#horse girl recognises horse girl i can’t help it

[leafspiritz]

imogen designs :)

[sttoru]

outlaw!toji who initially kidnapped you for money, to rob you from your valuable belongings, eventually forms a strange attachment to you. he can’t help but feel a faint twinge of guilt for robbing a pretty and delicate little thing like you.

so, he decides to let you return to your beloved family in town. though he does not let you go completely.

every now and then when toji is passing by the town you reside in - avoiding sheriffs and other people whom could possibly recognise him from the wanted posters plastered on every wall - he looks for you.

of course, you freak out the first time he sneaked up on you. however slowly yet surely, you let your guard down. the outlaw didn’t harm you in any way after all.

“how ‘re ya doin’, princess?” toji would always greet you with that signature, cocky smirk of his, leaning against a nearby wall with his arms crossed over his chiseled chest or his hands on his worn gun belt.

sometimes you reply quickly, but on other occasions you indulge him and continue the conversation. it’s often at night that he visits you, so you have less of a chance to get caught together.

you don’t know when or how toji found out where your family’s house is. he simply started showing up at your balcony once in a while, just to catch up. after a couple times, you even let him in.

those nightly visits swiftly turned into something more intimate. it feels so wrong yet so right. a dangerous criminal who’s killed hundreds, who had even kidnapped you one day, being invited into your bed— how scandalous.

though you can’t help it. his callused yet warm hands that touch your skin, his burly body that presses you into the mattress just right, his slightly chapped lips that nip at your flesh and leave marks. . . you don’t regret a thing.

especially when you’re both catching your breath after an intense encounter. toji’s muscular body, filled with countless of scars, blankets yours easily. his arms cradle you to his bare chest afterwards and all you can do is relax against him.

“i think i really hit the jackpot with ya, aye? may not have robbed ya of yer stuff that day, but i got ma prize money one way or ‘nother,” the rugged outlaw grins as he lights up a cigar and holds it between his lips.

you can’t even tell him off for smoking in your room. toji’s fingers massage your scalp so good to the point you’re putty in his hands. the scent of tobacco is also comforting. it’s one you associate with him, because he always smells like it. it’s always a combination of tobacco, nature, horses and gunpowder.

toji knows that he has to leave before anyone comes checking in on you, but he can’t leave you when you look so adorable, clinging onto him like a lifeline.

every time he visits, it’s the same exciting story.

when toji is in a more sentimental mood, he takes you out on a ride. he settles you on the back of his horse, speeding off into the sunset, letting you enjoy the view outside of town.

the beautiful freedom that comes with the life of an outlaw. the freedom of seeing nature in all its glory. you get to experience it all.

at times, when you’re out and about, he takes his chance and teaches you how to handle a gun. toji knows you’ve been spoiled rotten by your parents growing up, so you probably haven’t touched a gun a day in your life. that’s where he comes in.

“oi, watch out. yer gonna blow my fuckin’ face off, girl,” toji grunts with a faint chuckle as he notices your clumsy hand gestures while holding his revolver. it’s endearing, truly. he doesn’t yet understand why it warms his heart to see you try and shoot at the targets he set up.

what the outlaw loves more than that, is when you’re both resting against a large oak tree, with his head on your lap. especially after he gets back from a long and successful heist in a far away town.

toji often lets his cowboy hat cover his face while he naps and uses your thighs as the perfect, plush pillow. the gentle breeze only adds to the perfect moment.

when you take his stetson and put it on your head instead in a innocent gesture, he lazily opens one eye and raises a brow in amusement.

“oh? that yer way of telling me y’ want a ride?” toji teases before pinching your cheek. he loves seeing that flustered expression on your face when you’re once again reminded of the cowboy hat rule he taught you the other day.

toji never misses the opportunity, however. he sits up and leans back against the tree trunk, patting his thick thighs which he spreads lightly.

“hop on f’ me then, pretty. show me how good of a cowgirl y’ are, yeah?”

well, briefly said, it’s never a dull moment with outlaw!toji.

[shadowsingerofnight]

So um, to be honest I don’t know what this is. It was on a whim, written in one go so don’t take it too seriously lol

It was inspired by this post right here, by @dawntoducks

Hope you enjoy!

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The sound of the door slamming shut brought Elain back to reality.

Standing in the middle of the sitting-room, she glanced to the window, to the city beyond. Velaris was in full bloom, children running and laughing just outside. She could even spot some kites flying this and that way, guided by tiny, giggling kids.

She had always thought kites to belong in fairytales, somehow never considered actually playing with one. She marvelled at them.

She kept watching- stalling, as one little girl accidentally bumped into the big magnolia tree outside the gate and let go of the slim thread she was holding. A cry sounded, the girl immediately getting up and jumping towards the sky. Desperately trying to reach high, high, higher- like the hurt didn’t matter, like she just wanted to get back what she had lost. But it was too late.

Elain blinked. Once. Twice.

Her heart began racing, the rhythm akin a horse’s gallop. Frantic, but with purpose.

It was always like that, her soul recognising a song she sometimes could faintly hear herself. A poem that had existed within her since the dawn of time, somehow.

“Are you okay?”

Somewhere among the blooming trees…

Elain had never heard a voice like that. Not when she was human, not after. Non since she had heard his for the first time. A voice so stark and yet warm. So deep and yet melodious.

She could feel it, tingling on her skin.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, still not looking at him.

Outside, on a magic wind, the girl’s kite flew right back in her arms. Elain smiled faintly.

“I… felt something,” he replied. “Like you were calling for me.”

She was? Honestly, it wouldn’t have surprised her. Elain still didn’t quite understand how this whole thing worked. But could he actually feel when she was thinking about him?

It was quite a lot.

“That’s why I thought you were in danger.” He went on, “I assumed it was the only way you could call for help.” His tone was low, steady. Like he didn’t want to scare her away.

Because I know it wouldn’t be me you’d call if you could help it.

She hated that he didn’t understand. She hated that she could not bring herself to tell him the truth, how his smile was the first thing she saw in the morning. That his laugh sounded in her ears with every step she took. That his hands were what she imagined when she… Red stained her cheeks.

She hadn’t yet looked at him, but she could just see his head dip to the side as if wondering what she was thinking about. Or rather, was she really thinking about what he suspected?

At the top of the tallest mountain…

“Elain,” he whispered and then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Elain furrowed her brows, but her chin remained dipped.

He sighed unevenly and then spat, voice higher, “I’m sorry the Cauldron made me your mate. I’m sorry I’m so abhorrent you can’t even look at me. Just tell me you’re fine and I’ll go.” His arms slackened at his sides. Defeated.

Elain’s head snapped towards him then. Her eyes met one of russet and one of gold, like the brightest of suns on a fall day. She saw the tears first, the same ones she could feel marking her own cheeks.

In the depths of all the seas…

“You-,” she sniffed. “You stupid, stupid prick.”

She saw his eyes widen the instant she closed the distance between them and pointed an accusatory finger to his chest.

“You know nothing!” She yelled. Actually yelled.

Elain wiped some of the tears away, but they kept coming like an overflowing river. Feelings buried so deep came afloat.

“Don’t you understand I can’t look at you?” She demanded more than asked.

“How can you not see I’m burning?” Her index finger kept poking his chest of its own volition while his face had paled alarmingly. He was looking down at her, tears glistening in the light.

On a journey so certain…

“You think I don’t feel anything”? Elain sniffed again. “Well, you’re so terribly wrong! I feel so much every time I look at you, I don’t know what to do.” Words were flowing and she didn’t even have to think them.

“You live with me every second of every day. You render me useless every time I think of you because all I want is to touch you and kiss you and hold you and never let go.”

He caught her wrist and flattened her hand above his heart. It was beating so fast.

“I want you, Lucien.” She could feel him tremble underneath her palm, just when he closed his eyes as to savour her words. “I just don’t want to burn you.”

Lucien smiled, so sweet and wicked at the same time, eyes so full of hope she cursed herself for not telling him sooner. “Didn’t you hear?” He whispered, his breath caressing her neck. “I’m the Lord of Flames.”

I search for light and I find you.

[mariaalenkoshepard]

“Isn’t there something important you should be doing?” 

How could I forget? It looms over me at every moment. I see Ganon’s blight in the corner of my eye as I pick an apple for breakfast and I wonder how it feels to rest. When I sleep I hear screams I do not recognise, and my hands are covered with blood. I know at least some of it is my own. 

I wonder how it feels to rest. 

“You don’t have the luxury of tarrying here.” 

I helped build this town from nothing. I chopped trees and travelled Hyrule searching for workers. But if I want to stay here, the only bed for me is at the inn. 

I do not stay here. 

I long for the luxury of tarrying. 

I take a bath in the river behind a stable. The sun is only just beginning to rise. In the soft glow, my fingers trace scars I don’t remember getting. A girl comes out to feed the horses and waves to me. I wave back. 

There are times when I hate you. 

I sometimes sit inside the house I bought and wonder if it will ever feel like home. I chop vegetables at the table and bring them outside for my horse. I run my hand through her mane as she eats. The braids are beginning to fray. 

I wonder how it feels to rest. 

I keep the blue tunic Impa gave me but I do not wear it. I put it on only once, examining my reflection in the lake. I looked every picture a champion. 

I nearly threw it into the fire. 

I folded it and placed it in the bottom of my bag instead, and that’s where it stays. 

There are times when I hate you. 

In a hidden forest, there is a sword. The master sword. It stands and mocks me, because it is mine, and without it, evil will prevail.

It is mine. And I have to prove I am worthy of it. 

It feels like an insult I have to pay for the privilege of receiving. 

I taste bile in my mouth when I pray at her shrines. I fight to prove myself, and she makes me stronger, more enduring. All she asks in return is worship. Worship, and to bring peace to Hyrule. I ask her why she doesn’t do so herself. She doesn’t answer me.

There are times when I can’t hate you. 

I sit in a field and run my hands over the grass and let the sunlight warm my face. The castle is behind me. I think maybe you understand. I wonder if you sometimes hate me either way. 

I sometimes hope you do. 

I sit by the fire in the snow and I wonder what would happen if I disappeared into the mountains ahead, refused the call. I wonder if someone else would step up and take my place as hero. 

I know they won’t. No one chooses this to be their story. 

I wonder how it feels to rest. 

I sleep, and my hands are covered in blood, and I feel myself slipping away, and it’s something like relief. 

I wake up, and for a moment I’m in a pool of water, and I remember that there is no rest for me. I wonder if there ever will be. 

There are times when I hate you. 

In a quiet village, there is a little girl who cooks her dead mother’s recipes for her father and sister. She smiles when she gets them right, and then she cries. Sometimes I think about disappearing into the mountains. When I do, I think of her. 

There are times when… 

I flip through images on the Sheikah slate and I tell myself they look familiar. I track places down, and sometimes I see glimpses of a past that doesn’t feel like mine, friends I’ve never had. I see a boy who shares my face and name, and I recognise him least of all. 

There are times when I hate him more than anyone. 

He carried his destiny without question. And I carry his burden. They tell me I survived, but I know I only live because he died. 

I wonder if he’s resting. I wonder if he’s free. 

My sword runs through a monster and it falls down dead beside the girl it was attacking. I help her to her feet. She’s bleeding, superficially. I walk her home, and wave off her offer of payment. She asks to at least wash my tunic. 

I look down. I see fresh blood. 

I shake my head and take my leave. 

There are times when I hate you. There are times when I hate him. There are times when I think about disappearing into the mountains, finding rest, finding peace, and I think of a motherless child humming over a cooking pot, and I wave to the travelling merchant, and I look down at the fading bloodstain on my tunic. 

No one chooses this to be their story. And so I can’t choose another. 

I carry my burden. And I wonder how it feels to rest.

[fandomficsnstuff]

Wolves and Hounds-2

(Warnings: Again, mostly just fluff)

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Karliah couldn’t help but laugh as she rode alongside Tyrion Lannister, as far as Lannisters go, he wasn’t half bad actually, which was a pleasant surprise to her. “And down the hill he went! Right into the muddy pond” Tyrion exclaimed and she threw her head back with laughter, shaking her head as she tried to contain it, unaware of the small glare that Ned was giving the little Lord. “Poor squire! Right into the mud!” Karliah managed to get out through her laughter, shaking her head as she looked back at the Lord. “As far as Lannisters go, you’re not half bad” she said with a smirk, seeing him roll his eyes “another dwarf joke?” he asked amused, watching her as she nodded her head with excitement “yes, Lord Lannister, another dwarf joke, but at least mine aren’t as terrible as as my brother’s ward” she said with a smirk, chuckling as Tyrion laughed “no they’re not, and please, I’ve been making you laugh for the past hour, I think you can call me Tyrion” he said with a smirk, seeing her giggle quietly “my my, Tyrion, you couldn’t possibly be flirting with me, could you?” she asked with a teasing smirk, grinning as he laughed at her small remark “no, I wouldn’t dishonour you like that, My Lady” he said through his laughter, making her roll her eyes “you’ve been making me laugh for the past hour, Tyrion, I think you can call me Karliah” she said with a wink, throwing his own words back at him, laughing with him until she stopped her horse to say goodbye, for now, to Ned, who was saying farewell to Jon.

Once that was done with, she rode up beside Ned, a smile on her lips as she watched Jon join Benjen. “Your mind is made up, isn’t it?” he asked quietly, his eyes locked on her as she nodded “yes, you know I’ve always wanted to see the Wall… Lyanna and I made a deal… that we’d both visit it someday…” she admitted, looking down with a sad look on her face, a frown on her brows as she softly shook her head “I’ll see you in King’s Landing, though… the Gods know you wouldn’t survive the girls without me or Catelyn” she added with a forced smile, looking back up at her big brother who forced a smile as well. “Take care, you’re my only sister” Ned reminded her, making her smile a tad more genuine as she nodded “and you, take care, brother… you know how we wolves fare in the south” she muttered, giving him one last smile before joining Benjen, Jon and Tyrion, smiling softly at the three when she reached them. “My Lady, you’re joining us to the Wall?” Tyrion asked with a tiny hint of shock, a chuckle leaving Karliah’s lips as she nodded “yes, My Lord, you’re not the only one who wants to stand on top of the Wall, though I can’t piss off of it” she added with a smirk, hearing Benjen and Tyrion laugh while Jon smiled softly, the poor boy had no idea how important he truly was.

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Karliah’s jaw nearly hit the neck of her horse as she rode closer and closer to the wall, Benjen smirking at the sight of her so awestruck. “Pick up your jaw, sister, or it’ll freeze in place” Benjen joked and she closed her mouth with a light blush on her cheeks, though she still admired the Wall. As the gates to Castle Black opened, her attention was brought from the giant wall of ice to the men eyeing her with interest, a small scoff leaving her lips as Benjen glared lightly at the young boys, which she already knew he was doing without even having to look at him. “I’m quite capable of handling a few young boys, Benjen, Lyanna taught me how to fight after all” she half joked and saddled off once everyone was inside, a smile on her lips as she saw a face she vaguely recognised. She’d seen his face when she was but a little girl at a feast, before he joined the Night’s Watch. “Lord Commander” she smiled softly and bowed her head at the Old Bear as he approached with a chuckle. “Lady Stark! Come to see your brother off?” he asked and gestured to Benjen but she merely chuckled and softly shook her head “and my nephew” she said and gestured to Jon who stood behind her “and also because I wanted to see the Wall. A promise that’s been long overdue” she admitted softly as she glanced at Benjen who gave her a sad smile, he knew of the promise she and Lyanna had made, it had been while they were both just barely girls, coated in mud from playing in the Godswood, pretending to fight off White Walkers and giants beyond a wall neither of them had ever seen, only heard of. “You are most welcome here at Castle Black” the Lord Commander said and Karliah nodded and smiled before turning to Benjen, walking over to him as the Lord Commander greeted Tyrion. “Well, what are the sights to see here in your little castle?” she asked jokingly and Benjen scoffed quietly “while Jon gets settled, I’ll show you the Wall” he suggested, gesturing to the wooden structure that’d take them both to the top and Karliah paled, smile dropping as she studied it. “Uh… Benjen-”

“It’s alright, it’s sturdier than it looks” Benjen said with a hint of amusement, making her scoff “I’ll use you to cushion my fall if it isn’t” she muttered and Benjen laughed, letting her walk ahead of him into the structure, glaring at a few young lads who’s eyes lingered on her for a second too long for his liking. “You don’t have to fight every living creature off” she noted once they were both well on their way to the top, her Stark grey eyes locked on the landscape in front of her as Benjen sighed “these aren’t just boys, Kal. They’re rapists, murderers-”

“And thieves, I know… but I made a promise, Ben. I made a promise to stand at the edge of the Wall and watch the sun set or rise, hear the weeping of the ice as I stood upon it, at the top of the world, at it’s end… Lyanna isn’t here to see it for herself so I have to see for the both of us” Karliah admitted softly and Benjen nodded, ever as quiet as Ned. “It’s worth a few uncomfortable stares” she admitted softly, looking at Benjen with a soft smile “for Lyanna, it’s worth it” she added, turning once the structure stood still, opening the small gate and stepping out onto the wall, a grin on her lips as she felt the bitter cold bite her bones and freeze her blood in her veins but it was worth it. It was worth it to hear the wind howling, the Wall itself weeping below her feet as though it knew of the bittersweet feeling it brought her to stand upon it. Karliah closed her eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the clean air that almost burnt her lungs with how biting cold it was, but it was a good pain, the grin on her lips broadening as she sighed heavily, opening her eyes and looking at Benjen “she would have loved this…” she muttered, her grin fading into a bittersweet smile as she looked over the edge at the landscape below. Everything was so small from up here, Castle Black looked like a drop of ink that was fading on a piece of paper, the other castles lining the wall as far as the eye could see. Lyanna would have loved this.

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“My Lady, are you not staying with us?” Tyrion asked as she rode past the inn they stopped at, a chuckle leaving her lips as she shook her head, looking over her shoulder at him “no, My Lord… I must admit that I’m eager to see my nieces and my brother again” she called out, watching Tyrion as he rode alone closer to her, smirking “and perhaps you’re eager to see a certain kind of dog again?” he asked teasingly and Karliah blushed but scoffed and looked away from him “yes, Lord Tyrion, I do miss the wolves that keep my nieces’ company” she stated with a smirk, knowing full well it wasn’t the wolves whom he was referring to. “I’ll see you perhaps at the next inn, I feel like riding until dusk” she admitted, Tyrion nodding softly and looking over his shoulder at his soldiers. “One of my soldiers will accompany you, wouldn’t want a Lady on the road all alone” Tyrion waved over one of the guards and Karliah chuckled lightly, shaking her head as she looked back at Tyrion “that’s very kind of you, thank you” she bowed her head and waited as Tyrion gave the guard strict orders to protect her at all cost, all the way to King’s Landing, even if it should cost him his life. “Thank you, Lord Tyrion, I hope to see you in King’s Landing soon” she admitted, Tyrion raising a teasing eyebrow “is that so, My Lady?” he asked with a smirk and she chuckled “yes, I wouldn’t need to wear heels when I’m walking with you, my feet would greatly thank me for it” she jested and Tyrion chuckled as he shook his head at her “safe travels, My Lady” he said and bowed his head, making Karliah grin “you too, My Lord” she bowed her head and turned to the guard, giving him a soft smile before spurring her horse into action once more, the guard following as they both rode towards King’s Landing.

