#how angsty would it be to kill arthur off in the next part?

[wholoveseggs]

Can I maybe have an angst/fluff where the reader had turned her humanity off and Elijah is trying his best to flip it back on? Thank you!! Love your work 💕

Forgiveness

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

After a tragic event you flip your humanity switch and begin to terrorize the Quarter. You have to be put down for the good of the city, but your husband will stop at nothing to save you.

♡♡ Thanks for the request anon(s) sorry it took so long! ♡♡

5.5k words - Warnings: so so so angsty, violent, reader does some evil shit, a bit of sex but its not sexy, this is definitely the darkest thing I've ever written.. you want angst??? you get angst.

Marcel sat on a stool in a dimly lit bar, staring into his glass of whiskey. He wondered how much more loss he could take, and when it would finally break him.

He was experiencing a kind of helplessness he hadn't experienced since he was a boy, sneaking half rotten apples in his shirt, running home as fast as he could so he wouldn't be caught.

He couldn't outrun his feelings now. They followed him wherever he went, nipping at his heels, mocking him for the things he couldn't fix, the things he couldn't undo.

It wasn't his fault, not really, yet he felt guilty, because a part of him still cared for you. Even after all you had done. All you had become.

He was pulled out from his melancholy by one of his nightwalkers, a vampire called Arthur, a man who had served in the first World War, and came to New Orleans, looking for the easy life.

He sat down next to Marcel and placed a gold chain necklace on the table, it had distinct little jewels, each one a different color. Marcel recognized it instantly and his heart sank at the flecks of blood still clinging to it.

"Jean," he said softly, picking the necklace up and examining it.

Arthur nodded his head. "I found her in an alleyway, anyone could of come across it," he told Marcel.

"How bad?" Marcel asked, already knowing the answer.

"Not pretty. I got rid of the body."

"Thanks," Marcel said, and he meant it. He didn't want a bunch of human detectives finding the body and raising questions. "I told Jean not to go after her," he said, shaking his head, the weight of his regret was almost crushing.

Arthur poured himself a drink, and looked at Marcel with a raised brow.

"What else was she supposed to do? Sit at the bar and mope while her friends are slaughtered," he said, taking a swig.

"You know it's not that simple," Marcel told him.

Arthur sighed, "I know," he said, "but we gotta stop her, she's killing us off, one by one,"

Marcel finished his drink, his knuckles turning white around the glass.

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice breaking, "I know."

He looked down at his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl around, wondering if he could ever drink enough to forget who you used to be, if he would ever get you back. The ironic part was that he needed some solid advice and the person he usually would go to was you.

He threw his glass on the ground and it shattered on the floor, causing the other vampires in the bar to jump.

"Fuck," he yelled, standing up, looking around at his people. "Listen up, she got Jean," he paused as the crowd murmured in shock, "and I'm not gonna stand here and let her kill anyone else," he announced.

"What about Elijah?" A young vampire asked.

"Fuck him," Marcel shouted, "he will let us all die before he hurts his precious wife."

"If you see her, bring her to me, and I will give you the daylight ring of your choice," he promised, and the crowd cheered.

"Now go, and do not approach her alone," he ordered, and the group dispersed.

"We got this Marcel," Arthur told him.

Marcel gave him a nod and watched him leave. His heart broke for what he knew he had to do. He would stop you, no matter what it took.

A soft low moan came tumbling past your lips as you rocked your hips forward, and dug your nails deeper into the neck of the man beneath you. His eyes were closed in a mix of ecstasy and pain, and his hips thrust upwards, chasing the pleasure you were giving him.

"Don't cum," you compelled him, and his body tensed beneath you.

"Please," he begged, his hands reaching for you, grabbing your thighs and squeezing.

You moaned and lifted yourself up, and then slammed down onto him, hard. He cried out in pleasure, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"Please," he choked out, and you could see the tears pooling in his eyes.

You were getting tired of him. His stamina was abysmal, and you assumed that since he was covered in tattoos he enjoyed a bit of pain. You had been disappointed when you had learned that wasn't the case.

"Don't be a bitch," you spat, "and shut up."

He nodded, and you could tell he was struggling. You sighed, and grabbed him roughly by the hair, pulling his head to the side and exposing his neck.

He groaned, and you bit into his neck, making sure your teeth sliced deep. Blood poured from his neck, you could taste a hint of the endorphins rushing through him and smiled. You sucked on his wound, and began moving again.

His breathing hitched, and his whole body was shaking, you knew it wouldn't take long for him to reach his orgasm.

"You can cum now," you told him, and he moaned, and his fingers dug into your hips.

You continued rocking into him, and a few seconds later he let out a strangled cry, and you could feel his cock throbbing inside of you.

You smiled through bloodied teeth then sunk your fangs back into his neck, tasting the flood of endorphins. You continued to drink, feeling him struggle underneath you.

"Too much," he wheezed, trying to push you away, but he was far too weak.

You kept going until his breathing slowed, and his body stopped moving. You pulled back and let his body slump onto the bed, looking down disappointedly.

"I don't even get an orgasm out of it," you complained, rolling your eyes.

You lifted yourself off him, stretching and cracking your neck.

You glanced over at the woman laying in the chair in the corner of the room, and frowned. You had forgotten about her. She was alive, her chest rising and falling, her heartbeat thumping loudly.

You had compelled her to be silent and still, she was doing an excellent job. You stood up and walked towards her. She stared at you with wide, terrified eyes. You were naked, and covered in blood, it dripped down your face, and neck, and coated your breasts and legs.

"Oh, honey," you cooed, brushing her hair out of her face. "I'm so sorry, was that your boyfriend?"

The woman whimpered, tears spilling out of her eyes, and you shushed her, gently running your thumb over her bottom lip.

"You shouldn't stay with a cheater," you told her, and she looked at you in confusion, "and you should choose better men," you advised, then snapped her neck.

You went to the bathroom, and turned the shower on, and stepped under the hot stream, letting the water wash away the blood and cum.

Your mind was calm, the only thought swirling around in your head was your desire to drink and fuck, and the two together was an amazing combination.

You washed yourself quickly, then found a dress and slid it over your wet body. It clung to your skin, but you didn't mind.

You put on some jewelry you found and checked yourself out in the mirror. You were beautiful, and the darkness behind your eyes made you look deadly.

You smiled, satisfied with your appearance, and left the hotel, deciding to find your next victim.

New Orleans was a big city, but it was full of sin, and you loved walking the streets, feeling its pulse, and knowing that somewhere there was a soul aching for you to feed on.

You could have compelled yourself a meal, but where was the fun in that? There was something so satisfying about hunting and the chase was exhilarating.

You walked down a back street, thinking about having a redhead for dinner when the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and your stomach clenched.

You were being followed.

You sped up and the person followed suit, and you smiled. Finally, something to cure your boredom. You took a sharp left, and the footsteps following you became hurried.

"Fuck," a male voice shouted, and you laughed, and took another left, and then a right, and a left again. Leading them exactly where you wanted.

You were back near the hotel, and you slipped into the alleyway and waited. You were going to enjoy this.

You didn't have to wait long, a few seconds later a vampire rounded the corner and stopped when he saw you.

"Arthurrr, it's been a while," you said, licking your lips. "I thought you and your merry band of idiots would have learned their lesson by now," you told him.

"Well, you know me, I'm a slow learner," he replied, standing at the head of the alley, his arms crossed.

"Jean was such a nice girl, you guys were together, right?" You asked, knowing full well they were.

"We were," Arthur said, his jaw clenching, and you could see the hurt in his eyes.

"She was so sweet, always so eager to please," you continued, taking a step towards him, "and so willing to do anything for those she loved," you said, pausing, "it's a shame that you're all so willing to die for one another," you finished, taking another step forward.

"Has Elijah seen you like this?" Arthur asked, taking a step back, his hand sliding into his pocket.

"What, covered in blood and looking sexy as hell," you replied, grinning at him.

"No, like a monster."

Arthur watched you freeze, a flicker of emotion crossing your face. It was gone as fast as it came and your expression went cold again and you smirked at him.

It hurt him to see you like this, you had been his friend for decades. But this wasn't about him and you, it was even about his beloved Jean. He didn't care if Elijah would tear him apart for it. He would not let you hurt another person he loved. He had to put you down, like a rabid dog.

"Isn't that what we are Artie? Monsters."

"Not all of us," he said, his voice cracking.

"Come on, don't be shy," you said, stepping closer, "I'll let you get a hit in."

Arthur reached into his pocket and felt the needle he prepared. You were much older and stronger than he was, but all he had to do was get close enough to you and shove the needle into your skin and maybe he could end this nightmare

Marcel knelt down over Arthur's body, or at least what was left of it. He didn't have anymore tears left in him to shed.

"I'm sorry, my friend, go be with Jean," he whispered, closing Arthur's eyes.

"And Mark, Jessa, Sean, Patrick..." Said a voice from behind him.

Marcel closed his eyes and sighed, turning around and looking up at Elijah.

"How can you be so fucking callous?" Marcel snarled.

Elijah didn't know how to respond. He was numb, and the pain had become too much. He was barely holding himself together, the only thing keeping him going was his promise.

He was going to save you, no matter the cost.

"Are you just going to stand there and act like you don't care?" Marcel spat, standing up, anger and resentment coursing through him.

"Don't make this any worse than it already is," Elijah said.

"You are killing us!" Marcel shouted, taking a step towards him.

Elijah shook his head and clenched his fists, and Marcel saw the pain in his eyes. He stopped himself and took a breath.

"Elijah, she is out of control, you need to do something," he said, his voice softer.

"I know," Elijah agreed. "But... she's... I can't, not yet," he stuttered, his voice breaking, "just a few more days," he pleaded, looking at Marcel desperately.

"A few more days," Marcel scoffed, "Elijah, if you don't stop her, I will have to kill her."

Elijah flashed forward and shoved Marcel into the wall.

"You won't lay a finger on her," Elijah growled, his face inches from Marcel's.

"I don't want to," Marcel told him, and Elijah could see the truth in his eyes. "But I can't let her keep doing this, you can't expect us to sit around and let her murder everyone we love."

"Marcel..." Elijah warned, his grip tightening.

"Elijah, this has to stop," Marcel said, shoving Elijah back, "I have to stop her, before she kills the whole fucking Quarter," he exclaimed, his eyes glistening.

"I know you Mikaelsons only care about yourselves, so let me put this in a way you will understand." Marcel took a breath, and tried to remain calm. "We can't hide what she's doing anymore. The humans are scared, and are starting to ask questions. If this continues, they will figure out that we exist, and the whole world will come down on New Orleans, and none of us will make it out alive."

Elijah's shoulders slumped and he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"What would you have me do, Marcel?" Elijah asked, his voice soft and defeated.

"Turn her humanity back on."

You felt like shit, cold yet hot, your throat was on fire and every limb ached. You sat up slowly and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, and blinked several times. Your vision was blurry, and it took a moment for the room to come into focus.

You thought it was just vervain in that needle, nothing a couple of drinks couldn't fix, but when you started to see things that weren't there, you realized that Arthur must have dosed you up with wolfsbane.

You managed to crawl into some hole of an apartment to hide from the hallucinations, hoping when you woke up you would be feeling better.

But it didn't, you were dying. You could feel it.

"No," you moaned, falling back against the wall, the reality of your situation sinking in.

"You didn't think I would just let you die," a soft, familiar voice spoke.

"You're not real," you told him, refusing to look at him.

"That doesn't mean I'm not here."

You looked up and Elijah was standing in front of you. You sighed and closed your eyes, but he was still there, in your mind.

"What kind of monster are you?" He asked and you laughed.

"Child killer," you answered, looking at him, his expression was blank. "Murderer, adulterer, thief, blasphemer..." You listed, but he remained expressionless.

"Whore," he added and you laughed again.

"I'm a terrible wife," you said, smiling.

"You are a monster," he repeated.

"So are you," you snapped.

"I never claimed to be otherwise," he said.

"If you are real you should kill me," you suggested.

"I'm not real," he reminded you.

"I know, the real you would never call me a whore," you replied, and he chuckled.

"I'm dying Elijah," you stated, your eyes welling up with tears, "this is it, I can feel it."

"What are you going to do about it?"

You took a deep breath and stood up, leaning against the wall for support.

"I'm going to go get the cure," you decided, stumbling out into the night.

The compound wasn't far from the apartment, and the cold air helped you wake up, and your head was clearer, and you could focus on your destination.

"Why not let yourself die?" Elijah asked, walking alongside you.

"Living is much more fun, so many possibilities," you said, "food, sex, money..."

"Family, friends..." He added.

"Waste of time," you dismissed, waving him away, watching him dissolve.

You pushed through the iron gates, trying your best to compose yourself. You entered the courtyard and saw a few nightwalkers scattered around, they didn't notice you and continued drinking and chatting.

"Where is Klaus?" You asked loudly.

Everyone turned and looked at you, and the room fell silent. All you could see was their fear and it amused you.

"I will not ask again," you said, smiling sweetly.

"In his studio," someone answered, and you gave them a nod, and walked past then, heading upstairs.

You barged right in and found him standing in front of an easel, painting. He only painted when he was troubled, and his canvas was filled with darkness and death.

"Lovely," you commented, walking towards him.

Klaus didn't turn to look at you, he simply continued to paint. "Elijah isn't home, but I expect you know that already," he said.

"How perceptive," you remarked.

"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" He asked.

"I need your blood," you told him.

"Rather bold of you to ask, considering the circumstances," he said, finally turning to look at you.

You didn't know what to say. You had no words, and for once you were lost for a witty remark. You just stared at him, and he studied you.

"I've been hearing about your extracurriculars," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Is that so," you replied, and the corners of your mouth curled up.

"Killing a child, now that's unexpected," he remarked.

You ignored him, unable to respond, because it wasn't something you wanted to think about. You could see your hallucination of Elijah staring at you from the corner of the room. A small child appeared next to him, blood pouring out of her neck.

"Why didn't you save me?" She asked, her eyes filled with pain and betrayal.

"Shut up," you whispered, shaking your head.

"She died in pain, and you did nothing," the vision of Elijah said, and you closed your eyes, trying to will it all away. It was becoming irritating.

"I'm sure the mother will be most upset," Klaus said.

"Spare me the guilt trip, you've done far worse," you spat, opening your eyes, relieved the visions had disappeared.

Klaus observed your disheveled state and noticed how much you were sweating, and the dark circles under your eyes. You were clearly unwell, and it explained why you risked coming back to the compound. You really did need his blood.

"I have, love. But that's just who I am, it's not who you are," he replied, turning back to his canvas.

"Well, I've always wanted to try the whole serial killer thing," you said, trying to sound light-hearted, but the joke fell flat, and neither of you laughed.

"So you killed the child because you wanted to? Because you enjoy doing such things? I'm not even that diabolical." He chuckled, adding a bit of white to the canvas.

"Yes, Klaus, I wanted to kill her, I wanted her to suffer, and I wanted to see the look on her mother's face as I did it."

Klaus set his brush down, and turned back to you. "That's a lie, it was an accident, Marcel told me," he said, watching your eyes widen, and your face fall.

"It was an accident," the little girl's ghost said, appearing in front of you.

You stumbled back, bumping into the sofa, and the girl was right in front of you.

"Why didn't you save me?" She repeated, tears filling her eyes.

"FUCK!" You yelled, your hands gripping the sides of your head.

"Wolfsbane is one hell of a trip," Klaus said casually, watching you stumble back from something he couldn't see.

"If you won't give me your blood, just kill me, I rather not die in agony," you told him.

"Do you think you deserve it?" He asked.

"Deserve what? Death, mercy, life? Who knows, who cares," you answered.

"I think Elijah does," Klaus said, and you froze.

"I'm not talking about this with you," you said, turning to leave.

"Despite what you may think, I do consider you family, even in the state you are in," he said, and he saw the look of surprise on your face.

"Ahh, there it is," he said softly, "a flicker of feeling just under the surface, fight your way back y/n," he encouraged.

Frustration was the only thing you were feeling and you lashed out, pushing over his easel, knocking his paints off the table.

He raised his eyebrows at your outburst and laughed, it was a rough, genuine laugh, and he grinned at you.

"Very well, Elijah wouldn't be pleased if I let you die and I kind of like you like this," he admitted, "though, you are rather irritable."

You stopped yourself from talking back, just needing to get your hands on his blood. You didn't want to waste any more time with him.

"Now, what am I going to ask in return," Klaus said, stroking his chin, "something I've been wanting for a very long time."

"If you want to fuck you don't have to bribe me," you told him.

"As tempting as that is, no," he said, grinning. "I want a favor, in the future," he offered.

"You're going to have to be more specific."

"That's the beauty of a favor, it can be anything," he said.

"Fine," you snapped, "blood now please,"

Klaus smirked and opened a drawer in the table, taking out a vial and handing it to you. You snatched it from his hand and uncapped the lid, gulping the blood down.

"What hallucinations were you having?" He asked, and you froze, and he laughed.

"Private ones," you replied, placing the empty vial on the table.

"You're no fun," he pouted. "You have my blood now, get out," he said, returning to his canvas.

You didn't argue, leaving him to his painting, and returned to the main courtyard. You stood there, trying to figure out your next move. You knew what was waiting for you if you turned your humanity back on. Guilt and self-loathing, and the pain of knowing what you've done, and not being able to take it back.

You needed to leave the city before they forced you to turn it back on. There was nothing here for you anyway, not anymore.

"That's her," you heard someone say, and looked around.

"Are you sure?" Another asked.

"I'm sure," the first one confirmed.

They were staring right at you, but the fear in their eyes from earlier was gone, replaced with anger and resentment. You smiled and flashed forward, snapping the neck of the vampire who had identified you.

The rest charged, and you were surrounded by vampires, but it wasn't a challenge. You were far older and stronger than them. The courtyard turned into a slaughterhouse and the floor was covered in blood.

You were standing over a body, tearing the heart out when Marcel called your name. You dropped the heart and slowly turned, your lips curling up into a smirk.

Marcel grabbed your arm, trying to break your hold, but it was no use, you were stronger than him. You smiled, digging your fingers deeper, and he gasped.

"Marcellus," you greeted, smirking. Before he could react you slammed him against the wall. "I was hoping I would run into you," you said, pressing your hand into his chest. "We have some unfinished business,"

"I taught you better than that sweet Marcel," you taunted, twisting your wrist.

Marcel looked into your eyes, full of emotion, and you couldn't tell if it was sadness or pity.

"Stop this," he said, his grip tightening, and he tried to push you back. "I don't want to kill you," he said, his voice softer.

"And why not?" You asked, digging your fingers deeper, his face twisted in pain.

"Because..." he choked out, his heart slowing down, and his vision blurred, "I know you are still in there, my friend, and I'm not going to lose you,"

"I was so boring, so full of weakness," you told him, "this is who I was meant to be."

"No, you're not," he gasped, struggling to breathe, his legs buckling under the pressure. "You were the woman who helped raise me, would bake me apple pies whenever I had a bad day, would let me sleep in the same bed as her and Elijah when I had a nightmare, the woman who taught me love and compassion," he told you, and his grip tightened on your arm.

"And now she is hurting because she made a mistake, and that is something that I can forgive, because I know her heart is good."

You laughed coldly, his attempts to manipulate you not working, and you tightened your grip. You didn't want to hear anymore from him, his words were getting under your skin in a way that caused fear to trickle in.

"Goodbye, Marcel," you said, squeezing his heart, and it was too late for him to stop you, his strength was leaving him.

"Darling, put Marcellus down," said the last voice you wanted to hear. The one that could make all your pain return.

You felt him behind you, his hand on your waist. Your breath caught in your throat and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

"Let him go," Elijah said softly, his hand moving to your arm, keeping you from tearing Marcels heart out.

"Fuck off Elijah," you growled, struggling to get free, but his grip was like a vice.

"We can do this the hard way if you insist, I have no issue breaking your neck," he warned.

"You would never do that to your precious wife," you taunted, tugging in Elijah's grasp causing Marcel to cough up more blood.

Elijah let out a long sigh, then he moved faster than you could comprehend and everything went black.

You woke in a small windowless room, only a few candles illuminating the space. You were in a chair, your wrists bound by chains.

"You're awake," a voice came from the shadows, and Elijah stepped into the light.

"This is kinky, even for you Elijah," you teased.

He did not look amused, sadness and regret filled his eyes, and he had never looked so broken. He knelt in front of you, and rested his hand on yours.

"Turn it back on," he demanded, looking into your eyes.

"I can't," you lied.

"Yes, you can," he said, his grip tightening.

"No, I can't," you argued, "turning it off was the best decision I have ever made."

"What happened was an accident, it wasn't your fault," Elijah said, and you could see the pain in his eyes, "and turning off your emotions does not fix things, it only makes it worse."

You let him talk, he was so good at it, his deep sexy voice creating a perfect melody of bullshit. But you let him think he was getting through to you as you subtly slipped out of your restraints. Your loving husband was so trusting.

"We can work through this, I can help you," he continued, "I love you," he said, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

"I know," you replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, and without a word you freed yourself from the chains and sped to the door.

Elijah was quicker, blocking your path. You let out a huff and tried to push past him, but he shoved you back and grabbed your shoulders.

You felt anger again, the only thing you could feel and you unleashed it on him. Clawing, scratching, striking him wherever you could. He took everything you threw at him, and eventually, he trapped you against the wall.

You let you a high pitched scream, it was feral and animalistic, and you thrashed in his grip, but his body pressed against yours, his hands on either side of your head, keeping you still.

"Stop," he said softly, it was barley a whisper.

Your body was pressed firmly against his, and you could feel his heart racing.

"Please," he begged, his eyes filling with tears.

He didn't look angry or annoyed, he looked sad, and it wasn't until then that you noticed his blood, covering your hands and clothes, and you realized how much you had hurt him.

"Just stop, please," he said, his voice cracking, and you knew the pain was too much.

You looked up at him and felt your anger give way into sadness. It was just a trickle, a soft misting of emotion, but it was there. You knew what was coming next.

You felt the weight of everything that had happened, all the hurt, and the pain, and the death, and it consumed you. The dam broke and you wanted, no, needed; to turn it off again.

Elijah could see the torment in your eyes, the light flickering behind them, fighting to return.

"Do you know why I fell in love with you? Why I married you?" He said softly, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

"You pity me, that's all," you said.

"Because," he began, taking your hand in his, "you have a heart," he said, placing your palm on his chest, "that's bigger than anything else, your kindness is endless. Even as a vampire you have always helped more than you've harmed, and that is a gift that not many have."

"Elijah," you whimpered, feeling the weight of his words and the force of your emotions bearing down on you.

"And I can't watch you destroy yourself any longer, because if you die, a part of me will die with you," he finished, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to yours. "You have to feel all the pain, it's worth it, because you also can experience the love," he said, gently cupping your face, "the love I have for you."

You couldn't help yourself, the flood gates had opened, and there was no closing them. You let out a small gasp, and the tears streamed down your cheeks, and he kissed them away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you sobbed, clinging to him.

"It's alright," he hushed, pulling away and brushing the tears from your cheeks.

You didn't respond, you couldn't. You felt a wave of nausea wash over you, and your knees buckled. Elijah caught you, and pulled you close, holding you tight.

"I got you, it's okay," he assured, lifting you off your feet.

He sat down in the chair and held you on his lap. You couldn't stop crying, your face buried in the crook of his neck, and he cradled you.

"I'm a monster," you said quietly, and he held you closer.

"Not to me, never to me," he said, his fingers combing through your hair, and he felt you tremble.

"I killed her," you whimpered, your body tensing and your eyes clenched shut. "An innocent,"

"Shhh," he hushed, and you clung to him.

"How could I," you said, pulling away from him.

"It wasn't your fault. It was an accident, you tried to save her," he reminded, stroking your cheek.

"What's the point of having the power to heal when I can't even save a child," you cried, the guilt and shame tearing you apart.

"She fell, no one could have stopped it, not even Niklaus," he said, his hand moving to the back of your neck, pulling your head forward.

His lips brushed over your forehead, and he planted a small kiss. "Let's go home," he whispered, and your eyes widened.

"I can't, everyone will hate me, I deserve to die," you protested, pushing him away.

"You've been my wife for five hundred years, but only now have you become a true Mikaelson," he chuckled, picking you up and carrying you to the door.

It would take time, penance, and a lot of groveling to repair the damage you had done, and there was a chance some of them may never forgive you, but you had a chance now, to make amends, and that was all you could hope for.

It had been a week since you turned your humanity back on, and it was still painful, and overwhelming.

Klaus came to you one day, while Elijah was out. He had his hands in his pockets and he leaned against the doorframe. He could see how much you were struggling, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm here to call in that favor," he announced, and your eyes narrowed.

