked back. Green leaned down and asked, “Are you ready to behave?”

He really should have agreed. Instead, the adrenaline rush and panic mixed together in a seething mess of fear and rage and Arthur spat, “Make me!” He recognized his mistake the second the words left his mouth, but it didn’t really sink in until the doctor sat back with a deep sigh.

“If you insist.”

Arthur squeaked in fear as his left arm was grabbed again and lifted slowly. His shoulder protested as it rotated and he couldn’t decide which was worse: having his arm yanked back and up suddenly or twisted slowly so that he could feel the pain growing with each second. Just when the pain was getting bad enough to make him whimper, the doctor stopped twisting and leaned down.

“You were assigned to me. Do you know what that means?” Arthur angled his head to look as far over his shoulder as he could and gave a small shake. “It means…” There was a sharp twist and Arthur shrieked as his shoulder popped, “I can do whatever I want provided you don’t actually die.” Green let go and watched passively as Arthur’s arm flopped onto the bed. For a moment he listened to Arthur scream before he finally slid off the bed with a sigh.

“Shut.” He flipped Arthur over easily and yanked him down until hips were only barely on the bed. “Up.” He pressed his right hand over Arthur’s mouth to muffle the noise. Arthur didn’t stop, but the noise level was bearable now. “You’re in my house now. When I say ‘jump’ you say ‘how high’.” Arthur shook his head and clawed at the hand that blocked his airways. “And when I tell you take your medicine, you take you’re goddamn medicine.” He emphasized each word with a hard shake before he finally pulled his hand away.

Arthur gasped and wheezed for a moment before he started to squirm away. Once again, he didn’t get far before the doctor pulled back and slammed a fist down on Arthur’s chest. He exhaled sharply at the contact only to have the doctor grab his throat and press, preventing him from inhaling.

For a moment he was too stunned to do anything. Was this really happening? Was this how he died? No! He wasn’t ready to go yet! He gurgled and clawed desperately at the doctor’s sleeves as his feet sought traction against anything. Suddenly, the doctor let go and he inhaled as hard as he could, triggering a coughing fit.

“Let’s try this again,” the doctor said calmly as he tilted Arthur chin down to make eye contact. “Are you ready to behave?” Arthur did his best to nod in the iron grip and the doctor smiled. “There we go, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I knew you’d come around.” He patted Arthur on the cheek before he stepped away and left the room.

Arthur slid down to the floor and leaned against the bed until the door clicked shut. Safe at last, he leaned over until gravity took over and he fell onto the carpet. He had to move slowly and stop repeatedly to catch his breath, but he managed to worm his way under the bed. With a small sob, he curled into a protective ball. He cradled his dislocated arm against his chest while his right muffled his sobs for fear that the doctor might hear and come back angrier than before.

He couldn’t breathe, everything hurt, and the new pain stacked onto the old with nothing to even dilute it. All in all, Arthur decided that this ranked as, quite possibly, the worst day of his life. Even worse, there was no telling when the doctor would decide to come back and finish the job. With that thought, he sobbed and wheezed until the adrenaline crash pulled him into a fitful sleep.

[wouldpollyapprove]

Whiskey Lullaby

Request:  Could you do something where reader goes to Tommy after Arthur gets drunk and scares her?

Requested by Anonymous

Arthur Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: mention of alchol, violence, mention of abuse, language

A/N: If any of you are formiliar with Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley, this is not based off of that, I just liked the name. It’s not super sad, so don’t worry. I hope to have the second part of It’s Quiet Uptown out soon cause I don’t like waiting for the next part of fics and I know you guys don’t either. I hope you guys enjoy this and feedback is always apperciated.

Masterlist

A sigh escaped her lips as Y/n glanced up at the clock. It was nearly two in the morning, she should have gone to sleep hours ago, but that couldn’t be done when the space next to her would lie empty for hours. She wanted to believe her husband was finishing up work or helping Tommy with something but she wasn’t a fool, she knew exactly where he was. Arthur could be found at the same place every night and it most certainly wasn’t at home.