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“We cannot afford another tournament, we’re too far in debt with the Lannisters and I will not bankrupt the Realm further” Ned snapped as Robert groaned and downed his goblet of wine “I’m the King, I do as I please and you do what I say, and I say we have the damn tournament!” Robert roared back at his old friend, the two of them about to go into it further when her voice interrupted them “perhaps you could somehow divorce your wives and marry each other, you seem so happy together” she joked as she walked towards the two of them, a wave of her hand and the guard who had been escorting her bowed and left quickly. Robert grinned big and got out of his chair, approaching her and hugging her so tightly that her feet left the ground, as they always did when he gave her one of his signature hugs. “Karliah!! Knock some sense into your brother will ya?” Robert asked as he put her down, gesturing to Ned with an annoyed expression and she chuckled lightly “I’m afraid that is beyond my abilities, I’m no god” she jested and Robert laughed as he patted her shoulder “would you fancy some wine? Bring Lady Stark a goblet of wine!!” Robert roared over his shoulder at his squire, the poor boy flinching at the tone as he hurried to give her a goblet, filling it to the brim with wine before she could stop him, but she just politely thanked him and sipped the wine before it would spill over, Robert moving back to his desk and sitting down, pointing at Ned “we’re having the damn tournament!” he snapped and Ned sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance as he glanced at Karliah, seeing her shrug subtly, what the hell was she supposed to do? Convince Robert? Good luck with that to anyone. “Your Grace-”

“We’re alone, Ned, you don’t have to ‘Your Grace’ me every time I take a shit” Robert grumbled, he had never really been one to censor himself, especially not in front of Lyanna’s younger sister. Robert loved the Lyanna in dresses with braided hair and a soft smile on her lips, but he also knew of the feisty side she had, the side that put on men’s armour and picked up a sword, she would have driven him mad with her stubbornness, the thought bringing a soft smile to Karliah’s lips. “Well, if the tournament is inevitable, then-”

“You’re not participating” Robert and Ned snapped at the same time, a scoff leaving Karliah’s lips as she pouted and downed her wine in annoyance “where’s my nieces?” she asked with an annoyed pout, Ned sighing heavily in frustration. “Arya’s with her dancing master-”

“Her what?” she asked with shock, Ned sighing and looking down, the poor man had aged five years already just by being here. “Her dancing master. Sansa’s with her Septa, stitching” Ned informed and Karliah raised a questioning brow before slowly nodding, eyes narrowed at him before putting the empty wine goblet on Robert’s desk and nodding to herself “dancing master… right” she mumbled with confusion before walking out of the room, walking over to a Stark guard who bowed his head upon seeing her “take me to Arya” she ordered with a soft voice, the guard bowing his head before turning and leading her to her youngest niece, knocking once on the door before opening it for her, bowing his head as he let her inside and closed the door behind her. Karliah couldn’t help but laugh as she saw the wooden swords, of course, of course it wasn’t real dancing. “Aunt Karliah!!” Arya dropped her wooden sword and rushed over to Karliah, hugging her tightly as she hugged her back with a big grin “I thought you’d gone mad when I heard you had a dancing master! Now I understand better” Karliah said with a chuckle as she parted from Arya, looking at her supposed teacher, smiling at him as he bowed theatrically “Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos” he introduced and Karliah smirked lightly as she walked down the steps towards him. “First Sword? I’ve heard of those… I know my brother wouldn’t have hired you if you were a slouch with a weapon” Karliah stated with a soft smirk before curtseying, bowing her head. “Karliah Stark” she introduced and he hummed with a grin “ah, the Lady Wolf, the… ‘Wild Wolf’. Little Arya has told me a lot about you, about your skill with a sword” he noted and Karliah looked at Arya with a light glare “well, she wasn’t supposed to know about that” Karliah muttered as Arya blushed and looked down shyly. “I saw you training with Jon and Robb…” Arya admitted and Karliah nodded and hummed, looking back at Syrio “well it’s been a while” she admitted, taking a step back to turn to Arya who picked up her wooden sword and rushed over to Karliah, giving it to her.

“You have to see her fight, Syrio! She’s really good!” Arya exclaimed and Karliah blushed wildly, eyes wide as she chuckled nervously “Arya, there’s a big difference between Westeros and Braavos, the fighting styles are very different” Karliah informed, looking at Syrio as he spoke up “ahh, so you know as well? Not many from Westeros know of the water dancing” Syrio said with a light shrug and Karliah smirked slightly “my sister and I were quite the feisty ones, we loved to train and learn new styles to fight” she admitted and Syrio smirked before getting ready to fight, getting in the proper stance and Karliah chuckled lightly, gently ushering Arya out of the way, chuckling as she practically jumped half a mile back, eager to see everything unfold.

“I’m afraid I’ve never danced a water dance, Master Syrio” Karliah admitted and Syrio nodded “you will learn” he stated before walking around her, prompting her to turn her feet to walk around with him, eyes locked on his instead of his wooden sword. “See how her eyes are watching mine, Arya? That is where the true intent of your opponent will show” Syrio commented with a smirk and Karliah just knew that Arya was watching with wide eyes, completely focused on the scene in front of her. As Syrio charged elegantly, Karliah jumped aside, moving a long step back and away from him as she didn’t have a clear cut with her wooden sword, a smirk on her lips as she chuckled lightly. “See? Elegant as a cat, smooth for a wolf, no?” he half asked and Karliah chuckled lightly again, dodging another attack only this time her ‘sword’ touched his sword arm, a stunned look on his face as she grinned at him, gesturing to his ‘wounded’ arm with her own wooden sword “are you really a First Sword of Braavos?” she asked teasingly, Syrio smirking as he chuckled and switched the sword over to his other arm, gesturing to her with the wooden sword as they both walked around each other, his ‘wounded’ arm behind his back. “Elegance is key, Arya, see the way her feet move? Quiet as the night, swift as a cat, you can barely hear her move at all. Except for her mouth, that is certainly not quiet” Syrio teased and Karliah chuckled lightly, shaking her head softly at him as she continued to watch him with caution, nothing really happening except the two of them circling each other, but it was more to teach Arya as well. “See her grip? Delicate yet strong. Who trained you, Lady Stark?” Syrio asked just before charging at her, barely missing her with his sword as she ducked out of the way, stumbling a bit before regaining her footing and blocking another one of his attacks with her sword, stepping back as she did. “My brothers and my sister. My brothers taught my sister and I, despite our father’s worry, when they realised we’d just learn it ourselves if they wouldn’t teach us” she stated with a light tone before charging at him, their wooden swords clashing as she advanced while he stepped back, only to swiftly move around her, forcing her to quickly turn so she wouldn’t have her back to him. 

“Ah ah ah, see? She lost her focus” Syrio noted and Karliah shrugged lightly “yes, talking about my sister is… a lot” she admitted before bringing her head back into the fight. “I understand. Arya, you see her feet again? Watch them as I advance” he ordered and did as he said, advancing, and Karliah let him push her back as their swords clashed, the sound of wood beating against wood filling the room as Arya eagerly absorbed everything she could. As the door to the room opened both Syrio and Arya turned to see who had entered, a smirk tugging at Karliah’s lips as she bent down, kicked Syrio’s legs out from under him and pointed her sword at his throat with a smirk “dead” she stated softly before lowered her sword and helping him up, finally turning to see who had entered, seeing Ned look at her with a small smirk, Karliah’s cheeks flushed as she panted lightly, clearing her throat as she gave the wooden sword back to Arya. “Been a while” she admitted and Ned chuckled lightly, shaking his head softly as she cleared her throat again and smiled at Arya “he’s a good teacher” Karliah noted and gestured to Syrio with a smirk “though he could use another arm” she jested about the ‘cut’ she had given him earlier on his best sword arm, a chuckle leaving his lips as he looked down with a small smile “it is good for the First Sword of Braavos to be humbled, every now and then” Syrio stated with a light shrug and Karliah chuckled “just let me know and I’ll be there” she joked as she walked out of the room, patting Ned’s shoulder as she turned to the Stark guard who had led her to Arya. “Take me to Sansa” she ordered and just as before he bowed his head, turned on his heel and led her towards her oldest niece.

[aristocratic-otter]

It's not quite Wednesday anymore, but gosh darn it, I'm still awake, and I have words, so I'm going to post something.

Thank you, @basiltonbutliketheherb, @awholelemon, @palimpsessed, @fatalfangirl, @technetiumai, @artsyunderstudy, @ileadacharmedlife, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @ivelovedhimthroughworse for the tags. I've greatly enjoyed finding out what you've been up to. Tag backsies for Sunday!

Excerpts under the cut:

Three of my WIPs either have nothing recently interesting or are currently a smut scene in progress. Here's bits of the other three.

From Westward Son

I watch as, one by one, each rider and wagon encounter the drop off that I found, and flounder for a bit before moving on. But when Penelope finds it, I see in an instant that things are about to go wrong.

One wagon wheel falls into the drop before the other, and that’s what spawns the disaster. Tilting unevenly, the wagon leans sideways and the swift current manages to catch on the canvas cover and pull it further over. When the entire wagon falls over sideways, all of the oxen are yanked off of their feet and dragged after it, as is Penny’s horse, tied on behind the wagon. 

Penny disappears under the water without even a yelp of surprise.

From The White Chapel (nearly done!)

I’m almost on top of the mural when I see it. I’ve passed this painting a thousand times; A trio of dancing figures dressed in Roman chitons. An ancient image brightened up with electric blues and pinks and yellows. A modern artist’s rendering of muses. 

Muses!

I look closer. Now that I know muses are real, details of the painting jump out at me. The faces are so real, even if softened and turned into a fantasy by artistic licence. There’s two gorgeous girls: one African, one Asian. And between them…

His face is as lovely as I remember it. His bronze curls are haloed in gold and he’s wearing the same outfit I remember from the day we met. He looks radiant, like his sisters. But also, he looks sad. When I look closer, I see faint lines in the dust on his face. Like tear tracks. 

I’ve looked at this mural at least a hundred times. I’ve  always paused to admire the art when I passed this way. I honestly can’t believe I didn’t recognise Simon from it when he first (literally) ran into me. 

I recognise him now. And those tear tracks were not there before. 

I run my hand down the curve of his jaw. In a wild flight of fancy, I imagine the concrete softens under my hand. It almost seems like Simon is smiling at me through his tears. 

I shake my head. This is impossible. I skate away from the wall, but then I can’t help it. I turn back and stare at it again. It is impossible. But Simon himself was impossible. And yet he was more real than anything else in my life. 

I skate further back, giving myself more distance. Am I really doing this? 

I am. When I’m across the street from the mural, I turn to face it. Then I skate forward, pushing the muscles in my legs to go faster, faster, faster. The wall comes at me like a speeding truck. At the very last moment before impact, I throw my arms up to protect my face and close my eyes. 

I hit the wall and pass right through it. 

From Saving Simon Snow

I’m still fretting over Snow’s ability to convince people that not only is he gay, but he’s in love with me, when I sit down in the padded leather chair across the desk from my father’s. 

“May I speak plainly?” I ask, courteously. Courtesy, manners, breeding…all that bollocks. It’s a dance, a dance I’m proficient in. But Simon’s brutish ways have infected me. I find myself wanting to roll my eyes at the necessities of small talk, of high society manoeuvring. 

Still, no need to alienate my father from the start. What I have to tell him will do that work on its own. 

Malcolm Pitch nods. His face is bland and smooth, but I see a spark of curiosity in his eyes. He has no idea why I’d be approaching him. We don’t do this. We don’t seek each other out. We don’t talk—plainly or otherwise. But today, I’ve got no choice. I need him to save Simon. I need him to save us. 

“I’ve done something that I know you’ll disapprove of, and I’m sorry. But I need your help. I’m frightened.”

No hint of that emotion shows on my countenance. Even saying it is too much of a concession to hysterical emotionality, in my father's eyes. 

His brows drop and his lips purse. The closest he’ll get to showing worry. 

“What is it you’ve done, Basilton? Whatever it is, I’m sure something can be done.” I’m pretty sure he’d say the same if I’d exsanguinated the maid. Family loyalty means everything in the Grimm and Pitch clans. 

I smile, wryly. He doesn’t know I’m gambling my life on his willingness to help. “I…fell in love, father. With someone you wouldn’t approve of.”

Tags for Sunday and hello, how are yous to @annabellelux, @bazzybelle, @bookish-bogwitch, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @erzbethluna, @frjsti, @fight-surrender, @facewithoutheart, @foolofabookwyrm-activated, @giishu, @gekkoinapeartree, @hushed-chorus, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @johnwgrey, @jbrrring, @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists, @krisrix, @larkral, @letraspal, @messofthejess, @moodandmist, @nightimedreamersghost, @onepintobean, @prettylightsbigcity, @raenestee, @theearlgreymage, @whogaveyoupermission, @whatevertheweather

[setaripendragon]

Cress - Part 4

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 And back to Hob's PoV after a little timeskip. This one was fun to write, because Cress is finally old enough to start being really dynamic as a character. It's 1989, and we all know what that means.

The large black convertible pulls up outside the White Horse on the seventh of July, and for a moment, Hob just sits there, wondering what today will bring. Whether his friend shows up or not, things aren’t going to be the same, and he’s not sure which he’s most afraid of. If his friend is there then he might want to take Cressida away, but if he isn’t then that would mean that eight years haven’t been enough to sort out whatever trouble necessitated sending Cressida away in the first place.

“Dad?”

Hob glances over at the girl in the passenger seat and can’t help but smile a little. He is desperately fond of her, even with the way she’s staring back at him with her eyebrows up near her hairline like she isn’t just as nervous as he is. “Sorry, Princess, just screwing my courage to the sticking place. Come on,” he says, opening the car door and ignoring the way Cressida rolls her eyes at him.

He could swear that sort of attitude isn’t supposed to start until she’s a teenager.

Cressida scrambles out and around the car to join him, shrugging into her favourite backpack as she comes; the spider-shaped one that she fell in love with as a toddler, despite how creepy Hob’s always found the thing. When she reaches him, Hob hooks an arm around her shoulders and tugs her into a sideways hug, ruffling her hair just because he can. She leans into it, tipping her head back to grin up at him. “He’s gonna be there, Dad,” she says, firmly enough that she’s clearly willing it to be true rather than actually believing it.

“I sure hope so,” Hob agrees ruefully.

For a moment Cressida looks scared, and Hob feels like an absolute heel. Then she sets her jaw – an expression Hob recognises from his own face in the mirror and always gives him heartache to see on hers – and she charges forwards, dragging Hob into the pub by the hand.

Hob buys an ale for himself and a coke for Cressida, and guides her over to a table in view of the door with a hand on her back. Cressida picks the seat with the perfect view of the door, leaving Hob to sit at an angle with his back to the bar. It’s not like matters, really. If his friend comes, he’ll find them whether Hob is looking for him or not.

Then he settles in to wait.

Cressida spends perhaps a minute kicking her feet and sipping her drink before the restlessness gets her and she swings her backpack off to fetch her sketchbook and her pencil case. Hob sighs through a smile, because he knows the table is going to be absolutely covered in paper and crayons in about fifteen minutes. Sure enough, as the afternoon wears on, the chaos inherent to creativity spreads inexorably across the table, no matter how Hob tries to corral it. He does at least manage to keep the completed pictures away from the scattering of felt tips that might leak on them if left unattended.

She doesn’t spend the whole afternoon drawing; that would be asking too much of even the most patient and focused of kids. A couple of times Hob notices her getting fidgety and tells her to go run it off. So she pelts off through the pub and out into the courtyard to run around like a wild thing, using the unoccupied picnic tables out there as a make-shift jungle gym. Hob half expects that to be the moment his friend turns up, just to make for the most drama, but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t show up when they’re eating dinner, either.

Nor afterwards.

Perhaps an hour or so after they’ve eaten, the barkeep leans over the bar to get his attention. “The kid can’t be in here after eight,” he tells Hob regretfully. “Licensing regulations, you see.”

Cressida’s eyes go huge and wounded, and Hob runs a hand over his face. “Right, okay, we’ll… Is it alright if we sit outside?” he checks.

“Sure,” the barkeep says, although he looks a little dubious.

“Thanks,” Hob says, then taps a finger on some of the drifts of paper Cressida has produced. “Pack it up, Princess,” he instructs. Then he pushes to his feet and goes to lean on the bar to converse a little more easily. “We’re waiting for someone,” he explains, jerking his head at Cressida to add; “her birth dad.”

The barkeep gives him a commiserating look. “If he’s this late…” he trails off with a grimace and a glance over Hob’s shoulder, very clearly not wanting to voice his conclusion in front of Cressida.

“Yeah,” Hob agrees heavily, and only then does he actually let himself think it; his friend isn’t coming. Maybe can’t come. His stomach flips over and he has to swallow the acid worry back down into it where it belongs.

“Dad?” Cressida calls, appearing under his elbow even though the table is still partially covered. She looks worried – uncertain – and Hob hates it.

“We’ll wait until it gets all the way dark,” he assures her. It doesn’t get rid of the worry on her face, so he searches about for something more substantial to say. “Then we’ll…” he trails off uselessly, because he doesn’t know what else they can do. Wracking his brains only seems to be bringing up static, genuine fear for the future swallowing him like it hasn’t since the second world war. The barkeep catches his gaze, looking more pitying by the moment, and Hob pulls himself together. He can at least put up a front. “…see if we can’t get in touch with him. To, uh, reschedule,” he hedges. After all, Cressida already knows how impossible getting in touch with his friend is.

“If you do, you’re probably going to have to pick a different venue,” the barkeep warns them.

Hob turns back to stare at him with another surge of alarm flaring to life in his gut. “Why’s that?” Cressida asks before he can.

The barkeep gives her an apologetic smile. “We’re being shut down. Council’s condemned the building, says it’s not safe enough, and the costs to fix it up properly… It’s just too much. She’s an old, old lady, this pub.”

“Six hundred years,” Hob agrees, feeling a little like he’s just been told an old friend of his is dying; shocky and shrouded in a distant hurt.

“Nearly seven hundred,” the barkeep corrects grimly. “Of course, that’s exactly why it’s falling down around our ears now.”

“But it can’t be shut down!” Cressida protests, voice going high in her own alarm, and she starts tugging on Hob’s sleeve in a gesture she’s eschewed as too childish for the last couple of years. It’s as endearing as it is heartbreaking. “This is yours and Dad’s pub, you said. It’s where you met and everything! It can’t die!”

“We’ll get in touch with the council,” Hob assures her, his own resolve solidifying as he tries to comfort her. “See what we can do.”

“Okay,” Cressida agrees, subdued even as she hangs more of her weight off his arm.

“Artie’s looking hungry,” Hob tells her, deliberately light and playful, “you better go finish feeding him.” He gives her a gentle nudge with his elbow to punctuate his point. Cressida groans at him, but obligingly scampers back to the table to finish packing her things away.

“If you let me know who I’m looking for, I’ll point him outside if he turns up,” the barkeep offers.

“Thanks,” Hob says. “He’s a tall, skinny guy; pale; all dressed in black. Always wears this ruby pendant,” he explains, gesturing at his own chest. The barkeep nods and repeats his promise, and then Cressida is back at his side again and they head outside to wait some more.

Cressida sits still for a record-breaking two minutes before she begins to fidget this time. “Dad…” she says slowly. Hob hums to show she has his attention. “What if he’s not coming?” she asks in a whisper so quiet he can barely hear her.

He blows out a breath, then folds his hands together and leans his elbows onto the picnic-table they’ve chosen. “I reckon,” he begins, picking his words with care, “if your dad’s not here, it’s probably because he can’t be, for some reason.” After all, he’s already agreed that they’re friends, so there’s no reason to avoid Hob out of pride, and if he’s avoiding Cressida… Hob doesn’t want to believe he’d skip out on their once in a century meeting just to avoid his own daughter.

Hob really doesn’t want to believe that this is it. That taking Cressida in is what he’s been for all along, and now that he’s done it, it’s over; the meetings, the immortality, all of it. That, maybe, being Cressida’s father is the last life he’ll ever live.

It wouldn’t be a bad last run at life, not by a long shot, but… Well.

He still wants to live.

He still desperately wants another hundred years, and another hundred after that. They’ve put men on the moon, for God’s sake! He wants to be there to see it when it’s Mars next, and then Pluto, and then who knows where. He thought the world couldn’t get any bigger after the Age of Sail started winding down, but there’s still a whole universe to see, and if it took four centuries to map just one planet, how much longer will it take to map the whole universe. Hob wants to be there to see the edges of that map filled in. And to find out what new map they’ll only just barely be discovering.

Be what’s going to happen to him if he can’t tell his stranger – his friend – that?

“Then we should find him and- and help with whatever’s keeping him. Right?” Cressida checks, as stubborn and determined as Hob’s ever been.

He’s so proud of her he could burst, and it brings a helpless smile to his face that he can’t chase away for anything, not even worry for his friend, or fear for his own life. “Right,” he agrees firmly, only to falter a moment later. “Only, Princess, I don’t even have a name to go off. He never even told me what he is, nevermind who.”

Cressida subsides, frowning down at the table in deep and serious thought. Hob joins her, trying to work out where to start. He has a description, he supposes, like he gave the barkeep, but what good would spreading that about do? There are a lot of gothic twinks in London, nevermind the rest of the world.

“Didn’t you say that lady found you that one time?” Cressida asks suddenly, startling Hob out of his own thoughts.

He gives his brain a moment to change gears, and then, as he realises Cressida is right, his eyes widen and his heart speeds up. “Lady Constantine, yeah. That was 1789,” he recalls.

“Well, how’d she do it?”

“She had a drawing – a bad drawing, mind – and she knew where we were going to be,” he added, knocking a fist on the wood of the table pointedly. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin showing a picture around, even if I had one.”

Cressida huffs and sinks into a sulk, but Hob’s mind is churning away now. “But he knew her,” he remembers, voice gone a little distant as he loses himself in the memory. “In 1889, he said he’d gone back to get her to do some work for him.”

“So?” Cressida grumps.

Hob beams at her, a little sheepish for having killed her enthusiasm like that, but too pleased with this lead she’s handed him to actually feel bad. “I know it’s not much, but it’s a connection, isn’t it? Maybe he told her something he never told me, or maybe she figured it out for herself?” he suggests hopefully.

“Dad, she’s got to be, like, a hundred and fifty years dead by now,” Cressida reminds him, like she thinks his immortality has made him stupid.

Hob gives her a look that he’s sure is far too soft to make any real dent in her sass. “Maybe she wrote it down, maybe she told her kids, maybe… I don’t know.” Hob spreads his hands in a helpless invitation for her to see all the answers he doesn’t have. “It’s better than all the nothing we had before, right, Princess?”

Cressida sighs, but then nods. “Yeah, guess so.”