"What do you want?" You asked, not bothering to look at him. "I'm really not in the mood, so say it fast and get out."

"You need to promise me that you will fulfill it, no matter how difficult," he warned, and you groaned, rolling your eyes.

"Just spit it out Klaus," you said, glaring at him.

"Forgive yourself."

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[khaleesiofalicante]

Daniii I seriously need a warning before you update such emotional chapters! Girl I was out with my friends when I saw it so I read a small part and it was the Prince story and I teared up🥲 And then I ruined my make up and my friends where kinda concerned because they thought something bad had happened and the "Max and David are so in love it brings me to tears" truth wouldn't have cut it so I told them I remembered something emotional😅

Okay I really want to talk about the chapter so bad but, I have to tell you, the month that I had the exams I had a lot of Mavid thoughts and I didn't have time to tell you about them so I wrote them down on my phone for when the exams would be over. So I kind of mixed them and made a Mavid list!

I remember some people in your ask box talking about the first Malec fight in TLND and it got me thinking, how would Mavid's first fight after getting back together in IALS would have gone. I mean, I try to think about the subject or the way it would go, but I'm drawing a blank., thoughts? (And prayers, I hate it when they fight)

I can just see Max posting a lot of shirtless pics in IALS, Lewis Hamilton style and David being internally stuck between telling him to stop doing that and taking screenshots of every single one of them. Oh bonus points if he did it before they got back together, I can just see David staring at them and being pissy about everyone else getting to see them and then sad because he doesn't get to see Max like that anymore. This was supposed to be funny but it turned angsty so I'll leave it here.

I keep imagining this scenario where post Africa trip, Max and David are asleep and Max wakes up and he can't go back to bed so he goes for a swim in the pool and David senses Max isn't in bed so he wakes up and at first he panicks but then he hears the water splashing and goes to the pool and he sees Max and the moonlight highlights his face and he looks so beautiful and David just stares at him and Max looks up and smiles at him softly and goes, hey Babe, and David smiles softly back and he goes up to him and Max tells him to join him so David dives in the pool and they spent hours just sitting there floating and talking just being them🥹

Back to FMF, I have noticed that David's mission in Budapest gets mentioned a lot and it may be nothing but it may be something no offense but you've given me trust issues so I ignore nothing😂

Okay I just ADORE the new casting for Lance and Arthur, but especially Arthur because of the piercings and the tattoos, I mean like father like son👀

It also occurred to me that Lance has Max's taste in music and his need to work out while Arthur has David's taste in music and hates working out just like him. They both have so much of both their parents in them and it makes me a little emotional🥺

Can I just say that although Jackson doesn't really like Max in any universe, he always knows that Max is gone for David and is absolutely obsessed with him the exact way David is about him, oh I love Jackson, he is the only bitch we respect in this house

M, THE PASSWORD TO DAVIDS PHONE IS THE LETTER M, M FOR MAX, M FOR MON ANGE CALLED IT! When I tell you I squealed when I read that part please know I mean it

I'm ready to bet real money that Max will eventually get David to both twerk and pole dance for him because he'll be all like "Well I heard it on the video and now I can't stop imagining it Babe" and David will absolutely go for it. Because "no post man's daughter could pull this off like me"

I'm still waiting for the iconic "I love you, I'm gonna kill your dad, but I love you" line that you teased us with (I have a feeling we'll see it in the next chapter)

Okay David being Arthur's dad not being a constant is making me very icky and it kinda hurts, but I'll wait for the LBAF chapter to drop to properly explore that because there are some parts I still don't get

I don't know how I feel about the David/Other Max situation, I mean thinking about it kinda bothers me, please don't be offended🥺 It's just, it kinda makes me feel like the Jaden/Max situation in IALS and that's not cool, I can't wait to see the way you explore it and the emotions you bring out of it. I have to say my reaction is very connected to Max's, I mean if Max is eventually okay with it and starts feeling differently or understands that he has no reason to antagonise this other version of himself maybe our perception of the whole thing might change. Really looking forward to that plot (although it scares me at the same time, does that make sense?)

You playing the long game and eventually killing someone you won't bring back to life scares me. Why would you do that, we love that you kill our faves and then bring them back, don't stop bringing them back😭

Okay that's it for now, I loved these chapters, you're amazing never forget!

PS: I really really love the tag, getting a personal tag on your blog makes me kinda 🥹 so thank youuu🌷🩷

A MAVID LIST? LET'S GO, BABYGIRL, LET'S GO.

I'm not sure. This feels like something I would like to think about (and maybe even write 👀) But immediate thoughts: David will start the fight and it might have something to do with Max's job. I don't see their fights emerging from little things but rather bigger fears and insecurities that they are still working on.

Allow me to counter the angst. Because while I read it, I thought of this whole scene where (post-divorce) David is like looking at Max's insta stories and Jackson is like 'it's like you want to get caught" and David is like "it's not like he is going to know" and Jackson replies with "You know people can see who viewed their insta stories right???" and David (who doesn't actually use insta and only uses it to stalk Max) just screams and throws his phone into the pool.

This is the softest. I love this. I also love how David prefers baths (bougie ass bitch) but he loves being in the pool with Max

Budapest is important. Not that important. But important. You'll see it in the next chapter.

Thank yoooou. Arthur canonically has tattoos (or runes) and piercings so yay

They really do. I can't wait to explore their family dynamic further in lbaf!

JACKSON RIGHTS (AND WRONGS) ONLY

david's lack of awareness about cyber security is a canon event

I mean...I don't see why not ;)

Close <3

I don't know what you mean by this though? David is Arthur's father in every universe. Maybe I made a typo or you misunderstood? Although his mother(ish)...you'll see in lbaf.

This situation is complicated. It's supposed to be complicated. The plot and Max's storyline won't work otherwise. We need Other Max for the plot and I don't see a universe in which David is like "oh another max? I'll just let him mind his own business" and a universe in which Max is like "my greatest enemy is me". More on this very soon ;)

No

I had a very meh day and felt kinda useless and unproductive and this list was the best part of my day so thank you for that 💙

[reddeadmort]

Arthur Morgan x f! Reader | “Silvery Threads” | Part 4

AO3 LINK

Words: 2.4k

The man in black isn't someone you can escape from easily. Especially not now you've pissed him off......

Notes:

Warnings: one brief mention of being groped, no description.

This is turning out a lot longer than expected! Next chapter may take a while, I'm not too sure where this is going.....

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

“I said, run!” Arthur tried to push you off, succeeding only in causing himself more pain. 

“No!” You desperately tried to tie the knot in the cloth, hands so wet from the blood the material kept slipping through your fingers. 

“Bloody woman” Arthur grunted, reaching down to his holster to grab his pistol. “Get ready to fight then.” 

He had barely finished his sentence when a bullet whistled past your head, slamming into the ground a few metres away. Arthur immediately raised his gun, pointing behind you, and tried to lift his head to get a better view. 

You stiffened as you felt the cold metal press into the back of your skull, felt the click as the hammer was pulled back. 

“Ah reckon ya might want to drop that weapon there Morgan.” The contempt was palpable in the man’s voice. Arthur placed the pistol carefully on the floor as you raised your hands up.

“Ah no missy, nice try” the man sneered as he stepped away slightly, removing your opportunity to attempt to grab the weapon. Gun still trained at your head, he slowly walked around and kicked Arthur’s pistol out of reach. 

“Good work there Patrick.” You tried not to react to the cold, deep voice as the man in black stepped into view. 

“S’no problem sir. Excellent shooting.”

“Hmm, not quite. He’s still alive.” The barrel of the rifle was less than a foot from Arthur’s head as the man moved his finger to the trigger. “This….oaf interrupted my game. Before I could even get paid.”  

“Don’t ya worry sir, someone’ll pay for him.” The tall man turned to face his accomplice, one eyebrow raised in a questioning expression. “That’s Arthur Morgan. One of the Van der Linde gang. And from the way she was gripping his thigh, I’d guess that this is his little bitch.” Patrick spat at you, catching you in the face; you saw Arthur’s arms tense out of the corner of your eye, but he knew better than to move. 

“Interesting…..” the man murmured, rifle slowly lowering. “You’ll have to excuse my ignorance, but I don’t tend to involve myself in gangs. They make too much noise, too many loose ends. Exactly who will pay for this brute?” 

“Law, pinkertons, probably O’Driscolls. Dutch van der linde maybe.”

“Hmm…. can’t say I’m too interested in the money, but something to make up for today’s inconvenience would be appreciated.” The man cocked his head to one side, weighing up the options. “On second thought, it’ll make things too difficult.” 

As his rifle swung upwards, you launched yourself forwards on top of Arthur, blocking his head and chest from the weapon. You wrapped your arms around his head, gripping tightly as the accomplice tried to yank you back by the hair. 

“Don’t touch her!” The man in black snarled, pushing the other away. “Her suffering is mine to control.” Beneath you, you felt Arthur’s arm slowly move upwards, the movement blocked from view by your body. You stayed perfectly still as he slipped his sheathed hunting knife under the waistline of your trousers, down the side of your thigh. 

“Speaking of suffering, I wonder if she’ll enjoy being watched by her…beloved..as I turn her into my next art piece”. You finally lifted your head as the barrel of the rifle was wedged under your face, pushing you back up off Arthur. 

“Tie them both. Before you stick him on the back of that horse however, make sure to dig that bullet out of his leg. We don’t want him dying…. Not yet anyway.” You stared up into the dark eyes, the flecks of gold seeming to flash as the man revelled in the fear you were struggling to hide.

As the horse you were strapped to, hogtied, was led away, you tried to block out Arthur’s muffled scream and groans. 

—--

Dutch, Charles and Bill had thundered into Valentine only to discover chaos. The bodies of the sheriff and the deputy had been dragged onto the porch of the office. As they rode through town, they caught snippets of conversations; there had been a gunfight, multiple people on horses had fled the town. Dutch slid off his mount to chat to the locals, while Charles made his way up the street, around the back of the office. It was no good; far too many trails and footprints. He sighed, hoping that you two had sensibly gone to find somewhere to lie low for a time. As he spurred his horse round to return to the others, a scrap of fabric caught his eye. The bloodied bit of cloth on the ground, half trodden into the path, matched your shirt. He called out to the others and started to trot out of town.

—---

The cellar underneath the shack was cold and damp, the only light coming from a small window near the ceiling. Once again, your wrists were bound and strapped above your head to a post. You stayed staring at the floor, refusing to look up at Arthur, bound to a chair in front of you. You hoped he didn’t see the way your face twisted in pain as the bucket of salt water splashed over the fresh wounds. 

“Got to make sure you don’t die too fast my dear.” the man cooed at you, face so close to yours you could almost taste the scent of mint and tobacco. “You’ve been a good girl so far.” You held back a shudder as his tongue languidly brushed up your cheek. “Tell her how good she’s being.” This last part was directed towards Arthur, a kick to the leg making him groan. 

Arthur stayed silent, staring intently at the man. Even after hours of this, his rage had not quelled; you could see the muscles in his arms flex as he pulled against his bindings. His silence did not please the man, who moved to stand next to him. 

“I said, tell her.” He drove the handle of the whip down hard into Arthur’s leg wound, causing him to slam his head back and let out a strained moan. The whip was pulled away and Arthur looked back down, panting. Through gritted teeth, he spoke. 

“You’re doin’ good girl”. 

The tall man laughed, satisfied with his little victory. “Time for a little rest I think. I’d rather you not bleed all over me for the next part.” He strode away up the stairs, towards the door, silver tipped boots clattering on the stones. You heard the click of a lock and the slide of a bar as the door was shut behind him. 

As soon as you were certain he was gone, you let out the half-groan, half-whimper you had desperately been trying to hold in. Arthur was slumped forwards in his seat, not looking at you. 

“Darlin’, I’m so sorry” he muttered, repeating the last few words as he sighed. As he spoke, you pulled down on your left wrist, hard, ignoring the pain in your thumb as your hand slipped through the hole you’d managed to spend the last few hours widening. 

“I shouldn’t have barrelled on in to rescue you myself. Should've got some help. I’m just too dumb.”

Your left hand now free, you reached down inside your trousers and pulled out the knife, before swiftly slicing the rope that held your other arm above your head. Thank god the idiot accomplice had been more focused on groping you than actually searching for any weapons when removing your gun belt. 

“I’ll….I’ll get you out of here, I promise.” There was a slight tremble in his voice, betraying the lack of conviction in what he said. He looked up with a start as he heard you whisper in his ear.

“Sure thing, cowboy”. The knife sliced through the rope with ease and Arthur brought his hands to his lap, rubbing at the wrists, trying to find some relief. They were rubbed raw, cracked and bleeding. As he moved to stand, you quickly took your place at his side, offering support. Resting his arm on your shoulders, he took one step forward before instantly groaning and slamming back into the chair. You both froze, waiting to see if the noise had alerted someone. Upon hearing no movement upstairs, you once again tried to hoist Arthur up out of the chair, but he pushed your hands away. 

“Darlin’, you know we ain’t both gettin’ out of here. I can’t walk, and as much as you might like to think you can do everything, you can’t lift me.” Ignoring him, you tugged at his forearm, trying to pull him up.

“Shut up, you know I can’t just leave you like this.” One large hand enveloped yours, pinning it in place against him.

“I have to insist. You’re bein’ stupid.” 

“No! You wouldn’t abandon me, and I’m not leaving you here to suffer.” 

“Oh, but I did.” With this, he prised your fingers off his arm, forcefully pushing you away once more.

“Arthur, avoiding me around camp is not the same as me leaving you here to die!” You were growing more and more frustrated with the man. Why wouldn’t he help you? You needed to hurry, you had no idea how long it would take your captor to return.

“I ain’t talking about camp. I’m talkin’ about the woods. I’m talkin’ about that girl in tattered clothing, begging a man on a horse to take her. Take her anywhere than the hell she was facing.” Arthur’s voice was unusually flat, none of its usual warmness present.  

“Don’t lie Arthur. I know the girls told you the story. No matter what you say, I ain’t leaving you.” You moved to grab at him again, but his hand instead gripped your wrist, uncomfortably tightly. 

“That little gold ring weren’t worth much ya know. Barely even got a dollar from the fence.” 

You froze. How - how could he know that? You’d left that out of the sanistised tale you told the girls. You barely even let yourself admit it. It made you feel better, persuading yourself that the man on the horse had just been scared, that’s why he didn’t help. 

“Did feel a bit bad for snatching it out your hands as you offered it up. And for leavin’ ya standin’ there.” Arthur continued. “Faded when I got next to nothin’ for it though.” 

“Arthur no…please stop.” You were in shock, staring down into his blue eyes. They seemed so cold, his expression so hard. 

“Pretty sure I heard ya scream, but didn’t even slow. Needed to get me a drink.” You could swear you saw the hint of a sneer cross his face.

“Stop!” You gasped, pulling yourself away, almost falling backwards as Arthur released his grip. 

“See, Y/N, I ain’t a good man. I ain’t worth savin’. I deliberately left you to suffer, and you need to do the same to me.” 

“No… that’s not you. You’re…you’re different now. You didn’t have a choice….” You went to step forwards, but hesitated, and instead moved backwards. 

-----

Arthur could barely get the words out. He couldn't stand talking to you like this, seeing the look of betrayal starting to appear on your gorgeous face. You'd never forgive him. Against all instinct, fighting the urge to pull into his lap and hold you close, he pushed forwards with his plan. Anything to get you safe.....

-----

“Oh I had a choice.” Arthur’s voice dropped to a growl. “Still do. Still choose to beat poor men up in front of their starving families, force them to repay a debt that we tricked them into owing in the first place.” 

“But… you’re kind. You help your friends.” You were still struggling to process what he had said, what he was trying to do. It can’t have been him. You’d seen this man bring picture books back to camp for Jack, write down donations in the ledger against other people’s names. He’d blasted into that office with no fear for his own safety, shielding your body from harm. You felt safe with him. Tears started to stream from your eyes as you tried to choke out more of a response. “Arthur….”

“A few moments of kindness don’t make a good person. They just make ‘em harder to leave.” 

A loud scraping noise at the door alerted you to the fact that you were very quickly about to have company. Arthur swiftly moved his hands behind his back once again, as you lurched towards the wall nearest the stairs, the cold stone bringing slight relief to your still stinging back as you pressed yourself into it.  

“Go, Y/N. Save yourself. Get Dutch, the others, or don’t. It don’t matter as long as you leave.”  

As the boots strode down the stairs, Arthur called out, trying to maintain the man’s attention. 

“Ahh, Patrick! My favourite parasite. Come to have a closer look at a real man?” 

“Shuddup Morgan. I ain’t the one tied up like a prize hog.” He was so enraged by the Arthur’s taunting he didn’t notice the lack of your body hanging from the ceiling, or your quiet footsteps treading up the stairs behind him. You almost stopped at the loud thump, followed by spitting, but pushed forwards up and out of the cellar door. 

—---- 

That punch hurt. Blood filled Arthur’s mouth as he spat out a tooth. 

“Still prettier than you boy” he laughed in the furious man’s face. The second punch landed square on his nose, forcing Arthur’s head back and his eyes to shut.

“Yep, that’ll do it.” Arthur half-chuckled as he tried to wriggle his nose. Yep, definitely broken. His fists bunched behind his back, but he refused to move his arms. He had to make sure you were clear of the cellar, keep the man’s attention on him. 

The third punch to the gut made him gasp, but allowed him to lean forward enough to see up the stairs. His heart jumped slightly as he saw no sign of you. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to drag himself up those stairs after you; in the dark you hadn’t been able to see that the bloody patch on his leg had grown much larger. He just prayed that he had sufficient energy left to give you enough time to escape. 

“Fucking van der linde. Always actin’ like yer so much more righteous than the rest of us. Yer a fool for fallin’ for that …charisma.” 

Arthur let the man talk as he fiddled behind the chair, re-positioning his grip on the handle of the knife.

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey buisness - john shelby x reader (part 2 of ?)

read part one here!

a/n: hey loves! i'm finishing up school rn, but i had to get this out and i'm about to start working on a tommy request immediately after i upload this. anyways, i'm so excited to post this series, it's incredible and i can't thank my bestie @stxdyblr-2k enough. she is a fucking genius :)

prompt: you can't get john out of your head. lo and behold, here he is.

warnings: fluff, mentions of smut, angsty af, soft john (ugh my heart)

Despite your best efforts, you'd been unable to stop yourself yearning for John Shelby. Your pokey flat now often lay empty; you were far too busy to mope at home due to your career as a personal assistant to a local solicitor who was allied with the Shelby's, attending rallies and lectures with Ada and the drunken nights you'd spend at various mansions, galleries and club openings with the "razor chasers" you'd become friendly with due to their refusal to leave Ada alone. Yet still, in those odd seconds of calm you seized over a cigarette, the first seconds after a bump of Tokyo, when you carefully applied your makeup, styled your hair or bathed, you'd think of him. The way the pads of his fingertips felt on your skin, how he’d muttered in your ear how pretty you looked.

But this was different to when you were dreaming about John at 15; he was no longer the allusive older brother of Ada who had a string of beautiful girls on rotation. He wasn’t a fantasy anymore. He was true flesh and blood, and for a moment he had wanted you.

It would be delicious if the whole situation hadn't left a bitter taste in your mouth. Of course you came back to Brum to only immediately fuck it up. The first night, and already you were so close to ruining everything? Looking back, now that you were so close with Ada once more, now that you knew who John had grown to be, that night was cringe inducing. Luckily, no one had seemed to catch on. Luckily, you thrived in the Small Heath rumour mill once again. All the gossip about you was mainly about your substance use, the lads you were seen curling up with outside nightclubs, your intelligence, your helpful nature, sometimes your questionable politics but that was all. John's was far darker, stories of blood, death and gasoline. Recently, the tales of his conquests had quietened, but only due to the lurid delight taken by the factory workers in talking about the recent blinding of some poor fucker who'd crossed the wrong person. Obviously, a lot of the detail had to be exaggerated for shock value and to boost the Shelby status, solidifying them as notorious throughout Birmingham city and its rural surroundings. There were murmurs everywhere about the violent John Shelby: ruthless, cocky, vengeful. It seemed impossible that the same man who cracked shit jokes just to see you smile, kissed you with so much desperation, and prioritised getting you off first could cause such harm without an ounce of guilt or shame to slow his swagger.

Whispers of war were far more constant, but then again, people would say anything for a reaction. You didn't bring it up with Ada. You refused to (openly) partake in mindless gossip on principle, yet you were hungry for information about him.

***********

You'd long forgotten whose wedding you were at. Some loyal blinder, a close friend of the Shelby's, the occasion calling for a large white marquee to be built onto one of Tommy's gardens, fully staffed with the best chef and service team money could buy (from a London restaurant at short notice; when Finn told you the extortionate figure Tommy had paid, your jaw had dropped). The cake, dress and decorations were stunning; you weren't sure exactly what the groom had done for the Shelby's but you could only assume the worst for what they'd splashed out on him.

However, thinking like that only spoilt your night: you'd realised at your fifth club takeover, now you repeated it like a mantra constantly. You'd quickly learnt every excess the Shelby's granted to those outside their circle were due to some perceived sacrifice for being associated with them. Well, that's what you chose to believe after John had sent a junior blinder to your office with a bouquet, the Monday morning after he turned you down. So, it was best to smile and take the shit, get paid, and get out as soon as possible. You were to keep your head down until then.

Yet, keeping your head down was difficult tonight. Ada had treated you to a shopping trip to London for the occasion this morning, Arthur forcing the junior blinders to tag along next to you on the train and trailing less than two metres behind you for hours. You missed the days when it was just you and Ada. It was far more simple without the stares whenever the two of you stepped out. Ada had gotten used to it, she'd devised her own methods of being completely alone; complex plans involving leaving a window open, knotting sheets into a rope and twisting her ankles. Not that she minded, she reckoned the suffocation of being a Shelby was much worse than a few bruised ankles.

You were wearing a clingy emerald green dress from some fancy French boutique you couldn't even pronounce, the diamond necklace sitting along your collarbone and the jewels dangling through your ears were on loan from Ada. You felt eyes unpicking you the moment you entered the after-party. Your arm was linked through Ada's as per usual, she looked equally stylish in a peacock blue number that set off her eyes, her delicate features perfected with makeup.

You'd quickly found your gaggle and began drinking and dancing the night away. Whispers about snow arose from your table, people disappearing to the toilets to rail a line on the bathroom counter, then to the dance floor or to the lap of the poor fucker who'd hold back their hair while they vomited in just a few hours. At least the Blinders were polite about it. Isaiah would kill them if they weren’t. You'd let your arm be tugged on various bathroom trips, treated among your group like secret missions although you weren't entirely subtle about it.

What you weren't aware of was across the marquee, you were being watched by the three men in your life who you'd never want to see you in this state: the Shelby's.

"Looks like Finn's taken your spot, John." Arthur yelled in John's ear over the loud music, gesturing to the youngest Shelby sat at the table next to you who was staring up at you in complete adoration as you chatted across him to Michael, seemingly arguing with him. By the looks of it, you were winning.

John pulled a face at Arthur. “Fuck off, old man. That'll never happen. Finn’s too young for her." He immediately regretted the words that had fallen out of his mouth, revealing far too much for his comfort.

"It's not impossible."

"He's just not right for her, yeah?"

"And you are?"

John didn't bother to bless him with a verbal response, instead flipping him off and downing the rest of his whiskey. "It's not like that."

"What's it like then? Because from where I'm sitting, it's pretty fucking clear, John." Arthur slurred, glass of whiskey sloshing onto his sleeve.

"You're too gone to even know you're chatting shit." John sneered, standing up, "I'm off for a smoke and some fresh air. Try not to fuck anything in my absence, both of you."

His brothers cursed him out as he left. John took a second to figure out his route, purposefully having to cross your path, gesturing for you to follow him subtly. He was surprised you came trailing after him, telling Michael that you weren’t done yelling at him and you’d be back. When you were both only metres from the marquee, he knew you were fucked. You were instantly bored, begging him for a cigarette, which he lit for you, shaking his head at your state.

"You're a fucking mess, love." He said, mouth sloping attractively to one side.

"Takes one to know one, John-boy. Where are we off to, then?"

"Somewhere fucking quiet, can barely hear myself think. Plus, you need to sober the fuck up, lass." He said, softly, as he walked across the dew soaked grass. You followed, heels in hand, holding your dress up as not to ruin it. He sighed, taking the shoes from your hands and wrapping his blazer around your shoulders, linking your arm through his for stability. He kept the distance respectful, but there wasn’t any denying the thick tension in the summer air between the two of you. Ahead, there was a small stone bench sat at the foot of one of Thomas' manicured gardens, and John offered his hand to help you sit. You made small talk and caught up on each other's lives, and you noted John only seemed to glow when you asked about his kids. He talked at length, the drink seemingly unhinging his jaw. There he was again, the John you knew and had admired for so many years. You could sit here forever, watching his blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight. Yet, it just wasn’t meant to be. You wished you could stop time just for a bit, give you enough moments to memorize the freckles on his skin.