Y/n couldn’t put her finger on when it started, everything seemed fine for a long while. Arthur would go to work and come home right after. Then he started coming home a little later and it sprialled from there. Where he once came home an hour late turned into four hours or not at all. There were mornings Y/n woke up to a call from the Garrison, some poor barmaid informing her that her husband was passed out in a corner. Being the kind soul she was, she said nothing. Lips tight, Y/n didn’t complain, what would come of it? So, she’d get dressed and march over to the pub and drag the drunk man home. 

It had become their new normal. The tired wife and the drunk husband, not one Y/n liked but she didn’t verbalize her thoughts. If she prayed enough it would all be fixed, right? That’s what she’d been taught as a child. But as she prayed and prayed and prayed nothing got better. In fact, it got worse.

And that is how she ended up, wide awake, at two in the morning. 

The front door creaked open, something tumbling through it. Y/n didn’t have to take a guess at what as she stood from the bed and walked through the house. Leaning against the doorway, she watched Arthur struggle with his coat and shoes. Had they gone out drinking with his family, Y/n would have been giggling, struggling with her own coat as well. Instead, she glared at him, hurt in her eyes. Often she wondered if she had done something to drive him to drink so heavily.

“What kept you so late?” Her voice was a flat line, no emotion present.

Arthur whipped his head up, a small smile peeking out under his mustache. “There you are, love,” he slurred, nearly tripping over his feet as he approached her. Before he got the chance to wrap his arms around her, Y/n escaped his embrace and walked back into their room. “What’s wrong?” he frowned.

“What’s wrong?” she sighed, the late hour starting to get to her. “What’s wrong is my husband comes home at two in the fucking morning shitfaced and thinks nothing of it!” Y/n spat, careful eyes scanning the man in front of her. Y/n almost rolled her eyes, almost, when she caught the hint of anger in Arthur’s eyes. 

“Ya saying I can’t go out?” he raised his voice, his suspenders falling off his shoulder.

“No, I’m saying you should be home at a reasonable hour,” she huffed. It was silly she even had to have this conversation with him. There was a point in their marriage where Arthur wanted nothing more than to spend time with his wife. Oh, how those times had disappeared. 

He huffed. “At least I’m home! I could not come home at all!”

“Then don’t!” Y/n yelled to match his volume. Who cared if the neighbors were being woken from their sleep, listening to the marital problems that could no longer be hidden.

In a fit of rage, the man threw his weight against their dresser, throwing all the belongings on to the floor. Y/n was no stranger to Arthur’s temper, he’d never done anything violent in front of her. Eyes wide, with the dressers contents scattered across the floor, she knew it would only get worse. Quickly, without much thought, she scurried past him, fleeing the room. There was no telling what he would do next and a part of her feared that she would be hurt in his rage. 

It broke her heart that the thought crossed her mind. 

“Yeah, fucking leave!” he shouted at her back.

Shivering in the damp morning air, toes frozen without the protections of shoes, Y/n knocked on the big wooden doors in front of her. She never wanted Arthur’s family to be aware of the issues she dealt with. What happened in their home stayed in their home, but she couldn’t live with it any longer. So, there she stood in front of Tommy’s door, waiting for someone to let her into the warm house. There wasn’t anywhere else she could go, her family lived in a different part of the country and she didn’t know anyone who could talk sense into her husband besides his brother. 

“Mrs. Shelby, what are you doing here so early?” One of the maids asked, opening the door and escorting her in. The woman didn’t even bother to ask Tommy or Grace if they wanted a visitor, not when she saw the state Y/n was in. She must have looked miserable from the look she was given. “Come in here,” the maid guided her into the parlor. “I’ll inform Mr. Shelby of your arrival and fetch you some tea.”

Y/n nodded and sank into the soft fabric. She would have fallen asleep, something her body was screaming for, if two figures hadn’t walked into the room.

“Y/n, what are you doing here? What happened to you?” Grace asked, rambling off questions she didn’t have time to answer as her friend came to sit beside her. Wrapping her arms around Y/n’s cold frame, the woman pulled her against her chest, allowing her to soak up some of the warmth. “You’re freezing!”

Standing in front of her, Tommy eyed the redness around her eyes, worry in his own as he paced around the room. “Does Arthur know you’re here?”

With a sigh, Y/n shook her head, the memories of the events from hours before playing before her. Shutting her eyes, they disappeared. “No.” Y/n winced at her voice, sounding like a child that had disobeyed her parents. “He’s the reason I’m here.”