Hob reaches out and ruffles her hair, winning a reluctant smile out of her. “Don’t look so glum, genius. It was good work to think of Lady Constantine; I’d be lost without you, and you know it.” That makes the smile widen into a grin.

“Yeah, whatever, Dad,” she huffs without any real heat; playing it cool in the face of her embarrassment over the compliment. “Okay, let’s go find out what happened to this Constantine person.”

[xiaojunsmintchoco]

dream big, jump high - liu yangyang (teaser)

pairing: Yangyang x fem reader

genre: fluff, romance, strangers to lovers, equestrian au

synopsis: competition season is anything but exciting for you, a showjumper who just can't seem to clear a round properly. It’s disheartening to watch the other riders make clean rounds, while you’re still making faults here and there in every round you take. Just as you’re about to lose hope, you run into a stranger at the stable – another struggling showjumper in the same boat as you. Both of you decide to do your best to help each other achieve your riding dreams – and perhaps get even more out of it than any of you bargained for. 

cw: mentions of food, tbc

teaser wc: 1.2k

taglist: @bangchan-fairy

a/n: guys i know i've been releasing many teasers and no real fic - but be patient! i have many wips underway, i'll release them all asap, i promise! also this fic is part of an upcoming collection that's in progress now, do check it out here if you can!

“Alright c’mon Blaze, let’s clear this round”. The wind is delightfully cool against your skin, whipping through the strands of hair falling out of your riding helmet as you give your horse a gentle kick, guiding her past the first jump. She sails over it with ease, clearing the first jump as you cheer inwardly, tapping her lightly with your riding boot to cue her over the second jump, which she clears as well.

Yes! Maybe we can clear this course after all! You think to yourself as Blaze clears jump after jump. The tiniest bit of confidence shows up in your heart as you approach the last couple of jumps, praying that you’ll clear the round and that the earful from your coach would be avoided. She takes the jump as you nudge her again, but this time, she misses the crossrail by a hair’s breadth, narrowly avoiding a fault. Your heart seems to skip a beat as she lands and gallops on towards the last jump, and hope with all of your strength that you’ll both miraculously clear the round.

“Clang!” The bit of hope you once had vanishes into thin air as Blaze’s hind legs come into contact with the top of the crossrails, and both of them come clattering to the ground. Disappointment fills you as you make your way to the riding coach, and you tug on the reins gently to signal Blaze to halt. Ms Kim stands in front of you, shaking her head, clearly unimpressed.

“Y/n. How is it that we’ve practised showjumping with these crossrails so many times, but you can’t even clear a round?” Ms Kim lectures, eyeing you and your horse disapprovingly. 

“I…I’m sorry Ms Kim, I’ll practise more and clear the round next time,” you apologise meekly, stroking Blaze’s nose. 

“You say that every lesson, yet I see no improvements,” Ms Kim sighs. “If you can’t even clear these jumps, how do you expect yourself to be able to clear higher ones? If you don’t improve, there’s no chance of you being able to participate in competitions at all,” she adds.  Behind her, the other riders snigger and whisper among themselves, a few pointing mocking fingers at you. Ms Kim shoots one last disapproving glance at you and Blaze, before turning to address the whole class. “Class is over for today. Y/n, I better see improvement from you and Blaze next lesson”.

“Let’s go, Blaze,” you say, dismounting the saddle and leading her back, head hung dejectedly as you walk back to the stable. As you close her stall door, she seems to sense your disappointment, and neighs softly, ears pointed to the side. You recognised that as “airplane ears”, a sign that she was feeling down.

“No, it’s not your fault,” you comfort your horse, running your hand through her mane and stroking her nose. “I know that you’re still learning. Maybe we just need more time. We’ll practice extra hard together and prove Ms Kim wrong, okay?” you add, holding up your fist in encouragement, to which Blaze responds with a happier whinny. “Good girl,” you say, pulling a carrot out of your pocket to feed to her. “You worked hard today, you deserve a treat”.

Blaze gives a higher-pitched whinny of excitement, practically tearing the carrot out of your hand. “Woah! Easy girl,” you chuckle, patting her as she munches on the carrot. 

The sensation of one of your carrots sliding out of the back pocket of your jodhpurs startles you. Whipping around, you come face to face with one of the cutest horses you’d ever laid eyes on. Its paint coat of black, brown and tan markings shines as the afternoon sun reflects off it. Its eyes resemble black marbles, round, dark, and sparkling with intelligence. Smiling, you decide to address the equine carrot thief. “Why hello there,” you croon, bending down to pat its head. “Aren’t you adorable? Who do you belong to?”

The paint horse looks up with the whole carrot in its mouth, a cheeky glint in its eye as it chows down on the orange-coloured vegetable, leaving you chuckling at its silly antics. 

“Nutmeg!” a shout from behind you makes you jump out of your skin. From behind, a boy dressed in a navy polo shirt and beige jodhpurs comes dashing over. In a few seconds, he’s beside the paint horse, its reins in his hand.

The horse turns to regard the boy, half the carrot still hanging out of its mouth. The boy facepalms, before giving a loud sigh. "Nutmeg, did you just steal treats from someone else?" he asks disapprovingly, already knowing the answer to his rhetorical question. In response, the horse nickers before gobbling down the rest of the carrot. The boy sighs, picking up the horse's reins, and turns to you. "Sorry about that. She can be quite mischievous," he apologises, bowing slightly while brushing the dark brown bangs that fell out of his helmet aside. 

"It's alright! I understand. Blaze here has stolen a few treats from people before," you reassure him, giving him a friendly smile as you recall the number of apologies you'd had to make on behalf of your horse for stolen carrots, apples, raisins, sugar cubes and a plethora of other horse goodies. "Your horse is really cute, by the way," you add, patting Nutmeg again.

"Thank you," he says, his pearly whites showing as he returns your smile. "Yours is really gorgeous!" he says, complimenting your horse's gleaming chestnut coat, complete with a white blaze running down her face and one white foot.

Blaze nickers, as if having understood the compliment. "Does she like apples? I'd like to give her a treat too," he offers, pulling out a bright red apple. 

"Yes, they're her favourite, along with carrots!" you answer.

"Then this is for her," he says, happily feeding Blaze the apple. "I'm Yangyang, by the way," he continues, introducing himself. "What's your name?"

"I'm y/n," you answer, turning to lean on the stall door. "Who's your teacher?" you ask, genuinely curious.

"Mr Ng," he answers, stroking Blaze on her head. "He's teaching me showjumping. You?"

"I'm under Ms Kim, learning showjumping too," you say, while sighing heavily as you think of the lecture she'd given you earlier. "I'm not really any good at it, though," you add somewhat despondently.

To your surprise, Yangyang grunts sympathetically. "Don't worry. I'm not an excellent showjumper either," he chuckles, attempting to comfort you. "I'm sure we'll get better if we practice, though!" he adds with more cheer.

"That's right," you respond, a smile having made its way back onto your face. Though the boy was merely a stranger – somehow, his words seemed to lift your spirits greatly and bring you much-needed encouragement.

Just then, another male voice sounds from afar, calling Yangyang's name. Turning, you see a man by a showjumping course, waving and gesturing at Yangyang. "I have to go. Coach is calling," Yangyang says, turning around to lead Nutmeg back. "It was nice meeting you, though".

You nod, agreeing wholeheartedly. "It was nice meeting you too!"

[lovetorn]

Life Was A Willow [Part 1]

Witch Hunter!Dream x Witch!Fem!Reader

Part 2 Part 3

Summary: it's always been hunters vs. witches, right?

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings for part 1: violence, swearing

A/N: AHHHH !! It's finally here !! i'm going to be posting this in parts, originally 2, but looking at it now, it may even possibly be 3 parts. i've been working on this for months and i'm extremely happy with it !! i hope you guys love it as much as i do !!

The leaves of the willow tree rustle loudly whilst Y/n kneels in front of the raspberry bush. With each piece of the fruit, her fingertips are stained with a deep magenta as she plucks them off of the branches. Bark and twigs dig into her knees sharply when she reaches forward to grasp one last raspberry, but before she has the chance to pick it, the sound of horse hooves galloping on the dirt startle her.

“Ma’am! Are you alright?” A deep voice calls. Y/n sighs, standing from her spot on the ground before she turns around.

Five men on tan horses surround her. Her heart skips a beat when she recognises their uniforms. Witch hunters. With the nod of her head, Y/n smiles. “I’m doing just fine, gentlemen! Thank you for your concern.”

Although, she doesn’t recognise any of their faces—especially the man in a mask. The girl tilts her head at the sight of it; hardly any hunters wear a mask. But, what confuses her more is the taunting smile drawn lazily across the white ceramic. “Are you sure? There’s a whole lot of danger in these parts, sweetheart!”

Y/n almost rolls her eyes but stops before they catch onto her. “I promise, I’m completely fine.” She wishes she could see the expression of the man in the mask.

None of the hunters reply before they kick the sides of their horses and ride off in the opposite direction they came. Panic sets in as Y/n drops her basket of berries and sets off into a sprint, her skirts catching under her feet.

Being this far from home with hunters close-by is risky, Y/n knows this. But the raspberry bush had just ripened and she promised Wilbur she would bake him a raspberry cheesecake in return for repairing her wand.

Her lungs burn as she pushes open the small wooden gate that surrounds the house.

“Niki!” Y/n yells, her voice cracking slightly in fear. Her friend spins around from her spot in the garden. “Y/n! Take a look at the rose—“

Y/n only shakes her head, turning back in panic. “Hunters.”

“Quickly then, get inside, we must inform Wilbur.”

The pair rush into the cottage, Niki’s rose bush and Y/n’s basket of berries left behind.

The back door slams against the wall, only to be shut and locked as soon as it was opened. Wilbur stands from his spot at the dining table with a puzzled expression.

“How many?” Wilbur runs a hand over his face.

“A whole army. The King’s been busy; there’s a lot of new faces.”

The man sighs deeply. He turns to face Niki, who sits on the kitchen stool with a look of fear on her face. Y/n swallows and peers out of the small window. She sees a flash of white and the sound of an arrow cutting the air. “They’re here. They’ve followed me.”

—

Niki is the first to exit the house, her hands out in front of her. She clenches her jaw as she feels tingles through her muscles, her eyes shaped like crescent moons. The sound of branches cracking and leaves crunching makes her throw her hand to her right, which earns a distant cry as a hunter is thrown backwards.

Wilbur hurries around the house in search of his staff while Y/n whispers angrily at him to hurry up. The man lets out a quiet squeal when he spots it leaning against the living room wall and faces Y/n. He exhales, nodding once to tell her to go out the back door.

Y/n moves silently whilst passing windows and eventually through the door. Her eyes dart in every direction as she steps onto the dirt beneath her. The only sound is the snapping of bows and faint cries from the front of the house.

“Witch!” A voice calls. Y/n lifts her hands up, flecks of glitter-like sparkles falling from her fingertips. “We come to you on behalf of the King; he wishes to discuss potential alliances with you.”

Y/n struggles to distinguish where the voice comes from before there’s a hand on her back and she’s being pushed to the ground. She scowls and turns to face the person behind her; a man with a white bandana tied around his head.

Y/n jumps up instantly, moving her finger in a circular motion until the man’s feet begin to lift off the ground.

“Hey, hey! No!” He yells, scrambling to grasp the sword attached to his back. Y/n raises an eyebrow as she gets a closer look at the weapon.

“A diamond sword? Huh? Did Technoblade give you that?”

The man visibly stills, his hands fumbling the sword as he brings it up beside his face. “Yeah, what about it?”

Y/n shakes her head, a sad smile on her cheeks. “Nothing, Techno’s an old friend of mine. Tell me, is he well?”

The squeal of an arrow stops the man from answering her question. Y/n steps back when the sharp object swizzles past her head. “That wasn’t very nice.”

She chooses to pay no attention to the other hunter, who hides behind a tree and instead focuses on the one in front of her.

“Are you new?” Y/n asks calmly.

The man nods before Y/n lowers him back onto his feet. “Name. Now. That’s not a question but a demand.”

“Sapnap.”

Y/n squints at him. “Odd.”

“Y/n! We need help!” Wilbur calls from the opposite side of the house. Y/n sighs and places her hands back to her sides. The man with the diamond sword narrows his eyes at her, jerking his neck to the side to stretch it.

Y/n sighs in annoyance and sweeps him to the side, the roots from Niki’s rose bushes wrapping tightly around his body; not enough to hurt him, but to keep him immobile.

Y/n goes to step in the direction of the front of the house but is stopped by the man in the mask. A bow and quiver sit on his back and Y/n glances at them, planning on destroying them. “Don’t even think about it.”

Y/n is taken aback by the man’s forwardness and watches as he draws a dagger from his boot. Y/n raises her hands again, her eyes turning to slits as she awaits the man’s next moves.

As anticipated, he lunges forward, the knife tightly held in his fist. Y/n swiftly dodges, her hands moving majestically around to form a divet in the ground for him to fall into. However, she is quickly mistaken when he spins on his heel and steps over the growing hole.

“Nice tactic,” The man teases. “But not good enough.” Y/n is annoyed that she can’t see his face—she'd love to see what it’d look like after this.

Y/n rolls her eyes, a bored look on her face. She sighs deeply and steps into a fighting stance. She notices the man doing the same.

“Nice footwork,” Y/n says, stomping one foot into the earth before it starts to vibrate. “But not good enough.”

The man’s face falls and pales behind his mask as vines come to conceal his feet. Y/n smirks as he falls onto the dirt with a thump. The man lays with his back against the ground and his arms outstretched as Y/n stands above him.

She smiles at him—her grin is more genuine than usual, which is odd considering the circumstances—and leans down and places her mouth near his ear. “You know, you did pretty well for being a new hunter.”

The man scoffs then laughs in response. “Thanks.”

—

A hunter draws his sword, one made out of netherite, and Wilbur’s eyes grow in shock. “How did you get that?”

The man smirks and lifts the weapon high into the air. He brings it down towards Wilbur, who quickly matches the hunter’s strength with his staff. The two objects clash against one another and white light begins to seep through the lines in the staff.

Wilbur inhales sharply at the sight and pushes the man away with all his might. His staff starts to vibrate and soon the wood cracks in various places.

“Wil, move!” Y/n comes from behind him, her hands out wide as she lifts the hunter into the air and towards a tree. His body slams against the bark, making pieces fall onto the grass before branches weave around the man, enclosing him in a cocoon.

“Thanks,” Wilbur smiles, although it falters when he notices his staff becoming weak. “But I think it’s the end for this guy.”

Y/n frowns, her fingers caressing the cracked wood. “We can’t repair this. You must go to Quackity, he’ll be able to fix it.”

“I can’t fix this.”

Y/n’s jaw goes slack before she stands from the long table. “Alex! Why not?”

Quackity stifles a sly laugh as he rounds the table, picking up the broken staff on the way past. “It’s beyond repair. You see, when netherite and magical objects mix, the netherite completely destroys any magic within it. Therefore making it impossible to fix.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, “We know that already, Sherlock, which is why we brought it to you thinking you could help us. But you clearly can’t, so we’ll be on our way.”

Quackity’s eyes widen and he drops the stick onto the table once more. “No! I–I can fix it, just give me a few days.”

Y/n raises an eyebrow, suspicious of his sudden enthusiasm. She slams the staff onto the table from Quackity’s hands and looks him in the eye. “No fucking around, okay, Alex? You fix this staff or there will be consequences. Got it?”

The man looks around his cave in search of something. Y/n squints as she watches him duck under rocks and dodge around cauldrons.

“Karl? Have you got any wands?” He calls down a hallway. Y/n and Wilbur meet gazes, his eyes moving towards the staff before Quackity returns in a hurry.

“Well, I haven’t got a wand to cast a promising spell, but if you come back in 2 days, I’ll guarantee this staff will be good as new and back in business,” He smiles, snatching the wood from the table. “Free of charge, just for you.”

Wilbur nods hesitantly, glancing at Y/n before he stands. “Okay. See you then, I guess.”

Quackity grins. He slowly shifts his weight to his other foot as he waits for them to leave. But Y/n isn’t finished.

“If you trick us, Alex. I swear to god I will take that little hat if yours and shove it right—”

The younger man shakes his head, “There will be no need! I’d never trick you! I just want to help my friends.”

Wilbur winces on the word ‘friends’ and ducks his head as he exits the cave. “See you!” Quackity says before Y/n follows in suit.

“Karlos, we’ve got work to do!”

“Down this way!”

Dream’s eyes drift towards the small cottage he and the hunters were at yesterday. Sapnap rolls his neck and groans in pain. “You’d think they’d wait a few days before going out again.”

Dream ignores his friend’s complaints as the group nears the house. The tidy garden and ivy that intertwined along the roof are torn and disrupted, and Dream feels slightly guilty looking at the damage they did. But, upon arrival, the house is empty.

“It’s been abandoned!” A brunette hunter yells in confusion. Dream twists his lips and narrows his eyes at a faint snap a few feet away. The silence is deafening as he realises everyone else heard it too. “Don’t move. We’ve been ambushed.”

The men look up towards the trees above them; the canopy appears darker than usual. Suddenly, a hunter behind Dream yelps, and as he turns around to see what happened, the man is gone. This causes a collective gasp amongst the group, fear coursing through their veins.

“Hello, boys!” A voice calls from the trees. The hunters whip their head around, trying to decipher which direction it came from and readies their swords. However, Dream remains calm. He only raises his eyebrow at the sound of the voice continuing. “Lovely seeing you here.”

Another yell echoes through the group and another and another until only Dream and Sapnap remain.

“Hey, Snapmap. Can I call you that? Or is that only reserved for your friends?”

The younger boy furrows his eyebrows as his eyes lay on Y/n, floating down from the trees. Dream watches the same girl he fought yesterday, fling Sapnap’s sword away with the swish of her fingers. The pair tilt their heads at the action and remain quiet when Y/n begins laughing. “Calm down, you’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dream feels someone behind him and then he turns around and swings his sword in one movement. He’s met with a slightly taller man, who immediately forces his sword backwards and onto the dirt.

Dream’s eyes widen before he brings his fists up. “This isn’t a fair fight.”

Wilbur struggles to contain his giggle as he meets Y/n’s gaze. “You want to take this one?”

Y/n nods and lifts her hands to drag Dream across the forest floor towards her. Dream is startled as he regains his balance. “Nice seeing you again, mask boy.”

“Can’t say I feel the same, witch,” Y/n smirks at his serious tone before she shoots her hand to the side to gather a sword from one of the hunters who sits tied to the branches above them.

“Get your sword, it’ll be a fair fight.”

Dream bends down to pick up his netherite sword, its purple aura intimidating to the iron one Y/n holds. “No magic.”

Y/n rolls her eyes. “Got it.”

And with the sound of metal scraping against metal, the fight begins.

Y/n steps back as Dream moves forwards. He bounces on the balls of his feet and adjusts his grip on the sword before he lunges forward. Y/n is quick to sidestep the sharp edge before she retaliates with her own movement. The pair continue barely missing each other, the interaction being a friendly fight rather than a deadly one. Y/n shifts her weight to her back foot as she watches Dream’s sword swing between them.

“What’s your name, anyway? I know Sapnap’s, so what’s yours?” Y/n asks, out of breath slightly. Dream squints as he dodges her swing at his abdomen. “Dream.”

“Well, Dream, you’re good with a sword. I’m Y/n, by the way.” Y/n mumbles, and what she doesn’t see is Dream’s cocky smile. She doesn’t question his odd name like she did with Sapnap yesterday, and it makes his stomach turn.

The pair stop for a second, staring at each other before Dream’s blade cuts the air and barely misses Y/n’s shoulder. The girl gasps at the closeness and scolds him.

In Dream’s moment of victory, and distraction, Y/n thrusts forwards, her sword coming to a halt at Dream’s throat. “I win. Again.”

Dream gulps. The feeling of the sharp point so prominent on his skin scares him. But, the soft look in Y/n’s eye tells him she’s not going to kill him. And as she begins to lower her sword, Dream’s foot sweeps under hers, causing her to tumble forward. There’s a dull thud of bodies hitting the dirt, and Y/n knows exactly where she is.

“I—Uh,” Dream mumbles, his hands hovering over Y/n’s hips as she lays on top of him.

“Thanks for that.” She murmurs. Dream hums and tries to help her maneuver off of him. The pair eventually stand and avoid eye contact, despite keeping it for close to 8 minutes straight previously.

“Get a room!” Sapnap yells from the tree. There’s a small grumble of laughter from the other hunters and Y/n shakes her head.

“How do you plan on getting down, Snapmap?” The youngest boy’s expression turns sour. Dream tilts his head back to observe the other hunters and laughs lightly—his throaty chuckle making Y/n look at him.

“Well, have fun!” Y/n calls as she slips away, but not before she bids Dream goodbye.

The hunters trudge through the castle gates with defeated expressions and their outfits muddy. The group share collective groans of pain as they walk the grounds, their muscles aching.

“What was all that between you and that witch?” Sapnap asks Dream whilst they enter the Hunters Wing of the castle. Dream shrugs and strips himself of his jacket, hanging it on the peg on the wall next to them.