"You know the night I first came home?" The alcohol and snow had loosened your lips. You were teetering on the edge of your boundaries, but you couldn't care enough to hold back.

"The night where absolutely nothing happened?" He joked, raising an eyebrow at you, cautious that you'd randomly brought it up in your state. "Sweetheart, this can wait."

He was warning you. For a second you managed to bite your tongue, but curiosity tipped you over the edge.

"But something nearly happened, right?"

"Y/N. Don't." He warned, his tone icy, suddenly distancing from you, hiding between an emotional boundary which he didn't wish to explore.

"John, it's just us. Can't we even talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about, though. You were off your face then, and now. That's fine. We know where we stand. It can't happen."

"I wanted to. I do want to."

"You don't. Trust me. You need a nice lad who'll marry you and look after you. Just need to keep your nose clean long enough yeah?" He teased, trying to lighten the mood, blue eyes begging you to move on.

Your head turned to face him, your face contorting in a mixture of confusion and irritation. "You don't get to tell me what I want or need. The last thing I want is to marry any lad, nice or not."

"I didn't mean it like that, right? Look, I just meant you deserve better than Shelby scum. You're going places you know? Don't settle for Small Heath." John responded with a pained sigh. He didn’t want to get into it with you; not here, not like this. He'd thought about it, naturally. You were constantly on his mind, yet only problems ever seemed to appear, never solutions. It was best for him to avoid you. Why the fuck did he drag you out here? Horrible idea.

"Your family isn't scum. Where the fuck did you get that from?" Your face was screwed up in genuine rage. "I-"

"Y/N, fuckin’ leave it."

His face had hardened completely now. He'd snapped at you. His voice hadn't raised, it was just the power he spat his order out with. You held up your hands in mock surrender, pointedly taking a cigarette from his front pocket and light it silently, not saying a word.

"Why are you so bothered, anyways?" He asked, breaking the silence like you knew he would. John always had to ask questions.

"Fuck off with that, John. I'm not in the mood."

"What do you mean?" He looked completely lost.

"We nearly had sex. Just sex, nothing else right?"

John remained silent.

"Would it be the worst thing in the world?" You asked, your voice wavering. It was hard enough to get the words out, let alone imagine the response.

"You're far too wasted to chat about this, love."

"John, I’m not-"

"I'm serious. You're fucking mashed like my brothers aren't you? Like all those other fuckers in there." He sounded genuinely angry. In the glow of the sunset he looked so much younger, so hurt and lonely. Why hadn't you noticed before?

He turned to you, eyes widened and shocked at his own outburst. "You're not the only one gone yeah? Ignore me, I'm fucked, sorry."

You reached out your hand and linked your fingers through his in silence, the warm evening wind ruffling your hair and dress, blocked from your skin by John's suit jacket which was wrapped around your shoulders. Not that anyone would notice or care. As long as Ada wasn't with you, you could disappear for hours without any alarm. There you sat in the tranquil last few moments of the day, your hand linked with John's, both beyond tipsy. You weren’t thinking properly but it felt right. You felt safe. You didn't want to have to return to the chaos of the party, to have to catch up on who your friends were currently trying to screw. None of that seemed to matter anymore.

Was it too much to ask for something to be simple? Maybe you didn't have to fuck him. Maybe just these small moments were enough. You laughed at the thought when it crossed your mind; neither you nor John were known for consistency or stability in relationships, you being admittedly rather inexperienced, only having been with a few men, and he had his fair share of escapades. But he was just so different. You wouldn't admit that he'd gotten your attention in any way than purely sexually (which surprised you to admit) and for fun, but you genuinely enjoyed his presence.

He was right though. It wasn't a good idea at all to hook up. There was far too much baggage for both of you to make it worth it.

Just once?

You glanced over at John. He rolled his eyes at you, but the edges of his lips were slightly upturned, his dimples faintly peeking through his defined cheeks.

Just once couldn't hurt.

***

The sky was streaked with shades of gold, amber and blood. John could feel the friction from your knee barely knocking against his, the pressure putting him on edge. In fairness, he had drunk heavily, and that's what happens when you let your guard down around beautiful women. He couldn't believe you had told him you wanted to have sex with him still. He'd chalked the whole situation down to a drunken mistake that would have progressed into a far more significant drunken mistake. Ada would never forgive him if he went for another of her mates. Especially Y/N. No matter if he said that Y/N could be different, that you wasn't just another conquest. But who'd believe him?

Far better to keep his mouth shut.

Far better to play safe.

As you were called back to the party by the gaggle of girls John vaguely recognised from hanging off the arms of other blinders, he realised (despite his state) that you were right. Having sex with you wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it might be one of the best.

Just once?

He watched your figure disappear back into the marquee, waiting for you to turn back and look for him. You do. He would have done the same if it was him.

Maybe just once wouldn't hurt.

***

to be continued!

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

A rogue Druid’s “please join us” speech to Merlin triggers a few things:

Gwaine tries to commit regicide, Leon confronts his (understandable) fear of Dragons, and Merlin has a full on mental breakdown.

The knights are left to pick up the pieces and all of them consider following Gwaine’s lead.

ANGSTY ANGSTY 

TW: Blood, death, nightmares. Physical and verbal abuse. A very brief implication of potential suicide/self harm.

Everyone notices the sudden changes within the group, it would be hard not to notice.

No one has any clue what happened though.

One day, everything is fine. If they think back, they realise Merlin had seemed a little... nervous? Maybe? But other than that, everything was fine, normal.

But the next day? From then until now, a month later? Everything was different.

Arthur seemed much angrier. He flew off the handle over the smallest mistakes, he worked the knights so hard in training that at least three of them had to go to Gaius for treatment everyday, and he didn’t seem like he planned on letting up any time soon. He snapped at everyone, even Gwen and Gaius, which was unheard of.

Merlin seemed... quieter. The knights, Gwen, and Gaius barely saw him, but when they did, he flinched at even the slightest noise; his eyes constantly darted around, looking for a way to escape, and he wouldn’t let anyone touch him.

They were worried, but Arthur was so constantly furious that no one dared bring it up with him, and the one time they tried to ask Merlin, he came up with some ridiculous excuse and ran away. They thought they had barely seen him before, but after that they didn’t see him at all for at least four days.

They also noticed how both of their worrying moods seemed ten times worse when they were with each other. Even just being in the same room, made Arthur angrier, and Merlin... they didn’t want to think it but... more scared.

After three weeks of this, they gathered together, and put into place their emergency plan. Leon would speak directly to Arthur, and Lancelot would speak directly to Merlin.

Of all of them, they were the most trusted by each target, and were the most likely to get answers, and the least likely to get a bad reaction if answers were refused.

They were... pretty wrong. Merlin reacted in the same way as he had to the group two and a half weeks ago. Which is odd, because he normally tells Lancelot everything, and not only did he not tell him, he lied and came up with excuses.

Leon was much worse for wear. He showed up a while after Lancelot, pale and miserable. Arthur had just yelled at him a bunch and assigned him extra patrols.

A few days later, they were all still struggling with what to do when Arthur informed them of a quest that was to be undertaken. They were... nervous, to say the least. Going on any sort of dangerous trip with Arthur in this state was bound to go badly, but they could hardly refuse, and they definitely couldn’t bring up the issue again.

So they resigned themselves to it. Gwen wished them luck, and made sure to give Merlin an extra tight hug before they left, and Gaius slipped a few extra medical supplies in each of the knights packs, just in case.

Apparently, patrols of Camelot Knights kept going missing. Whole groups of soldiers, in one very specific area near the border, were just not coming back.

Arthur could hardly justify sending more patrols out, so despite his foul mood, and his desperation to stay away from everyone, he took himself, his five best knights, and his manservant.

Elyan could’ve sworn he heard Arthur mutter something along the lines of “As if I’d leave you here unsupervised.”, to Merlin, the tone far less jesting that it might’ve been a month ago, but he kept it to himself. They were travelling and camping together, there would hardly be an opportunity to share without Arthur and Merlin there.

And like they were all expecting, the trip was hell.

Awkward silences that not even Gwaine could fill, Merlin looking close to tears the whole time, and Arthur constantly looking like he’s considering extreme violence.

Merlin even rides at the back of the group (unheard of), doesn’t complain even once about anything (even more unheard of), and the few times he does speak, he addresses all of them by their titles (down-right panic inducing).

They, of course, realise it had been a trap far too late, and before they even had time to shout and draw their swords, the camp fades around them.

~

When they wake an indiscernible amount of time later, they have been stripped of armour and weapons, and have been shackled.

They appear to be in a circular, one-room hut, the knights spaced equally and chained to the wall. Their cloaks remain, but any chainmail or armour they had been equipped with was gone, leaving them in the thin clothes they wore underneath, completely unprotected.

Merlin stood in the middle of the room, looking very confused. Once he noticed the knights stirring, he tried to take a step towards them, but frowned when he realised he couldn’t get within a arm’s reach of them.

Once the knights came around fully, they realised that whilst Merlin couldn’t move all that much, they couldn’t speak.

Arthur looks to Merlin with fury written all over his face, and pulls violently on his chains. Merlin flinches back and gasps out:

“This has nothing to do with me, I swear!”

Before the rest of the knights have time to change their expressions to one of confusion, a man walks through the door. Everyone’s gazes turn to him quickly, and they take in his appearance.

He looked like a Druid... but not quite right, like he hadn’t actually been to a camp in a while. He wore neutral colours, browns and greens, but despite his calm demeanour and gentle face, he looked a little crazed.

Where Druids stand calmly and walk softly, this man rushed in and fiddled with his hands, eyes darting around the room at everyone’s faces.

When Merlin goes to demand he introduce himself, the Druid holds a hand up, silencing him (no magic, just a gesture), and begins to speak:

“Who I am, does not matter. But I do know who you are, Emrys. I shall explain it your friends first, so they don’t get too lost.-”

The Druid smiles sadly, and turns to the knights, all of whom (apart from Lancelot) stare on in confusion at the melancholy resignation on the Druid’s face, and the dread on Merlin’s. Still unable to speak, and with very limited movement, they reluctantly resign themselves to listening to whatever speech the villain of the week had come up with.

“-Emrys has been being seen in prophetic visions for centuries. Whilst Uther Pendragon was destined to start the purge, Emrys, or as you know him: Merlin, is destined to stop it. He is said to be the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, past present and future. He can bend the very elements of the world, bring down armies, turn cities to ash with a flick of his wrist. But destiny also foretold of The Once and Future King. Most have accepted that Arthur Pendragon, is said king.-”

Merlin was stiff but panicky during the Druid’s explanation, having realised that for whatever reason, he didn’t have access to his magic right now.

He could feel it buzzing under his skin, but every time he tried to pull it forward, it abandoned him, burrowing deep into his soul and hiding.

Merlin was tense and angry, angry that the chance to tell his friends the truth himself had been taken away, but his statue-like stillness is broken as he frowns and flinches slightly at the thinly veiled disgust in the sorcerer’s voice as he says Arthur’s name.

The Knights look confused, and very much shocked, their gazes flickering between the Druid and Merlin, but he refuses to meet their eyes.

“-Together, Emrys and the Forever King are destined to bring harmony and peace to the world, to restore magic’s place alongside the non magic, to inspire compassion, and stop the unjust genocide that Uther started.-”

Arthur and Leon shuffle uncomfortably at the mention of the late King and his sins, but are more focused on the other shocking revelations. The other knights (again, bar Lancelot, who is staring at Merlin apologetically) seem invested in the story, though they’re clearly confused.

Arthur was made aware of Merlin’s magic a few weeks ago, but despite Merlin’s choice to tell him willingly, he had reacted badly, and in his rage, hadn’t allowed Merlin to explain himself. The other knights were, of course, unaware of this, though they quickly put two and two together.

Despite Merlin’s best efforts, Arthur had stayed in the dark about the whole Emrys-prophecy-destiny thing.

The Druid gives each knight a short assessing gaze, seemingly to make sure they were paying attention.

He turns his attention back to Merlin, who is trying very hard to keep his expression blank (and failing) as he listens:

-”And how long have you waited, my friend, for Arthur to play his part in destiny. Ten years, of having the prophecies shoved down your throat by idealists, being told that you have no choice but to serve a man who would see your head on a spike should he know who you truly are. Ten years in the service of a man who has caused you nothing but pain, given you nothing but nightmares.-”

Merlin flinches and looks away. Every magic user in, or even near Camelot shares the same nightmares, all caused by the Pendragon Reign. There’s no need for a discussion about it, no need for a denial. 

“-His father ripped your family apart. He himself stood at the grave of your best friend and told you he was evil, he himself killed the woman you loved-”

Arthur frowns in confusion at this. Merlin had never been in love. But he quickly doubts himself when he hears Merlin gasp quietly, and looks to him to see a tear slip down his cheek. 

Fury flashes quickly across Lancelot’s face, obviously knowing the story, but he covers it quickly, and no one is the wiser to the anger slowly growing in his chest at what this so-called Druid was putting his friend through.

The Druid speaks his next words quietly, though still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, as he lifts a soft hand and gently wipes away Merlin’s tear:

“-I know what you see when you close your eyes. I know why you are so exhausted. But do they? Have you told them?-”

The Druid nods his head in the direction of the knights, but doesn’t break eye contact with Merlin, who sniffles slightly before looking to the floor in shame. 

“-Of the smoke and flames that you choke on when you sleep? You dream of pyres built just for you, built by the people you care most about. Even when you are awake, every second you have your eyes closed, every time you blink, you are forced to picture your so-called King with a sword at your throat, as if the scene were painted onto the back of your eyelids.-”

His voice had risen as he spoke and he had begun to pace, anger growing at the pain his Lord had gone through. He practically spits the word “King”, like just saying it disgusts him. 

Merlin remains quiet, but he has a steady stream of tears down his face as he looks back at the Druid with despair. The knights watch on in anguish as they see the way he is suffering. 

Arthur stops feeling angry and confused, and starts to feel a little guilty. Not that he would let it show; he stares on blankly.

Everyone wanted desperately to believe that the Druid was lying, manipulating them, that Merlin would deny it. But he didn’t. And that told them all they needed to know.

The Druid stopped his pacing, coming to a stand still in front of Merlin and cupping one of his cheeks softly with his hand. The knights pretend not to see Merlin lean into it slightly as his tears continue to fall.

The Druid begins again, speaking softly once more:

“-Were those fears unfounded? Were those nightmares irrational? I see the terror in your eyes. I see how petrified of your King you are.-”

Merlin lets out a shaky breath and glances quickly to Arthur, before looking back at the man in front of him.

The King is taken aback, and the knights are furious at the flash of fear on Merlin’s face when his gaze had momentarily met Arthur’s.

“-What did he do, when he found out? When you bared your soul and gave him nothing but honesty, and undeserved apologies. What did he do?-”

Merlin lets out his first audible sob, and the Knights pull at their chains slightly, desperate to comfort their friend. Arthur slumps back, remembering his actions as if they were mere hours ago.

One of Merlin’s hands lifted to cover his mouth as he chokes back a second sob, but the other lifts subconsciously to tug at the scarf around his neck.

The Druid lets a single tear escape his eye as he waves his hand gently, the scarf disappearing with the gentle golden glow of his eyes.

Merlin seems too distraught to notice; and moves both hands to clamp tightly over his mouth as tears stream down his face. His shoulders hunch, but not enough for any of the knights to miss what the Druid had clearly been trying to expose; a thin, barely healed scar along the base of his throat. As if a sword had been pressed there.

The Druid’s eyes lose focus slightly and he frowns as he ghosts a finger over the scar, seemingly asking the next question to himself:

“-Nightmares on the back of your eyelids, or visions of the future, hmm?-”

His eyes refocus, and he cards a hand through Merlin’s hair, trying to calm the man’s heartache as the knights stare on in horror. 

Arthur resists the urge to look towards his knights, not wanting to see the disgusted glares he knows they’re sending his way.

The Druid pauses for a moment in his speech, waiting for Merlin to calm slightly before he quietly continued:

“-And what has he done since then? Has he allowed explanation? Has he seen the error of his ways and tried to understand? Or has he called you a liar, and a traitor. Has he called you a monster, whilst demanding that you continue to serve him?-”

Merlin’s breathing grows deeper as he struggles to control his sobs. He lowers his hands to be clenched at his sides, shaking, as the Druid softly places his hands on his shoulders.

His next words are spoken even quieter, though the knights can still hear him and the deadly anger that’s barely concealed in the man’s tone:

“-Has he laid hands on you, and called you a beast, while you cowered in fear, knowing that if you defended yourself he would see himself proven right?-”

Merlin let’s out loud, gasping sobs once more as the Druid’s hands travel softly down, from his shoulders to his wrists. There, he looks down, sorrow on his face as he carefully lifts Merlin’s sleeves, bunching them around his elbows.

The knights decide then and there they are going to protect Merlin no matter what, no matter from whom, as they each see the handprint shaped bruises littering Merlin’s arms.

“-He has hurt you, over and over and over-”

As he speaks, the Druid hovers his hands over the bruises, his eyes glowing softly golden as they heal.

“-And you despair, believing yourself worthless-”

Merlin flinches, and his sobbing grows more intense as his face is taken in soft hands.

“-waiting on a Golden Age that he refuses to bring. He is cruel, and unjust, how many more times must he hurt you? How many more of our people will the Pendragon line slaughter, out of misguided hatred? How much more sleep must you lose? How many more nightmares must you endure? You have stood loyally by his side for a decade, and had to stand and watch as he continued his father’s legacy, forced to believe it was destiny.-”

The Druid says “destiny” as if he hates the taste of the word in his mouth, the bloodshed of the past almost thirty years clearly having made him lose faith in the prophecies.

Merlin’s breathing has calmed slightly, and the knights aren’t sure whether to be relieved or frightened, as the Druid desperately continues, clutching Merlin’s hands in his own:

“-Too many lives have been lost, too much innocent blood spilt. Haven’t you yourself been forced to kill your own people to protect this False King from the consequences of his own actions?-”

The knights think too soon as Merlin’s breathing and sobs grow erratic once more. The manservant almost falls to the floor, his eyes clenched desperately shut, and only the Druids hands on his shoulders keeping him upright:

“-I was young, and naïve once. I too, believed in Arthur Pendragon, I believed in the prophecies, I believed he would a great king and a good man-”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s as he gently says:

“-but he is not. He has failed you, and failed our people.-”

The Druid steps back, but still holds Merlin’s shoulder tightly as he gives him a pleading look.

The knights know what’s coming before it is said, and with the anguish and desperation and grief on their friend’s face? After they learned what their benevolent King had done? Well... they wouldn’t have blamed Merlin for saying yes.

“-I ask you to join me, Emrys. I know it’s difficult, to give up on a man you gave so much of yourself to, but there is too much Uther in him. It’s time, and you know this, to rewrite destiny. Dig your own path, liberate your own people, bring magic and compassion and harmony back to the world yourself.-”

Merlin, though distraught, still looks doubtful, and the knights hold their breath as the Druid continues, becoming more and more furious at their inability to speak. 

All of them have tears in their eyes, if not falling already, even Arthur, though he has remained still and blank through the tears.

“-I know the flames you fear, the sword’s edge, the gallows’ drop, the axe’s fall. Do not let our kin continue to fear those things, do not stand by, waiting for the Pendragon tyrant to change, and allowing sacrifices to be made in the mean time.-”

Merlin’s sobbing begins again, and the Druid kisses him softly on the forehead before kneeling to the floor, gripping Merlin’s hands and looking up at him desperately:

"-You are Emrys, Lord of the Druids, and Conduit for all magic of this world. Not some servant that an entitled brat can toss around and treat lesser than the dirt he walks on. You are my King, our King. Not him.-”

He stands again and grips Merlin’s arms tightly, most likely leaving more bruises in place of the ones he had healed.

Merlin doesn’t notice the pain, but shakes his head stutteringly, still crying.

“-Do not let your people lose you to Arthur, as Arthur lost himself to Uther. To give up on him is painful, but the screams of your kin, burning for their gifts, echoing in your skull day and night?-”

The Druid’s hands move up to grip the sides of Merlin’s head, and he shakes him ever so slightly, his tone frantic and pleading:

“-That is worse. That is pain he will never understand, and certainly never care for. Join me, please my Lord I beg you, for our people.”

One of the Druid’s hands slides lower, to softly cup Merlin’s cheek again, but the other drops entirely.

The knights have never resented being magically gagged more than in this moment. They could do nothing but watch on in horror as the man summons a dagger behind his back.

The Druid is clearly waiting on his response, and Merlin is too distraught to notice the consequences of a wrong answer, tears flowing quickly down his face and ugly sobs forcing their way out of his throat.

Arthur watches in terror, knowing that this was his fault, that every shitty, selfish decision he had ever made had to led to this point. And the knights knew it too.

All they can do is pray to every deity they know the name of, that Arthur has done enough damage for Merlin to say yes. And oh, what a terrible thing to pray for.

The Druid softly strokes Merlin’s cheekbone with his thumb as the Warlock takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He looks up, meeting the gaze of the man opposite him before croaking:

“I... I can’t. Arthur is a good man, I have faith that he will-”

Before he can finish his sentence, the dagger is thrust up into his chest, his words stuttering to a stop and his red-rimmed eyes growing wide at the sudden, agonising pain spreading throughout his body.

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights pulling roughly at their chains, but he pays them no mind as blood gurgles up his throat and he frowns, struggling to hear what the Druid was whispering in his ear:

“Then you have forsaken your people, and so I shall forsake you. Traitor.”

With that, Merlin is dropped roughly to the floor, dagger still imbedded in his chest as he lands on his side. Blood spills from both his mouth and the wound, eyes unfocused but heavy as the tears continue to overflow.

The knights are silently screaming, thrashing against their chains as their friend chokes, but Merlin ignores them in favour of smiling gently at the soft feeling of nothing, growing outwards from his chest.

He frowns once more, as though remembering something, and his eyes go glassy as two words escape from his mouth, barely a whisper:

“I’m... sorry...”

An apology to whom, no one knows, but with those last words his body goes completely still, the pool of blood still expanding beneath him, and his eyes unseeingly staring just to the left of The King.

No one in the room can tear their eyes from Merlin’s pale corpse, face now a mess of tears and blood.

The Druid looks down at him with an odd mix of contempt, and genuine sorrow. He had obviously waited long enough that his resentment of Arthur had bled into his feelings for his so-called saviour, but still grieved for what could have been.

The Knights look at him in horror, all understanding that they had never been lucky, they had just had Merlin. He had never asked for thanks, or recognition, or reward. He had kept them all safe, at great expense to himself, and now he was dead.

Lancelot seems the... calmest, though he still cries like the rest of them. He had, in theory, known of the pain Merlin was in, but had he known it was plaguing him to this extent... well perhaps he wouldn’t have been so loyal to Arthur.

Arthur himself stares at Merlin with nothing but terror and agonising grief. He had done this. If he had just let Merlin explain, if he had just given him five minutes, instead of bruises and nightmares and fear, then he would still be alive. 

If he hadn’t been so selfish and cruel, perhaps hundreds of people, just like Merlin, just as scared and innocent as Merlin, would also be alive. 

Merlin had spent his entire time in Camelot trying to convince Arthur that he wasn’t his father... and Arthur had gone and proven him wrong at every turn. And even then Merlin still had faith, still called him a good man.

The silencing spell still has hold over the knights, so they cry and scream and thrash soundlessly as the Druid finally rips his gaze from the body at his feet.

He steps carefully around Merlin to stand in front of Arthur. The sorrow clears from his face, leaving only contempt and rage left to be directed at the man in front of him. Arthur does not look up, keeping his tear stained face focused on the floor, even as the Druid begins to speak:

“You see what you have done, Arthur Pendragon? You think magic is the thing that corrupts, but it is not. It is you. Emrys was meant to be a saviour, a God, a guiding light to help our people to safety, but you tainted him, reduced him to nothing more than a sad, scared boy, and then reduced him further, to a corpse. My hands are clean of blood Pendragon, but yours?? Oh, yours are drenched in it.”

Arthur slowly lifts his distraught gaze to the Druid, but quickly widens his eyes at what he sees.

Merlin stands behind the Druid, eyes glowing golden, tears once more streaming down his face as he grips the handle of the dagger, still buried in his chest.

The bloodstains grow even larger as he grimaces slightly and pulls it free, before wordlessly forcing it through the Druid’s back.

The man lets out a sudden gasp, and looks down to see just the tip of the blade poking out where his heart should be. He gargles something, words that no one can make out, before Merlin pulls the dagger out again, and his body crumples to the floor.