“What’d he do?” The blonde beside her asked. 

Y/n and Grace had been friends ever since the Irish woman had moved back to England. Though she understood why some members of the Shelby family were hesitant about allowing her back in their lives, Grace had never done anything to her and was like the sister she had never had. For the most part, they were inseparable. Spending most of their free time together since their husbands didn’t want them to be in harm's way when it came to the family business. Even with them being so close, though, Y/n had never even alluded to the fact that she had become trapped in an unhappy marriage. But Grace wasn’t a dumb blonde, the fact could be seen in her friends eyes, the way her lips turned into a frown at the thought of going home. 

“He came home late, real late, again,” she sighed, thinking about the countless times she waited up for the man to make sure he was still alive. “And then we got into a fight and he threw things a-and… I was afraid he was gonna hit me.” The last bit was barely a whisper but both Tommy and Grace caught it.

With a sigh, Tommy ran a hand down his face. Someone had mentioned that Arthur had been drinking more, but he thought nothing of it. His older brother drank, it was fact everyone knew, so the information that he was drinking more didn’t faze him. But clearly, it should have. “I’ll take care of Arthur,” he said as he turned for the door. “Grace, why don’t you get her in bed?” His wife nodded, brushing a few loose hairs out of her friend's face. Standing from the sofa, Grace gently pulled Y/n up beside her and guided her to an empty bedroom. With exhaustion starting to set in, she needed all the help she could get to find her way. With the touch of a mother, a warm hand helped her under the covers and pulled them over her cold body. Before she knew it, her eyelids grew heavy and she was drifting off to sleep when a figure slipped into the room, a cup being set on the bedside table.

A stream of light peaked between the curtains, the brightness causing the man in bed to stir. Blinking awake, Arthur stretched his arms, turning over to wrap his arms around the body that was absent. Pushing himself up on his elbows, the events of the night before… well, the hours before, flooded his memories, causing his lips to turn down. He thought, a now foolish thought, that Y/n would have come home. She wouldn’t forget their argument, but he thought that, at least, she’d come home and sleep in their bed. Fully sitting, Arthur thought that perhaps she had done that, come home that is. 

He threw his feet over the edge, knocking the bedding off, and began to search the house. It wasn’t as massive as his brother’s, only a few rooms to be checked, and he checked every one of them. There was no sign of his wife in the parlor, the sofa tightened as it had been the day before, or in the kitchen, there was no sign of a fresh pot of tea. Standing in the hall, the man caught a glimpse of the coat that hung on the hook, light pink, matching the shoes that lay abandoned below it. Alone with his thoughts, Arthur feared what had become of his wife in the dangers of the night.

Once dressed, throwing on any fabric within arms reach, the oldest Shelby brother didn’t care how presentable he looked as he rushed out of the house. The neighbors raised their brow as they watched him run down the road like a mad man. They’d all heard what had been said in the early hours of the morning, there was no pretending it hadn’t woken them, but they couldn’t help but feel pity for the man. Just like so many others, he was left to pick up the pieces of what he’d broken.

Tommy was leaning over a pile of paperwork, trying to focus on the work he had been putting off, when the office door flew open, hitting the wall with a bang. Unimpressed, he glanced up to meet his brother’s eyes, regret pouring out of them. 

“Have you seen Y/n? We fought and she left and she didn’t come. She's never not come home,” he rambled, face red as he forgot to breathe from both his run and his worries. Leaning back, Tommy rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. “You know where she’s at,” it wasn’t even a question when he could read his brother like a book. 

The man across from him shrugged, staring at the desperate man in front of him. “I do.”

Blowing out a breath, Arthur tried to calm himself. It wouldn’t get him anywhere to blow up on anyone else with the damage he’d already caused. “Where is she, Tommy?”

A sigh parted his lips as the brunette rested his elbows on the hard wood of his desk, disregarding the papers he had once been working on. “You need to quit the whisky.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, that wasn’t the information he was looking for. He could ask a stranger on the street and they would say the same damn thing. All he wanted to know was where Y/n was and whether or not she was safe. That was all he was asking for. “What does that have to do with?” As the words left his tongue, his face fell, the gears clicking into place as he pieced together why such a statement would be relevant. 