The Hunters Wing of the castle is a large area with corridors of bedrooms and even more rooms for dining, training, cooking, reading, and more. The training room, however, is the largest out of all of them. Its high ceilings and concrete pillars make for a great place for target practice, surprise attack run-throughs, and performing hand-to-hand combat.

Dream spends most of his time here; Sapnap pokes fun at him for his constant preparation for new opportunities, but their other best friend, and the Prince, George, just applauds him for his determination—which eventually makes Sapnap agree.

“Nothing, and her name’s Y/n.” Dream’s lack of answer causes Sapnap to sigh loudly as he sits on the bench to untie his boots.

“Bullshit.” He exasperates. “There was definitely something there and you know it. But you better get over it, it's forbidden.”

Dream rolls his eyes and shrugs one shoulder. “Not forbidden, just frowned upon.”

Sapnap drops his shoes onto the cobblestone ground abruptly, groaning at his best friend before he stands and walks towards his bedroom. “You are such a—”

“Sapnap!” A new voice startles the boy, and Dream grins as soon as he recognises it.

“Georgie, don’t scare me like that, you idiot,” Sapnap whines, jogging over to the Prince to lightly punch his shoulder.

“Please, if that scared you then I’d consider you a—” Another light punch to his shoulder stops George from continuing.

“No swearing, Gogy,” Dream snickers as he walks towards the pair, heaving his duffle bag he collected from the cubby hole. He reaches his hand down to George’s cheek before pinching it. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your image.”

George shrugs both of the boys off of him with a scowl. “Get off of me, the both of you.”

Sapnap only giggles at George’s attempt at swatting their hands away, his own hand coming up to cover his smile. Dream places his bag on the floor, smirking, before letting out a soft laugh.

“Anyways, Dream had a moment with one of the witches today.”

George’s eyebrows raise as he turns to look at Dream, who rolls his eyes at the topic again. “Is she pretty?”

Dream goes to reply, yes, and she can fight really, really well, but Sapnap is quick to shut down his chance.

“George, it’s forbidden, why don’t you disapprove of this?” Sapnap’s brows furrow as he throws his hands around. Dream crosses his arms over his chest, irritated that he’s brought it up again, and now to the Prince.

The eldest shrugs. “I find magic more interesting and worth learning about, than dangerous. It would be so cool to have powers like that, don't you think?”

Sapnap groans again. “Ugh! You guys are so weird. Talk to me when you come to your senses about how it's destroying our world rather than helping it.” And ignoring Dream and George’s calls, he stalks to his room, leaving the pair in the training room.

“He’ll come around.” The Prince mumbles.

However, Dream doesn't say anything, picks up his duffle bag from the floor and takes off in the opposite direction, leaving George alone.

“Pricks.”

Y/n sits on the rocking chair on the patio of the cottage, a spellbook in her lap and a mug of lavender tea in her hand. The wind picks up slightly, making the leaves rustle and the trees sway around her. The chair rocks softly and the creaks of the house comfort her—especially in a time when everything is unknown.

As she goes to bring the cup to her lips, Y/n is startled by an object flying at her. She throws her opposite hand up to stop it before it hits her, the force causing the rocking chair to tilt backwards.

Y/n feels a sharp edge on her palm and her heart skips a beat. As she moves her hand away, she notices that the object is, in fact, not a dagger, but an envelope. She exhales loudly and feels her heart rate slow down from its once rapid beating.

Y/n examines the letter as it floats in front of her face and then grasps it in her fingers. The envelope is crisp and white and is closed with a red wax seal. The signature can only mean one thing: the Castle.

Opening the letter, there is a single white card with black calligraphy: Y/n, wait for the signal and I’ll meet you after dark, at the abandoned cottage that is East of the castle. We can talk then. –C

The witch furrows her eyebrows. C? Who is C?

She chooses against notifying Wilbur and Niki about the letter, and instead, slots it into her spellbook and takes a sip of her tea.

But, Y/n notices a return address on the card before she tucks it away, and flicks her hand back over her shoulder to summon a pen and paper. The pen stills in front of the card, waiting for Y/n to instruct it on what to write.

“Dear, C,” Y/n starts, she ponders for a moment before continuing. “I’ll be waiting for the signal, I hope it’s grand.”

Puckering her lips, Y/n swirls her finger around to fold the letter up and sends it back inside to package it.

The envelope, now sealed with periwinkle wax, flies out of the floor and then up into the sky and out of sight. Y/n sighs, mindlessly fiddling with the corner of the card she received.

Ok, she’ll meet them after dark. Whoever they are.

[ihatecoconut]

Jake. pt2

CW - implied/referenced child abuse, canonical character death

The thing is, he can’t protect Marc from everything, and after Steven comes along Marc begins to recognise the feeling of someone else pushing to the front, that slightly odd pressure on the inside of their head and he resists any of Jake’s attempts to take over whenever their mother comes in.

He takes over in the aftermath, however, when Marc is too tired to resist him, and he finds the bruise cream, the Band-Aids, the painkillers that he’s technically too young to take. Maybe, maybe, if Marc doesn’t feel the effects so much, he won’t remember how bad it was.

Sometimes, he looks in the mirror and sees Randall’s face.

At night, the ones when Marc actually sleeps, he slips out of their bed – no longer the warm and comforting place it once was – and into their back yard. He wasn’t strong enough before to protect them, knew the moves but didn’t have the muscle, so he builds that muscle up. Press ups. Sit ups. Throwing punches, first into empty air and then at tree trunks. Running and running and running. Stretches. Jumps. Until he can mimic fight scenes from his favourite movies, until he can lift and move the kitchen table without straining.

He will protect them.

They send Marc back to school – send all three of them, now – about three weeks after what his teachers tactfully refer to as ‘the incident’. Never in front of him, he hears them, sees it in the way they pause conversations when he approaches. No one in school comments on his sudden love of long-sleeved, high-collared shirts or the fact that he comes in every few days without lunch.

Jake wants to hurt them. He wants to take them by the front of their perfectly creased blouses and scream in their faces, ask why they don’t care about him. Why doesn’t anyone want to help? Marc cries about it sometimes, late at night, thinking of the way he had been dizzy with hunger in the afternoon, or the bruise that had poked out from his sleeve, and the way that the teachers brushed over it. Ignored him.

Still, school was better than being at home. At least people left him alone at school.

Or, they mostly did. Two days into being back, a girl approaches the corner of the playground that Marc (or maybe Jake) had claimed for their own. They can see everyone else and watch her walk up with no small amount of trepidation.

“I heard about your brother.” She says, and Jake pushes Marc back, away.

“Everyone has.” He replies.

She shrugs and sits down next to him. “My mom died last year.”

Everyone knew about that as well. A battle with a terrible illness. Marc’s mom had sobbed at her funeral.

“It’s not really the same thing.” Jake tells her, moving away obviously enough that she gets the hint.

Her face, previously open and hopeful, twists up into something angry and hurt. “Well, you don’t have to be rude about it.” And then she’s gone.

Marc blinks at the empty space she was standing in and then looks around until he finds her. She’s gone back to her skipping game. Wasn’t she just in front of him? No. That’s impossible, people don’t teleport, he must have imagined it.

Rain starts falling and he shudders, feeling the bone-deep coldness he had felt dragging Randall out of the cave.

It’s Jake that picks them up when the teachers start yelling and bring them inside.

It’s amazing how quickly time seems to fly by. Almost immediately a year has passed and Jake walks them back to the cave.

Steven is kept down, unaware. He didn’t even know Randall existed and Jake is happy to let Marc keep it that way. Some days he wishes that he was Steven, he was the one Marc created to give them a normal life, not the one who carries the weight of the truth. But there is no point wishing, it doesn’t change a thing.

Like Marc’s dad says, “If wishes were horses...” Jake can never remember the second part of that phrase. Something about gifts and mouths maybe.

He keeps Marc down as well, asleep through the entire day. He doesn’t need that pain; Jake is the one who takes the pain.

It’s been boarded over, very poorly, and the wood used is already rotting. If Jake pulled at it, he could probably climb in and find the rock that Randall’s blood surely must still be staining. He doesn’t. It’s a death sentence in there, even if it isn’t really the thing that killed Randall.

“Your fault!” Wendy’s voice screamed, echoing in his head. Marc was having nightmare. Or maybe that was just his own memories haunting him, the way that he had failed them.

Someone coughs behind him and he whirls around. It’s the neck tattoo again that makes his heart jump in his chest. The same man. Boy, really – now that it isn’t raining, now that his mind isn’t clouded with fear, he can see him for who he truly is. Probably no older than twenty, probably got the tattoo while he was still underage, the ink is blurred slightly into the lines of his skin and noticeably faded.

Jake wants to laugh.

“You a coward, huh?” The boy says, approaching him slowly, cracking his knuckles. “I ain’t had the police on my doorstep, so you ain’t told them the truth.”

Jake doesn’t back away. The boy has a heavy Chicago accent, unusual in the area they live, and not something he remembers from their previous interaction, even if there wasn’t much talking.

His own Chicago-heavy voice sticks in his throat, the syllables refusing to form.

“I’m you.” He whispers. “I’m just... you.”

“Speak up,” the boy mocks, “Marc Spector.”

Jake tenses. Of course, the boy knows his name, their family was in all the local newspapers after the tragic ‘accident’. It doesn’t make Marc’s name any easier to deal with, spilling out of that mouth.

“What do you want?” He demands.

The boy shrugs. “Just to let you know, I know you’re a coward.” He pauses, a careful smile spreading across his face. “I know everything about you.”

Marc comes to, nearly a block away from his house, with bruised knuckles, a sore nose, and no memory of anything after getting into bed the previous night.

Steven.

It had to be Steven. He was so clumsy as well, probably tripped and hurt himself.

He sneaks in the backdoor and borrows the Band-Aids from the kitchen, sticking one across his nose horizontally and one on the small cut on his wrist. Steven would assume that his mother did it. She loves him, after all.

“Do you even know what the date is?” His mom screams from somewhere else in the house. Probably at his dad, but it makes him feel that he has forgotten something. Marc reaches for the calendar on his desk.

Jake frowns at it, the innocuous, unmarked date, and shoves the calendar under a stack of books that must belong to Steven, just because of the subject material. Marc doesn’t need to remember, doesn’t need that pain.

He’d take as much pain from Marc as he could, even killing someone in his place. The boy with the neck tattoo flashes up in his memory, the shocked face once he realises Jake could actually fight back. He would kill him if Marc needed it.

[mxnsterbabe]

Ravi x Reader

Male Tiefling/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 5,435 Commissions | Masterlist

You’re hired as a babysitter for a strange man who never shows his face, and yet you can’t help but fall for him anyway.

Standing on your toes in order to reach the top shelf, you stretched out an arm to try and grab the much needed bowls for dinner. Who put their dishes on the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard? The pasta was ready and you had two kids shouting at you from the living room, demanding food now, but it seemed the world was against you.

"Two minutes!" you called, finally grabbing the bowls with a sigh of relief. Sometimes you wondered why you ever wanted to go into childcare, especially in times like these when the kids in question were clambering all over the place shouting at you as if you were their slave. Shooting a scowl into the living room, you began plating up their dinner.

"I'm hungry!" the youngest shouted - she was a cute little half orc with bright green hair, which unfortunately also meant she had the appetite of a horse. "We always eat at six! You're late." She stuck her head through the door, arms folded as she stomped her foot. At eight years old she was already the height of the average teenager, which made for an impressive - and somewhat intimidating - stature as she glared.

"Caly, would you please give me a minute to dish up?" These two were exhausting, and you'd barely sat down since you arrived at two-thirty that afternoon. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you used your free hand to shoo her back into the living room. "Wash your hands! You too, Gaed."

The two scurried off, their thundering footsteps travelling upstairs to the bathroom, and you finally had a moment of peace. If it wasn't for the excellent pay, you'd never have accepted these two wild girls into your service. Sighing, you grabbed their bowls and placed them on the dining room table. Your own joined a moment later, and you were glad to finally sit down and eat something-

Your phone buzzed then, making you jump and nearly swipe the bowl from the table. Wincing, you reached into your pocket to check caller ID - unknown number. Well, that wasn't so unusual. With a shrug, you answered. "Hi there. Can I don't recognise the number; I ask who this is?"

"My name's Ravi," a rich, deep voice answered, "I heard you have a babysitting service?"

You perked up at those words, a smile spreading across your lips. He had a sweet voice, if a little rough, and four years in this business had allowed you to develop an excellent judgement of people. He seemed like a sweetheart. Hopefully his children were the same. "Yes," you replied brightly, "I do. I can come to you on weekends depending on availability, and on weekdays I offer childminding at my own house after school."

The man - Ravi - hummed under his breath. He seemed nervous, his voice jittery as he said, "I need care for my daughter on Friday nights, but I can't have her visiting other houses. If that's a problem I can find somebody else?"

Fridays you usually hosted five or more of the local kids - your neighbours twin boys and a group of young rowdy gnolls who's mother you'd gone to school with. Still, if it was late enough perhaps you could drive over once the children all left, given he lived close enough. "What time?" you eventually asked, "I could work something out."

Just then, Caly and Gaed took their time to come charging in, shouting and laughing as they all but launched themselves into their seats. They began to eat, ignoring you, as they chatted loudly.

You could have asked them to quiet down, but that was a pointless endeavor. Swiping your own dinner, you slipped into the kitchen for privacy. And quiet, even if you could still hear them with the door closed. "Sorry about that," you mumbled, "these two have been giving me the run around. So, what time would you need me?"

Even through the firmly closed door, the kids' laughter continued to filter through. At least now it wasn't so terribly loud, more of a muffled buzz.

"Seven o'clock," Ravi replied softly. His voice was so deep it made you shiver, but there was something else there, too. He spoke thickly, with a heavy lisp, as if there was something in his mouth. It was oddly endearing."Just for a few hours. I have... an appointment every week at the same time."

Appointment? Well, that was certainly vague - but it was none of your business anyway. You took a bite of pasta as you mulled it over, fingers tapping on the kitchen counter. The meal was too salty for your liking, but orcs had a different taste palette to humans and you had made it for them. Swallowing, you said, "sure. Most of the children are gone by half-six, when their parents come home from work, so seven should be just fine. I can come over to meet your daughter sometime before, and I can show you my credentials-"

"No," he replied - too quickly. Then he cleared his throat, letting out a soft sigh. "I mean, that won't be necessary. Advika is a good kid, she won't cause you any trouble. I got your information from a friend, so I trust you to be good to her."

All right... this was getting weird. Yet you'd known plenty of parents who were unconventional, so you shoved the unease from your mind. Shifting to the other foot, you shoved another forkful of pasta in your mouth. It was getting kind of cold, but whatever. You hadn't eaten all day. Swallowing, you asked, "so, this Friday?"

"This Friday," he confirmed.

Just then there was a shriek from the other room, followed by a roar of laughter. Something clattered to the ground and oh, you just knew one of them had tossed their food onto the carpet. "Sorry, I have to go - can you text me the details? I'll save your number to my phone."

"Of course," Ravi rumbled, and you detected a smile in his voice. He sounded orc, maybe, with that deep baritone and slight lisp. 

You might have dwelled on it for longer if Gaed hadn't started hollering your name. "Thanks," you replied, praying you didn't sound like you were rushing him, "I'll see you later, Ravi." 

No sooner had the phone clicked off when Gaed threw open the kitchen door, pasta sauce all down her dress. It had been a pretty pale pink, now stained bright red. "Caly did it!" she howled, "Caly ruined my dress and now Dad's gonna be so mad!"

Fantastic. Luckily for you, you had plenty of experience in hiding stains from angry parents. Striding across the kitchen, you took her hands and led her into the hall. "Some vinegar and a wash, it'll be fine," you soothed, "let's get you a change of clothes."

The rest of the evening played out much the same, with you running after the two terrors while wishing for a break. You didn't even see the text until you were safely in your car in the family's driveway, desperate to get home.

My address is 120 Sunview Lane. I'll be back home by ten o'clock, money will be left on the kitchen table. Thanks again :)

You couldn't help but grin at the little smiley face, feeling your insides warm. Any uneasiness you felt had vanished the second you read his message, leaving you only with pleasant delight for Friday.

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

One-twenty Sunview Lane was a cute little house nestled in a nice neighbourhood, complete with an apple tree out front and a perfect picket fence circling the garden. The cobbled pathway was painted a lovely pastel blue, the stairs leading to the front door a matching shade of pale purple. It looked like something out of a fairytale, cute in an idyllic sort of way, and you had to double check to make sure you had the right house.

Well, it was nearly seven o'clock and you were right on time, so there was no point in hanging around. You had parked in the street not far away, but as you pushed open the gate you noticed there was no car in the driveway. It was perfectly reasonable that Ravi just didn't drive, but it struck you as odd. Pushing the thoughts from your mind, you rang the doorbell and waited.

Footsteps scurried, and there was the rustle of keys as someone inside rushed to greet you. Then the door swung open, revealing not an adult man but a short, stout tiefling girl with a mass of dark hair and bright red eyes. When she grinned, you saw a forked tongue peek from between her teeth. Cute!

"You must be Advika," you offered with a smile, "it's nice to meet you. Could I say hi to your dad real quick?"

Her brows furrowed, head tilted up to look at you. She couldn't have been more than six, with round cheeks and chubby wrists. Her skin was a greyish pink that contrasted nicely with her purple dress. "Well," she mumbled, "Daddy's really nice and he wanted to meet you, but... he already left."

You blinked stupidly, brows raised. He... left. What if you'd been running late? What if someone else showed up and Advika had blindly let them inside? Frowning, you peered into the hall - it was nicely decorated with teal wallpaper and a thick, fluffy carpet - there was a space on the shoe rack as if a pair had recently been taken, and a spare hook on the coat rack. 

As if sensing your discomfort, Advika pouted. "Daddy doesn't see other people much. He didn't want to scare you!"

Oh. You felt yourself deflate, guilt swelling in your stomach. If this little one was a tiefling, it made sense that at least one of her parents were too. While nobody made a big deal of it like they might have in decades past, the more... unique looking ones still got hassle for their appearance. Biting down on your lip, you winced. "Right. Well, for what it's worth I'm sure he's very nice. Not scary at all. Can I come in?"

Advika darted aside to let you in - and you noticed then that she had a tail. It peeked out from underneath her dress, swishing excitedly in the air as you stepped past. There was a round puff of dark chocolate brown fur right at the end. "My bed time is at half-past nine, but Daddy won't be home until ten and I won't tell if you won't," she chimed in the cutest voice, "we can play board games and watch TV, and Daddy said this once I can have any snacks I like."

You were still mid way through kicking off your shoes when she looked up at you, her wide eyes bright and sparkling. She was so cute it almost hurt, not to mention how wonderfully refreshing it was to have a kid who actually knew how to hold a conversation. "WellI don't know about bed time," you replied, tucking your shoes away on the rack, "but why don't you pick a snack, and I'll check out the board games?" 

"Okay!" She beamed, showing delicately pointed teeth, before zipping off into the kitchen.

Luckily, Ravi had given you the run down earlier that day - that both of them could help themselves to the snack drawer as long as Advika didn't have too much sugar before bed, and that yes, she would absolutely try and negotiate bed time. You weren't to let her win that argument.

You wandered into the living room while Advika picked her snack. It was small and cosy, with a real wood burning fire and a collection of photographs on the mantlepiece. Walking over, you hoped to catch a glimpse of the elusive Ravi - but the only photos were ones of Advika. There was one of her sitting on the front steps outside their home, one of her as a toddler knee deep in a puddle, one of a gigantic oak tree, Advika already climbing to the first branch.

"Icecream!" Advika announced as she strode into the room. She held two spoons and an enormous tub of chocolate chip vanilla half the size of her, a broad grin on her face. "I like mint better, but it's all finished. Did you pick a game?"

Ah, the games. You'd forgotten, actually, but they were all piled up by the coffee table so you plopped down on the floor to take a look. "Well, which one is your favourite?"

"I like connect four, but Daddy always wins." She pouted, flopping down beside you to shove the icercream into your arms. "Could you open this please? My hands are too cold."

"I could put it into bowls?"

"It's more fun to eat it from the tub!"

Rolling your eyes, you fought back a smile and popped the lid off. The icecream hadn't been touched yet, but you had the feeling there wouldn't be much left by tonight. Setting it between you, you pulled out Connect Four from the pile. "Your dad never lets you win?" you asked with a laugh, "if you're good all evening, maybe I'll let you win a few times."

Advika's laugh was infectious as she reached for the icecream, her eyes glittering. Compared to some of the kids you'd looked after, she was a dream come true, an absolute sweetheart. She dug into the dessert with fervour, but was nice enough to hand a spoon to you, too. And although you weren't convinced of the hygiene of sharing icecream with a kid, her eager expression was just too cute to turn down.

That's how you two passed the time, munching on icecream and playing board games - until Advika's eyelids grew heavy and she became too tired to concentrate. Eventually the games were put away and she settled on toe sofa to watch cartoons, and you ducked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. 

By the time you returned, she was out cold, and you didn't have the heart to move her. Grabbing a blanket from one of the fireside armchairs, you gentle laid it over her sleeping form and tucked her in as best you could. Maybe Ravi would be annoyed that she didn't go to bed, but she looked peaceful enough.