The knights and Arthur can feel the silencing spell release them, but none of them make even a noise as they stare in shock at their tormented, but very much alive, friend.

Merlin drops the dagger from his hand and it lands with a splash in the mixing puddles of blood, before he himself falls harshly to his knees.

The others finally break out of their stupor, once again pulling towards their friend. Their cries and shouts of his name can be heard by everyone but him as he leans forward, placing his forehead against that of the lifeless Druid.

His cries grow erratic again as he whispers apology after apology, and every heart breaks even more at the sight before them.

They know why he apologises, they know why he grieves, even over a man who had tried to... had succeeded in killing him. The death of yet another of his own kind who was sick of waiting, who was rightfully angry, was not something to be celebrated.

They had thought, at the beginning of this, that they would get through whatever the Druid threw at them, they always did. But this, the brokenness of one of their dearest friends, was not something that looks fixable.

Merlin finally sits up again and he sobs louder, still deaf and blind to those around him. Lancelot has just enough time to yell at the others to cover their eyes, as a gut-wrenching scream escapes the Warlock.

They’re almost blinded, even with their eyes tightly shut and their arms thrown up. The scream is the loudest, and most anguished they’ve ever heard, and the force in which Merlin releases his magic completely eviscerates the hut they had been chained in.

Each of them is thrown violently backwards, and their chains crumble to the floor with the rest of the building as they try to find purchase on the ground. None of them are hurt too badly, and they’re grateful for the fact that even in this state, Merlin’s magic seems incapable of really causing them any damage.

The scream ends, and the knights look up to see Merlin sat in the middle of the crater he had created, staring blankly into the middle distance. Tears still stream down his face, but he doesn’t move and he makes no sound, just kneels there with his blood soaked hands on his lap, palms towards the sky.

It takes a few moments for the knights to regain their senses, but once they do, all hell breaks loose.

Gwaine immediately gets to his feet and makes a rush towards Arthur, fully intending on throttling him, screaming obscenities as he went, but Percival and Elyan jump forward, grabbing an arm each and dragging him away as he curses the King and the Sky and the Gods.

As much as Percival and Elyan were not impartial to killing Arthur right now, Merlin was the priority, and as much as he may have deserved it, Merlin would never forgive them if they hurt the King.

Arthur seems to be unaware of the attempt on his life made by one of his most trusted knights, and just stares blankly at an equally blank Merlin.

Lancelot and Leon make a bee-line for the Warlock, but stop just short of touching him, not knowing how he would react. 

Leon nods gently at Lancelot, clearly having picked up that this knight had already known at least part of the story. Lancelot returns his nod, before moving forward slowly. The body of the Druid lays untouched at Merlin’s knees, and the knight removes his cloak, laying it over him, before reaching a slow hand towards Merlin’s shoulder.

He finally makes contact after a little hesitation, whispering his name as gently and as comfortingly as he is able with tears still leaking from his eyes.

Merlin doesn’t react at all to Lancelot’s touch, not even when he takes his bloody hand, or shakes his shoulder slightly; just sits and stares and cries.

Leon gulps before reaching forward himself. He grabs the dagger from besides Merlin and tosses it behind him (he didn’t like to think about that action too much. He has no idea what state his friend is in right now, best to not have any sharp instruments within his reach when he came to.) before lifting his hand to wipe away the man’s tears.

Arthur stares upon all of this in horror from his position sprawled on the floor a few metres away.

Elyan and Percival have just about managed to calm Gwaine, and they begin making their way to Leon, Lancelot, and Merlin, but before they get even halfway there, Arthur finally speaks.

His voice breaks, and is barely audible, but everyone hears him nonetheless as he murmurs:

“I did this...”

Gwaine makes another run at him, regaining his anger, and Percival and Elyan just about manage to grab him before he commits regicide.

Lancelot and Leon look up at him sharply, but when Lancelot lowers his gaze and continues to try and rouse Merlin, Leon holds the King’s gaze, and says strongly:

“Yes. Yes you did, My Lord.”

Arthur’s face crumbles even more, and Leon glares at him with venom for a few more seconds, before giving Lancelot a soft pat on the back, and walking towards the other three.

He mumbles a few harsh things that only Gwaine can hear, who responds at first with more anger, but then resignation. The First Knight gives the man a pat on the back and nods knowingly at Elyan and Percival. No one, not even Gwaine, pretends to miss the meaning of “be ready to catch him again” in the gesture.

Arthur stays in his position on the floor as the four of them walk softly towards Merlin and Lancelot, but before they get there, everyone’s gazes are drawn to the shadow in the sky, getting closer and closer.

It moves with an alarming place, and their anger at Arthur is momentarily forgotten as he scrambles up and screams:

“DRAGON!!”

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival and Arthur rush forward to stand between the beast and the other three. They have no armour or weapons, but like hell were they just going to let it get to them.

Lancelot looks up to see the white, horse sized beast land heavily in front of The King, his eyes widen and he jumps up, rushing forward to push between the others.

Leon moves to hold a still unresponsive Merlin behind his back protectively, but frowns in confusion when Lancelot yells at Arthur (who had been about to run at the beast):

“NO! No don’t hurt her! She’s Merlin’s, don’t hurt her!”

Everyone looks at him in confusion and fear as he slowly approaches the Dragon, she had been growling lowly at first, but seemed to perk up when she saw Lancelot.

Lancelot gives her a small smile, and holds his hand out, allowing her to come to him, before quietly saying:

“I’ve never been more glad to see you, Aithusa. Merlin is over here.”

He turns back towards the others, and calmly, but forcefully says:

“Move. She needs to see him.”

Gwaine nods after a moment, trusting Lancelot, and moves out of the way. Arthur goes to argue, but Elyan and Percival roughly shove him to the side, clearing a path to Merlin and Leon for Lancelot and the new, slightly terrifying, arrival.

Leon looks up fearfully, still in front of Merlin protectively. He stares at the Dragon for a few moments, breathing deeply, before looking up at Lancelot. Lancelot gives him a weak smile, and a nod before saying quietly:

“He’s a Dragon-Lord. She can help him, it’s ok.”

Leon gulps, before nodding, and stepping out of the way. He doesn’t move too far, obviously still affected by his last encounter with a Dragon, and watches with unconcealed suspicion as Aithusa prances around Lancelot at his nod.

The others crowd closer as well, looking on in confusion, awe, suspicion, as Aithusa slowly approaches Merlin.

She lays down at his side, gently pressing her head onto Merlin’s hands, still in his lap. Her mouth opens and Leon gasps as she blows a gentle mist up into his face. Merlin’s back straightens and the knights can see his eyes come back into focus as he blinks.

They all stare with bated breath as he gulps, and begins to notice his surroundings; looking in fear at the crater around him.

Merlin is broken from his growing panic as Aithusa chirps softly from his lap, and his head whips down, only now noticing her.

The knights let out a collective breath as he smiles, very slightly and very briefly, but still; after what they had just seen him go through they would take anything. He leans his head down, and wraps his arms around the creature. She chirps once again, louder this time, as she uses her tail to push away the forgotten Druid’s corpse. 

She curls her body around Merlin protectively, and he collapses even further into the semi-embrace she’s giving him. The knights smile slightly, relieved that Merlin seems responsive, and safe, before they take slow steps towards the two of them.

She whips her head up quickly and growls at them, digging her front claws into the ground. They take in sudden breaths and stop moving, wary, but she stops growling when she looks to Lancelot.

The others stare on in shock and confusion as she tilts her head slightly, and Lancelot nods as he quietly says:

“They’re friends, it’s ok.”

The creature seems to nod, and the others follow behind Lancelot as he begins moving towards Merlin again.

He crouches down, and gives Aithusa a well-received scratch on the chin, before he gently places a hand between Merlin’s shoulder-blades.

Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and finally Leon follow suit, sitting carefully next to the Dragon, but unlike Lancelot, they don’t touch her, or Merlin. She may seem safe and loving and on their side, but she was still a Dragon.

Arthur moves a little slower, not sure if he’s welcome (he’s not) but when he gets within five feet of the group huddled on the floor, Aithusa lifts her head and growls again.

Elyan and Percival are shocked at the sudden movement, but Gwaine smirks, and Leon nods his head approvingly (though he’s still understandably... nervous). Lancelot looks back at a shocked and still tear-stricken Arthur, and speaks. His voice is quiet, but his tone is vicious:

“They have a mental link; she sees what he sees. It might be best, Your Majesty, for you to stay away.”

He doesn’t bother to watch Arthur’s reaction; he turns back and begins carding a soft hand through Merlin’s hair. He flinches only slightly before relaxing under the soft ministrations, and Aithusa gives Lancelot an affectionate lick on the arm.

The other knights do see the way that Arthur flinches, before he gives a shaky nod and takes a few steps back. He goes to say something, but the tears in his eyes overflow, and he turns to walk away.

Gwaine’s smirk grows slightly before he drops it entirely and turns back to the others, no longer caring what Arthur got up to. He is the first of the knights, other than Lancelot, to be brave enough to reach a hand forward and stroke Aithusa gently.

Elyan and Percival hesitatingly follow his lead, and Aithusa chirps happily at the attention. Leon’s gaze follows Arthur as he walks towards the horses.

They were far away, well out of the way of Merlin’s blast, but even with the distance Leon could see they were shaken. Thankfully they had been tied to the trees, otherwise he’s certain they would have bolted.

Leon finds it only slightly surprising that he feels no sympathy for the King. There’s only so much you can forgive a man for. When Arthur finally reaches the horses and begins untacking them, he looks away, back to Aithusa and Merlin.

Everyone can tell that Camelot’s First Knight is still rather shaken at the presence of the Dragon, but when Merlin looks up slightly to see him still sat there, unwilling to leave him, his heart swells a little.

Leon meets his gaze and gulps, but returns Merlin’s shaky smile.

The other knights smile as well, glad that Merlin was feeling at least a little better, and Percival speaks quietly, not wanting to spook him (or the Dragon):

“Hey, there’s our lucky charm.”

The other knights give him questioning looks but Merlin just chuckles slightly, before sitting up properly, and focusing his attention on running his fingers over Aithusa’s scales, picking out grass and mud.

Percival looks indignant before replying, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world:

“What? You honestly thought that tree branches only fell if there was a fight happening, and then only fell on the enemies?? The rock-falls? The fires even when it was pouring with rain?? The miraculous solutions to end-of-the-world type problems?? Come on, guys.”

The others look taken aback at that, but Lancelot just smiles knowingly. They all look to Merlin, who has managed to wipe the blood from his face with his sleeve, and he just shrugs slightly.

The rest of them, bar Leon, let out small huffs of laughter, and continue to stroke Aithusa, knowing that Merlin almost certainly isn’t ready for an actual conversation yet.

Merlin looks at Leon’s pale form assessingly, before a look of realisation crosses his face. The knight is tense, and staring at Aithusa’s sharp teeth with worry, but his gaze is quickly drawn to Merlin when he reaches a shaky hand towards him.

Merlin gives him an understanding smile, and crooks his fingers, encouraging the curly-haired knight to take his hand. Leon does so, and his breath hitches as Merlin lowers their intertwined hand to rest on the top of Aithusa’s head.

Leon lets out a slow breath as he feels Elyan’s supportive hand on his back, but relaxes fully when he sees the sparkle in Merlin’s eyes. Anything to make their Warlock happy in this moment. And forever, probably.

Gwaine looks at Leon out of the corner of his eye, and says lowly:

“I’m fairly certain I’m going to try and kill him if I look at him again, so what’s the King up to?”

Merlin tenses slightly, but Leon squeezes his hand and he relaxes again. Lancelot raises and eyebrow and before Leon can reply, he says:

“What, no princess?”

Gwaine narrows his eyes before gruffly saying:

“Princess was an affectionate nickname, and I’m not feeling all that affectionate towards him right now.”

The others nod knowingly, turning their attention back to Merlin and Aithusa. Leon leaves his hand in Merlin’s, but looks at Gwaine before saying lowly:

“He went to deal with the horses. Now we know we no longer need a quick get-away, they need untacking and feeding and watering. They were pretty spooked by... they were pretty spooked.”

Leon looks back at Merlin when his hand gets squeezed, to see him frowning slightly. Leon catches his eye and gives him a small smile, but Merlin just gets teary-eyed again, before sniffing and muttering:

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to I just... I’m sorry.”

Only a single tear has time to fall before Lancelot has his hand on Merlin’s shoulder again (comfortingly), and Elyan has his hand on Gwaine’s shoulder (forcefully). Leon shakes his head softly, and responds in a gentle voice:

“You don’t have anything to apologise for Merlin, we are the ones who should be sorry, for not being able to protect you.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and he goes to retort, but Gwaine beats him to it, obviously trying to keep the anger out of his voice:

“From the so-called Druid and from him. We should have done better.”

Leon can feel Merlin’s hand begin to shake, so he squeezes it once more as Merlin shakes his head and speaks, his voice sounding stronger already:

“It’s not his fault. He was just shaken and scared and I should have-”

Gwaine clenches his jaw, struggling to keep control of his rage, but Elyan grips his shoulder tighter in warning, and replies in his stead, interrupting Merlin:

“There’s no excuse Merlin. All of us have been attacked by magic, but equally, all of us have been attacked by swords. I mean look at Leon, giving Dragons a second chance after what happened. I would perhaps understand brief anger, but there is no way to justify laying his hands on you in such a way that leaves bruises, and certainly no justification for putting a blade to your throat.”

Merlin frowns, and looks like he wants to argue, but once again, a knight beats him to it, Lancelot this time:

“No, Merls. We know how much he means to you. But what he did was wrong, there’s no rationalisation. We all know that you’ve already forgiven him, and that’s why we can’t yet. Probably not for a while.”

Merlin sighs, looking pained, and Leon uses his other hand to tilt his chin up:

“Not to say that we won’t ever forgive him. But someone has to be angry at him for what he’s done, and Lord knows you aren’t gonna do it. Consider us your stand-ins.”

Merlin smiles slightly, and Leon considers that a win, returning the smile and nodding slightly to himself, before looking back down at the Dragon, now seemingly asleep, and purring, on Merlin’s lap.

Elyan releases the death grip on Gwaine’s shoulder, when the now much calmer knight, with a smile on his face, says:

“So... you have a Dragon??”

Merlin chuckles fondly, before looking to him and saying quietly:

“Yeah. Her name is Aithusa. I’m surprised she came alone, Kilgharrah usually doesn’t like it when she runs off.”

Lancelot winces slightly as the other knights look shocked, before Percival says:

“Kil-what-now? There’s another one??”

Merlin grimaces slightly, before looking to Leon worriedly and tightening the grip on his hand:

“Uhh... yeah. Kilgharrah is the name of the Dragon that... attacked Camelot a few years ago.-”

Leon straightens his back and gulps, but doesn’t remove his hand from Merlin’s, nodding at him to continue:

“-I didn’t have control over him until right at the end. I told him to leave and never come back, unless I called him-”

Lancelot makes a noise of realisation as he nods, and interrupts Merlin:

“That’s probably why Aithusa came alone. You didn’t call for her, and technically we’re still within Camelot’s borders. He couldn’t come even if he wanted to. Poor sod is probably clomping around at the edge of the border freaking out.”

Merlin looks to Lancelot and nods, satisfied to feel Leon relax a bit, before looking back to the First Knight apologetically:

“-He does feel really bad at that. He just wanted to get back at Uther for the whole... genocide thing I guess. But that’s no excuse. I just didn’t want to be the one to be responsible for killing the last Dragon, even if Kilgharrah personally might’ve deserved it at the time. That was all before Aithusa came along.”

Everyone nods in understanding, before focussing their attention back on Aithusa. She really was like a giant puppy, even if they had to be wary to avoid her claws as she twitched in her sleep.

Merlin sighs, looking forlorn once again as he realises how exhausted he is, knowing that they’re going to have to get up and make camp at some point. 

He can cope with an awkward, tense silence between him and Arthur easily enough, that’s what the last few weeks had consisted of. But an awkward and tense silence between everyone? Elyan and Percival inwardly fuming? Gwaine outwardly fuming? Leon and Lancelot being all protective? He’s not sure he can deal with that.

At Merlin’s sigh, Lancelot tilts his head to catch his eye. His brow creases as he says softly:

“What is it, Merls?”

Merlin looks up, still squeezing Leon’s hand, before quietly replying:

“Nothing, I’m just tired. We have to re-make camp at some point and I’m not sure if I can deal with everyone being so...”

He waves his free hand around loosely, and Lancelot huffs out a laugh, before kicking Gwaine, getting everyone’s attention:

“We have to go make camp. But Merlin is exhausted, and doesn’t want to deal with any of this shit tonight, so we’re all going to have to play nice for the time being.”

Gwaine growls, and quickly retorts:

“Like hell am I gonna treat him with-”

Lancelot kicks him again, harder this time, and Elyan replaces the harsh hand on his shoulder before forcefully saying:

“Right now, it doesn’t matter what Arthur deserves. Merlin needs peace and quiet, and that’s what we’re going to give him.”

Gwaine grumbles, but begrudgingly nods, and Merlin gives him a grateful smile. 

The knights all stand up, and Merlin shakes Aithusa awake, giving a small chuckle when she stretches like a cat.

Once she takes her weight off of his lap, Merlin follows the knights to stand, almost falling over at the weakness in his legs. Leon and Lancelot catch an arm each, steadying him as he shuts his eyes tightly, willing the dizziness away.

He feels a hand wipe the hair from his forehead, and opens his eyes slowly to see Percival checking him over with an assessing gaze:

“I’m fine, just tired, a little dizzy.”

Lancelot nods in understanding, humming slightly:

“Hmm. I’m not surprised, you haven’t done anything this big in a while, and I doubt you’ve slept well in the last few weeks.”

Merlin gives him a sheepish look as he shakes his head, but it’s Elyan’s questioning gaze that Lancelot responds to:

“I found out by accident when I first met him. Our Warlock isn’t very good at keeping secrets.”

He says it with a small smirk as he looks back down to Merlin, who’s looking indignant:

“Hey! I managed to keep everyone else from finding out.”

Gwaine looks guilty as he raises his arm quietly:

“Actually uh... I knew. I mean not about the whole Emrys, prophecy thing. But the magic stuff, yeah.”

Merlin looks at him, shocked. The other knights share his expression for just a moment before they laugh at the look on Merlin’s face:

“How?!”

Gwaine puts his arm down and laughs again:

“Mate... we met in the middle of a tavern fight, in which shit started literally flying about the moment you joined in.-”

He shrugged, before casually continuing:

“-I figured you would tell me when you wanted to. Until then, it wasn’t my secret to know. You also have me to thank for backing you up every time The Prick asked if I saw you at the tavern.”

Merlin laughed and nodded his thanks, before looking over to where said Prick was setting up camp, a few metres beyond the edge of the crater.

His face fell slightly and the others follow his gaze, tensing slightly in anger when they saw what he was looking at. Merlin takes his arms from Leon and Lancelot, finally feeling steady on his feet, before quietly saying:

“Come on, we might as well get this over with. I’m starving, and tired, and Aithusa will get bored if we don’t start entertaining her.”

Everyone turns around to see Aithusa (now she was sure that her Lord was ok), prancing about in the crater; chasing birds and digging holes.

Merlin raises an eyebrow and everyone else chuckles slightly. Gwaine pushes Lancelot out of the way and takes Merlin’s hand, beginning to walk determinedly towards camp. Everyone catches up quickly, Leon taking Merlin’s other hand when the man had reached out to grab his cape.

Gwaine looks down at Merlin, seeing how nervous he is, and says:

“So. How long until she’s big enough to be ridden? I want you to take me flying, Merlin.”

Merlin chuckles, and looks back to see Aithusa happily trailing them:

“Not for a while. Dragons grow slow, so it’ll be another few years at least. Plus she’s got some issues with bone growth that we’re still trying to fix. She’ll be fine in the long run, but her development is taking a lot longer than normal. She still can’t speak.”

Everyone stops at that, and Merlin’s arms get yanked back when he continued walking. He turns to see Leon giving him an incredulous look:

“Dragons can speak?!”

Merlin tilts his head in confusion, before laughing and tugging them forwards again:

“Yeah. I forget that Uther basically erased all knowledge on Dragons, but they’re just as intelligent as we are. Kilgharrah would like to think that they’re more intelligent, but he’s always been a cryptic, egotistical bastard.-”

The others follow his pace and nod, but the mood darkens as they almost reach the camp. Merlin continues faintly, but quickly:

“I’ll tell you everything I know when... when we get back.”

Leon squeezes his hand, knowing that he was about to say “if”, assuring him that “when” is the right word.

Arthur looks up at the group and gulps from his place next to the fire. He straightens up, the anxiety showing clearly on his face, but before anyone can say anything, Aithusa jumps in between him.

He falls back at the sudden movement and she begins to growl; he widens his eyes as she stalks slowly towards him.

Gwaine smirks again, the others managing to keep their faces blank, but Merlin looks shocked, before he jumps forward and puts a hand on the Dragon’s back:

“Aithusa no. He’s a... friend. It’s ok, he’s-”

Arthur jumps to his feet and interrupts him:

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll... go... sit over there.”

He gestures behind him, and walks quickly away from the fire, sitting just within the fire’s light, the evening dimming around them.

Aithusa tilts her head, snaps her jaws at him once more before completely changing disposition. She begins bouncing around the fire, chirping happily and playfully trying to catch floating embers in her claws.

Merlin smiles slightly and the other knights (bar Gwaine, who is glaring very pointedly at Arthur) chuckle at her antics, before they all sit in a semi circle on the opposite side of the fire to Arthur, Merlin in the middle.

The Warlock is once again wedged protectively between Leon and Gwaine, and he fiddles softly with Leon’s cape in his lap as he stares fondly at Aithusa.

Elyan moves to the packs, unloading food and water and cooking pots. Merlin gets up to help, but Gwaine pulls him back down by the hand and holds on firmly as he says:

“You’ve been through enough. We can put up with Elyan’s shitty cooking for a couple nights.”

Merlin tries to pull away with a “But I can-” but Leon grabs his other hand, holding him down and interrupting:

“Absolutely not. You said yourself that you’re tired. If Elyan needs help, he can ask one of us.”

Merlin huffs sulkily and Leon laughs, stroking the back of his hand protectively.

Leon had known Merlin just as long as Arthur had, and whilst they had virtually nothing to do with each other the first few years, they were still friendly acquaintances, even then. Leon knew full well that it was Merlin who would have a hot meal left in his room after a late patrol, and Merlin always appreciated how Leon kept as many weapons in the armoury in as good nick as possible, so Merlin didn’t have to deal with it.

Besides, even before they knew each other’s names, Leon always found Merlin’s reactions to Arthur’s stupidity funny. He could hardly say it out loud, being the Perfect Knight and all, but he always thought it was a good thing that Arthur had someone at his side keeping him humble, and calling him out in ways no one else would.

Of course they had gotten much closer over the years, as did all of the knights, thanks to Merlin. Currently, Leon was feeling just a tinge of regret at being so grateful for Merlin’s presence at Arthur’s side; he had never really thought about how difficult being that man’s babysitter would be, especially now he knew Merlin had magic. And some sort of destiny.

Time passes fairly quickly whilst Elyan cooks, the others taking to heart what Lancelot had said and trying to keep a quiet, but easy conversation going.

They ask Merlin various questions about Aithusa, Kilgharrah, the Druids, the weird name that he had been called. He answered them all easily enough, but they notice the way he hesitates when they ask about his magic specifically or the prophecies, so they steer clear of those topics.

They’ll definitely want to know the whole story eventually, and they’re practically buzzing with desperation to ask Merlin to show them something magical, but they know that now is not the time.

Dinner is finally served, and despite Gwaine’s statement, it wasn’t actually that bad. Mainly because every time Elyan went to add something to the pot, he would look back desperately at Merlin, and took into account the shakes and nods of his head with a grateful smile.

He did struggle to cover the scowl on his face when he delivered Arthur’s bowl to him, replying to The King’s quiet “thank you, Elyan” with an even quieter “don’t mention it” .

Dinner was eaten quickly and in silence. They hadn’t been unconscious for long, and hour or two at most, but they had all worked up an understandable appetite, Merlin especially. He would never ask for seconds, but knowing that, Elyan gave him an extra big serving without a word.

They entertained themselves after dinner by throwing the last scraps of meat to Aithusa, watching her jump and flip and fly about the camp. Merlin had objected at first, but gave in when he saw the small grin on Leon’s face, and heard the way the others were laughing. The City was only a few days ride away, they could always hunt on the way back.