“It has everything to do with it, Arthur, since you’re wife  was found on my fucking doorstep this morning, fucking crying and freezing, all because of something you did!” his brother shouted, shooting out of his chair. 

Arthur sighed, defeated, and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the large desk. He wasn’t even going to argue, there was no argument. His drinking had become a problem, one he liked to push aside. It wasn’t a problem unless he believed it to be, right? Wrong. Clearly, wrong. “I know.”

The man across from him scuffed. “You know? Then why don’t you fucking act like it!” his voice rang through the room. God knows those on the other side of the door were listening closely to the conversation being had. “You love her. You have since you fucking met! And she loves you! Y/n doesn’t deserve to wait up all night for you to return, you should know to come home! You scared her, Arthur,” the last sentence was low, soft compared to his previous shouts. “She thought you were going to hit her.”

The room was silent as the words hit his ears, hurt evident in his eyes. Arthur had promised Y/n that no one would ever hurt her, lay a fucking finger on her. That promise was to be held until the day he died. For to believe he would break that promise, being the one to do her harm, broke his heart. Never had he wished to heart her in any manner, whether physical or mentally. It would break him, shatter everything that the war had left untouched.

“I fucked up,” defeated he rested his head in his hands. “I fucked up.”

Watching his brother wither at his words pulled at the gangster’s heart strings. Though there was no one to blame but himself for his actions, Tommy felt he was partly responsible, ignoring the problems he saw as they were being created. “Y/n at home with Grace and Charlie, you should go talk to her and fix what you’ve done.” 

Almost an hour later, Arthur stood in front of the grand doors of his brother’s house, shifting from foot to foot. The ride over was nerve racking. All he wished to do was mend the damage he’d created, but he feared his wife wouldn't want to see him. That Y/n would be informed of his presence and wish for him to be sent away. Arthur couldn’t blame her if that was to be her reaction, but he wanted a chance. All he wanted was to be able to become a better man and that couldn’t be done without her by his side. 

The door opened, exposing one of Tommy’s longest housekeepers, Mary. “Oh, Mr. Shelby, what a surprise, please come in,” she opened the door wider as he stepped in.

Fiddling with his hat, the man felt like a young boy about to go on his first date. “I’d like to see my wife if you could fetch for me,” he asked, words meek as his eyes darted around the room.

“If you’d like to sit in the parlor, I’ll go get her,” she smiled. Arthur couldn’t tell if she was aware of the fight the couple had that morning, it wouldn’t surprise him if she did. Maids were aware of everything, though, they pretended to only know how to dust and make beds. 

Nodding, he let himself into the parlor as the woman disappeared down a hallway. She must have been gone barely five minutes, but it felt like an eternity as he bounced his knee, waiting for the woman he loved. 

“Hi Arthur,” Y/n greeted, words almost a whisper, as she entered the room, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, securing the robe she wore.

“Y/n,” he breathed, lips turning up in a smile. Though, it had only been hours since he’d seen her, it felt like a lifetime. He didn’t dare step closer, letting her keep the distance. “I… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, love. For everything,” Arthur clarified. “I’m sorry that I’ve been worrying you so much and that I’ve caused you to stay up waiting for me. It’s not fair to you. And I’m sorry…” Tears pricked at his eyes. “That I made you fear I would hit you.”

By the end of his sentence, tears had escaped his eyes, racing down his cheeks. Y/n was by his side in an instant, holding him and letting him cry. As much as she wanted him to learn, to change, she didn’t want him to hold that kind of pain in his heart. No one deserved that. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she cooed, rubbing his back as he rested his head against her shoulder. “We’ll get through this, I know we will.”

Arthur pulled away, eyes red and puffy. “What if it’s not?”

“It will be, love. We love each other and I know you can beat this,” she smiled up at him, using her thumb to wipe away his tears. “You have me and your family, we’ll help you. I’ll help you. I’ll always help you.”

It would be a long road, but Arthur wanted to get better. He wanted to fight the demons he pitifully attempted to drown every night. He wanted to kick them to the curb with something other than whiskey or vodka. With the help of his wife, perhaps that could be accomplished. He wanted it to be.

*~~*~~*

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