It was five to ten when your phone buzzed - you had turned the TV down low to watch the late night news, and the buzz of your phone was loud in the silence. Advika didn't seem to notice, and so you slipped into the hall to answer.

"It's Ravi. I'm on my way home now. Thank you so much for looking after Advika. I hope she wasn't any trouble?"

"None at all," you replied fondly, "I've never seen a kid love board game so much, though."

His laugh was deep and gruff, but somehow gentle, too. It sent an unexpected shiver along your spine. "She gets it from her grandfather. Listen, I'm about five minutes away, and I know this is an odd request but would you mind leaving before I get here? It's fine to leave the door unlocked if Advika's already asleep."

You thought of what Advika had told you earlier - about Ravi being afraid of scaring you. It was nonsense, because you'd worked for all sorts of people - humans, orcs, moths. Even a drider, once or twice. Still, you wanted to respect his boundaries. Hesitantly, you agreed. "Sure. I could wait in the car until I see you pull into the drive?"

There was a soft sigh, filled with relief, and you pictured the tension easing from him. Although you had no face to match his voice, you imagined someone huge and broad, yet gentle. "Thank you," he murmured after a while, "not all of the past babysitters have been so understanding."

"I try my best," you replied gently, "Advika fell asleep on the sofa. Am I all right to leave her?"

His laugh was deep, muffled perhaps by a hand or sleeve. "She does it all the time. I'll carry her to bed when I get home. I'm just turning into the street now - thanks again for being so good about this. I know it's weird."

"Not weird at all," you answered, "I'll wait in the car. Bye, Ravi."

He sighed again, almost wistful. "Goodbye."

Smiling faintly, you put your phone in your jeans pocket. When you peeked into the living room, Advika was still sound asleep, not clutching a cushion between her chubby arms. You would have liked to say goodbye, but you weren't about to wake her up to do so. Instead you slipped back into the hall to get your shoes, slipping them on before reaching for the door keys. As advised, you left the door unlocked and darted across the road to hop into your car.

Less than a minute later you saw a silver four by four pull into the driveway of one-twenty Sunview Lane. Ravi cut the engine, but you couldn't catch a glimpse of him through the blacked out windows.

You rested a hand on the horn, giving a quick, single beep to let him know you were leaving. A second later you realised the neighbours wouldn't thank you, but Ravi was already beeping back in thanks.

A part of you wanted to wait, to see what he looked like as he climbed from the car - yet you'd promised you wouldn't intrude. It was his choice, even if it send disappointment swelling inside of you, and he deserved more trust than that. So, with one last lingering look toward the darkened car, you backed out onto the road and rolled off down the street.

The journey home was only ten minutes, but it seemed to drag on forever. Even turning on the radio couldn't distract you - your mind kept drifting back to Ravi, to his scratchy voice, to the deep rumble of his nervous laughter. God, you wanted to see him in real life, to see what it was he so desperately wanted to hide.

Maybe, if you built up his trust for long enough, he would let you see.

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

You saw Advika every week after that, although you'd never caught sight of Ravi once. He was always gone when you arrived, and messaged you on his way back so you could slip into the car and wait across the street. It was a strange arrangement, but one you fell into naturally over time. 

Tonight, Advika had chosen Monopoly - frankly you'd never heard of six year olds enjoying the game so much, but she delved in with a dazzling grin and childish giggles.

Half an hour in, and you were realising how good she was. "How many times have you played this?" you questioned with a smirk.

She shrugged, reaching for the dice. They skittered across the board, landing on a four and a three respectively. She had chosen the top hat, and moved it across the board with a look of concentration. "I played it every day for a month once. Dad got so fed up." she sat back on her heels, reaching for the apple juice you'd poured for her earlier.

The two of you sat on the floor, the Monopoly set up on the large coffee table with you on either side. Advika was propped up on cushions to reach the board, but you were happy to sit with your knees folded beneath you. Honestly, the carpet was fluffy enough that it was just as comfy as a cushion, anyway. Adjusting your position, you rolled the dice. "I passed go. Two hundred, please."

Advika handed you the fake money, her nose crinkling. "We won't be able to finish before Daddy gets home. Maybe you could come over on Sunday and we could all play together?"

You paused, hand still hovering above the board. "I don't know about that, honey. I still haven't technically even met him." You'd spoken to him over the phone plenty of times, sometimes with updates and sometimes just as an excuse to say hi. The richness of his voice always got to you, and you'd imagined what he might look like plenty of times, but you had never so much as seen a photograph.

Avdika frowned. Setting down her juice box, she fixed you with a wide-eyed stared. "Daddy likes you. None of the others have stayed long, and none are as nice as you!"

Despite yourself, you flushed. "Thank you," came your mumbled reply, "but I don't want to make him uncomfortable." Nudging the dice towards her, you turned your gaze away.

"Last night, he told me he wants to meet you! But on Fridays he has to go to the hospital after work and he said he doesn't want to keep you up... I said he should just ask you out on a date instead!"

That was it - you were positively crimson now, whole face on fire. Did he really like you that much? You'd only ever spoken about Advika and your work, purely professional. Yet if his voice alone was enough to make you melt, was it possible he felt the same? Something else occurred to you though, and you asked, "hospital? Is he all right?"

Advika, it seemed, had forgotten about the game. She watched you carefully, somewhere between eager and concerned. "He's fine. He can't speak good so he has to get ther- therap-"

"Therapy?"

"Yeah! Therapy. To help with his voice."

Well, that explained a lot. You enjoyed his voice, the uniqueness of it, but you had noticed the thick lisp that left some words difficult to understand. "Well, there's nothing wrong with that," you answered, "it's admirable that he's doing something about it."

Advika nodded, still watching you with those enormous eyes. "I only have little teeth - but Daddy has these big tusks, like an orc's, and they're so big they get in the way sometimes. I think they're cool, though." She nodded, seeming satisfied with her little speech. "He wanted to shave them down, but I wouldn't let him."

You stifled a snort. Imagining this tiny sprite telling her father what to do was just adorable, wasn't it? "I'm sure his tusks are very cool," you replied honestly, "In fact, I-"

Your phone buzzed - skidding across the wooden coffee table as it did so. You grabbed it before it could knock over the Monopoly game, eyes scanning the screen. "It's your dad."

"Tell him hi!"

Rolling your eyes, you answered with, "hi Ravi. Everything good?"

He let out a sigh, and even that sounded lovely. "I had to go back for my keys, so I'm running late. I'm sorry but... would you mind staying a bit longer?"

You had nowhere to be tomorrow - and besides, you weren't going to leave Advika alone. "I can stay as long as you need, don't rush back on my account."

You heard his relief through the phone, felt his sigh reverberate through you. "Thank you, really. Advika will worry if I'm too late, so please let her stay up so she can see me arrive."

"Will do," you replied softly, "see you soon." The words left you automatically - but of course, you hadn't seen him once.

Even so, he let out a rasping laugh and said, "yeah, see you."

As you set the phone back down, Advika turned to you with a frown. "Is he gonna be late?"

"Afraid so sweetie. He left his house keys and had to drive back for them."

Even as she scowled, a smile curved at her lips. "Silly Daddy!"

"He said you could stay up late tonight, so you know he'll get home safe."

Her small smile turned into a grin, and she reached out with chubby arms to stretch wide. "Does that mean we can watch TV together?"

"If you want to."

She wasted no time in clambering onto the sofa, curling herself into the thick blanket that had become a staple in the last few weeks. It wasn't cold, per se, but it was a drafty old house and the blanket was comforting. Patting the seat beside her, Advika ushered you over. "Can we watch a movie?"

"I don't think we can finish a whole one in time-"

"Please?"

It was impossible to say no to such a cute face, and you gave in. Flopping down beside her, you curled the edge of the blanket around your feet. 

Advika ended up choosing an animated movie you didn't recognise, based around a group of fae and human children going off in some wild adventure. It was only twenty minutes in when Advika began to yawn, snuggling down into the sofa cushions. 

Honestly, you were beginning to drop off too. The movie droned on in the background while you scrolled aimlessly through social media, but even that didn't hold your attention for long. Eyelids growing heavy, you felt your mind drift, snuggling down into the blanket thrown across you.

Minutes later you were drifting off, phone dangling dangerously from one hand. You woke with a start, eyes snapping wide as noise reached your ears. Footsteps in the hallway, the soft creak of the front door as it was quietly shut. "Hello?" you called, "Ravi?"

The footsteps stilled. "I sent you a text," he rumbled, "but you never replied. I worried."

Oh. His voice made you shiver, and you realised with a jolt that this was the first time you'd ever heard it in person. It was even richer than you imagined, his lisp less pronounced when it wasn't battling with the crackle of bad phone signal. Shaking the last of the sleep from your mind, you gently slipped from the sofa. "I guess I fell asleep waiting. Sorry," you murmured - Avdika was still sound asleep, you hated to wake her by accident. Padding across the thick carpet, you nudged the door open with your shoulder.

"Just a minute!" Ravi cut in before you could enter the hall. There was an edge of panic in his voice - you heard him shuffle back from the door, as if he was considering bolting toward the stairs.

Pausing with one hand on the door handle, you wanted to peek through. The door wasn't completely closed, after all - but you held back the urge. "You can duck into another room while I leave," you offered, hating how it made your heart sink. He trusted you with his own daughter, but not enough to see his face? 

There was a beat of silence, broken only the rustle of blankets as Advika rolled over in her sleep. You wished she was awake - Advika was so sweet, and she would know how to break this impossible tension between you and Ravi. Yet she slept on, oblivious.

Shifting from one foot to the other, you let out a sigh. "It's all right, you know. I know not everyone is kind to tieflings, but if you trust me with Advika's safety, you should be able to trust me with yours." 

A muffled sigh, the shifting of feet on carpet. Even those delicate movements sounded heavy - heavier even than you'd expect from an orc. Just how huge was he?

"Never mind," you muttered, disappointment settling heavily in  your gut, "I'll just go-"

"No, please." Ravi paused, and you heard the faintest sigh - one that brought a smile to your face. "I'm sorry I've been so awkward, putting all of these strange rules in place. We've had previous babysitters, but none of them stayed long once they... once they saw me. I thought, maybe, I could avoid all of that if I just didn't show myself."

Guilt swelled, and you winced. Ouch. This wasn't about you, that much was obvious - he was just trying to do good by his daughter. You supposed if you had a long history of people acting like assholes because of your appearance, you wouldn't be eager to show yourself to strangers, either. You were leaning against the wall now, trying not to look at him through the tiny crack in the door. "I can't speak for everyone, but I can speak for myself. I'm not going to be scared off."

A hulking shadow fell across the door as Ravi stepped forward. You couldn't see anything except for a flash of inky black hair. Or maybe it was fur? "All right," he said quietly, "just come through slowly."

Wait, was he serious? You hadn't expected him to give in so easily - but, maybe he had wanted to all along, and he only needed that little push. It sent warmth spreading through you, a smile creeping onto your features. "You don't have to."

"I want to."

Chest fluttering, you bit back the laugh that rose in your throat. "All right." Slowly, your chest skittering against your ribs, you eased the living room door open and stepped into the hall.

The first thing that hit you was the sheer size of him. Ravi had tall, jagged horns that were inches away from brushing the ceiling, his pitch black hair framing a broad, square face. That same hair didn't just grow from his head but travelled down his back, almost like fur, and there was more of that same fluff dusting his thick arms. His skin was a dark grey, lacking the pink tone of Advika's, but you saw the resemblance in his crimson eyes and the forked tongue that flickered nervously. That was where the resemblance stopped, however, because Ravi had four enormous tusks jutting from his lower lip, the biggest set poking into his cheeks. He wore a pale blue shirt that clung to his beefy torso, and it was such a contrast from his dark, intimidating appearance that you almost wanted to laugh.

He shifted under your gaze, eyes darting to the ground. "I did warn you," he huffed, "I'm not nice to look at."

"No," you mused quietly, "nice doesn't even begin to cover it. You're gorgeous." You hadn't meant to say it out loud, the words had slipped from you without thought - yet when you saw his features brighten in disbelief, his grey skin turning a flushed pink, you couldn't find it in you to be embarrassed.

"You... think so?"

Humming under your breath, you let the living room door close behind you. In a rare stroke of confidence you reached out, taking one enormous, paw-like hand in both of yours. He didn't have much hair - fur? - here, but his ski was surprisingly smooth and covered in a downy layer of softness. His nails looked lethal, more like talons, but you thought it was kind of cool. "Thank you for trusting me," you murmured, "I know it took a lot of courage."

He snorted softly, and his pointed ears twitched in response. "Advika's mother always said I needed to have more trust in people. Her persistence was one of the reasons we didn't last, but maybe she was right?"

Warmth flooded you, and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Ravi towered above you by almost two feet, his wide shoulders taking up half the hallway, but you found yourself drawn by his timid nature. "Her mother, is she..?"

"Tiefling," he replied, "although we looked nothing alike. Advika takes after her, thankfully."

Thankfully. That hit you hard, and you fought back a wince. "If it means anything, I think she takes after you in all the ways that matter."

His expression softened - and even with those enormous tusks crammed into his mouth, his smile was the loveliest thing you'd ever seen. Ducking his head, Ravi let out a deep laugh that warmed your heart, his eyes shifting to meet yours. "You're the strangest woman I've ever met."

"If being into you makes me strange, I'll take it."

He watched you for a long moment, his eyes dark and thoughtful. You let go of his hand, feeling your cheeks flush under his gaze - but before you could move away he wrapped one thick arm around your waist and pulled you into an embrace. He was so tall you barely reached his chest, face pressed into his shirt, but it was warm and gentle and oh, you'd wanted this for a long time.

You could have pulled away, then. Left the hug just as it was - something innocent and sweet. Yet as Ravi tilted back to look at you, you couldn't help yourself. Tugging at his shirt, you stretched up to meet him half way, and crushed your lips to his.

Cold tusks met your skin but you didn't care, even as they grated against your teeth. Ravi tasted of cheap hospital coffee and sugar, his breath gently puffing against your face as he let out a surprised huff - then he relaxed against you, his huge arms easing you closer until your bodies left no room in between.

Your eyes slipped closed as his body enveloped your own. You could have gotten lost in the feel of him, in his warmth, could have stayed in his arms forever if he let you. You kissed him slowly, tenderly, one hand trailing to tangle in his hair while the other cupped the side of his angular cheeks. 

Ravi's eyes were gentle as you finally pulled away. Head tilted, he nuzzled into the palm of your hand, bright eyes shining. "I didn't see that coming, but I'm not complaining." His words were slurred, his lips more prominent than usual. It was endearing, really.

"Me neither," you mumbled, "it was kind of an impulse." Smiling, you brushed a thumb across his cheek. You had to stand on your toes to reach his face, and even then Ravi had to bend down, but you managed to brush another gentle kiss to the corner of his lips. He relaxed under your touch, whole body going slack, and you never wanted to move from this spot.

A gasp snapped you to your senses - you craned your neck to see Advika standing in the doorway, a beaming grin spread across her round face. Her eyes positively sparkled. "Daddy! Were you kissing her?"

You felt Ravi curl around you, saw him flush a deep crimson. "...maybe. How do you feel about that?"

Advika rolled her eyes. "You shouldn't kiss before the first date. Everybody knows that!" She paused then, tapping her chin. "Are you gonna go on a date?"

Laughter burst from between your lips, and you muffled it by jamming a sleeve across your mouth. "We haven't exactly discussed that yet, sweetie."

"Well, Daddy's free on Saturday and he likes fancy restaurants, so maybe you could go to one then."

You and Ravi shared a look, humour glittering in his eyes. "Well, how does Saturday at seven sound?" you asked him, hand drifting to take his. Really, you couldn't get enough of how soft his fur was. "I've heard good things about Aphrodite's in town?"

A bright grin creased the corner of his eyes as he swooped down to plant a kiss to your forehead. "I think that sounds great."

Unable to stop yourself, you reached up to plant a kiss directly on his full lips, body pressed flush with his. It still felt so surreal, to be looking at Ravi. Holding him. It was wonderful.

When you pulled away, Advika's features twisted into a look of mock disgust. "Ew," she mumbled, "humans kiss weird."

Laughing, you reached over to ruffle her dark curls, before shooing her into the living room. "Go finish your movie," you chided with a grin, "I should probably get going."

"Well," Ravi offered awkwardly, "watching kids movies is hardly a date, but Advika has surprisingly good taste. You could always... stay?"

It shouldn't have been possible, yet somehow your features brightened even more. Grinning, you slung an arm through his, squeezing gently. "Well, how could I say no to that?" 

Frankly, an evening spent with Advika and Ravi sounded absolutely perfect.

[spacedikut]

lockdown lovers ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: lockdown!au. spencer goes from expecting his days to be filled with books, books and more books to books, an asshole cat, and a cute anonymous neighbour. 4857 words

a/n: i was so excited about this and stayed up writing it so i hope you like it too :)

masterlist

It’s three days into lockdown when Spencer notices the cat.

It’s a Maine Coon, he recognises instantly, but there’s this distinctive… dead look in it’s eyes. The body is huge – so fluffy it looks like the cat has a mane, ears invariably up straight and large enough that the eyes look beady in comparison. A mixture of white and grey throughout, the cat spends its days lounging across the windowsill of the apartment in the building next to Spencer’s.

He’s fascinated. How can a cat be so big, so ugly, yet so lovely?

He has to know more.

If he was anyone else, he’d argue the obsession is the fruit of going stir-crazy in his apartment. A lack of seeing his friends combined with having to work cases from home would be the perfect justification for Spencer to move his work station to the window facing the cat.

But this is Spencer. He’s happy being stuck home. He just likes the look of the cat.

He spends a good twenty minutes rifling through his stationary to find a piece of paper and the appropriate pen to jot a note for the cat owner. He thinks the owner must be stuck home, too, so if he sticks the note to his window and waits a day, he could know the cat’s name within twenty four hours.

They’ve had plenty of staring contests. Spencer should know his rival’s name.

So he does. He takes his time writing out the words “I like your cat. Do they have a name?” clearly on the paper, then spends a good five minutes deciding where on the window to stick the message.

He decides on the upper left corner. You won’t miss it.

The cat blinks sleepily at him as they watch Spencer tape the question up.

There’s an answer within three hours.

Spencer is too excited to be embarrassed at how enthused he was when he noticed the response.

Or when he saw the name.

Hi there! His name is Mr Darcy :) He’s a dick x

Spencer can’t help but profile the writing, the syntax, the grammar.

The first thing he notices is there’s a feminine lilt to the way you write – you’re a woman, most likely. The writing is slightly messy, indicating high intelligence, and the use of a smiley face and a kiss makes him think you’re younger in age. If you live alone, which you must because you live in a one bedroom apartment, he can safely guess you’re around his age.

And Mr Darcy… you’re a bookworm. At least for romance and the classics.

Spencer likes Mr Darcy. He has so many questions, suddenly, like how is Mr Darcy a dick and how old is he and why does he never seem to move from his position by the window and what is your name and who are you and do you happen to read a lot of books? Like Ray Bradbury? Please say yes.

He shocks himself. Maybe this quarantine is getting to him more than he realises. He hasn’t felt this excited since Maeve.

He hasn’t been this intrigued since Maeve. And the circumstances are similar, he realises.

No. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Spence.

He worries himself into a spiral when he begins thinking about how to reply. As if she can hear his whining, Penelope calls him.

They’ve made it a habit to call one another a lot. She recently taught him how to use his webcam and has been encouraging him to write more on his computer, rather than by hand.

“Good afternoon, my favourite Doctor.” She sings. He hears some shuffling in the background and can tell she’s baking.

“I need your help with something.” He cuts straight to the chase.

Her interest is piqued, “Oh? I am all ears.”

“Remember the cat I mentioned?”

“The ugly-but-beautiful majestic beast that, if you believed in reincarnation, would’ve been a high class gentleman in his past life? Yes. I think about him every day.”

“His name’s Mr Darcy.”

She lets out a screech, a mixture of a groan and moan that is filled with pure glee. “Of course he’s called Mr Darcy! Tell me everything. How do you know?”

He’s clearly impressed with himself when he says, “I asked.”

“Whoa.” Penelope freezes in her kitchen. “Are you, Doctor Germaphobe, breaking the lockdown rules?”

Spencer feels insulted. “No! Never! I stuck a note to my window, like in that viral tweet you sent me.”

She chuckles, “Well, I already told you I could’ve told you everything about Mr Darcy and the owner if you wanted me to. I am incredible.”

“I appreciate the gesture, Garcia-“

“But it’s morally wrong. Yeah, yeah, heard it all before. What have you said back?”

“That’s what I need your help with.”

Garcia is only a little surprised he’s asking her and not Derek. But, then, as much as she loves Derek, he’s a bit too.. much for someone like Spencer when it comes to love. Spencer approaches people gently, hesitantly, often giving the impression he doesn’t even want to be there.

Derek can have anyone on their knees within minutes.

Different tactics, that’s all.