It didn’t take long for her to tire out and curl up at Merlin’s feet to sleep. Like Merlin had mentioned, Aithusa was developing slowly, and she normally couldn’t fly very far; it must’ve taken a huge amount of energy and effort for her to get all the way here. But like the Knights, she was very protective, and there was no way she could not check on her Lord, after she and Kilgharrah had felt the anguish he was in.

As Kilgharrah once again crosses Merlin’s mind, he sighs, and makes mental note to call him in the morning, when he had more energy.

Merlin is distracted from his thoughts when the camp goes silent all of a sudden, and Gwaine reaches over to squeeze his hand. He looks up in worry, to see that Arthur had stood, and walked a little closer, though he made sure to stay the other side of the fire.

Merlin tenses slightly. He tries not to let it show, but he can knows that he failed when he feels Leon’s hand firmly in the middle of his back. Hidden from the others, but a silent reassurance.

Arthur gulps, obviously nervous, but he meets Merlin’s gaze, flinching at the slight fear in his eyes:

“Merlin, I know nothing I say will-”

He’s interrupted by Gwaine growling and standing suddenly, stepping in front of Merlin protectively, but it’s Lancelot’s harsh words that cut him off fully:

“Not tonight, Arthur. We’re all tired and angry so just... not tonight.”

Arthur clenches his jaw, and blinks away tears before nodding:

“Yes, I... I understand.”

With that, he sniffles slightly before taking a step back. He looks to the floor as he mumbles something about checking the perimeter, before slowly walking away from the camp, into the night.

Merlin lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and relaxes slightly as Leon runs his hand over his back. Gwaine stares after Arthur for a few moments, deliberating on whether or not to follow him (and presumably, kick his ass). Merlin reaching up to take his hand and pull him back down makes his mind up, and he settles back into his seat, Merlin’s small hand clasped between his two larger ones.

Percival speaking up breaks the tense silence:

“It’s late and Lance is right, we’re all tired. If we want to make quick work of the journey home, and have time to hunt, then we should get some sleep.”

Murmurs of agreement float up around the group, and Gwaine, voice still tense and angry, says:

“I’ll take first-”

But he’s quickly interrupted by Elyan, softly laughing:

“Absolutely not, Gwaine. If you’re left alone we’ll all wake to find the King dead in the morning.”

Gwaine raises a challenging eyebrow, not denying anything, and Elyan huffs, Percival muttering:

“Fine. But I’m taking it with you so you don’t get a chance to smother him.”

Gwaine gives a sarcastic looking smile, before ruffling Merlin’s hair fondly and walking towards the fire. He adds another log, grabs his bedroll, and settles down against a tree, Percival sitting at his side.

Everyone else gathers their rolls, and whilst normally they spread out, they all seem rather desperate to stay as close to Merlin as possible.

Normally he would complain, they all snore, and Merlin is definitely expecting nightmares tonight, but he can’t find it in himself to send them away, and to be perfectly honest, he's certain that they would just move back the moment he closed his eyes anyway.

The Warlock finds himself tucked under Lancelot’s arm, with Leon a respectful distance away on his other side, though still within arm’s reach. Elyan settles somewhere below his feet, and for the first time in weeks, Merlin finds himself fully relaxed. 

Aithusa sleepily moves from her spot by Merlin’s feet, to curl up with Gwaine and Percival, and Merlin smiles at the thought that she not only trusts his friends in general, but trusts them enough to leave Merlin in their care. Dragons are protective and possessive creatures, and that trust speaks volumes.

Merlin is still a little miserable, and he almost resents himself for still being scared of Arthur despite his obvious regret, but... with all that happened... well. You can’t really blame him.

He’s got a gaggle of very protective knights around him, one of which he can vaguely hear trying to persuade another to commit regicide when no one was looking.

He has time to huff out a small laugh as Lancelot pulls him closer, before he drifts off; much quicker than he thought he would. He was comforted by the warmth behind him, the presence at his feet, the guardians watching over him, and the hand reaching towards him in the dark, just about close enough to lay fingers over Merlin’s heartbeat.

No nightmares plague him that night, and he doesn’t even wake to the warning growls sent Arthur’s way when he eventually returned to camp.

The next few days, hell, the next few months would probably be difficult, but he finds himself not as anxious now he knows he won’t have to face it alone.

~

THE END

I don’t think I’ll write a part two to this, but if someone wants to extend it, feel free, same as normal: credit and tag me :)

I’ve had the whole speech written out in full in my phone notes for like two months, but only recently got round to actually turning it into anything. I hope ya’ll enjoyed it!! I wanted to write something hella angsty so....

I’m fairly certain whatever I write next will be the dead opposite of this (FLUFF fluff) but honestly who knows.

Let me know if there’s anything specific you want my thoughts on :)

[the-cult-of-russo]

potentially slightly angsty and sad headcanon so ignore if u want! but how do u think billy would react if he and the reader saw arthur out in public? and how the reader knowing or not knowing would change that?

Remember this is my Billy.

This turned into like two small one shots lmao sue me...

Okay so I'm gonna split this into two sections.

You don't know:

You pick up an orange and purse your lips, it had seen better days and you huff as you put it back and grab another. You and Billy were out at the store getting some bit and pieces. He was standing next to you with an arm around you, talking about Frank and some guy at work and how Frank had him on his ass during training.

But suddenly he stops talking and you glance up at him. His eyes are flaring with rage as he glares down the aisle. You've seen him angry many times, part of being Billy Russo's girlfriend, although it was never directed at you. But as you follow his death glare, his eyes are locked onto a weird old man at the other end of the aisle who's looking at boxes of cereal.

You look back to Billy then, confused as he's still staring at him. You were about to open your mouth to say something but you felt Billy's grip on your shoulder tighten and you wince. It snaps him out of it as his eyes dart to you, guilt marring his face before his eyes shoot back to the man.

"We need to leave," he mutters tensely, chest heaving. You've never seen him this way before.

"What-Billy!" You frown as he grabs the basket you'd had over your arm and he drops it to to floor. Anything in it forgotten as he grabs your wrist and starts dragging you out of the store.

"Billy, what's going on?" You ask confused and worried. You can't work out if he looks like he's on the verge of killing someone or having a panic attack and it's scaring you.

"Not-Not here," he mutters, shaking his head frantically as he leads you to the car. Once inside you look at him carefully. His face is haunted and his hands are trembling in his lap. Never had you seen him in this state before. You reach over, taking his hands in yours and his eyes snap to you then. The amount of sheer pain held in his watery eyes made your chest ache painfully.

He tells you then. He tells you about the man at the group home who traumatised him. The one who took his love for baseball away. You sit and listen in horror and sadness as you cling to his hand. When he's done with his story, you don't really know what to say. You know he doesn't want your pity. So you say the only thing you can think of.

"Can I go in there and kick his ass?" The words leave your lips before you can help it and you blanche, worried Billy was thinking you were making light of his trauma when you in fact meant the words you said.

But he laughs, a real genuine laugh as his eyes crinkle in the corners and suddenly he's back to being the Billy you're used to. He leans over to you, kissing your lips sweetly as he strokes your cheek.

"I love you, you know that?" He murmurs softly against your lips. You smile at him, unable not to.

"I love you too," you reply.

-

You already know:

You and Maria are sitting on a bench in the busy park. The kids are running around playing as Billy and Frank are off at the food stand grabbing you all lunch. Something catches your eye and as you look, you realise it's Billy. He's no longer standing laughing and joking with his best friend. Now he's walking with purpose and a face like thunder towards an old man who's standing there watching people.

Frank's hot on Billy heels, muttering something to him that Billy seems to pay no mind to. Your eyes go back to the old man then and it dawns on you. You'd never seen him before, didn't know his face. But only one person could elicit such a response from Billy and it made your stomach churn.

You jump up from your seat, darting over to a very pissed off Billy. As much as you'd love to see him cave the man's face in for what he did, you're all out in public and around kids. You don't want him to get arrested or scare the families having a nice day out.

"Baby, stop!" You plead as you get in front of him, firm hands on his chest halting him. A deep growl vibrates in his chest and he turns his fiery eyes to you then. They soften a little but he shakes his head.

"I'm gonna kill him. What the fucks he doin' here, huh? Watchin' the little kids like a goddamn sicko?" He snarls, it isn't directed at you though. His words make you feel sick but you push on as Frank catches up to you both and puts a hand on Billy's back.

"Not here, Bill," Frank's gruff voice holds a darkness that makes you think there's another place and time he has in mind but you try not to think about it. Billy's angry face tilts to him then, his top lip curling.

"Not here? Frank he's-" he starts angrily, his mouth clamping shut when you grip either side of his face and turn him to look at you.

"Baby, he's right. Look around... you really wanna do this here in front of everyone? Scare the kids? Jr and Lisa?" You press gently. His dark eyes stare at you for a moment as your words sink in, his body sagging a little as he rolls his shoulder. His hands come to your hips then, gripping them tightly as if to ground himself as he takes a few deep breaths.

Frank seems to relax as Billy did and he glances around.

"I'll escort the asshole from the park," he mutters darkly. You know Frank could be persuasive when he needed to be and he clearly wasn't happy with a man like that hanging around his kids. Any kids. Especially not with how upset Billy is.

Billy wraps his arms around you, pressing his face into your neck as he takes a deep inhale, fists bunching in the back of your shirt. Your heart aches for him as you hold him close, rubbing his back soothingly. You stay like that for a long moment as you let him take comfort from you.

"Let's go see what the kids are doing, yeah?" You ask softly, moving back a bit to kiss his cheek. He smiles, looking much calmer than moments ago. A quick glance to the side reveals the man is now gone and Frank's sauntering back over. Billy nods, pecking your lips sweetly before he wraps an arm around you.

[fruitcoops]

I need something to vent read. If you are up for it could you write something with Sirius freaking out because of a slammed door, loud noises and raised voices? I feel like these things would be triggering to him because when he was living with Walburga (is that spelled correctly? I have no clue) and Orion all of those things meant something bad was going to happen. If you want it to not be as angsty you could add in Remus comforting him and reminding him that he is safe. Thank you! :)

Continuing the angsty vibes, folks! This was a really interesting prompt to tackle since Sirius is so repressed and I didn’t want to romanticize past abuse at all. Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for disappointed adults, guilt, past abuse (mentioned, not graphic), and a panic attack

Arthur was disappointed. Sirius hated it when Arthur was disappointed.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Arthur sighed after a moment, shaking his head. “If anyone has an explanation for that shitshow, I’d love to hear it.” A few beats of silence passed and he pressed his lips together. The guilt was eating Sirius alive. “We’re better than this. I know that, you know that, the Cup we won knows that. Do better next time.”

Be better, be better, be better. The words had been drilled into his mind since he was old enough to hold a stick and he swallowed around the dryness of his mouth. “Sorry, Coach,” James said quietly from his stall.

“I don’t need you to be sorry!” Arthur barked; Sirius’ stomach lurched. “I need you all to get your heads out of your asses and into the game! Tonight was a disgrace to everything you’ve worked hard to build. You know that, right?”

“Yes, Coach,” they muttered.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Coach,” they said again, louder.

Down the hall, a door slammed—Sirius knew it was just Moody closing up for the night, but latent fear lanced through him all the same and he gripped the edge of his seat. Deep breaths, Heather always told him. Breathing is the most important thing you can do to stay in control.

Control. He needed control. He thrived on control.

“Black!” Arthur’s voice was sharp and he winced. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes, Coach.” Sirius stood up.

“Then answer the question I just asked.”

Frantically, Sirius wracked his brain. Fuckfuckfuckfuck—nothing. He couldn’t think of anything. The alarm bells started to blare as Arthur walked to his stall, still holding onto his clipboard. “I’m sorry, Coach.”

He tapped the front of Sirius’ jersey. “Do you know why you have that badge?”

“Because��”

“Because you’re supposed to be a role model for this team. You hold them together and you lead well. I’ve seen you do it a million times.”

Finn raised his head. “Coach, this isn’t just on Cap—”

“Save it, O’Hara.” Arthur looked straight at Sirius; his eyes flickered from familiar blue to cold, furious silver faster than Sirius could register. He held his breath and prayed the hit would be light. “You disappointed me tonight, Sirius.”

There it was—the kill stroke. “I’m sorry,” he croaked around the knot in his throat. White-hot adrenaline began dripping into his veins and his breaths grew shallower. Hide it. Hide that weakness. It’s worse if you don’t. In his periphery, he saw Remus straighten up in concern.

“I don’t need your apologies.” Another door slammed. Sirius’ hands started to shake. He could smell the sickly-sweet perfume his mother loved. “I need you to step up and do your job.”

“I’m s—” Sirius bit his lip and choked the words down. Apologies never helped. He braced himself. Something crashed down the hallway and a jumble of voices echoed off the walls like wailing ghosts. The red and gold of the locker room became dark around the edges as his vision tunneled.

“You’re still not listening.” Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ, no wonder everyone was off! I don’t talk just to hear the sound of my own voice, guys!”

“Coach, could you lower your voice a bit?” Pascal asked in an even tone, though Sirius felt his eyes on him. He kept his chin high.

“Pascal—” Arthur snapped his mouth shut and threw his clipboard down with a BANG that rattled all the way to Sirius’ core. He flinched back hard.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said under his breath, wincing as his voice cracked. He shouldered past Arthur, feeling his chest tighten painfully on the way out.

Public bathrooms were the worst place to have a breakdown, but at least it was dark, empty, and cool enough to quell the raging heat in his head. He crumpled in the joint between a stall door and its wall, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“Come on, deep breaths,” he whispered to himself as salt tinged his lips. “Deep breaths, you can do this.”

If he squeezed his eyes shut hard enough, he could pretend that the trembling fingers combing through his hair were Remus’. That the weight against his side was Dumo, pulling him in for a hug.

“He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it.” Again and again, until his voice finally gave out into shuddering breaths.

The door creaked as it opened and Sirius held his breath, curling into a tighter ball. The lights did not turn on as soft footsteps padded on the tiles. “Sirius? Are you in here?”

His chest hitched and he leaned his head against the metal.

There was a gentle sigh and the footsteps stopped; two feet appeared in the gap. “Can you open the door, love?”

Sirius shook his head, not trusting his voice. A few seconds of silence passed.

“Alright.” Something rustled and the person sat crosslegged in front of the locked door. “What level are you at?”

“Six?” Sirius managed as more tears trickled down his cheeks.

Remus made a quiet noise of sympathy, then laid his hand palm-up on the floor. Sirius hesitated for a moment before lacing their fingers together—the comfort was instantaneous. He let out a wavering exhale as Remus covered his shaking hand with both of his own, tracing his knuckles and fingers with steady lines. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“You know what happened.”

“This seems pretty severe for some yelling.”

Sirius cracked a rueful smile in the darkness. “You know me too well.”

“I know you well enough to worry.”

He sniffled and wiped his nose with his sleeve. God, he’d kill a man for a shower. “People were slamming doors and somebody knocked a cart over. He’s—he’s so disappointed in me, Re.”

“He’s upset with all of us,” Remus said firmly. “Every game, no matter how shitty, is a team effort. It wasn’t fair of him to yell at you.”

“I’m the captain.”

“You’re a player. Players share blame. Arthur knows that, and he shouldn’t have gone after you like that.”

I’d rather it be me than you, Sirius didn’t say. “How’d you find me?”

He felt Remus shrug and saw his sweatshirt shift. “It’s where I would go. How are you feeling now?”

Sirius closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He was still a little dizzy and more than a bit exhausted, but the alarms in his head had quieted and he could make out actual shapes in the shadows instead of just blurs. “Maybe a three? Two and a half?”

“Can you unlock the door?” He leaned up with his free hand, never letting go of Remus; the stall door opened with a creak and he shifted to lean against his shoulder, snuggling into the soft warmth. “Hey, baby.”

“I hate that this still happens.”

“You’re working on it, though.” Remus pressed his lips to Sirius’ forehead and a little part of him unraveled into a puddle of affection. “That’s progress.”

He sniffled again and tucked his arms against Remus’ chest, toying with the drawstring of his hoodie. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Remus said without hesitation, pulling him closer. The extra muscle he had put on made Sirius feel so safe, like he was in a cocoon of cuddly bliss. Nothing could touch him there. “Whenever you’re ready, Coach wanted to apologize. We can stay here as long as you want, though.”

“In a minute,” Sirius sighed, breathing in the familiar smell. “Let’s just stay here for a bit.”

[fuckingthefictional]

Red Stained Dress

Request: “I hope you’re having a wonderful day/evening/afternoon/night! May I request Reader being a cousin to the Shelby’s (mother’s side) and being very very like lady-like, clean, expensive clothes. And one of the boys gets blood on her dress? If that’s alright? Thanks in advance.”

A/N: I made this entirely too angsty for my own good, either way hope you enjoy!

Warning: Graphic descriptions of violence, swearing, blood.

“Mummy what is falling in love like?”

“My darling, it is one of the best things in life. It is special and sacred. It makes life worth living, it makes the world that little bit brighter.”

“When will that happen to me?”

“Time will tell my sweet girl, but be patient- love is always lurking around corner, where you least expect it.”

Your mother was right. It did lurk around the corner and it caught your heart in its grasp and lead you to love. To your husband.

At the age of 20 you went from Y/N Strong to Y/N Massey. Wife of James Massey. You were happy, at peace.

But your mother had failed to explain the complexities of love. That it didn’t come easy. There was darkness and rockiness. And love didn’t always last.

For you it broke in front of you. When your husband was taken on the battlefield- somewhere in France.

And suddenly you were a widow, you were alone.

Your mother and husband had passed. The only person left was your father (if you could even call him that)- Charlie Strong.

On her deathbed your mother had begged you to go and make amends with him. Even going as far to write down his address on a piece of paper for you to keep.

But you hadn’t plucked the courage to do that yet. To you your father was just a man who ran from his wife and child at the first moment he could.

There was only one trait that you shared with that man. And that was your love of horses. You had always had a connection with animals. Horses and dogs in particular would just flock to you- who knew maybe it was in your blood.

“Ms Massey?” A quiet voice interrupted your heavy stream of thought, looking up you saw one of the many maids that worked at the house standing in the entry way to the library.

“Is everything alright Mary?” You asked.

“Ms Carleton has just arrived for you ma’am, she’s waiting for you by the car.”

You nodded, rising from your armchair and taking one last glance at his armchair before you left for the day.

May and yourself were going to a horse auction, you’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

You were both looking for some new horses to take on and train, as well as some new potential clients.

“Stop dallying Y/N!” Your friend’s familiar voice rang out, “The auction starts soon, we’ll miss out at this rate!”

You rolled your eyes towards May, silently dismissing her joking jabs at you.

“We won’t be late May,” You reprimanded, “stop fretting.”

“The clock says otherwise.”

“Ladies like us are never late,” You waves your hands to prove your point, “everyone else is simply early.”

May giggles in response, “if you say so Y/N/N.”

You swatted at your close friend jokingly, you were hoping for a successful, calm day- but trouble always did seem to follow you every place you went.

-

“Ladies and Gents we will start our bidding at 50 pounds.”

The horse auction was surprisingly crowded, it seemed that quite a few people had come to see what breeds could be found at the auction house that afternoon.

It was dwindling down to the last few stallions and the occasional mare. All in all you had been successful in purchasing two stallions and a mare of your own.

The last horse on auction in question was beautiful, it was a stallion- dark and shiny in colour, its legs were long but muscled. A perfect contender for you to train for the races.

You raised your hand in interest.

“50 pounds here,” the auctioneer spoke, looking around at everyone else, “Going once, twice-“

“150 pounds.”

Your head whipped round, looking for the man who was trying to outbid you.

“300” you spoke again.

“500” A murmur rippled through the crowd.

You weighed up your options, it was a lot of money for a single horse- you didn’t want to blow through every single penny you had to your name.

“Going once, going twice-“

“1500 pounds.” A new voice had cut out, there were shocked murmurs erupting throughout the stands of people.

The gavel banged on the table, signifying the final action of the day, as people began to disperse from the auction house- you could finally see the man that had snatched the last horse up.

You knew who it in an instant- it was Thomas Shelby. Your cousin Thomas.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you began to make your way down the stairs with May. Silently you found yourself praying that he hadn’t taken any notice of your presence.

God didn’t listen of course.

“Y/N?”

You took a deep inhale, as you rushed down the stairs to try and escape.

“Y/N!”

Fuck, there was no chance of outrunning them.

You quickly murmered that you would catch up to your friend, before you slipped through the doors arena like stage.

The doors itself open and closed behind you, before it was repeated again.

Here goes nothing I suppose.

You breathed in a shuddering breath as you turned to face your estranged family members.

They were all there. Thomas, John, Arthur, as well as another two men that you didn’t recognise. Not to mention the man that you had long since called your father.

You put on a polite smile, which probably looked far too forced, “Good Afternoon Thomas.”

“What are you-“

“What are you doing ‘ere ‘ey?” Your father cut Tommy off, questioning your motives as his piercing eyes stared into your similar ones.

The action only caused a swell of anger to swirl in her belly.

“I assume the same reason that you are- business.” You spoke simply, biting down on your tongue to keep any more words at bay.

“And what ‘business’ do you have here Hmm?” Tommy’s gruff voice asked.

“Jesus I’m just here to purchase any horses that look good enough to ride professionally- what is your probl-“

“Mr Shelby.”

Everything that happened next, happened all too quickly. Because before you could even register what was happening there was a yell coming from one of your cousins.

“Get down!” John’s voice had cut of your own with a loud yell, as you were suddenly tackled to the floor.

A loud crack rippled through the air as the wooden banister above you splintered into two, a bullet lodging itself in the wall behind it.

You peeled up behind the curtain of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes, “What the fuck?” You screamed in fear, shock melting into every nerve and muscle in your body.

Another gunshot pierced out, as it shattered the large window close by into thousands of shards.

A part of you didn’t want to believe that this was happening- surely it was just a dream? A terrible, horrific nightmare?

Another crack of a bullet being launched sounded close to you, peeping up from behind your quivering hands you saw that it was Thomas who had fired it.

Thomas who had fired a fatal shot into another man’s head. Thomas who had caused the death of a man, who may have had a wife, or a child or a family.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight that was to come next. The sight of your eldest cousin brutally throwing punch after punch after punch at another man’s face.

The sickening sounds of flesh hitting flesh and bones shifting and cracking under the weight of Arthur’s meaty fists continued to echo around the room.

The man’s face slowly becoming mangled into mush, the sand below him becoming stained with crimson blood - you knew you couldn’t take it for a moment longer.

Swallowing your fear, you jumped off of the ground, screaming desperately for Arthur to stop.

You tried to pull him off, only to be knocked backwards onto your back. You felt the air leave your body as you collided with the ground.

You shifted back onto your feet, ignoring the pain surging through your spine. Watching as your father, Tommy and another man ripped Arthur away from the scene.

Crawling over you to the motionless body, you lifted two fingers to his neck. Frantically searching for a pulse. After a few seconds you found one, “He’s still alive- but his pulse is weak, he needs-“

Once again you were cut off by your father, “John take Y/N to the car.”

“What? No!” You protested, “did you not hear me- that man is dying he needs a doctor now.”

Within seconds you felt your body lift off the ground and over someone’s shoulder.

“Stop! You can’t do this!” You were screaming desperately, you voice becoming hoarse “What is wrong with you?”

The feeling of tears running down your face, alerted you to just how upset you felt. You just watched your family kill- like they were predators.

A few short minutes later, you felt your feet finally hit the floor. Looking around you grasped onto the nearest solid object that you could find.

The car was cool to touch and it calmed your raging thoughts for a second before a swell of nausea hit. You wanted to be sick, to cleanse the memories of what you had just witnessed away.

“Y/N...” John’s voice held care, like he was tiptoeing around what had just happened, “About what you just saw.”

“You didn’t see anything.”

You’re head shot up angrily, Tommy stood in front of you, with the rest of the group of men behind him.

“Really because the blood on my fucking dress says otherwise,” you fined, lYou’re fucking insane- you just killed two men, two men who may have had families that will never see them again.” Tears welled up in your eyes, “You should feel ashamed.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, “If we didn’t kill them, they would have killed us.”

“We all have a part to play in this world Tommy- you don’t get to decide who lives, who dies and who tells the story. You’re just a selfish coward who shoots first and asks questions later.”

“Y/N you can’t say that- he’s your family.”

Your head whipped around, quick enough that you swore you could’ve gotten whiplash. It was your father who had spoken those words.

“You don’t get to say anything to me- you do not have that right anymore, you lost that a long time ago,” You jabbed a finger into his scrawny chest, “Family Hm? You lot stopped being my family years ago. None of you came to my wedding, none of your cared when my husband was killed, and you ‘dad’ disowned me before I could walk- so don’t you dare lecture me about family.”

“You’re still apart of this family Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, “Well if that,” you pointed back over to the auction center, “is what being apart of this family is then I have no fucking interest in being apart of it.”

Family isn’t always to do with fucking blood- it is what you make it.

[meobsessions]

Hi! I saw you were taking requests, so I was wondering if you could maybe do a Dutch x reader where its later game Dutch and the reader is trying to keep him from spiraling further and it's just super angsty? If you don't have time or the inspiration to write it, don't worry about it. Love ya thanks!!

Wow, this was requested forever ago, and I just now got to it 💀sorry about the wait, hope this makes up for it (she’s a long one)!

Title: With Me or Against Me

Word Count: 9.4K

Rating: M (swearing, violence, suggestive themes, no actual smut tho)

Summary:  When you first met Dutch Van Der Linde, the two of you were in love. It was bliss. But as the gang is on the run from the law, trying to stay hidden and safe, tensions rise and you find the two of you drifting apart. That's not what you want to happen, but you find as you try to fix things with your love it only gets worse. When you finally confront Dutch will it make everything better, or will it be damaged beyond repair?

Here’s the AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29191437

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Meeting Dutch van der Linde had been the best thing you had ever done. 

The work you did to make a living wasn't anything big, but it was enough for you to get by on your own. Delivering packages from one post office to the other was something that most people didn't want to do--it consisted of long days and uncontrollable weather conditions, but you always liked traveling. Seeing different sights, meeting new people, and giving your brown quarterhorse, Scout, some good exercise gave you more joy than spending your days in saloons like it did most people.

The first time you met Dutch van der Linde it was quite dramatic. Like a knight in shining armor, he saved you from some men who had surrounded you while you were riding your horse to a neighboring town. They wanted your packages and you told them to go to hell. Bandits weren't uncommon, so you made sure to always carry a pistol, but the three of them to your one presented odds even you weren't happy about. Dutch showed up out of nowhere, along with a man who introduced himself as Arthur. Dutch tried calmly speaking to the men, but when they drew their guns he didn't hesitate in pulling his own and shooting the one closest to you in the head. The other men spooked and took off, shouting idle threats as they left in a cloud of dust. 

When you had the chance to get a proper look at him, you were taken aback by just how handsome he was. Dark hair slicked back, a well-trimmed goatee on his face, warm brown eyes, and a muscular build visible even underneath his dress clothes. You hoped he didn't notice your ogling and looked him in the eye, thanking him profusely. He merely said he was doing what any decent man would do. He was suave, you had brazenly flirted, and then you were on your way. Though you didn't see the man for another week, he never left your mind. 

Then when you were delivering packages to a farther town, one that required you to ride through the night, you heard some scuffling in the woods. Thinking it nothing more than a random animal, you urged Scout on until you heard the following groan that was most definitely human. 

The last thing you were expecting was to find a drunk Dutch practically passed out in a bush. He didn't seem to be hurt, and it just looked like he had too many to drink after a good night out, so you weren't worried. After getting ahold of your laughter, you helped him onto your horse--his was nowhere in sight--and took him to the hotel in town where you paid for his room. He grabbed your hand just before you slipped from the room, and asked you to stay. Though a part of you was tempted, you politely declined. You just wanted to make sure he was safe in his inebriated state. It was the least you could do for him after what he had done for you. 

But if there was one thing you would learn about Dutch van der Linde in the coming months, it was that he was a man of determination. 

In simple terms, he didn't leave you alone. He always seemed to just so happen to be at the next town you were to go to. You'd bump into him at the post office, as that was where you normally went first. At first, you thought it was just a coincidence. He took you to dinner that night as a thank you for what you did when you found him. You told him it was unnecessary, but he insisted. 

But as time went on, the bumping into each other became more frequent, the dinners were expected, and the talks were longer. 

And after a month of this, it became clear that he was wooing you. 

Did he do so successfully? Yes. Were you going to take it easy on him for doing so? Absolutely not.

Though Dutch was a man of class, he was also just that: a man. If there was one thing your mama taught you that you remembered, it was that you should never change yourself for a man. So you didn't. 

You showed him who you were. What you liked doing. How you enjoyed your freedom and independence, more than most women you've encountered in your travels get the pleasure of enjoying. You expected him to be appalled, disgusted, wanting to move onto some other submissive woman. 

But instead of doing so, he was like a moth to a flame and came around even more. 

You met the group of people he traveled with, the people he called his family, and soon you came to understand why. The women were easy to get along with, and then men had their challenges, but don't they all?

After seeing each other for four months, you finally discovered the true nature of what it is that Dutch and his family did. You had been delivering a small box to one of the fancier towns in the country when you began to hear gunshots. When you walked down the street, you saw that the bank was being robbed. This wasn't uncommon--people didn't have money and some figured the only way to get it was by force. 

But what shocked you was the familiar voice that was calling out orders to the men who had bandanas on their faces as they ran from the building, large bags clutched in their hands. The man, whose hair was as dark as the night, turned in your direction and seemed to lock eyes in the crowd. He paused, and then another one of the men, this one also with familiar sandy blonde hair, grabbed his arm. He seemed to shake it off and ran around the back of the bank. 

Needless to say, when you saw Dutch that night you confronted him. You weren't going to keep secrets between the two of you, not when you were beginning to harbor some serious feelings for the man. 

He admitted to seeing you, and that he didn't want you to find out--at least not in the way you had. He told you what you did, how he had dreams of making a safe home for his family where they could live comfortably for the rest of their lives. 

And man if that dream didn't sound beautiful to you. 

And when he showed you how much money he managed to get from the bank, it didn't hurt either. 

Shortly after that, Dutch asked you to join the group, to travel with them. He told you they were going farther south than they had before, and that he couldn't bear to leave you. He wanted you to come with him, to be with him. 

And there was no way you could say no to that. 

So here you are, almost a year later, still sticking around.

Even after the hot pile of horse shit that was Blackwater. 

That was rough on Dutch, but you were there to help calm him down and think clearly. The two of you were a power pair: the gang looked up to you. Where Dutch was the leader, telling everyone what the plan was for the next step and making sure everyone was provided for, you were there at his side to look after everyone and make sure they had what they needed. You were the one they came to if they really wanted something because they knew that if you batted your lashes at Dutch there was no way he could say no. 

He both loved and hated it, you could tell. But he never told you to stop. 

And though you and Dutch love each other deeply, ready to lay your life down for the other should it come to it, you've also noticed that he's been...more withdrawn as of late. 

You shouldn't complain. A lot has happened in the past six months, and unfortunately, not much of it is good. 

Sean was killed after someone ratted the gang out to the families in Rhodes. Kieran was beheaded as a warning to your gang. Arthur was kidnapped by the Pinkertons, and try as you had to convince Dutch to go after him, Micah was there to whisper in his ear that it wasn't a good idea. You already butt heads with Micah as it is, and you had thought for sure that Dutch would listen to you, but Micah's voice was stronger you suppose. It had hurt, but when Arthur miraculously showed back up on his own, all attention was fixed on getting him better so you pushed it to the back of your mind. 

The time in Saint Denis was nice. Dutch took you to dinner like he did when you first started seeing him. He even took you to the theater and judging by how Dutch simply watched you instead of the show, you get the feeling that he took you there simply for your own pleasure instead of his own. You thanked him in more than one way later that night in your tent. 

Then when he made a plan to rob the bank in Saint Denis, you got a bad feeling in your gut. It didn't sound right to you, and Hosea agreed. In a rare moment, Dutch seemed to display a show of jealousy that you were siding with Hosea over him. You tried to reassure him that you were just looking out for everyone's best interests, but he didn't want to hear it. You didn't like the plan, so you excused yourself from the job and stayed back at camp.

And severely regretted it. 

Hosea and Lenny were killed. The others who went to the bank, Dutch included, disappeared. For a month. All of you thought them dead, unsure if they managed to escape or if the Pinkertons eventually got them in the end. You were all overcome with grief, and you were riddled with guilt for not being there. Maybe something would have gone differently, maybe if you had tried harder to convince him to stay...

But they came back. Dutch clutched you to him like you were what he needed to survive, and you didn't leave his side (or stop crying) for nearly three days. He put up no argument and didn't complain when you doted over him. He had lost weight, was injured in more than one place, and compared to the other men in the gang when they also eventually regrouped, he was lucky. Javier was shot.

And so you thought things were finally moving in a better direction. He grieved for those you had lost. For Lenny, for Hosea...and you were there for him. There to hold him when he needed it, there to comfort and care. You were his rock. 

And when you arrived at Beaver Hollow, he seemed to be a little more positive than before. Everyone did. Maybe it was the location, maybe it was the town that was nearby where nobody knew who any of you were, or maybe it was the fact that he was inspired once more to look for a place for all of you to settle down. This was finally it, you hoped, and then you could live the rest of your days out happily. 

Except Dutch started spending less time with you and more with Micah and Bill. More time was spent either at Micah's table or in your tent, and Dutch didn't allow you in the tent when he was talking over plans with the men. 

You had frowned and argued. "Since when am I not included in the plans?"

He shook his head and cupped your cheek, but you stepped out of his touch, unable to hide how hurt you were from being excluded. "We don't keep secrets, Dutch."

"It's not a secret," he had frowned, "it's a plan. The less who know, the better. I promise that once we get everything laid out here, it'll already be over. It just ain't...the safest of things, Sweetheart."

You didn't want to hear his words anymore and so you left. 

And that was the beginning of the rift. 

Dutch tried to patch things up at first, reassuring you that he was doing this for your safety, but you just wanted him to be done with his plans. You didn't want any more risky business like the bank in Saint Denis. Hosea's death had been the last you could take. You couldn't lose him too. 

But bringing up Hosea's death was a bad idea. He had closed off almost immediately. Micah had snickered and told you to go sew with the other women where you'd be useful, instead of distracting the boss. You had scoffed at his words, expecting Dutch to come to your defense, but...he didn't.

And so the hurt between the two of you grew. You stopped actively seeking him out, and he did the same with you. You started spending more time with Miss Grimshaw and Arthur on occasion, going out to hunt with him just so you'd feel useful. He knew that there was something wrong, but he never asked. And for his silence you were grateful. 

One morning something was different. Dutch was gone already when you wake up, and as of late that isn't odd. It hurts your heart to think about how you were when you first moved in with him, how he would hold you in his arms as if you were the most precious thing he'd ever had in the world. He told you about Annabelle, about how deeply he cared for her. You told him about your own experience with love. About the man you had been engaged to for a time, about how you broke it off because he wanted to keep you at home. 

He told you how though he cared deeply for Annabelle, he never thought it possible to love a person more...until he met you. And you told him you never knew what it meant to love someone until you met him. 

But these days you don't get that feeling from him anymore. It's like breaking up, even though you're still seeing the person. It's awful. 

And the worst part? You still love him with every breath you take. You still watch him as he walks through camp, as he talks with the others. When he glances your way you turn, almost embarrassed that he would think you were looking at him, even though just a little bit ago you would have done so without hesitation. 

You miss your best friend. 

"You listenin'?"

You tear your eyes away from where Dutch is deep in conversation with Micah, a frown tugging the edges of his lips down. Tilly has her hands on her hips as she waits for an answer from you. "Yeah, sorry. Just lost in thought, I guess."

She scoffs and shakes her head. "Lost in thought my ass."

You frown but take your turn and place a domino down, not saying another word on the subject. Mary-Beth looks between the two of you silently, her journal forgotten in her lap. 

"Y/N, when was the last time you was out of camp?"

You glance over at Mary-Beth, trying your best not to look over her shoulder at the man who's constantly on your mind. "I dunno...about two weeks ago, I reckon."

She frowns, tapping her lips with her pencil. "You're lookin' a little worn. Maybe some new scenery would be good for ya."

You can't help the weak smile you give her. "Are you sayin' I look bad?"

She laughs softly at that. "Not at all. I think we could all do with a nice ride around the area. We ain't really...checked it out since we got here. Only a few of the men have had the chance. There ain't no good reason we shouldn't go."

You look to the sky. Though it's only the middle of the day, the sky isn't that bright. There are gray clouds in the sky, a warning of rain to come. Hopefully, it won't happen for a few hours yet.

She's right. Maybe some fresh air, a place that's new and will offer a distraction would be nice. 

This time you allow your eyes to drift to Dutch. He's still deep in thought, and you can't help but sigh. Maybe it would be good for more than just you to get out of here for a little bit. 

Tilly can already see where your thoughts are heading. She throws the rest of her dominoes on the table in frustration and crosses her arms, startling you and Mary-Beth. She looks between the two of you. "What? Just go ask him already."

You snort, and that manages to get a lip twitch from her. You stand and take a deep breath. "I will. Just give me a minute."

You smooth your hand over your skirt, smoothing it as you muster up the courage to speak to Dutch. It shouldn't be this hard, you think to yourself, and just that reminder makes a twinge of sadness race through you. 

Maybe this can be the first step back in the right direction. Just a simple ride, right? Just to go see what's out there? He knows how much you like traveling. You know he does too, so maybe he'll be open to spending some time with you.

Micah spots you first as you walk over. He stops speaking and sneers, not even trying to hide his disgust at you. He's always been jealous of the sway you've had with Dutch, and now that he's somehow managed to gain that upper hand, you can understand how he was feeling. You want nothing more than to rip that mustache off his face. 

Dutch lifts his head and stares at you without saying a word. Of course, he wouldn't speak first. 

You clear your throat. "Me 'nd the ladies was thinkin' of takin' a ride around the area, getting out of camp for a while."

"Just another excuse to avoid the work that needs done 'round here." Micah's voice is dripping with disdain. Dutch shoots him a displeased look but doesn't say anything. 

You continue on. "...how does that sound?"

He takes a deep breath, folding his arms over his chest and looking away from you. "Take Arthur or John with you. We don't know who's living around the area, so just be safe."

You purse your lips. "I was hopin' you'd come with us, Dutch."

His eyes flit to yours quickly, and the surprise in them is gone just as fast as it was there. But you still saw it. Did he not think you wanted him to come?

He sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his pocket watch and checking the time. "I'm too busy today, Y/N."

You frown. "You can't spare any time? Any?"

"He said he's busy," Micah jumps in. You throw a glare at him. 

"I'm not talkin' to you."

"And it's obvious that he don't want to talk to you."

You can't ignore the hurt that Micah's words send through you. Because even though you know he's just trying to make you leave, there's truth behind his statement. Dutch doesn't want to talk to you, otherwise, he'd be looking you in the eye right now. 

"Is that how it's goin' to be between us, Dutch?" You ask quietly. You wave a hand out at Micah. "I barely see you anymore, we can't share more than a few words, and Micah is answerin' for you now? Is that what he is, your bitch?"

Dutch does look at you now, but he's glaring. He's never looked at you like that before. You take a step back, unsure of how to handle this situation. It was never meant to escalate like this.

"Better than bein' his whore," Micah chuckles evilly, and you reach across the table and smack him across the face before he's able to get another word out. The camp goes silent. Micah is on his feet in a second, hands balled into fists at his sides and lip curled. 

"I'll fuckin' gut you, ya slimy--"

"Micah," Dutch barks, standing as well and facing the man, giving you his back. You're not sure what look it is he gives the blonde man, but whatever it is is enough to make him sit back down in his chair. That doesn't mean he doesn't continue to throw dirty looks your way. 

"You're just going to let him say stuff like that? You're not going to say anything?" You ask, pointing at Micah. He looks like he wants to jump across the table and bite your finger off. You don't care that you're shouting at this point. Everything has gone too far--the old Dutch would never have allowed Micah to even look at you like that. "You're going to let him call me a whore and not say a god damn word?"

"You slapped him," Dutch says lowly, turning to look down at you. His brows are pulled together as he frowns down at you, annoyed that this is happening. That people in camp are listening in. 

"Because he called me a whore, Dutch. It was an insult to me, and it was an insult to you." You shake your head, unable to believe that you even have to explain yourself. "Be honest with me Dutch, because that's all I've ever wanted from you was, to be honest. Do you even care anymore?"

He blinks, some of his anger fading away. He clearly wasn't expecting that question to come from you, not right now. "What?"

You feel your eyes begin to burn as the hurt, the loneliness, the grief from the past months start to creep forward. "About me. Do you care about me anymore, Dutch? I feel like I'm alone. I feel like you don't even want to be around me. I feel like a god damn nuisance to you anymore."

His face softens, and he murmurs your name quietly. "I didn't mean--"

"She's just lookin' for attention, boss. We got more important things to do." Micah growls, the back of his hand pressed to his inflamed cheek. Your eyes cut to him briefly before going back to Dutch. 

Do it, you think to yourself, prove him and me wrong. Prove that you still care about me. Pick me over him.

But Dutch just snaps his mouth shut, tight enough that you can hear his teeth clack. A muscle ticks briefly in his jaw. "I am trying to plan something for all of us, Y/N. A better way of livin'. I can't do that if I can't focus, and all it seems that anybody around here can do anymore is distract me."

And just like that, your heart drops to your stomach. 

You let out a shaky breath as tears start to stream down your face. Dutch's eyebrows raise in surprise and he flinches, his hand automatically reaching out towards you even though he probably doesn't mean for it to. "Y/N--"

"Don't touch me," you hiss, taking a step backward out of his reach, "don't talk to me. I can't do this to myself. I love you, Dutch van der Linde, and you're breaking my heart."

You turn without another word, refusing to look him in the eye. You pass the table you just sat at with the women, ignoring their sympathetic looks and the way the men politely avert their eyes as you walk past. 

Only one man tries to stop you. "Y/N," Arthur calls, jogging to reach your side, but you throw a hand out behind you to tell him to stop. 

"I'm goin' out," you say, hating the way your voice shakes. You go over to Scout and don't even bother putting the saddle on him, knowing you'll be gone quicker if you go bareback. You hike up your skirts and throw yourself on his back, grabbing fistfuls of his mane and finally looking down at your other friend in this camp. Arthur looks lost, like he isn't sure if he should push and follow you anyway or give you the space you're asking for. "Don't follow me. I need time alone to fuckin' think."

You squeeze your legs and Scout takes off, going faster than you asked but letting it go since it's been a while since he's been allowed to move like this. You let the sounds of camp fade away in the dust that Scout picks up and focus on getting as far away from this nightmare as you can.

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You'll never admit it to anyone, but part of you knows that riding off like that, alone, when there's a storm gathering in the sky and the sun is beginning to set might not have been the smartest thing to do. 

But you're feeling sad, hurt, betrayed, so you don't really give a shit. 

When you first rode off you headed towards the nearby town, but you remembered you don't have any money or weapon on you, so you turn and head off down the trail through the woods instead. It's an obvious path and doesn't seem all that threatening, and Scout is calm as he trots along, so you push any possible fears to the back of your mind and instead focus on stewing about what has happened between you and the man that you would kill for. 

You give Scout control and allow him to wander wherever he pleases, satisfied when he decides to linger around a small stream just away from the main trail. You dismount and sit down at the bottom of a tree, pulling your knees up to your chest and watching Scout as he starts sniffing around the area. Once you're ready to go you'll whistle for him and he'll come, but for now you're fine with just being here for a while. 

The sound of the stream is calming in ways you didn't think possible, and every once in a while you see a rogue squirrel or bird come to the area before catching sight of you and quickly scurrying off. 

You just can't believe that Dutch is acting like this, treating you like this. You fell in love with the Dutch who knew what he wanted but cared enough for everyone else that he was careful about making such rash decisions. And most importantly of all, he included you in what he was doing. It made you feel wanted, made you feel like he needed you by his side. 

And now?

Now you feel like a bother. Like you're some garbage he's stuck with and he's looking for the closest trash can to throw you out in. 

You gave up your life for this man because you wanted to. You wanted to travel with him, join his family, be by his side. As you were around him, you got to know the real Dutch van der Linde. The one who had big dreams and wanted to share them with you. The Dutch who loved you. 

You don't know if that man exists anymore. 

It's not until a tear falls on your hand that you realize you're crying. You wipe your face clean and stand to your feet, deciding you can go for another ride and looking around for Scout. You don't want to shed any tears, especially for a man who no longer shares the same feelings for you as you do for him.

Not spotting Scout, you put your fingers in your mouth and whistle loudly. An answering whinny sounds just down the stream, so you start trudging down the rocks in that direction. 

"--the hell is a horse doin' down here?"

You hesitate on a rock, looking down the path and seeing a man sitting astride his own horse as he peers at Scout. He doesn't look threatening, and you don't spot a gun on him anywhere, so you continue moving and clear your throat, alerting him to your presence. 

"Oh, hello," he frowns as he greets you. Not the most welcoming thing, but you've certainly had worse. "Didn't see ya there."

"Hello," you keep one eye on him as you walk up to Scout and scratch his muzzle when he thrusts it in your direction, "sorry if he startled you."

He looks you over from head to toe, almost as if he's assessing if you're a threat like you did with him just a moment before. "Just surprised is all. Ain't many wild horses 'round here."

"He ain't wild, we were just takin' a ride is all."

"He's not wild?" He asks, sounding surprised even though he can clearly see how easily you're interacting with him. You take a better look at the man. He seems to be around his mid-forties, with long legs and a lanky frame. Though he looks like a twig you wouldn't doubt that he's got more strength in him than he's willing to show. You know better than to judge a book by its cover, especially considering some of the people you live with. 

"No, sir, he ain't. I was just headin' back home, but it was nice to meet you."

"You out here by yourself?"

You keep your back to him as you mount up on Scout once more, making sure to hide the way your eyes widen at his question. Why is he being so pushy?

"No, sir, my brother is just upstream. We're on our way to visit our father."

The man strokes a hand over his clean-shaven face in thought. It isn't until now that you start to feel a hint of unease bloom inside you. Get out, your mind says to you, get away from here.

"Well, these places ain't nice to a lady on her own, 'specially one who's as pretty as you are. Would you like me to ride with ya until you meet up with your brother?"

You shake your head as the fear you had pushed away earlier starts to come back. "I appreciate the offer, but it's unnecessary. Have a nice day."

With a gentle squeeze of your legs, Scout starts walking up the stream and away from the mysterious stranger. "Hope you get there soon!" He calls after you, his voice scaring all the critters that had been lingering in the bushes. "Rain's comin'. Stay dry!"

You say nothing and make Scout move a little faster, just wanting to get out of there. Thankfully you don't notice anyone following you, even five minutes after you left the area, so the man didn't follow you. A sigh of relief escapes you and you start pushing Scout back in the general direction of the camp. 

The man was right about the weather. Not twenty minutes into your ride back to camp and the rain starts. It's a small trickle at first, nothing too bad, but then five minutes later and it's as though the gates of heaven themselves have opened up and the earth is being flooded for the second time. You have to rely on Scout to really know where he's going, as the rain is so heavy that you can barely see more than five feet in front of you. Your clothes are soaked less than a few minutes later, and you're starting to seriously regret riding this far from camp. Or any shelter, really. 

Thirty minutes later and the rain has lessened, though it's still steady as it falls from the clouds. The cold no longer bothers you, but you're not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Scout is puffing and constantly shaking his mane, trying to clear off some of the rain running into his eyes, and you feel guilty that your horse is suffering because you needed to be alone. 

"I'll give you lots of treats when we get back," you pat his neck, "promise."

"Hey!"

You look up ahead and see that just off the main path there are a few men standing on the ground by their horses, looking directly at you. They're dressed in long black coats and hats that are shielding their faces from the rain. As you ride closer, you can see that they have pistols strapped around their waist. That uneasy feeling from before comes back again. 

"Can't talk," you call out as you get close, "weather is unkind, gentlemen."

Two of the four men step away from their horses and into the path, causing Scout to slow down automatically. You grip his mane tightly and sit up straighter as they force you to stop anyway. 

"Sorry 'bout holdin' you up, Miss," the one man says as he walks over to Scout's side to peer up at you. He's tall and well-built, and if you had to guess you would say he was either involved with the law in some way or a ranch hand. "But we just wanted to know if ya saw a man here recently. Tall, middle-aged. Has dark hair, nearly black, dresses real smart?"

You fall silent, the image in your head instantly forming into one of Dutch. You swallow and wipe some of the rain off your face before shaking your head. "No, sir. Haven't seen him."

The man nods, but judging by the way his lips thin you can tell he isn't happy with your answer. He waves the other man standing in the path over, and he goes to stand on Scout's other side. The man walks up and places a hand on Scout's muzzle, acting like he's petting your horse when in reality you know that that's not his intent. 

"Say, this ain't the kinda place for a woman to be out alone," the first man says, and you tighten your hold on Scout's mane. "What're the odds you're out here travelin' alone?"

"Small," you say through a thin-lipped smile. "My brother is waiting. The storm just caught up to us. Now if you'll excuse me--"

"Haven't seen any other man ride through here," he interrupts your excuse, "think it'd be best if you waited here with us for a while."