“Alright, pretty boy. How long have you been talking? Purely through window messages? What else has been said?”

“Well,” He begins, clearing his throat, making eye contact with Mr Darcy, “We’ve only spoken once. When I asked for Mr Darcy’s name. You know, studies have shown that animals can form lifelong friendships with other animals, even if they’re not from the same species.”

“Spencer.”

“Most research has focused on chimpanzees, baboons, horses, hyenas, elephants, bats, and dolphins - but there’s no reason to think that friendship is exclusive to these species.”

“Spencer!”

“What?”

“You’ve spoken to them once?”

“Her. Spoken to her once. And it wasn’t speaking, it was writing.”

There’s a long sigh down the phone. “First of all, how do you know the owner’s a girl?”

There’s movement in Mr Darcy’s apartment. Spencer stares. “The way she writes.”

“Uhuh,” Spencer can hear her stirring something through the phone, “And what was the last thing said?”

Spencer’s eyes narrow – is that a person? Is that the owner? Is that her? Oh my god.

“Spencer? You still there?” Garcia looks to her laptop, checking the call is still connected.

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry. The last thing she said was his name is Mr Darcy and he’s a dick.”

“Oh,” Garcia smirks, “It’s sexy hearing you say dick.”

In normal circumstances, Spencer would register her comment and give a very distinct huh, but he’s distracted.

He sees Mr Darcy meow. A hand appears, petite, with fingernails painted yellow that have smiley faces on them. She brushes Mr Darcy’s fur back, pulling so the skin around his eyes tugs up high and he looks stupid. He seems to like it, though.

She must like smileys, he thinks.

Mr Darcy stands and stretches. He’s alarmingly long.

It’s silent on Garcia’s end, where she looks confused at the sudden silence. She checks again that the call is still connected.

“Spence?”

“Still here. Sorry. I thought I saw her.”

“Oooo,” She’s all giddy, “What does she look like? Is she pretty?”

“I couldn’t see her properly. I can tell she’s too cool for me already. This was stupid.” He sighs, “Forget I said anything. I’ll take knowing Mr Darcy’s name and move on with my life.”

Spencer moves to hang up, but is interrupted by a loud “No!” being shouted at him by Garcia.

“No, Spencer! No! You write something back to her right now and you form a friendship with someone that isn’t one of your colleagues. I love you with my whole heart, and you know that, but it would be good for you to expand your social circle!” She grins and bites her tongue between her teeth, “Aaaand.. this could be the start of a quarantine romance. God, I miss dating.”

At the mention of romance, Spencer visibly flinches. “I’ll see what I can do. I gotta go, Garcia, thanks for calling.”

“Love you. Please marry her so Mr Darcy can be the ring bearer.”

And she hangs up. He’s left contemplating whether he should respond, and what he should respond, as he watches the empty space where Mr Darcy is absent.

It must be dinner time for him.

+++

I’m curious as to how someone named Mr Darcy can be a dick.

That’s a good response, right?

Right?

It lets you know he gets the reference, he knows who Mr Darcy is named after, and leads you to continue the conversation. It’s perfect.

It’s taken him nearly two hours to come up with it. He feels exhausted.

He sticks it on the window, where Mr Darcy has returned to, and huffs out a breath.

He reminds himself to be calm and cool. This is simply a way to pass the time during quarantine, there’s no need to put too much pressure on himself to think it’s anything more or to put more effort than is necessary (he says, after spending two hours formulating a response).

Calm and cool. Cool and calm. Neither are words Spencer would ever use to describe himself.

Spencer stays up until nearly 1am reading. Just before he sleeps, he walks to the kitchen to get some water, and can’t resist checking to see if you’ve responded.

You have. He ignores the way his heart speeds up.

He used to share the windowsill with my other cat and a bunch of plants. Now he bites anything that attempts to move near him. He also likes to vomit on my pillow. My single pillow.

Spencer chuckles as he reads it. He remembers when the window was full of plants, and how one day they all just… disappeared. He assumed the person moved out, but now it’s funny to think that you had to move them all because Mr Darcy demanded he own that space.

He doesn’t recall ever seeing another cat.

Well, now he has to respond. He needs to know about the other cat!

He imagines Derek coming to him in an apparition, like some sort of angel, and saying, calm and cool, kid. Calm and cool.

Spencer decides he’ll reply in the morning. Cause he’s calm and cool, and totally doesn’t want to know anything and everything about you and the two cats you live with.

+++

The messages continue for days. Spencer learns a lot, despite his “attempts” to not profile you (“attempts” as in there was really no attempt).

He learns you were given Mr Darcy by a friend, he’s two years old, and your other cat is the recently adopted, affectionately named Stupid Sally. She’s a ginger cat, estimated to be at least four years old, and you refuse to believe there’s anything going on in that tiny head of hers.

Spencer catches a glimpse of Sally a couple of days after he learns her name. She jumps up beside Mr Darcy, bonks her head on the window, then is whacked by Mr Darcy and falls from the windowsill. Sally doesn’t make another attempt.

He still hasn’t seen you, though. The longer he talks to you, the more he wants Garcia to send him everything she can find on you.

But he has restraint. And fear.

He wants to know more, wants to learn more about the anonymous girl in the opposite building. He doesn’t even know your name, and he assumes you don’t know his, and he’s not entirely sure what number apartment you live in.

He considers asking to convert your conversation from post-it notes on windows to hand-written letters, but that reminds Spencer too much of Maeve and he can’t handle that.

Do you know how difficult it is for Spencer Reid, with all his knowledge and facts and ramblings, to limit himself and how much he says?

It’s torture.

The sun is blinding when Spencer pulls his curtain back, eyes navigating to see if there’s a new message waiting.

I haven’t asked, do you have any cats? Any pets? Mr Darcy would be a terrible boyfriend but Sally could use a lover :)

Before he can stop himself, his mind is whirring with the possible implications of your message. Does this mean you want to meet? You want to know about him as much as he wants to know about you? You’re interested?

He needs to call Penelope. He wants to talk to you so badly, learn everything there is to know, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The situation reminds him of Maeve and, although it’s been so long, he’s still mourning. He’s not sure he’s ready.

Turns out he doesn’t need to worry. You’ve got your own plan.

+++

“So,” Your friend sighs, flopping onto the couch, “You got his number? His name? Anything?”

“No,” You pout, “Not even sure he’s a guy.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

You playfully gasp. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I am insulted.”

She chuckles. She knows all about your curious neighbour - she’s the one that encouraged you to reply and keep replying. And now she’s the one trying to convince you to form an actual friendship.

“Just put your number on your window.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is?!” You scold, “Anyone could see it!”

“Yeah, but neighbour guy could see it. And text you. And be really cute.”

You can’t help but glance behind you, into your bedroom window, where the infamous window is. Mr Darcy lounges, completely zonked out with the sunshine keeping him warm.

“What’s the worst that can happen? Some random people text you and you, what, block them? That’s it. Easy.”

Life is so easy for extroverts, you think.

You grab your notebook, rip a piece out and jot down your number before you have a change of heart. You’re essentially double messaging through the medium of your window messaging. But who cares?

What have you got to lose?

+++

Spencer stares at your phone number for way too long. Mr Darcy, as if sensing Spencer’s battle, lazily lifts a paw and rests it against the paper, pushing it into the window.

Spencer dials Penelope’s number straight from memory.

“I was beginning to think you’d died, Spencer-“

“Is it a terrible idea to start texting with Mr Darcy’s owner?”

“What?!” She exclaims, “No! No no no no no! That is an incredible idea! Spencer, please tell me you’re texting her!”

Penelope’s excitement gives him a rush of confidence. She’s always so supportive, so encouraging. Penelope is the best.

“I’m staring at her phone number. I just- we know what happened last time..” He trails off, voice meek. He wants to pretend he isn’t constantly thinking about the worst outcome, but he is. He’s scared.

Penelope’s voice is soft down the phone, “Spence. You have nothing to be afraid of, okay? I’m so proud of you for even considering texting her. But if you truly think you’re not ready, maybe you’re not. But remember, this doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to. You can keep the conversation to cats and cats only.”

Spencer smiles even though she can’t see him. She’s right. It doesn’t have to be anything and, honestly, it’s likely it won’t be anything – after all, Spencer isn’t exactly confident when it comes to women.

She might also have a boyfriend. A husband. A wife. He doesn’t know.

He realises he’s started thinking way too deep about someone he doesn’t even know the name of.

“Does that silence mean you’re gonna text her?” Penelope questions, suspense and hope clear in her voice.

“Yeah,” He replies, glancing at Mr Darcy, “I am.”

+++

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: Hello. I’m Spencer.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner] hello??????? do i know a spencer?

Embarrassment flushes through him. What a weird way to introduce yourself, he chastises himself, Great first impression.

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s owner]: Sorry. I’m the one that’s been asking about your cats through the window.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: really? prove it

He wants to feel insulted that you’re so suspicious, but is simultaneously impressed that you’re so cautious. It makes sense to worry after posting your number for anyone to see.

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: Of course. I’ll put a note on my window with my number now.

He does just that, shuffling quickly and frantically like he does when his mind is moving a thousand miles a minute during a case. He slaps the note against the window, unable to resist hovering on the off chance he spots you.

His phone buzzes.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: oh hi spencer! im Y/N, owner of Mr Darcy and sally :)

He can’t help but chuckle at the sudden change of tone. You take stranger danger seriously, it seems.

Why does he find that so endearing?

He’s getting ahead of himself, again. Calm and cool.

They pick up the conversation from where the last note left off, where you asked Spencer if he has any pets of his own. He finds it much easier to talk to you like this, rambling and all, which you don’t seem to mind. Your texting style is distinctively different to his, making his phone vibrate multiple times as you send each sentence of your message separately. He prefers writing chunks full of information, all with perfect grammar and punctuation.

You teach him what ‘wtf’ means and when he sends a meme to Penelope with that caption she loses her damn mind.

She decides she loves you there and then.

A friendship blossoms. It’s odd, he doesn’t know what you look like and you admit to catching a glimpse of him when he showed you his number through the window, but other than that you have no idea what the other looks like.

You know so much about eachother’s lives, though, and so much about eachother. You know which apartment you both live in, he’s got a whole list of reasons why Mr Darcy is a dick and he kind of agrees, you even know that he’s an FBI agent.

Then it happens.

He discovers what you look like.

He wants to play it off as an accident, he really does, but that would be a complete and utter lie.

The area under the window opposite yours has become his new sanctuary. He spends way too much time there, reading and whatnot, and he tries to pretend that it’s so he can watch Mr Darcy all day every day, but there’s always been a part of him that wants you to walk by. Maybe stop right in the centre of the window, pause, let him get a good look.

That’s exactly what happens.

He’s doing some “light” reading before he moves to his bed, where he will continue to read, and he sees the main light in your bedroom switch on. You always have a light on – you’re scared of the dark, just like him, but the main light catches his attention because Mr Darcy looks back and meows.

Someone’s in the room.

For some reason, he can’t tear his eyes away. It’s not the first time he’s noticed someone flutter around the room, never managing to really show themselves. It could the best friend you told Spencer about, the one that you’ve been stuck living with the past month or so.

But it’s not.

A girl appears, wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts with still-wet hair. She dangles a cat toy before Mr Darcy, which he swipes at twice, then looks away, uninterested.

She rolls her eyes at that, then starts dancing and mouthing along to a song Spencer doesn’t recognise. Now he can’t stop staring – she’s captivating, whoever she is, as she prances around her room, arms flailing around and serenading a very unimpressed Mr Darcy.

This has to be you, he thinks. He doesn’t know why, but this has to be you.

Your passionate singing dies out. It’s the end of the song. Before the next one can begin, you happen to look up and through the window, straight at Spencer.

And you disappear.

You collapse. You definitely scream a little, dramatically falling to the floor and hiding under the window with your back to the wall.

Holy shit. You think. He’s cute and he saw me singing to my asshole cat.

He must think I’m crazy.

Spencer keeps staring at the now empty space of your window, Mr Darcy having been spooked by your exit.

He thinks he might be in love.

+++

Neither of you know what to say to one another after what transpired.

You’re too embarrassed, Spencer feels a little star-struck, and you’re both speechless.

Neither of you expected the other to be so.. attractive.

Your phone is thrown in your lap. “Do it. Do it now.”

In a daze, you blink up at your friend, “I can’t.”

“Don’t make me threaten you.”

You blink.

“I know where he lives. I will obliterate the lockdown rules to go talk to him and drag him here, then you can deal with this face-to-face.”

Your mouth falls open. “Are you insane?”

She unlocks your phone, opens your conversation with Spencer, and places it in your hand.

“Yes.”

+++

[From: Y/N :)]: did you at least enjoy the performance…..

Spencer’s whole body prickles when he sees you’ve texted him.

Maybe Penelope’s manifesting did work.

[To: Y/N :)]: I did. I didn’t expect our face reveals to be so…

I honestly don’t know what to say.

[From: Y/N :)]: s doctor reid speechless? am i that talented?

Spencer lies back on his couch, beaming at his phone like a teenager in a cheesy chick flick.

[To: Y/N :)]: You’re very talented. Mr Darcy clearly disagrees, but don’t listen to him.

And just like that, you’re back in the flow of things.

+++

When July rolls around, you and Spencer have been talking every day since March. Despite the monotonous, repetitive days, Spencer wakes up giddy when he sees you’ve texted him. He usually wakes up earlier than you, you have a habit of playing games or watching television until the early hours of the morning, and he loves to send you a fact to wake up to.

Your favourite are the animal facts. He got Amazon Prime just so he could buy a plethora of animal books and watch animal documentaries. All for you.

At one point, you evolved to phone calls. They don’t happen often and the first one was while you were drunk, but they’re fun for the both of you.

It had been a Saturday, you and your friend were having a movie marathon with wine and of course she brought up Spencer. She choked on her drink when you told her you haven’t heard his voice or seen him since the incident.

“You should call him,” She slurred, “Tonight.”

“He’s working on his jigsaw. I’m not going to interrupt.”

She gave you this incredulous look, asking Really?

“What?! I have respect for him and his jigsaws!”

“Have respect for yourself and how cute he is!”

“That doesn’t make sense!”

She sighed, placing her glass on the coffee table with a clunk, “Picture this: you’re helping him with the jigsaw.”

You couldn’t hide the slight upturn of your lips at the thought. You both love jigsaws, doing one with him would be stupidly romantic to you.

“Yeah.” She nodded ridiculously, “That ain’t gonna happen if you don’t call him!”

In your drunken state, you realised she’s right. You called him that night for a total of ten minutes before you passed out after calling him super handsome.

You both went to sleep feeling warm inside. Spencer called you again the next day, where the call lasted nearly two hours, and it went from there.

But now the lockdown rules are being eased. People are going back to work, meaning establishments like restaurants and hairdressers are opening up with limited capacity, all breathing beings expected to wear a mask.

Neither of you have mentioned actually meeting one another. You’re too nervous. What if he doesn’t like you? What if the image he’s created of you in his head is way better than you are in real life and he’s disappointed? What if he doesn’t want to meet you?

Spencer worries about the exact same things.

So neither of you say anything.

+++

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes Spencer’s mail gets sent to the wrong address. Perhaps to his neighbour, the person living across the hall, or someone on a completely different floor.

Twice, Spencer’s mail has been delivered to the apartment building next door. The building he now exclusively calls “Y/N’s building”.

Now it’s three times.

Unphased by the mask on his face, Spencer glances around the lobby of your apartment building and wonders what your routine is when you get home. Do you immediately check for packages? Look at the noticeboard? Or do you go straight up to your apartment?

Spencer walks to the reception desk, smiling politely even though the person can’t see it.

“Hi, I’m from the building next door. I think my mail was accidentally sent here?”

He clicks a few buttons, types a few things, then flippantly asks, “Apartment number?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Let me go get it.”

He takes his time leaving his chair and wandering through a door. Spencer glances around. There’s a few people, all wearing masks (Thank God), doing their own thing.

There’s two girls next to him. He eavesdrops, because he’s bored.

“I’m too used to living with you now,” The girl facing him pouts, “I don’t want to go.”

The girl with her back to him laughs, light and sweet, “You live a block away.”

“You know Sally is gonna miss me.”

Sally? As in…

“She’s gonna miss you only because you feed her too much and now she’s fat.”

Wait.

“C’mon, Y/N-“

Spencer blocks out the rest cause holy hell. You’re right there. You’re standing right next to Spencer, in all your glory, and you have no idea that he’s right there, too.

Should he say something? Should he introduce himself? Should he..

“Here, sir. My apologies for the mix-up.” The receptionist re-appears, handing Spencer his mail.

“Thank you.”

And Spencer leaves.

Except he doesn’t.

He stops outside the reception entrance, takes out his phone, and texts you.

[To: Y/N :)] This is weird but I’m right outside your building. I think you’re in the foyer and I’m too scared to approach you.

Two minutes pass before the building doors fly open.

Your head swivels back and forth. When you find Spencer, adorable and awkward Spencer, he can tell you’re grinning from the way your eyes bunch up under your mask. God, he knows you have the most beautiful smile. Everything about you is beautiful.

“Hi,” You breathe.

Spencer mouths a silent hi. You’ve taken his breath away.

“I-um. It’s good to see you in person.” Your voice is soft. It’s soft, and smooth, and so much prettier in real life. It’s already pretty through the phone, but the real version shoots straight to his heart.

He gulps, “Yeah, it’s.. Unexpected, but nice.” The corners of his mouth quirk up and he can’t tear his eyes away from you, “You’re even more gorgeous in real life.”

The compliment rolls off his tongue naturally because it’s true and from the second he spotted you he’s lost all logical thinking.

“I am?” You ask, gentle and hesitant, almost asking are you sure you mean me?

Spencer blushes, somewhat embarrassed by his confession. But he meant it, Spencer’s not the type to say things he doesn’t mean, and you don’t give him time to regret it-

“Would you like to get some coffee? If you’re free now?”

Would it be too much if he screams Yes?

“Yes. I’m free,” He ignores the mail in his hands, stuffing it in his satchel, “But let’s avoid Café Nero, I assume you still haven’t recovered from the nightmare latte you had there.”

You grin, which makes Spencer feel fuzzy, flattered that he remembers anecdotes from your texts.

Of course he remembers. You remember he has an eidetic memory.

You shyly brush your hair behind your ears, both sides, and Spencer spots the bright red of them. You’re flushed, just like him, and it fills him with confidence to know you’re the same mixture of excited and anxious about meeting him in person.

“W-what about your friend?” Spencer gestures vaguely to where he assumes she’d be, “Would she mind?”

“She’s the reason I ran out here, so… I think she’d be mad if we didn’t leave her behind.”

You smile at one another, a few feet apart. Spencer’s bumped into by the opening door of your apartment complex and stumbles, apologising profusely to the unimpressed woman that just stares at him.

Through the entire ordeal you watch Spencer, only him, and can’t stop the radiant, love-filled look on your face.

Maybe Mr Darcy isn’t such a dick when he’s the reason Spencer came into your life.

[koulakoukoula2003]

Impatience (Levi x Reader)

Pairing: Levi x Reader, Levi x You

Genre: Fluff (soooooo much fluffffff)

Word Count: 1199

A/N: Hellooooo fellow Levi hoes, here’s a fluffy scene between you and Levi. Been wondering, when Historia became Queen and got Levi into saving the orphans of the Underground, how cute was he going to look holding one of those orphans in his arms... 😳 Oh my God... Anyways! The two of you are already in a relationship, so just, enjoy! 😘

You were in the Underground -a place the two of you hadn’t visited in so long- and Queen Historia was leading the way. She was in a carriage riding ahead. Of course, Levi and (y/n) were on the front to lead them through the streets of the place that you two grew up in. A bunch of MPs were all around, making sure to help and protect their Queen from the scums that lurked around in the Underground. The smell of moisture was all too familiar. Both (y/n) and Levi couldn’t help staring all around the place. You hadn’t visited that place ever since Erwin came and dragged you both out of there. 

Too many bad memories. You recognised the streets. Children were lying all around. Abandoned and starving. Despair in their eyes. Their bones almost sticking out from the lack of tissue. Levi raised his hand, signalling the MPs to stop, and Historia stuck her head out of the carriage. 

“We’re here, your Majesty,” Levi informed her. He had to admit, it was weird calling that brat like this, but he got used to it faster than he expected. 

“Excellent, Captain, Lieutenant,” Historia jumped out of her carriage and the MP officer approached her right away. 

“Uh- Ma’am! I suggest that you stay within the carriage. You will be safer that way,” The man said nervously. Historia frowned and parted her lips to throw something utterly rude on the officer’s way, but you unmounted your horse, and you approached the two. 

You placed a hand on Historia’s shoulder. “No need to worry, officer, we’ll be keeping an eye on her. Besides, there’s no criminal in the Underground that doesn’t fear Captain Levi, I assure you,” 

Historia smirked. “Exactly. Now quit trying to order around your Queen, and let’s get to work,” Historia said. An authoritative and stern tone in her voice that could’ve scared the highest-ranking officers trembling. Your eyes widened. You were impressed. 