You narrow your eyes. "No. Step away from my horse, please."

The second man chuckles humorlessly. "Better listen to what he says, Sweetcheeks."

When you feel a hand start to creep up your leg that's pressed against Scout's side you inhale sharply, caught off guard by the brazen touch. You don't hesitate when you tighten your grip on your horse's mane and squeeze your thighs, urging him off and away from the men. You startle the two men with your sudden departure and you hear swearing before there are some whistles behind you.

Looking over your shoulder through the rain you're just able to make out the four men as they mount their horses and take off after you, shouts of glee echoing through the thunder. You force down the panic that threatens to rise inside you and face forward once more, lowering yourself and trying to help Scout ride as fast as possible. 

The rain makes it hard to see, but thankfully Scout has a good sense of where to go and where to avoid. He takes you through the woods and weaves around trees, making it harder for the pursuing men to follow your trail. You start to feel like you might actually make it out of here, that you might actually succeed in losing them. 

Until they start firing their guns. As good of a horse as Scout is, if there's one thing he hates it's guns. He spooks and startles so bad that he trips over his own hooves, nearly sending the two of you tumbling forwards. You can tell from their shots that the men aren't trying to hit you, but they are trying to scare you. 

Sadly, it's working. 

Just as Scout makes a breakthrough the woods into an open clearing, a bullet is fired too close for comfort and lodges itself into the bark of a tree just by Scout's head. Your poor horse rears and lets out a whinny of pure fear, and if you weren't bareback and if it hadn't rained then you would've been able to hold on. But Scout is too slippery and is shaking too much so you fall onto your back on the hard ground with a muffled thud, the impact knocking the breath out of your lungs and causing you to bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood. Scout takes off into the clearing and over a hill until he's out of sight, leaving you for the wolves. 

The men ride out of the woods and surround you just as you start to push yourself up, two of them immediately hopping down and circling you like vultures. The one from before who touched your leg kneels down beside you and shoves you back onto the ground by your shoulders, looking up and down your body with a disgusting glint in his eye. You reach up and slap his face, just like you did to Micah a few hours ago, and give him a good kick to his chest as well for good measure. He falls away from you with a grunt and his eyes turn angry, his lips pulling down in a sneer. 

You just can't seem to please any men. 

Not that you care to please them.

"Son of a bitch--"

"--just hold 'er down--"

"--make sure she ain't got any weapons--"

You let out a scream of frustration as multiple sets of hands grab hold of you then, one of them holding you down again by your shoulders, another skimming over your clothes to check for a gun or knife, another just touching and feeling and being all over intrusive. You try not to panic, you try to fight back, but when a fourth pair of hands grabs hold of your own and starts to wrap rope around them, effectively restricting you, you start to feel hopeless. 

"Let me go!" You cry out, your voice competing with the cracks of thunder that shake the sky above you. Rain is falling into your eyes and mixing with your tears as you grit your teeth. "I'll fuckin' kill all of you! Get away from me!"

"Let's take her to the cabin," one of the men says, and the other starts making noises of agreement. You're pulled up onto your feet and then thrown over the shoulder of one of them like a sack of potatoes, but you continue fighting. You bang your fists into his back, kick your legs, scream until your throat feels like it's going to start bleeding. 

And then one harsh strike to your head with the butt of a rifle takes the fight out of you. You try to stay awake as your vision swims, your ears ring, and your stomach churns, the man's shoulder suddenly pressing into the wrong spot of your stomach. Something warm runs down the side of your face, a stark contrast to the cool rain that's already running in rivulets there. 

And then suddenly the man holding you is dropping to the ground like a stone, his hold completely gone. You roll off his shoulder and onto the ground, your face pressed into the cold and muddy ground. The ringing slowly fades away and you can make out shouting, but not shouts of triumph. No, it's a mixture of panic and fury.

You open your eyes and see what looks like more men riding towards you on horses, though you're not sure if they're here to join the men you're currently with or not. 

More gunshots ring out and you watch as another one of the men standing near you falls to the ground, dead. The other two fumble for their weapons and start firing back, not expecting the attack and underprepared for it. It doesn't take long before they're also on the ground, blood spilling from their own wounds. 

Three horses come to a stop near you and the men quickly dismount. Two sets of hurried footsteps move in your direction, and then someone's knees are hitting the ground as they fall beside you. A new set of hands reaches out and lifts you out of the mud and props you up in their arms, far more gentler than the other men did. 

You blink away the rain and mud and whatever other substances might be in your eyes and focus on whoever it is that's holding you, feeling surprised when you see it's Dutch.

"Dutch?" You ask, almost unable to believe he's really here.

He's soaked to the bone and even though your vision is still a little murky from the knock to the head, the anguish is as clear as day. 

He says your name like a whisper of a prayer--like he's unable to believe that you're right there. Someone else kneels down on your other side and takes your hands, quickly flicking their knife through the rope and cutting you free. Arthur is watching you with concern in his eyes as he tucks his knife back into his pocket and stands to his feet once more. 

"Talk to me," Dutch says hoarsely, "are you hurt? How do you feel? Did they touch--" he closes his eyes tightly and grinds his teeth together.

"We're lucky that man back there told us 'bout which direction you was headin' in," Arthur says gruffly, locking eyes with Dutch. 

Man? What man? And then it hits you. The man from the stream. 

The man who also fit the description of who these men were looking for. Most likely their actual target, instead of Dutch. 

And he just saved you by telling Dutch and Arthur where you were headed. 

"C-cold," you finally croak, feeling the rain leech into your skin and take any and all warmth from you. Dutch's hands tighten on you and he looks up at Arthur, nodding firmly. Dutch stands to his feet and brings you with him, keeping his arms firmly around you as he whistles for his horse. The familiar beast ambles over and Dutch carefully lifts you onto the saddle there before mounting behind you. He takes his coat and bundles you in it until you're tucked in, though it won't do much since it's also soaked with the rain. He wraps one arm firmly around your waist and brings you into his chest before taking hold of the reins and flicking them, urging the two of you off and back towards camp. 

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You're shaking by the time you get back, unable to stop the chills that are racing up and down your body. Dutch keeps you clutched tightly in his hold, your head in his neck, and his chin resting on top of your head. When you finally see Bill standing on guard at camp you feel as though you could cry tears of relief. 

"Miss Grimshaw!" He calls, his voice cracking at the urgency of his tone, "I need hot water and dry blankets!"

Susan pokes her head out of her own tent, annoyed that she's being asked to do something when it's raining but then that quickly fades when she takes in your state. She nods once and gets to work without a word. 

Dutch rides his horse over to your tent instead of stopping where the others are. He dismounts first and then before you have a chance to get down yourself he's bundling you up in his arms and carrying you into your tent, one arm beneath your shoulders and the other under your knees. You lean against his chest, tired and cold, and happily accepting any form of heat that you can get. 

He places you on your bed and starts hastily pulling your clothes off, and if you weren't still reeling from what just happened and if you weren't still upset about what he did earlier today then maybe you would have laughed. Maybe you would have told him to calm himself and slow down. 

"Dutch," you murmur as he gets to your blouse and starts unbuttoning it. He ignores you and keeps moving, determined to get your clothes off. "Dutch."

"You'll freeze," he hisses, his eyes almost black as he looks at you for the first time since he found you on the ground. You swallow and let out a deep breath. "You can't...you can't be wearing these. You need warm clothes, honey."

The name makes you melt just a little bit, but you still reach up and take hold of his hands, forcing him to stop. He frowns as he looks to you for an explanation. 

You swallow and look down at your muddied skirt. "I can do it myself."

"What?" He asks quietly, hands tightening their hold on your own. "Why would you--"

"I haven't forgotten this morning," you clench your eyes shut and try not to get too angry as you think of the betrayal you felt just hours ago. "I appreciate you helping me, but I know now that you have more important things to do than be here with me."

There's a moment of silence as Dutch lets your confession hang in the air between the two of you. You're afraid to look him in the eye, afraid of what you'll find there. He hasn't had time to think through things as you have, he probably feels no different now than he did this morning. 

"Y/N," he shocks you by leaning forward and pressing his forehead against your own. You jolt and look at him in surprise, finally meeting his gaze. He looks troubled, weighed down, tired. All of you in the camp are feeling those things, but Dutch? He feels all of them but in a more profound way. In a way that others will never understand because they're not expected to lead this group. In a way that you understand because you've seen him go through it, experience it, live it. 

And sometimes he forgets that you know this part of him. 

"I saw what those men were doing, how they touched you," he spits the words, his face screwing up in anger. "And I'm sorry I didn't stop them sooner. I should've been there."

"Dutch," you frown, not stopping him as he continues to unbutton your shirt and tug it off your shoulders. It's been a while since the two of you have been intimate with each other, and so him doing this, him touching you and taking care of you brings up feelings that you thought were gone. 

"I can't lose you too," he finally admits, his voice breaking and his hands stilling as he clenches his eyes shut. "I can't. I can't. You ran from here, straight into the path of those sick bastards, all because of me. If they had...if they had taken you from me, I wouldn't have been able to handle it. Not after Annabelle. Not after Hosea. Not you."

You cup his face with your ice-cold hands, unable to stop yourself from tilting his chin up and pressing a kiss to his lips. He's warmer than you, and he flinches as your cold skin touches his own, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't shrug you off and push you to the side as he did earlier. 

"I have the water," Miss Grimshaw calls from outside of your tent. You can tell that Dutch is loathed to move but he stands up and slips out quickly before bringing the large basin inside, the steam still rising from the water as it sloshes around. You look him over from head to toe, noticing how the rain has made his clothing stick to his body like a second skin, accentuating his muscles and strength. 

"Come here, Sweetheart," Dutch says softly as he takes your hands and helps you to your feet. He helps you step out of the rest of your clothes, his eyes lingering only briefly on your body before gently lowering you into the water. You can't help but groan as the warm water instantly soothes your aching muscles and burns away the worst of the cold that was clinging to your skin. You expect him to sit on a chair and let you soak, but he surprises you by sitting on the ground and grabbing a cloth, wiping your face clean. 

He dabs around the wound on your temple, frowning as he soaks up the blood that had run down your face and makes you clean once more. You watch him closely, afraid that if you look away then this side of your old Dutch will fade away with the storm. 

"What?" He finally asks after a few minutes of silence. 

"Are we goin' to be okay?"

He hesitates when you ask that, his brown eyes locking with your own. "Of course we'll be okay. This plan--"

"No." Your voice is firm. "Are we going to be okay, Dutch? I can't...the thing that happened with Micah today. I can't take you choosing him over me."

Dutch frowns. "I didn't choose him over you."

You nod once. "You did, Dutch. And you're too blind to this plan of yours that you don't even see it."

His brows furrow, showing a hint of annoyance. "Now, Y/N--"

"No, Dutch. I'm trying to live my life, happily, and with people I love. I love the members of this family you've let me into, all of them are great. Except for Micah. He's shit and he's creating a rift between all of us that is soon goin' to be too big to fix." Tears begin to build in your eyes. "And you 'nd I aren't on the same side, Dutch. So when it finally splits, what's goin' to happen to us? Is there even goin' to be an us?"

"Hey," Dutch reaches out and gently holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him, "nothing is going to happen to us. I'm making a better life for us--"

"Do it another way."

He shakes his head, caught off guard. "What?"

You grit your teeth. "Do. It. Another. Way."

"What does that even mean, Y/N?"

"I want this better life, Dutch. This dream you've told me about from the beginning. I want that, I want that for us. But it ain't gonna happen with this plan, especially if you're makin' it with Micah and I ain't allowed to know what it is."

"Micah has good ideas--"

"I don't care!" Your frustration finally breaks through, and you decide now is as good a time as any to let it all out. "I don't care if he has the best plan in the world. Micah Bell is ruining our family, Dutch. He's killing all of us, turning you against us and makin' you think we're out to get you when we love you!" Your lower lip wobbles and you bury your face in your hands for a moment, getting your composure back. "So you need to make a choice, Dutch. You either do it another way, or I'm gone."

He falls back on his haunches, eyes wide as he stares at you with an open mouth. "Y/N--"

You tear your eyes away from him, unable to look at him while simultaneously feeling your heart break. You take the rag that now lies forgotten and continue to clean yourself, trying your best not to wince when you brush over a particularly tender spot that smarts with pain. 

A large hand slowly and gently encompasses your own, halting your movements. You look up with stinging eyes, afraid of what you'll find. Dutch's hair is unkempt, his face paler than usual and bags under his eyes. He's exhausted. You're exhausted. Both mentally and physically. He looks the same. 

"I mean what I said, Y/N," he murmurs quietly, "I can't lose you." He squeezes his hand over your own, an intensity crawling into his chocolate brown eyes as he refuses to leave your gaze. "I didn't know that you were feeling like this."

"It's not just me, Dutch," you try not to let your voice wobble, but it still sounds shaky anyway, "it's our family. We don't like what's happening here. We don't feel safe. We just want a home."

"Home," he murmurs, and you know it's more to himself than to you. 

"Micah is not a part of my home." You solidify your voice, making sure to stress to him how serious you are about that statement. "I want the others, Dutch. I want Abigail and Susan and Tilly and John and Arthur. I don't want Micah. I don't want him with us and our family." You take his hand and lift it so you can press a delicate kiss to his knuckles. "Our family, Dutch. Blood or otherwise. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Dutch watches you with a lost expression, so to help you take his hand and dip it in the water, guiding it until it's resting lightly on your belly. His fingers tickle your skin but his touch is soft and gentle. His eyes widen as he finally understands the message you're trying to tell him. 

"I want a home. I want our family." You take a deep breath, tears once more brimming in your eyes. "And I don't want Micah there for it."

Dutch's face falls blank, and then he's pushing off his knees and standing to his feet. You think it's a rejection, him getting ready to leave you, your demands too high, and you want to cry. Tears slip down the side of your face and fall in the water to mix with the dirt and blood that's swirling around. 

But Dutch surprises you when he gently grasps your hands and pulls you up to your feet, helping to gingerly guide you out of the tub, taking care so you don't slip and fall. He takes one of the towels that are sitting over by the entrance of the tent and wraps it around you, guiding you over to your cot and urging you to sit down. You do so, keeping it held tightly around your shoulders as he then pulls out a pair of his long johns and a soft union shirt. He helps to dry you off before leading your limbs through the holes in the clothing, putting dry and clean clothes on you. 

"Dutch--" you ask in confusion, but he merely blows out the candle that's burning on the table and strips out of his own wet clothes, dressing himself once again in quick fashion before guiding you to lay down on the bed. He crawls in beside you, using his large hands to grasp your waist and tug you into his chest, one of them skimming up your back and cradling the base of your skull, asking you to rest your head in the crook of his neck. You do so without hesitation. 

"I'll always pick you," he presses a kiss to your forehead, and in the darkness of the tent you start to cry once again, a wave of relief as big as a tsunami washing over you at the realization that he's not picking Micah over you this time. "I'll make a new plan, Sweetheart, for us. For our future."

You grab handfuls of his shirt and tilt your head up, peppering kisses along his jaw and over to his lips where you give him a longer and more meaningful kiss. "Do you promise?"

He nuzzles his face into your hair, letting out a sigh. "Anything for our family." He snakes one hand to your waist and softly brushes his thumb over your belly. "Both of them."

[the-winter-smoulder]

What The Hell...

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Chapter Word Count: 932

Warnings: Language! Mentions of Death, Panic Attack, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Angsty Goodness

Seriously... What the HELL?!

Since the defeat of Thanos, nothing has really been the same, especially not for Sam and Bucky.

Read Chapter 20 Here

Chapter 21: What The Hell Is Wrong With You?

Bucky and Y/n awoke the next morning still wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Hey, you,” Bucky smiled, kissing Y/n’s forehead.

“Hi,” she smiled back, kissing Bucky’s lips.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“I did. You?”

“I did. You were snoring a bit,” he yawned.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” she laughed.

“It’s okay. It’s cute,” Bucky said, kissing her lips.

A knock at the door interrupted that kiss from going any further. Y/n groaned as Bucky got up to answer it.

“Hey, man,” Sam said, “We’ve been interrogating Aurora all night. Thought you might want to see what’s going on.”

“Thanks, Sam. We’ll be up in a minute.”

“Sounds good. We’re observing Interrogation Room A.”

“See you in a few,” Y/n said, throwing the covers off and climbing out of bed.

     -----💥🌀💥🌀💥🌀💥🌀💥🌀💥🌀-----

Clint slammed his hand on the table in front of Aurora, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me. You have your missions, I have mine,” she smiled.

“What do you want with Y/n and Bucky? What do you need them for?”

“Why would I tell you that?”

“Because that collar of yours doesn’t just kill your powers, Aurora,” he started, holding up a small remote, “I can hurt you with this. Use your power to tear you apart.”

He pressed the button and her body stiffened, her head snapping back. Y/n could see the electricity running through Aurora’s body.

“Woah,” Bucky said, “How’s that...”

“I designed that collar to completely disarm her so we could actually use her energy against her,” Bruce said.

“Wow,” Y/n replied, “Clint’s really letting her have it.”

“Yeah, well, she pissed him off,” Sam said.

“Stop!” Aurora screamed.

Clint let the button go and her body slumped forward in the chair as she panted, rolling her head forward.

“Something you want to tell me?” Clint asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t really want to tell you anything, but I sure as hell don’t want to get electrocuted again.”

“Too bad, I really would have loved to do that again. Spill it.”

“Headlok. He wants to use Y/n’s technology to travel through the dimensions. He wants to team up with Thanos.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know, Aurora. Arthur’s already admitted all of this. Using Bucky as his muscle, killing Y/n, all of it. I need new information from you, or I’m going to turn this up a little higher.”

“He didn’t just want to kill Y/n. He wanted to have the Soldier destroy her, thus destroying himself. He wanted to send him spinning off the deep end so he’d never be able to come back. Then he’d take the Soldier along to destroy everyone – Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, even Thanos himself. The three of us would’ve been unstoppable. He wasn’t after world domination – he was after worlds domination. Plural. Any and all worlds and timelines that exist. He wanted to rule them all.”

“And then what? What do you think he would have done with you after that?”

“Bucky was to be my reward.”

Clint laughed, “You really think he was going to actually let you go? Just run off and play house with Bucky?”

“That was the agreement.”

“You think he’d have actually kept that agreement? Why? What makes you so special?”

“He can’t control me, and I can’t control him. But, I could kill him very easily. If he’d have fucked me over, I'd have turned him into molecules. He knows that.”

“So he would have let you go play house because you could actually kill him. Incredible self-preservation on his part.”

“So... what now?” Aurora asked.

There was a knock at the door, and Clint walked over to open it saying, “Now? Now you rot in a cell right next to your savior. You can spend the rest of your lives together.”

Bucky and Y/n walked into the room, staying close to the doorway.

“C’mon, Clint. Why don’t you just let me go? I’ll leave. I’ll go quietly.”

“Ha! No way. We’re too smart for that bullshit. No. You are going to sit in a cell for the rest of yoru natural born life with no powers and nothing but time.”

“You can’t do this to me!” she yelled, struggling against the cuffs and collar as Bucky and Y/n slowly stepped closer to her.

“We can do whatever we want to you. You're a criminal... A villain,” Clint said, turning on his heel, walking toward the door. He stopped in front of Bucky and Y/n, smiling at Y/n as he handed Bucky the remote.”

“Go nuts, pal,” he said, brushing past them and closing the door behind him.

Bucky looked down at the remote in his hand, then up at Y/n.

“I... I can’t,” he said quietly, “I’m not that man anymore.”

Y/n smiled at him, “I know you’re not, Bucky. I know. Give it to me, honey.”

Bucky closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath as he handed the remote to Y/n. He kissed her cheek and walked out of the interrogation room, closign the door behind him.

“What... What are you doing?” Aurora asked, eyes wide.

“He may not be that man anymore, but I'm definitely ‘that bitch,’ and sweetheart, you’ve awoken the evil in me.”

“Y/n, please,” she squeaked, breath growing rapid, eyes welling with tears.

“This will only hurt a bit,” Y/n said, pressing the button.

Aurora’s screams echoed down the hallway as the rest of the team sat in the observation room eating pizza.

“How long do we let her go on?” Bucky asked.

“As long as she needs to,” Wanda replied.

Chapter 22

     -----💥🌀💥🌀💥🌀💥🌀💥🌀💥🌀-----

Tag List

@sebastiansqueen​

@katiekate23​

@chipilerendi

@juenenfeu

@leosandbuckysgirl

@kcd15

@ace-of-spaids2

@lillyjay45

@twinerd14

[devotedwaywardangel1]

The Night Guard

Arthur Pendragon x Male!Reader

Fandom: BBC Merlin

Word count: 1747

Warnings: Near death experience, little bit angsty

A/N: Yeah been working on this one a while, doing every Merlin character x male reader since there are barely any so request/suggestions are welcome.

~~~

Arthur is walking down the hall, Merlin not far behind, ready to head in for the night. He sees you wait for him by the door making him smile. You smile at him and wait patiently for Arthur to be standing in front of you before he began talking. “Good evening sire.” You greet.

“For the last time (Y/n) you can call me Arthur.” Arthur shakes his head.

“Of course Arthur, there is a matter of which I would like to discuss.” 

“Come on in then.” Arthur says as he deflates a bit.

You follow Arthur and Merlin into the room. Cracking your knuckles to relieve some of your nervous tension. Merlin was rushing around sorting Arthur out. “So… what is this matter you wish to discuss, (Y/n).”

“Yes, my sister is wedding her beloved and would like to inquire if I could spend some time with her and the rest of my family during this occasion.” You ask hopefully.

“Of course, give them my congratulations, how long are you thinking?” Arthur conceals his horror of the fact he may not see you for a few days.

“Three weeks.” You smile, excited at the opportunity to see your family for this long.

“Long time for a wedding.” Arthur blurts out.

“Well if you need me to not be…” You knew that for three weeks you were pushing it  mentally kicking yourself.

“No no that’s not the problem, it’ll just be odd since I have seen you everyday for a long time.” Arthur back tracks.

“Four years.” You smile fondly.

“Already?” 

“Yes, quite remarkable isn’t it, anyway I’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon so I’ll be here tonight and I have found a temporary guard.”

“Okay, goodnight I’ll see you in three weeks.” Arthur nodded.

“Good Night.”

You leave the room to stand guard. While Arthur just stares at the door before Merlin nudges him and smiles knowingly. “Shut up Merlin.”

Merlin laughs putting out the candles as Arthur goes to bed.

True to your word you are gone by the afternoon, Arthur knows because he watches you leave from his window, he can’t deny that you look very appealing in civilian clothing. Enhanced by the fact it was a rare sight, unfortunately for Arthur, you were walking away from the citadel and he already misses you.

~~~

It had been a week since (Y/n) had left and everything seems to have gone into shambles. There had been a rise in assassination attempts, Arthur hasn’t slept or eaten properly and Merlin is so close to passing out in exhaustion its frightening.  Arthur could not walk around the castle with one of the knights escorting him which was frustrating him further. He honestly didn’t know how they could last another two weeks without (Y/n), if anyone had known how much he did around the castle and how important he was to the functioning of the kingdom he would have never been able to leave.

~~~~

You are walking back to Camelot after a horrible feeling washed over you a couple of days after the wedding, you couldn’t get the thought out of your head so here you were walking back a week early. Many horrible thoughts rolled around your head. You’d never forgive yourself if something happened to Arthur, the very idea made you feel sick inside. It would be your fault for leaving for so long despite your better judgement. After years of stopping assassins up to fifteen times a month unnoticed by the higher ups. You walked up a hill in order to glance at Camelot from afar, and to your horror he saw the castle with charcoal smoke raging above it. Then you started to run.

~~~

Well this has been a great two weeks Arthur thought to himself while magically bound on the floor with the knights, Merlin and Guinevere. While they were struggling to escape their bounds the sorcerer sits lazily on the throne with a smug smile on their face. They were droning on about Uther and his genocide of the magical population, Arthur sitting there thinking that its getting harder to convince the council to lift the ban on magic when this happens all the time. (Y/n) would urge for diplomacy at a time like this but Arthur had never been great with words. But he figures it's worth a shot anyway. “What’s your name?”

Well that was definitely a start Arthur thought bitterly. The sorcerer narrows his eyes at him but answers anyway, “Romulus.”

“Okay, Romulus, why do you think it aids your cause by attacking us,” Arthur asks, a little too bluntly for his liking.