“U- Uh, yes, your Majesty! I- I wasn’t trying to- M- My apologies!” The young man stuttered before he set off to get to work right away. 

Once the two of you were left alone, you laughed and squeezed Historia in a side-hug. Your hand reached for Historia’s hair, caressing gently. “I’m so damn proud of you!” 

Historia giggled and overly enjoyed the way you were messing her hair. “Thanks, (y/n)!” She managed to escape your hug and she turned and looked around her. “Let’s see what we got here,” 

The MP officers, Historia, Levi and (y/n) set off to pick up the children, load them in the empty cart and take them out of that horrible place. The construction of the orphanages was going well, and Historia didn’t want to any more prolong saving those kids. She had to save them, and she had to do it fast. 

You knelt in front of a little boy. He must have been around three to four years old. He flinched right away when you approached him, as if he was afraid that you were going to hurt him. That reaction was more than understandable. You were once the same. A scared, bony little child, tossed into a cruel world, wallowing in fear and despair. 

“It’s alright,” You said and you gave him the sweetest smile you could manage. You knelt down, close to his height. “I’m (y/n). What is your name?”

He examined you with those huge, innocent, deep brown eyes of his for a moment. “S- Shawn,” 

“Well, Shawn, it’s very nice to meet you. Are you hungry?” You asked. The boy was scared, but hearing of food, that fear slowly started to subside. The boy nodded and your hand reached for your pocket beneath your green, Survey Corps cloak. You took out a cracker. You opened and handed it to him. “There you go,” 

Shawn stared at the cracker. He didn’t even bother to catch it. He lifted both of his little hands up, allowing you to pick him. You smiled as you handed him the cracker, and then you lifted him up and settled him in your arms. He was so light, it almost worried you, but he started munching on the cracker hungrily. He had consumed it before you knew it. 

You tried to leave him back down on the cart where the rest of the children were and Historia was offering them food, but he did not want to get off of you. Shawn just buried his face in your neck. His little hands clutched on your clothes and he remained silent in you embrace. All you could do was smile. You pressed a kiss on his little temple. 

“It’s alright, you’re safe now. We’ve got you,” You said, trying to reassure him, but his little fingers only tightened around your shirt. “Alright, I’ll hold you a little bit more,” You promised and you turned around only to see Levi with a little girl in his arms. 

The sight melted your heart right away. The little girl was in a white, dirty, ragged gown. She had blonde, messy long hair. She too had finished eating the cracker that Levi had given her, and she was now sucking on her thumb. She must’ve been a three-year-old. She was the definition of cute. 

“Oi, brat,” Levi’s one hand reached for the little girl’s and he pulled her thumb out of her mouth. “No sucking on your fingers. They’re dirty,” 

The girl just looked up at him, with those large honey eyes and she tucked her finger back in her mouth. Levi sighed. He should’ve known better than to try to reason with a three-year-old. 

Your sweet laughter reached his ears and he finally lifted his attention on you. He almost forgot how to breathe. You had a little boy in your arms, and that boy was clutching on your shirt and he was burying his face in your neck. Your hands supported this little body against your chest and the boy had closed his eyes, enjoying every second he spent in your arms. 

You were so wonderful, there, holding and talking, and treating that little kid as if it was your own. Levi couldn’t get his eyes off of you. He could almost imagine you in one of your white, baggy gowns, and a baby boy in your arms. One that would have the raven colour of his hair, but your eyes. 

Levi tried his best to snap out of the beautiful picture that he had in his mind as the two of you finally settled the little ones on the cart, but he couldn’t stop himself. A warm arm slipped around your waist, and he forced your back to crush against his chest. Dry, soft lips pressed a kiss against your cheek from behind and his breath brushed against your ear warmly as he spoke. 

“I can’t wait to have one of our own,” 

You giggled. A bright blush spread across your cheeks and you let her head rest back on his shoulder. You nuzzled your nose in his neck and you smiled, closing your eyes briefly. 

“Me neither,” 

A/N: Ooffffff there it is! Y’all feel free to reblog just send a few follows and notes on my way! Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think! This is a scene from my actual Levi x OC fic on ao3, I just changed it slightly so that it can stand on its own 🥰

[help-im-a-gay-fish]

It had started as a normal day in the garden, he'd been able to sneak away from his chaperone to pick flowers alone.

All was well, until it suddenly wasn't, he looked up and was met with violet eyes.

Before him stood a strange skeleton, with eyes of a deep purple. He was dressed smartly and behind him stood a beautiful black horse. He recognised him at once as the king of the underworld, one he'd only seen from a distance as his mother's command. Being so close to him felt..... Strange... But not wrong.

There was silence between them for what felt like years. With a deep breath he finally mustered the courage to speak.

"... Hello.... I'm Ονειρο.... You must be Εφιάλτης"

Finally finished! I can't even, I'm so happy with this!! Like I'm so happy how it turned out. I can't believe it went so well!

Thank you for your help @zu-is-here I probably wouldn't have draw it if you hadn't been so interested in my idea!

For those of you who don't know, this his a dreammare version of Hades and Persephone. Please don't yell at me for this ship, Hades and Persephone where an uncle and niece! So.... It fits.

But dam this took forever, does Dream look to much like a girl? Cuz he's not. Oh well, I still love it.

I decided Dream and Nightmare would go by Ονειρο and Εφιάλτης which I believe is Greek for 'dream' and 'nightmare' I just thought it could be cool!

Original dream and nightmare belong to jokublog

This au is by me! Yay

Bonus flat colour + background, because I'm so proud of the back ground!

[killem-all-if-they-wont-eat-cake]

“Once upon a time a young prince went riding out in the moonlight. The air was so light he felt that he was flying. The sky was deep blue, with a big white moon floating among small, curly clouds. Far away over the mountains, lightning flashed silently. The prince rode quickly, and in the moonlight his shadow was so large it looked like a giant unearthly rider.When the prince reached his castle, he dismounted and gave his horse to his groom, but he was reluctant to go in. With his riding crop in hand, he walked to the sea and began to stroll slowly along the sandy shore. He was not thinking of anything in particular, it was a pleasant and easy walk, and he drew deep breaths of the cool night air. Suddenly, while he was walking, he struck his riding-crop into the sand and felt the tip catch on something. What was it? A ring?A ring, thought the prince, and held it up to the moonlight. Who could have lost a ring here by the shore? It must have been one of the ladies-in-waiting. And so the prince tucked the ring in his breast pocket. It was a small ring, slender as a thread, with several little blue stones set to look like a forget-me-not.The court assembled in the great hall after supper, and the prince put his hand in his breast pocket and said: ‘Could any of you ladies by chance have lost a ring?’Immediately all the ladies looked at their hands. They had numerous precious diamond, emerald, and sapphire rings, and now they peered anxiously from finger to finger to see if any of their magnificente rings were missing. But they were all still there.‘What does your ring look like?’ a beautiful lady dared to ask.The prince held up the ring.When the ladies saw it, they put on superior and disdainful expressions. Certainly none of them would claim such a ring as that. It was nothing, a mere trinket, and so little it seemed made for a child’s hand.But now the ladies had something to talk about, and for the rest of the evening they busily compared their beautiful rings, passing them from hand to hand and exclaiming over their cost. The prince rose and strolled to the balcony, where he stood gazing at the moonlight.Later, he went to his chamber, undressed, and go tinto bed. He set the little ring on a table near him. Just as he was about to fall asleep, he heard a strange noise, a clicking and whirring as if a small insect were darting among the glasses on the table. When the prince opened his eyes, he was surprised to see that it was the little ring rattling around, as if an unseen hand had set it in motion.Quickly he lit a candle. Then the ring became still. But as soon as he blew out the candle, the ring began to dance again. It was strange and eerie. The prince put the ring in a drawer, yet he could hear it skittering all night long, and hardly slept at all. Of course he could have thrown the ring away, but for some reason, that seemed to him quite out of the question. He did not wish to part with the ring at all, and the next night too, he brought it to his chamber.Hardly had he snuffed out the candle then the ring began to dance again, and this time it did not just bounce about the table, but jumped to his breast and bounced just as quickly there.‘What can it mean?’ said the prince, and sat up in bed. He brooded and wondered. What kind of magic ring had he come upon with his riding crop? That evening he placed the ring on the table beside his bed as before. He was so tired that he fell asleep at once, but he had not slept long before he was awekened by something brushing his face, and instantly he realised it was the ring running back and forth over his forehead, dancing down his cheeks, and spinning along his lips.‘Now, I understand,’ he exclaimed, and jumped up. ‘I must find the owner of the ring.’Dawn had just begun to break over the sea when he went to the stable, saddled his horse, and thundered across the drawbridge. He rode all day without seeing anyone, but towards the evening he arrived at a large castle, beautifully situated in a green meadow surrounded by trees. Ivy and roses climbed the walls, and high in an arched window the lady of the castle was standing and looking over the countryside. She was a widow, but still a young and handsome woman, who ruled her large estates with a firm hand. When she saw the prince approaching, she dispatched a servant to greet him and welcome him to the castle.The prince accepted her invitation and gladly went in. The noble lady received him in the friendliest fashion. He was given a splendid chamber, and when he came to dinner he found that the large banquet hall had been lit with candles and torches. The table was laid with silver and gold. Servants in festive dress passed around delicious dishes, and the lady herself looked as distinguished as a queen in red velvet and ermine. She talked gaily, and seemed highly amused by all the prince had to say. He did not explain why he had ridden alone into the world, but now and then he cast a quick glance at the lady’s hands. Could she have lost the ring?But as it happened this noble lady had very large, very red, and very worn hands. Her carriage and walk were distinguished and imposing, so you could not doubt she was of noble birth, but when you caught sight of her big hands and lumpy fingers, you thought instinctively, these are the hands of a cook.She wore many costly rings on her fingers, yet they seemed badly out of place and only showed up her rough hands all the more. At the end of dinner, she peeled an apple for the prince, and looking sharply at her ring-bedecked fingers he asked, ‘You have so many exquisite rings, my lady. I suppose you could easily lose one by bathing or picking flowers?’‘I always take my rings off before I swim in the lake,’ she laughed. ‘And I never pick flowers myself, the maids do it for me.’The prince was silent for a moment, then he brought forth the little ring and showed it to her. ‘What do you think of this ring?’ he asked.‘That little ring,’ she said, trying to put it on her little finger. ‘It doesn’t go over the first joint of this finger. It seems to belong to a child. Where did you get it, your highness?’‘That I can’t tell you,’ the prince answered, and hid the ring in his breast pocket.The lady’s keen black eyes looked searchingly at him for a moment, then she began to talk of other things. And the next morning before dawn the prince rode from the castle.His eyes were on the horizon. A child, he thought –  a poor child. But where are you?He rode through forests and valleys, across meadows and fields, and when the sun was high he came to a large manor house set among waving wheatfields and beautiful flower gardens. Even at a distance he could see a number of people in a large courtyard. The sound of violins and trumpets reached his ears, and as he came nearer he realised it was a wedding.The bride and groom were standing on the front steps. The bride had a crown of bright ribbons and flowers on her head, and the groom had a silver buttoned-coat, a glossy black hat, and a happy smile. In the courtyard, a hundred young boys and girls were dancing merrily together. The prince reined his horse on a small hill not far from the manor house and began to watch the dancing. When the dancers stopped and sat down to rest, on benches under the large linden trees that spread their branches over the yard, he rode nearer.All eyes turned towards the strange rider who had appeared so unexpectedly. The prince held up his little ring.  He called ‘Is there any girl here who has lost a ring?’The girls flew to him like doves to look at the ring. ‘I have lost a ring!’ ‘And I!’ several cried, crowding close to the prince.But before long – ‘No, the ring I lost didn’t look like that one,’ said one girl after another, until they all began to babble and chatter, laugh and giggle, and the music started up again. They hurried back to dance, while the prince rode sorrowfully away.He rode on until evening when, feeling tired, he slowed his horse to ride along the bank of a river that cut through the meadows. Then he caught sight of a woman dressed in black, walking with downcast eyes as though looking for something among the stones by the road. As the prince drew nearer, he saw that the woman was very beautiful, but that the big black eyes in her pale face were full of pain and suffering. He was very sorry for her.‘What are you looking for, dear one?’ he asked. ‘Have you lost something precious to you?’The woman’s face became even more melancholy than before. She raised her eyes and her lips trembled. In a quavering voice, wringing her hands, she said, ‘I have lost all I ever had in life: my husband, my estate, my fortune. I had only one thing left, a ring that was a gift from my late husband. I had hoped to sell it well, but now I have lost it and I don’t know how or where. And so my last hope is gone, all that is left for me is to beg for my daily bread.’The prince’s heart was beating eagerly. Could she be speaking of the ring he was carrying at his breast? Yet all who had seen it had said it was worthless.    Slowly he held up the ring and asked, ‘Could it possibly be this ring?’    She gave him a sad smile. ‘My ring was set with a large, costly diamond. That little one there is nothing but a cheap toy.’    Then the prince opened his purse, full of gold coins, and let them rain into the bereaved woman’s arms. ‘Here, here is enough to provide for the present at least,’ he said gently. ‘This gold may help you.’ Before the woman had time to thank him, he rode off.    Who rode for days and nights without encountering anyone who recognised the ring. Always he carried it in his breast pocket, and though it no longer danced as it had during the first nights, he could still feel it tugging at him, as if sobbing quietly. The prince heard the small, sorrowful throbbing at his breast over the beating of his own heart, and every day he loved the ring more and more.One morning he came to a swiftly running river. On the opposite bank was a tall mountain, wrapped in the blue veil of early morning mist. All over its slopes sparkled what looked like little gold fires, but they were really broom bushes in flower, so attractive that the prince could not help feeling happy. He wanted to go to them and look more closely, but that would not be easy, for there was no bridge over the river.    I suppose I must swim across the, thought the prince, and he and his horse plunged into the rapids. The prince hardly noticed as water sprayed high above him and his horse was almost pulled downstream by the current. His long futile search had made him so dejected that he enjoyed having to struggle with all his might to get to the far bank. At last he stood there, tired and out of breath, with his horse panting and snorting beside him. The mountain rose before him.    The prince could not climb the slope on horseback, so he let the horse graze on a green meadow, and struggled on foot up a narrow mountain that wound through a forest towards the summit.    It was a hot day, and the shade of the trees in the cool forest felt good to him. Everything was still, the sun cast golden flecks over the forest floor, which was smoothed by last year’s leaves covering the knotted tree roots along the path. The climbing was not easy, though. What for? His heart was beating so violently that he could hear it, and he could also hear the heartthrob of the little ring, pulsing more than it had for a long time.    He paused for a moment, then climbed on.He thought he heard the sound of rippling water, and all of a sudden he realised how thirsty he was. Now at least he knew what he wanted: he wanted to get to the spring and drink and drink. The sound of the bubbling water came ever stronger, and then he saw something flash white under the leaves of the chestnuts. Two steps more, and he was standing by a fresh mountain spring that was gushing out a rock wall into the pool. Then he stood stock still; he was not alone.At the spring was a girl, one hand on her hip, watching as the water filled a pail she had set beneath it; another empty pail was in the grass nearby. The girl’s legs were bare, she was dressed in a short grey skirt and white blouse, and her hair hung down her back in two blond braids. The prince could not see her face, but when the pail was full, she turned in his direction. Her blue eyes looked surprised for a moment, but then she bowed her head in greeting, and put the second pail under the waterfall. When it, too, was full, she turned and hooked both pails to a yoke that lay in the grass. The prince smiled at her but she did not smile in return. Her face looked so quiet and serious that suddenly the prince, too, became serious.‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘but may I have a drink of water? I am so thirsty.’‘What will you drink from?’ asked the girl. Her voice was soft and beautiful; it sounded like music. ‘I know,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘Come here, I will help you.’The prince went to the spring, and the girl put her hands together to make a small drinking cup. The water gushed into them and in a second they were full.‘Hurry and drink,’ she called, laughing merrily.The prince ended the little cup in a moment. With water still dripping from his mouth, he said, ‘More. Give me one more cup of water.’The girl closed her hands again, and they were filled by the spring. By this time when the prince bent down to drink, he noticed a curious change in the girl’s face. She blushed, and her eyes that before had looked as blue as summer sky, now seemed almost black. She snatched the chain from the prince’s neck and seized the ring, which had fallen from his breast pocket when he bent to drink.‘My ring,’ she said tremulously. ‘Where did you find my ring?’ She put it on the little finger of her left hand, and it went on as smoothly as it had come home. ‘My ring!’ she repeated, and looked at the prince with tears in her eyes.She sat on the grass under the low branches of the chestnuts, and turned the ring slowly around her finger with as much tenderness as if it had been a living thing.‘Why do you love your ring so much?’ asked the prince, sitting beside her.She looked up at him. ‘My mother gave it to me on the day she died,’ she said. ‘I was only a little girl, but she told me, ‘It will always help you in misfortune, and if you are ever in need, throw it into the sea. It will know how to find your saviour.’‘And it has found him,’ said the prince, smiling and taking the girl’s hands in his. ‘It called and beckoned me, and has not given me a moment’s peace until I found you here in the forest. But tell me, why are you here? How did you get here? What is your misfortune?’The girl looked around anxiously, and whispered, ‘I live here with an old mountain troll, who makes me work like a slave.’ And she told him the sad tale of her life.She had been born in a castle high among the mountains, and would have become a fine and noble princess, but her mother had died when she was a child; and when she was fifteen, a duke from another country captured the castle, murdered her father, and carried her away. Then she had lived in a tower of the foreign duke’s palace and was given the best of everything: costly gowns and delicacies, and numerous servants to wait on her. But she was never allowed to leave the palace. Only from a window in her chambers could she see the outside world of flowery meadows, green woods, and the river that wound like a ribbon of silver through the valley. One day the duke came to her room and told her that in three months she would marry his son.The girl looked at the prince with sad eyes, ‘It was the greatest misfortune and shame that could ever have befallen me. The duke’s son was big and coarse as a giant, his face was red, and he was almost always drunk. I would rather have died than become his wife.’    However, the girl had pretended that she would very much like to be married to the duke’s son. But first, she said, she wanted to make a gift of braided rope for the anchor of his sailing ship, and when that was finished she would happily become his wife. And so she began to braid a rope of the strongest hem she could find, and soon it was so long it reached from her window all the way down to the valley.     On the evening before the wedding, she locked herself in her little tower chamber, tied the rope to the window, and climbed down. When she reached the ground, she ran as fast as she could to hide in the forest. There she crept into a dense thicket and fell into a deep sleep.    Next morning she was awakened by a tickling on her forehead. When she opened her eyes she saw a terrifying face looking down at her. It was a troll of the mountain, who had been taking his morning walk through the forest, and he was poking her with a blade of glass. A long red tongue lolled from his mouth, and he had great fury black hands like a bear.    ‘I was so frightened,’ said the girl, ‘that I hardly dared to breathe.’    The troll had laughed horribly and said, ‘What luck to find you, little sweet one. I want someone to care for me, cook my food, carry my water and my wood and be my own companion.’ So the troll grabbed her by the hair and carried her to his cave on the mountain top. It was a deep black cave, and even on the hottest summer day it was cold as a cellar, and heavy drops of water trickled from the stones.    ‘I have served the mountain troll for three years,’ sighed the girl. ‘And every summer he tells me, ‘Next Christmas, when you are a little fatter, I will eat you.’    ‘So I hardly dare eat, and I have not thought of anything but how to escape. On a spring day I ran all the way down the mountainside to the river, hoping to cross to the other side. But there was no bridge, only the rapids and the spray. So I took off my ring and threw it into the water and called out as my mother taught me,    Ring, ring, pulse and spring    And my knight to me bring,    A knight so good, a knight so brave,    To rescue me, a helpless slave.’    ‘The ring disappeared into the water. But now,’ finished the girl, smiling, ‘the ring has found the knight who will help and save me.’ She kissed the ring.    ‘You kiss the ring,’ said the prince. ‘Do you think you would rather kiss me?’    ‘Do you think so?’ and then with a smile flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.    That moment they heard a strange, thundering sound.    ‘It is the troll of the mountain,’ the girl cried, and jumped up. ‘Quick! Quick! We must run as fast as we can.’    And quickly they sped down the mountain side to where the prince’s horse was grazing quietly by the river. Quickly the prince swung into the saddle, lifted the princess in front of him, and plunged into the water. Waves splashed over their heads, the horse panted and snorted and kicked the river, and the mountain troll in the forest howled and bellowed like a pack of hungry wolves.    The prince and the girl rode for days and nights through forest and plain, across rivers and brooks, past groves and hedges. The horse never tired until they reached the prince’s castle. They arrived there on a moonlit night, and rode slowly along the seashore, the princess wrapped up in the prince’s big cape. She lifted a corner of the cape and looked down at the sand. ‘How strange,’ she said, with a smile on her face. ‘Looking at the shadow, one would think there was only one rider on the horse.”– From "Ringen" by Helena Nyblom (1843 –1926) in "Bland tomtar och troll" (Among Gnomes and Trolls: a Collection of Swedish Folk Tales) edition 1914, Illustration  "Det var en gång en prins, som var ute och red i månskenet" by John Bauer (1882 – 1918).

[theshelbyclan]

Angel

Summary: You cross paths with famous Thomas Shelby after killing someone he wanted dead, and you can’t help but recognise so much of yourself in this man

(Gif by @nofckingfighting​) A/N: The ever-lovely @psych0crybaby​ requested: good evening my dear. i saw that your request are open again. Could i ask for some Tommy with a total badass reader? Maybe where she saves their asses and no one knows where she is( and she just walks away) and then they see her again and ada explains to them that she mostly kills rapists and guys who harass woman because someone did the same to her when she was in the war? if you are comfortable with, if not have a good evening or day 🌺 I remember the first time I read this request and immediately being drawn to it. I did however want to do it right, you know? Like I really wanted to think about it, so I have. This comes with a warning for anyone familiar with PTSD, and some sexual abuse and assault is mentioned: this may be triggering. Sorry that it took a while to get this out, but I hope you like the result! Words: 4370 *** Breathe in. Look. See. Focus. Remember. Breath out. Throw. The first knife whooshed passed your face and hit the wall opposite you. The second followed quickly, almost magnetically. The third came after a small pause, the silence in which people feel a false sense of safety, and hit the target right in its middle. 

“You’re too pretty to be out here in the mud.” “Again,” you told yourself, “there’s four of them”. Everything comes in four, good or bad. So you moved suddenly, ducked and threw three more knives, previously hidden in your sleeves.

“You know you want it.” Like a cat you jumped up onto a roof and mid-air threw three more, taken from your pockets. But the hardest was yet to come. The last man was always hidden, always late, like that last knife. He too swished and betrayed. So from your boots, you took another knife, jumped down suddenly and planted it in the back of the invisible assailant. “Good girl…” The job was done. Now for the real work. “What happened to you?” And you told yourself, “I’m ready.” ***

“What is your concern, Tommy?” “The one minute. The soldier’s minute. In battle it’s all you get.” Thomas Shelby lived his life looking over his shoulder, but when he turned, there was nothing there. You see it happening, everything at once and there’s no avoiding it. It’s always there, right behind you. Like running through a house with the devil hot on your heels, finally finding the way out, but when you step into the garden, it starts all over again: you’re back at your starting point. You see, your body may be outside in the sunlight, but your mind is back at the house. That’s what it felt like, every day. “We live somewhere between life and death.” This is what existing is: always living somewhere between life and death, between sleep and awake. And the nightmares, they bled into the days, taking over slowly. “Is it another war you’re looking for, Tommy?” There was supposed to be one war, to end all wars. But instead, kids were sent out to die in the mud, and for what? All that blood, smoke, tears, sweat and carnage. Men blowing the whistles, boys praying and crying. Was he looking for another war? That would imply the first one had ended. “I’ll remember everything and forget nothing. I’m thinking ahead, thinking of every possibility, remembering everything that is happening…” As if he could forget. The smallest things could trigger his memories, taking him right back. When John was little, he used to be scared of a monster. Ada had told him that: that there was a witch living in the walls that you could only see in the mirrors. John didn’t sleep for weeks after her little story. And now, the monster turned out to be real, except no one believed in it anymore. Still, it was everywhere and you had to be constantly on your guard. Because it’s not just in the walls and mirrors; it’s always right behind you, creeping, slithering, crawling it’s way up your spine… And so he became a machine, no longer a human being, fuelled by whiskey and cigarettes only, always plotting. “Thomas Shelby against the whole bloody world, right?” And so he wrote, “My name is Thomas Shelby and today, I’m going to kill a man.” *** There had been five of you at home. And home was in Small Heath, though you moved house all the time. When the poverty got bad, the family was split up and you and mother went into a boarding house for women, while father and the oldest brothers went into a boarding house for men. You were alright with this, because father was a bad man, but you feared for your brothers. Mother was the sweetest woman to ever live, always making sure you ate before she did. You never noticed her withering away before it was too late. At twelve, you started working. Walking the docks and shipyards was dangerous, so your brothers tried their best to prepare you. They weren’t like the other men in Small Heath. “Take this,” one brother told you on the morning of your first shift, “Hide it, in those boots.” You’d gotten charity boots, the first one in the family! But walking in them still felt uneasy, and now he expected you to slide in a small knife as well? “When someone comes,” he continued, urging you with his fiery eyes, “you stick ‘m. Don’t wait, don’t hesitate and don’t ask any questions. When he comes, you stick ‘m and you keep on sticking ‘m!” This was the first lesson you’d been taught. Four brothers all taught their little sister and each had but one objective: keeping you safe. One gave you the knife, the other taught you how to fight and the third took the beatings your drunk father had intended for you. The fourth hadn’t any strength or knowledge to share, so he kept close. Wherever you went, he followed in the shadows, and it was like having your own guardian angel, made up of filth and smoke. When the war came, they all enlisted. Of course they did: they were good, strong and brave men. You saw them off, one by one, and after waving goodbye to your guardian angel, something inside you snapped. Inspired by their love and courage, you became a nurse and took up a post at the front. You became a guardian angel yourself. *** Tommy was looking for a war. After France, they’d taken over the Shelby enterprise again and he had ambitions of expansion. Still, there were those in Small Heath who’d forgotten about the Shelby’s and he had to re-establish their reputation. “It’s happened again, Tommy,” John said sombrely, during a family meeting. Tommy sighed and dipped his head forwards, “Will he live?” “Yeah,” his brother replied, “but what are we going to do about this?” Polly, the voice of reason, said, “You need to make an example of him, Thomas. Show him who’s in charge. We can’t have a few Irish rebels killing and beating up our runner-boys. It’s bad for business.” Tommy nodded slowly and was formulating a plan as they spoke, “He drinks at the Horse’s Head. That’s where we’ll get him.” “Are you mad?” Arthur questioned, “On any given night there’s at least fifty Irish in there. It’s like a bloody army!” “We’re not scared of some fucking Irish,” John spat. “We’re not,” Tommy looked at his aunt with whom he shared his strategic skills, “but we need to be smart about this.” “Smoke him out,” Polly added, knowing her nephew’s mind so well. “We need an incentive.” Everything was all planned out. Tommy had an explosion, a staged fight and the rum in place. The men would scatter, the police would be elsewhere and their target would run. As the pub would be set on fire, he would literally be smoked out. That’s where they would be. The plan was good, well thought out and each eventually had been dealt with.

When the night came, the first part worked like a well-oiled machine. A small explosion in the shipyards, John’s, had drawn the police away. It would take them a while too, seeing as the Communists held their meetings there. Danny Whizz-bang would be inside the pub, looking both menacingly and vulnerable enough to not attract attention among the rebels. He was doing good tonight; he’d be able to light the fire. Tommy, Arthur and a few other blinders were waiting in the alleyways. Smoke started emerging from the pub and Tommy’s head shot up at the shouts of men. As he was getting ready mentally, he thought: some day, I won’t be the one doing this work. As men started fighting and chaos ensued, he followed one insignificant figure with his eyes. This man ran, frantically, into the protection of one of the dark alleys. Tommy followed and shouted his name. The man turned and his face fell as he recognised the Shelby. He in turn grabbed his gun and pointed it at him, saying, “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” But as Tommy was about to pull the trigger, the man fell forwards. The irritation of an eventuality not anticipated shot through Tommy and as he walked forwards, he saw a small knife sticking out of the Irish’ neck. He died on the spot. His first thought was if he could still pass this off as a killing by the Peaky Blinders, because Polly had been right: they needed to make a statement. Of course he could. His second thought lasted a lot longer and actually drove him to action: who’d done this? The angle of the knife made him look up, towards the roofs. No one was there, but Tommy still ran. As a kid, he used to climb roofs. As an adult, he dug tunnels. It’s funny how both came back to him now. Fearing whomever it was he couldn’t see, he chased the murderer. Once up, he could easily recognise the signs: someone had been on the roofs. There were bits of dust where bricks had been falling, flecks of ash where someone had been smoking and the smell of soap where someone had been waiting. Still, the killer was long gone. *** You weren’t sleeping, but sort of dreaming with one eye open. You did that a lot. Nightmares kept you vigilant, even at night. The boarding house you were living at was positively Dickensian, but you didn’t mind. You came from nothing and had little trouble going back to it. Besides, there was no money coming in at the moment, so you didn’t have the funds for any proper room.

In the dark, you thought of the men on your list. One of the best things about the boarding house was its anonymity. People who lived here were the poorest of the poorest, only surpassed by those on the streets and the working houses. No one asked any questions, no one looked at each other and shame drove people into hiding. The large room was separated into small spaces by a few curtains only, but still, there was some sense of privacy. In the darkness, you could think. The worst thing about the boarding house was the sound. It wasn’t the crying babies, children whining for food or people fighting each other, but the sound of pain. Some women wailed in their sleep and it shook you to your core every time. Your mother had sounded like that. You had too, you knew it. Early in the morning, you left. “Where are you off to, eh?” the old lady who slept next to you asked. In some ways, she was the pauper’s queen and she got away with prying. “Work,” you replied shortly. The old woman laughed a hoarse laugh, “You’re not fooling no one, dearie…” As soon as you walked onto the streets, a calmness came over you. Poverty was familiar, but it frightened you too. It was like a hand around your throat, always squeezing just a little but more. Inside, especially, it was like drowning. In Small Heath, some women had started their first shifts at the factories already and men were shovelling coal into the big machines. Sparks flew and fizzled out in your hair. Soot clung to your already filthy clothing. In other words, nothing about you looked out of the ordinary. The rest of the day was filled with you practising two skills: observing and vanishing. You listened in on conversations everywhere, while timidly looking away when anyone did notice you. Men boasted of their achievements and women complained everywhere. But you listened for any signs of cruelty and found it easily. See, in a city forgotten by civilisation, no one notices cruelty anymore. It’s part of everyday life. You, however, had decided to change that. This was your revenge, or atonement, whichever way you looked at it. One man in particular stood out to you. His eyes were cold and his shoulders broad, and when his wife came to him during his break, he slapped her without warning. Sometimes menace leaves a certain aura and you could sense it in him. When a filthy child came from the factory as well, also on a short break, you motioned the child to come over. “Hey, love,” you said softly. The child didn’t trust you, but his sunken eyes still pleaded, “What?” “Here,” you offered him a bun you’d just stolen, “I need your help.” He hadn’t eaten in days, that much was clear, and with his mouth full of crumbs, he said, “Wiff whaff?” “I’m new here in Birmingham. Where can I get a job?” He pointed, “Ask the foreman.” You smiled gently, “Thanks, love.” “Where’d you get the bun?” he inquired, less shy with each bite. “My husband bought it for me.” “You not hungry?” This child was sweet, so he’d know, “No, you have it. We got more at home.” “Okay,” and he continued absolutely devouring the pastry.   Just before he walked off again, you asked him, off-handedly, “That man, over there?” you pointed at the man with stony eyes, “You know him?” The boy fell still, “Yeah. He works here.” “What’s his name?” “Don’t know,” he whispered, “But mum told us to stay away.” “Why?” The kid shrugged, “He’s a bad man I suppose.” “Like those Shelby’s,” you tried, knowing the kid would know them like everyone around here did. It worked. “Nah,” he laughed, “the Shelby’s would never touch a woman!” “Does he?” you asked, eyes narrowing. “Mum says so. Mum says women are scared of him, because he hurts them. All of them.” You nodded slowly, “Why don’t the Peaky Blinders take care of him?” He shrugged again, “Miss? Thanks for the bun, but I really need to get back. I need my job.” “I know,” you urged him, “Go.” In France, you helped the sick and dying. This is what you had come for and you’d given up everything to do it. With the telegram of each brother found dead, you became more focussed on the work. It was like you turned into a machine, running only on adrenaline. Sometimes you would work shifts of 48 hours, simply because the other nurse had collapsed, or because the bodies wouldn’t stop coming in. Fear became second nature and fatigue had to be ignored. But being tired also made vulnerable: you learned this when one of the superior officers followed you into the halls of the makeshift hospital. Remaining on your feet after working for so long was easy, as long as you kept on moving. But when he grabbed you and you paused, your knees started buckling. Maybe it’d been the fear, maybe it was his rank and maybe it was purely that fucking bloody war, but there was no fight left in you in that moment. He had his way with you and you just… froze. Shame and guilt drove you back to England and back into the shadows you retreated. And then, shame and guilt turned into anger and the guardian angel became an avenging angel. You didn’t have to wait long. After his work was done, you followed the man with the cold eyes, watching his every move. All your fears and the kid’s warnings were confirmed in a dark corner of a filthy street. The woman never stood a chance. And so you vowed: you would end him. *** “What’s up with you?” Ada asked pointedly. Tommy’s head shot up and he stared at his sister with vacant eyes. “Thomas Shelby, the man who never eats. A rare biological mystery, he is,” Ada commented sarcastically. He grabbed a fork and picked up a potato, “I eat.” “Hardly,” Polly commented. “I have work to do, so if you ladies don’t mind…” But Ada wasn’t finished, “You’ve been lost in thought all day. Mind sharing it with us?” “No really.”

“Because we’re just women or…”

“Ada!” Tommy sighed, “Something… happened. Something unexpected and I can’t figure out how.”

“And this bothers you.”

There was something deeply infuriating about having a sister who was reading the newspaper, right next to you, but never made eye contact, and still she was absolutely right about everything. So Tommy threw his head back and admitted defeat, “Someone killed a man.”

“It’s Small Heath.”

“Someone I wanted dead, but he got there before me.”

Polly sat back down and leaned forwards, “The Irish? I though we did that.”

“Yes, that is what I had people believe.”

Ada suddenly looked up, “How?”

“I failed to take it into my calculations…”

“No. How was the Irish killed?”

Tommy blinked a few times, “A knife. Thrown from the roof.”

His sister smiled faintly, didn’t say a word and then went back to her newspaper.

“Ada…” Tommy growled, “If you know something, tell me.”

“Why? I thought you boys were taking care of business now.”

He looked at his aunt for support, almost desperate, but saw from her face that he could hope for little sympathy there.

“Fine, what do you want,” he demanded.

“Respect,” Ada said coldly.

“You have my respect.”

“Good,” she slowly flipped the page, “Now tell me you need me.”

Polly’s smirk grew into a grin and Tommy cursed all women, right there and then.

So he cleared his throat, “Ada, please, tell me.”

“It’s almost like it’s physically painful for him, isn’t it?” Polly said conversationally to Ada.

“Fucking hell…” Tommy groaned, “Ada, I fucking need your help. Please just tell me what you know!”

“Fine,” she abruptly closed the newspaper, “You need to go to that pub in Digbeth.”

“The one by the water?” Tommy frowned.

“That’s the one. Next to that boarding house that should’ve been closed years ago. That’s where you’ll find your killer.”

Immediately, he stood up. Because even though he thought he’d been subtle about it, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the incident for days now. The killer, whoever he was, had taken over his thoughts entirely. It was dark outside already, but still early enough for the pubs to be open. He’d go there at once.

“Tell her I said ‘hi’,” Ada called after him as he left.

And Tommy retraced his steps slowly, “‘Her’?”

“Her.”

He paused for a second, but when nothing else came, “You know they don’t allow women in pubs.”

“They do her,” Ada chuckled.

“Ada, stop playing these fucking games!” he shouted, as he threw down his cap in anger.

She, however, didn’t even blink and repeated, “Her. It’s a woman who killed your Irishman. All the women here know her; she takes care of a certain kind of man for us. She doesn’t want it known and she rids the world of bastards, so we leave her be. It all works out.”

Tommy turned to Polly, “Did you know of this?”

“I’ve heard of her, yes.”

“Then why the fuck has no one told me before?”

Polly sent a stern gaze at her nephew from over her teacup, “I thought you weren’t interested in women’s business.”

***

When you walked into the pub, a small nod to the man behind the bar was all that was needed. Dressing like a man had many advantages and this was definitely one of them. Still, he knew you were a woman, but after helping him out one night, you were allowed in. So you sat in the corner and became one with the furniture, drinking your whiskey in silence.

And then it happened. One man, who had no business being here, walked in. Thomas Shelby of the Peaky Blinders was considered royalty in Small Heath, so why would he be here, in this grimy little cellar pub?

The thought that he came looking for you never even crossed you mind at first. He leaned over the bar and ordered whiskey, asking a few more questions you couldn’t hear. You tried to listen more closely, but the more you did so, the more inaudible his words seemed to become.

Suddenly, he turned and looked you right in the eyes. Without a second thought, you jumped up, kicked the table towards him and made your way to the door.

“Fuck,” you heard him ground out, but still he was quick. In a flash, he had the door barricaded and a gun pointed at your head.

“Out!” he commanded everyone but you.

You felt for the reassuring blades under your clothes and relaxed a little.

“Now, Miss…” he started after everyone had left.

But you didn’t plan on being interrogated, so the first knife whooshed passed his head: a warning.

Thomas Shelby froze. Then it was like an animal awoke in him and he lunged forwards, tackling you down with him. While you were struggling, you tried to plant a second knife into his leg, but he rolled away just in time. With big eyes he stared at the weapon now stuck in the floor.

And so you were standing opposite each other, weapons of choice pointed at each other’s heads.

“Alright,” he said after a while, holding up his hands in a pacifying manner, “There’s no need to fight.”

“Spoken by a man who knows he will lose,” you replied, without missing a beat.

“You want a fight?” Tommy said quickly, “Then fight me like a man. No gun, no fucking knives. If my sister is right about you, you’ll fight me like a man.”

With that you scoffed and threw away the knives, right next to his head, into the door. It gave you such pleasure to see him shudder with each one, but your face betrayed nothing.

“Now what?” you asked.

“You tell me.”

“Fine,” you sighed and punched him in the face, hard.

As his head shot back, you noticed a flicker of surprise in his features, but he quickly recovered and his face turned emotionless yet again.

Your triumph didn’t last long. If anything, you arrogance had distracted you, so the three blows that followed from his fists came out of nowhere. One to the nose, one to the chin and the last one square in the jaw. Thank God you weren’t vain.

You took a breath in, made yourself focus and quickly jabbed him two times, before hitting him right in the eye with a mean left hook.

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered, “Who the fuck taught you how to fight like that?”

“My brothers,” you replied, before you could stop yourself.

Tommy held up his hands and his two punches to your gut literally took your breath away. Meanwhile, he said, “Why aren’t they here to defend you now, eh?”

“Do I look like I need to be fucking defended?” With a sudden kick you were certain you cracked at least on of his ribs.

Wheezing, he leaned over, but managed to grab your leg in the process and flipped you over onto the ground, “Brothers still do.”

“They’re dead,” you said from the floor, “the Somme,” and with one quick motion, you’d tackled him with your legs, “What about you?”

“The Somme too. Verdun…”

Before he could recover, you climbed on top of him and started pounding his pretty face with your fists. Unfortunately, he quickly bucked you off and hit you with a nasty uppercut, which made you wonder about your teeth.

You crawled back a little and felt with a hand at your mouth: blood. Tommy leaned against the wall and was still panting, lightly tracing a hand over his ribs. The chaos subdued and you both rested.

“Are we done?” he growled.

You stared at him with a look that told him you could go on for hours like this, “What is it that you want?”

“I just want to talk.”

Quickly, you started thinking out your options. Clearly, he knew who you were and evidently, you’d killed the wrong person this time. Really, it was bound to happen at some point.

“Who was it?” you asked, “the one you didn’t want dead.”

“I did want him dead,” he said as he slowly lifted his cigarette case from his pocket.

“Then what’s the problem?”

He smiled a little and the gesture was so unexpected that the feeling it gave you caught you completely off-guard, “I wanted to be the one to kill him.”

You furrowed your brows, thought back and suddenly nodded slowly, “The Irishman.”

He pointed at you with his cigarette in hand, “That’s the one.”

In the silence that followed, you watched this man, this broken boy. His eyes started glazing over and you knew he drifted off to placed in the distant past. As he smoked slowly, you recognised the signs of a flashback so well and you suddenly became more curious than ever about this man.

He saw the same thing in you evidently, because out of the blue he said, “You and me. I think we understand each other.”

“Do we?” you said in a voice that demanded distance.

He nodded a little, “We kill.”

You laughed a cold laugh, “Are you insane like me?”

“Maybe I am…”

“Or just in pain like me?” you added.

He didn’t speak for a long time, like he was thinking what to say next, but then, suddenly, he broke the pregnant silence. “Who hurt you?” he asked, in a voice so low it was almost inaudible.

You leaned forwards and locked eyes with him, fire burning inside them, “Everyone.”

Tommy sat back and offered you a cigarette, but soon realised you wouldn’t take it from his hands without expecting abuse from them. So he threw it your way and you grabbed it gratefully. When you lit it, the two of you leaned against the wall in the same manner, postures similar.

“It’s time,” he announced, looking up at the ceiling.

You cocked one eyebrow, “Is it?”

“The minute is almost up.”

“And how does it end?”

He sighed, “With names. You’ve beaten me. I’m no longer Mr. Thomas Shelby. It’s Tommy now.”

And you smiled at him softly and replied with your own vulnerability, “Y/N.”

***

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