This angers Romulus greatly as he continues his rant about all Pendragons being tyrannical rulers.

~~~~

It only takes you half an hour to get to the citadel, but there are enemy soldiers everywhere. Getting into the castle would be the easy part but finding Arthur significantly harder. You cut off your thought process, knowing you had to actually get into the castle first. Raising any alarms could hurt anyone trapped inside. So you sneak round to the servant entrance. 

Once you get into the castle the first you notice is that the people he brought with them are trained fighters and decent mercenaries by the look of it. This is not going to be easy you thought to yourself. Quietly dispatching as many as possible before anybody notices.

You take all of the servant shortcuts to avoid slipping into the great hall unnoticed and you see everyone in chains, you hear the sorcerer rant about freeing the magical people of Albion you roll your eyes. Not because he is wrong, nope you agree wholeheartedly just his methods of course you don’t blame the man though so you decide to interrupt. “Hey man.”

His head snaps to your direction. “Who are you?”

“The weirdo who stands outside the King’s door every night.”

“Oh you're the guard everyone tells me to worry about.”

“Yep.”

“You had the perfect opportunity to kill me?”

“Yeah, but talking to you seems to be a better option.”

“How would you know?”

Shit you didn’t think this through. “Well…”

“He doesn’t, let him leave.” Arthur growls.

You groan internally as a devilish smirk lights up the sorcerer’s face, “oh this is just too good to be true.” He laughs.

You gasp as you were flung into the wall and the sorcerer continued to torment Arthur swirling a sword looking ready to kill him urging you to get up and unsheath your sword to engage with him. Shocking him enough to make him stumble back a little, “Hey never got your name.”

“Why?” He snarls.

“I like to know the name of the person I’m fighting.” You swing at him.

“Romulus.” He blocks.

You both exchange furious blows, but you are the superior swordsman. You slash his arm and disarm him making him hiss and vanish. Smiling you turn to face Arthur seeing his tired smile in return sheathing your sword. “Are you ok-” you breath hitches.

You felt as though you got punched in the back so spin around to see Romulus with a bloodied dagger, you grab his wrist but it's weak so he easily breaks free and plunges the knife into your stomach . He smirks as he pulls it out and you collapse on the ground. The world around you goes fuzzy, screaming muffles, a face appears above you but you can’t make out who it is. The world turns black. 

~~~

Arthur picks up (Y/n)’s body, bridal style, while ordering the other’s to sweep the castle for anyone more intruders and to aid anyone who needs it. “Merlin, Gwaine come with me, we need to get (Y/n) to Gaius.”

They got to Gaius’ chambers with very few hassles and put  (Y/n) on the cot. “Please tell me he’s going to be okay.”

“Sire I’m going to need you to leave the room.” 

“But-”

“Please sire.”

Gwaine pulls him out of the room to leave Gaius and Merlin to do whatever they need to do.

~~~

The first time you open your eyes you are in a dark room and there are angry whispers at the foot of the soft bed you’re resting on. You lose consciousness again.

The second time you wake up you see Arthur sitting next to you asleep. Observing him you notice tears stained cheeks and dark circles around his eyes. He looks worse than he did when you came to save him. You decide against waking him up and close your eyes again drifting off.

The third time you woke up you were alone and felt disgusting, dry throat, gunky eyes, oily hair and sweaty. Thankfully there is a cup of water beside you, so you shakily grab it and take a few sips. It was dawn from what you could tell, you groan as you try to sit up, your back feels like it has been stretched and your stomach stings. Pulling away the shirt you had on you see stitches that don’t look all that appealing, definitely going to leave a scar, you wince as you twist in an attempt to see the one on your back. Then Merlin stumbles in and gawks a moment and you open your mouth to say something but he runs out. You hear shouting and next minute Arthur is in the doorway. He strides over to you but halts suddenly like he doesn’t know what to do. You look up at him and part of yourself say go for it, then he moves eloping you in a gentle hug as if he thinks you’ll break. You couldn’t think of anything to say other than, “I’m okay, Arthur.”

“You nearly weren’t.” He whispers back.

That’s when the gravity of what happened hit you, you nearly died, the idea made your head feel fuzzy and your insides sick. You shake this off to comfort Arthur. “I know but your safe, I’m alive so all's good.”

Arthur breaks away and smiles. “(Y/n) I have a confession to make.”  

You don’t dare hope. “And what would that be.”

“I might quite possibly be a little bit in love with you.” He looks so scared at this moment.

“Good cause I’m head over heels in love with you.” 

Arthur laughs and kisses you gently, smiling into the kiss you lift hand up to caress his cheek. Arthur pulls away and sighs “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[concerningwolves]

I finished The Irregulars earlier this week and i was going to do a scattered, flippant bullet point “review” as i often do, but after stewing in my feelings about it for a few days i want to talk about this properly, actually.

Something I absolutely adored was the way people’s powers manifested / the way their monstrosity was directly connected to the monstrous things that had happened to them. The concept is that a rip has opened in the universe, which allows something to extend its power into our world. This power grants people supernatural abilities when they seek help by praying/asking spirit boards for guidance/seances etc. The in-world explanation for this is that the rip takes the darkest parts of people and brings those parts to the fore, thus making them do monstrous things. 

(I did feel like the show sometimes contradicted itself, one minute saying that when someone is made into a monster by the cruelty of the world they ought to be met with compassion, the next minute killing off these sympathetic monsters or subjecting them to cruel fates. The fact that Arthur Hilton, a man whose grief and trauma over the deaths of his wife and child drove him to abduct babies, was locked up in Bedlam in a windowless cell left a nasty taste in my mouth. I understand that they needed to have him there for Narrative Purposes, but after using the episode’s climax moment to reveal that this man is suffering – basically to tell us that he isn’t a monster, but someone who needs help – it felt very cheap to use him as a pawn for the plot instead of further exploring that sentiment.)

I’m a HUGE fan of the way the powers reflected the wielder, i.e., Clara (Ep. 4) was sexually abused and given syphilis, which took away her ability to have children. We learn as the episode unfolds that she’s obsessed with the idea of a family because she never had one of her own, and makes little taxidermy family scenes with dead animals. The syphilis made her hate herself and her own skin, so the rip granted her the ability to literally steal people’s faces and become them – an ability she then used to kill the men who abused her with the final goal of assuming the last man’s identity because he had a family. It was a really haunting exploration of monstrosity / what makes us monsters, and it made me go a bit feral with appreciation.

But when the credits of the last episode rolled, I just felt... dissatisfied. I was bitter at how although the casting was supposedly colour-blind, the main villain was a black man and the one “sympathetic monster” who gets killed off (Jean Gates / the Tooth Fairy) was a black woman, both with very dark skin. John Watson, meanwhile, is portrayed by a lighter-skinned POC and although he’s written as cruel, aggressive and threatening, he’s given the chance for a redemption while the Linen Man and Jean Gates get killed off. I’m not entirely comfortable talking about this aspect because i’m white and still very much learning about racist and colourist tropes, but I just kept thinking about the colourism and implicit bias in Bridgerton, and couldn’t help but feel that The Irregulars had fallen into the same or a similar trap? (If anyone has any more thoughts on this I’m happy to listen!)

I didn’t like the fact that the writers decided to acknowledge the homoerotic subtext in ACD’s Holmes canon by making John Watson manipulative and controlling, then justifying that as an act of his (unrequited) love for Sherlock. Like, it wouldn’t be so bad if there were other examples of queer love in the series (save for the one f/f couple at a fancy rich party), but when your only explicitly mlm named character is miserable, alone and pining for an oblivious/uninterested love interest – a love interest who is killed off, may I add – it’s Not Fun. Queer rep doesn’t have to be good and pure or whatever (NBC’s Hannibal, anyone?), but sure would be nice to have some positive representation first! It also seemed to me that John’s redemption was directly tied to him giving up his love for Sherlock, which I was in two minds about. On the one hand, it could be seen as him realising his love had become something deeply toxic and so he had to let Sherlock go (and that really excites me! Complex and angsty relationships are most delicious), but on the other hand it got very close to a Bury Your Gays moment so my feelings the entire time were just :/

Lastly I was super excited about Leopold because disabled character! But it seemed as if his disability just got put to one side unless it was relevant to character arcs and/or plot moments. His leg is absolutely fucked up from the first episode, but he abandons his cane? I did really appreciate the whole “you’re not broken” angle they took, though. I think it was a genuinely good-faith representation, it just didn’t quite hit the mark (which is how I felt about a lot of things in the show tbh, so... :shrugs:) 

To conclude this wall of text: monsters and the takes on monsters were very tasty, and the supernatural elements and worldbuilding filled me with glee; other bits like representation and narrative choices were dissatisfying. i am now tired and out of spoons, will probably come back and clarify this tomorrow.

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Sarah Ellen Parsons

Sarah Ellen Parsons has 18 X-Files stories at Gossamer and 19 at AO3. If you want high quality fic with interesting characters, go read her stories. Some of my favorites of her fics are The Crouching Thing and My Constant Touchstone Who Makes Me A Whole Person (which are two very different stories!). Big thanks to Sarah Ellen for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

With today's binge-watching culture, I'm not at all surprised. You can watch a bunch of eps and then seek out fic that is where you are in the series.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

I took away a writer's group Yes, Virginia, that is still together.  Mostly as friends, but whenever I write something, or someone else writes something, it's the first place we all run for machete beta. I have betad SO MANY novels.

We have a number of folks who are published writers since then and our time in X-Files fic brought us lifelong friendships IRL and made us all better at our craft. The majority of those folks were better writers than I am. And I make my living as a writer in my day-job.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I belonged to a couple of the largest lists and posted there and bitched about the show on usenet with everyone else.  We had our own Yahoo group for beta.  We all had crappy GeoCities websites that we programmed the HTML for ourselves and hooked through various fandom link circles to get traffic to our stories.  But the main method of distribution was the lists.

Fun fact, I found a free page counter thing that I used at work one time through fandom. So fandom pays off in skillz.

Even without social media, we managed to get our stories in front of readers who would enjoy them. Where there's a will, there's always someone ready to step up and find a way.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Again, I have lifelong friends IRL that I got solely from fanfiction. That's the best takeaway.

Fandom disappointed me because it, like everything else, is ruined by people's egos, backstabbing, and petty people who get in positions of power and then use those positions to punch down or dictate. I was young when I was writing X-Files and I still had hope that people would rise to their better natures, so I got involved in various futile efforts to try to make people behave the way I wanted them to behave, I guess. I did a lot of public bitching that didn't serve me or my friends well. I now put that effort into politics, where it does actual good.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

X-files was made for me. It combined science fiction, mystery, horror.  I love all of those genres. Plus there was Scully. No matter how sexist that writer's room was, Scully was awesome. But you kept seeing bad writing. Even in the heyday seasons, like Season 3, there were really terrible eps that made you want to fix things.

I'm a lifelong speculative fiction fan and a published feminist science fiction author. I actually was published before I fell down the fic hole. I got involved in fanfic due to getting my fantasy novel turned down from every major publisher for being "too dark". And I needed to get readers to see my stuff to prove to myself that I wasn't terrible at writing. I got a ton of feedback and it was like market research to see what people wanted to read.

My time in fanfiction made me 100% a better writer than I was.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I went to the X-Files Expo to see if I could make contact with someone from Harper Collins because the tie-in novels sucked so hard.  I got rejected with my pitch as I didn't have a literary agent.

Around that time, a pal who I watched X-Files with IRL was looking for a free X-files wallpaper for her work computer when she found the website where fans in Pennsylvania had fic archived. She read some and wrote to me - "you need to see this, and you can do better."  So I started reading and was.... I probably CAN do better. So I wrote The Batman Plot. And made two friends I'm still friends with with that one story.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Nonexistent.  I couldn't even watch the latest season and I saw only 2 of season one of whatever that was before I gave up. I have never watched the second movie.

X-files is my first fandom bad ex-husband. I loved it SO MUCH, but it betrayed me.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I was deep into Harry Potter for a while, but I didn't end up publishing anything in it. All my stories were novel-length and I was writing so much for work, I never completed anything. I called Snape/Lily when Prisoner of Azkaban was published and got Jossed by Rowling in one of my big ideas. (This is bad fandom ex-husband 2. JKR will never get a dime of money from me again because of her hateful stance on transfolk. I have RL friends who are trans and NO.)

I wrote fic in Supernatural. It was the obvious next thing after X-Files. However, the misogyny and bringing in all the Angel/Devil Christofascist stuff lost me. The ep where they declared all other religions other than Christianity as invalid and killed a Hindu god made me stop watching for good. I know enough Christofascists IRL that I can't tolerate it in my fiction. (Bad fandom ex-husband 3)

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

This list is far too long to actually make.  But characters I spent time writing about include: Kirk, Spock, McCoy and Co. (I wrote three unpublished Star Trek novels before I found online fandom). King Arthur and Morgan Le Fay, Sherlock Holmes (I wrote a Sherlock Holmes play after seeing "Crucifer of Blood" and entered it in a national competition, where I got very nice comments back.), Mulder, Scully and Krycek, Rowling's Hermione and Snape (like him or not, its masterful characterization), Dean and Sam Winchester, John Winchester and Bobby Singer.  I wrote one comedy story starring Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  A couple of Roswell stories under a different name. Catwoman and Batman. I have some unpublished Avengers fanfic lying around as I'm an OG Marvel fan with a massive comic collection.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I was on a business trip a few years ago and FX had a marathon and I watched part of it when I was in my hotel room. Early seasons are comforting, but I don't go back there now.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I don't read X-Files fic anymore. I read a tiny bit of Star Wars after the second movie because Rian Johnson had it right. Now I don't care. I love Mandalorian, but am content to watch.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Too many to count.  All of YV. Which reminds me, I need to go update our entry at Fanlore. I promised Punk I'd do it a while back.  I need to at least get everyone linked.  Right now it's only Punk and Sab.

But it was a ton of us.  Marasmus, Maria Nicole, Cofax, CazQ, M. Sebasky, Livia Balaban, Kelly Keil, Wen, Ropobop, Jess Mabe, JET, fialka, and a bunch of others that I can't remember their fic names any more, just their real names because I know them all IRL. I need to go back and look up their fic names and link them up there.

In addition to my little group of pals, I loved reading Mustang Sally and Rivka T, Rachel Anton - I keep trying to find her to encourage her to write romance if she's not doing it already, but no dice, Dasha K., Anjou, there were so many great ones, but their names have slipped my mind in the past 20 years.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I'm most known for Prone, and I'm proud of that story for all kinds of reasons, but I think my very best is The Crouching Thing.

I mostly didn't publish anything I didn't think was good and hadn't been machete betaed within an inch of its life, but I'm not sure much of the angsty romance stuff holds up as well. I think it worked when the show was still ON and we were all in that emotional headspace, but probably not now.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

Funny you ask. I am currently reworking a plot idea I had for an X-Files fic into a contemporary M/M novel, which I will publish under a different pen-name. The plot is the idea I had for X-Files, the characters are very, very different other than one is uptight and the other more easy-going. But no more Mulder and Scully.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I have been making my living as a writer for 25 years. I write the word count equivalent of 5 Tolkein novels a year, just for my day-job.  I am turning back to original fiction, which is where I was before X-Files.  I'm working on the M/M thing, a high fantasy thing, a low fantasy historical thing and a bunch of M/F Regency romances as I get time and energy.  I publish Fantasy and SF under my real name. Romance has pen names as you don't want that getting back to your workplace, either.

SEP is fic only and here she will stay.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

I have too many ideas to count.  I try to write them down when they come, so I won't forget. At least the outline of the idea. Often a scene. I've been like this my entire life. I started writing novels seriously at 15. I wrote a 500 plus page one about Morgan Le Fay during breaks in high school because "Mists of Avalon" pissed me off so bad as I'd read the original source material and that was a Wicca recruitment polemic.

What's the story behind your pen name?

Sarah Ellen was my great-grandma, Parsons was her grandma's last name.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

Half my friends ARE fic friends. Most of my friends know as does my brother, who thinks writing for free is dumb. This is universally agreed on by non-fic friends who know. My mother still doesn't know about the fic. Just the "real" writing.  I write under a pen name to keep it away from my job and my published work.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

My X-files stuff is up on Gossamer mostly. I'm trying to get the stories all moved to AO3 for all the genres. I'm working on this now.  SEP is really not a living thing anymore, but there was a time when she was more me than me.

If you want to find my "real" non-fic writing, write to me at se_parsons at yahoo dot com and I will point you at it.

And PLEASE someone, hunt down Rachel Anton and get her writing something we all can BUY.  Where are my old Krycek bitches at?  Do any of you know where she is? [Lilydale note: I’ve tried contacting Rachel Anton for this Old School X project but have not had luck. I would love to find her too!]

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

The community I loved has mostly moved on, but I think we left a legacy of solid work crafted out of our love for the show.  Find a living community you love for a show you love.  There are great people out there creating and get involved.  It will be worth it.

(Posted by Lilydale on December 15, 2020)

[babylooneytoonz]

I hit 150 today. Thank you all of you. I love all you 150 people and I hope you all are doing well. It's a lucky thing I'm actually done with one of the requests in my ask so as a celebration, I'm gonna post it. Here you go.❣️❣️❣️

His Head - Tommy Shelby x Fem! Reader

Requested by: Anon(thank you for the request & hope you like it.❣️)

Warnings : Angsty / Not a very happy ending(for now).

Summary- Reader is an assassin and her mission is to spy on Shelby family and later killing Tommy. Which seems easy at first but of course reader falls in love with Tommy. Now she has two choices: telling him the truth and losing his love and trust or risking his death.

Smoke coiled around you, the room smothered in smoke and a wafting fragrance of your strong perfume. For the rest of London, you were a socialite— a young beautiful woman of twenty six, rich beyond capacity, having inherited all of her father's money when he was cruelly killed by the coppers for being a Communist.

A major scandal really.

But what London didn't know was who you really were — you were a spy, and a cold blooded assassin during the stealth of the night.

Even though you were strong and independent from the surface, you were still a woman. Alone without a family member to watch over you, without the protection and the name of a husband. And then there were the loans your father had taken, from the Italians; that were still unpaid. And thus, the Italians were after you.

When you could finally run no more, you decided to face your fear and met Luca Changretta at a pub in London. In order to spare your life, and relieve you of the loan that your father had died without repaying, you signed a contract for him— a contract that involved spying for a gangster called Thomas Shelby; the leader of the Peaky Blinders and then when you had all the information you wanted, your mission was to kill him.

But little did you know that you were going to fall in love with him.

Little did you know that you were going to land in a fix.

It wasn't difficult signing a business deal with Tommy Shelby in the first place. He knew who you were, he'd heard about you. He knew you were money. He knew you had a voice in London. And the best part of it all was, he thought you were beautiful. You could see in his lust filled, dilated pupils that you had captivated his attention, this minute you'd walked in through the Shelby Company LTD doors at an ungodly hour, after 10 pm, when most of the boys had left, and it was just Thomas Shelby and his two brothers working a late night.

They'd been shocked; the least they'd expected was a pretty little socialite from London to come knocking on their doors. But needless to say, you'd intrigued them all; the Shelby men. The only one that you couldn't break through was the matriarch, Polly Gray. When she saw you, she only eyed you with suspicion, causing you to shrug it off every time.

Time slowly passed, days turned to weeks and weeks flew by, turning into months, your tiny little business venture with the Shelby brothers as your partner; a pub in Small Heath, bigger and much more glamorous than what the Garrison had been, was finally booming. Everything was perfect, especially for Luca Changretta— he was getting all the information he wanted to but now he was getting impatient. He constantly pestered you, he wanted Thomas Shelby eliminated.

You were never an arrogant one, but neither were you a modest one. You knew you could do it, without any trouble, you could have the Shelby's head on a platter in one go as none of the Shelby's suspected your hidden, true identity. You could just do it and get free, once and for all, from Luca Changretta and the fucking Italians. And you would be lying if you said that the idea of finally getting the freedom you so desperately yearned for didn't fascinate you.

But somehow, down the line, doing business with the Shelby's, working with late nights, spending time at the pub with Thomas and John mostly, you had grown fond of them— you even considered Arthur and John your friends. As for Thomas Shelby, you did not know how and why this had happened, but you had grown to fancy him. Your heart rate grew at a rapid rate when he was around and your otherwise strong, confident self always weakened in his presence. You couldn't find the right words, or use your sarcasm and you always worried about your appearance when he was around.

You tried convincing yourself that this was just a phase, that you'll grow over it once your job was done. At first, it was easy, but now, when Luca's pressurising you had increased at a rapid pace, you didn't know anymore. You couldn't bring yourself to even imagine yourself hurting him, let alone killing him and it was torturing you.

Destroying you.

And it didn't make it better when one day, Tommy Fucking Shelby confessed his feelings for you, in his own way, by almost getting himself killed trying to protect your modesty. It had just been a normal night for you and you were walking back to your apartment after discussing a few renovation plans with the leader of the Peaky Blinders, when suddenly, out of nowhere, twelve drunk men had pounced on you, their lust filled eyes directed towards you, undressing you in their minds as their disgusting leers called out to you.

Somehow, there he was, stepping out to shield you from them, his gun drawn, one man against twelve. But of course, he'd scared them off, why wouldn't he— he was Thomas Fuckin' Shelby, a man who made grown men piss their pants.

It was supposed to make you feel better, no? But the joke was on you. It made you feel worse. It made you feel like a stranger to your own self.

It was okay for you, having feelings for him, as long as they were one sided. It kept you in check. And to be true to yourself, you had never thought that a man like Thomas Shelby, a man who could have any woman he laid his eyes on could ever want you. You didn't think you were pretty enough for him. You weren't a type of a Barbie doll, with long blonde hair or a slender, perfect body. You had your own flaws, your own scars, and bags under your eyes which only your makeup was able to hide. You didn't think Shelby would ever look at you in that way, but one night, when things escalated between him and you, it killed you.

It was just a normal, boring day in Birmingham and you were at your pub, staring at the bland white walls of it. You wanted a little colour but you weren't sure of which one you wanted, and neither were you sure if Thomas Shelby would agree. He always had his complaints and disagreements with you. So finally, after much pondering, you had finally decided to get few of Tommy's Peaky boys to paint the pub walls brown.

It was only around 9 at night when finally, the pub was empty again, and the Peaky boys finally left. You sat there by the bar counter, your fingers curled around your glass of gin, your eyes admiring how nice the brown walls now looked when the door opened.

"What the fuck?"

Your head turned sharply towards the door and your frown widened when you saw Tommy glaring at the walls with a look of distaste in his eyes.

"Yeah? Do you have any problem?"

"This looks —"

"Nice? Amazing?"

"Decent." He gave you a smug look and you rolled your eyes dramatically, pulling your gaze away from him and concentrating on twirling your glass in your palm. You felt him walk up to you and the next thing you knew, he'd taken his place on the stool on your left. This time, when you turned towards him, you could see his distilled blue eyes stare at you differently. You could sense that something was different and it felt like something was going on in his mind, though it always was, but today it was written all over his otherwise emotionless face.

"Spit it out Thomas, whatever it is you're bloody thinking."

Thomas pulled out his box of cigarettes from one of his pockets, offering one to you that you gladly accepted. He then lit a match, bringing the lit match closer to your face, lighting the end of your day first before he lit his own. Smoke coiled around the both of you and a silence followed, until Tommy spoke.

"I was thinking—"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Thinking what?" You turned towards him and he turned his gaze away; the confident, usual Tommy Shelby was nowhere in sight; this man looked nervous.

"Are you nervous? Really?" You smiled in a teasing way, wondering what it was that had made him act like this.

He gave you a warning look, his index finger lifted up slightly; so you pressed your lips into a firm line and took a drag of your fag, blowing out the smoke from your lips.

"There's a fair in town, nothing special. Would you want to go?"

You saw him tap his fingers against the surface of the counter and his words caused a tiny smile to break out against your lips.

"A fair? Really? Thomas Shelby wants to go to a fair?" You grinned.

"Just fuck off." He mumbled, reaching for your glass and downing the contents of it. "Fucking hell." He rolled his eyes and placed the glass back. "How do you even drink that? That's bloody pathetic."

• ───━━━━─ ● ─━━━━─── •

It had been a fun evening; you didn't realise going to a bloody fair with Thomas Shelby would have been so much fun. You'd taken multiple rides, the merry-go-round, the giant wheel, and had snacked on multiple pastries, cupcakes and cookies, much to Tommy's chagrin. He dropped you back home at around dinner time and you waved him off, watching him drive away in his motorcar.

You were staying in a one bedroom apartment close to the Shelby Company LTD, a well furnished room until you decided to head back to London. You climbed up the flight of of stairs, humming to yourself at the same time fishing for your house keys in your purse when a sudden shock hit you. Your front door was wide open.

Instinctively, you pulled out your gun from your pocket and tightened your grip against it. Stealthily, you sneaked into your own apartment, your gun drawn out.

"Well, hello there to you too." Luca Changretta took a sharp drag of the fag, perched comfortably on your couch.

"What the fuck?" You snarled, sliding your gun back into your pocket and locking your door.

"You've been avoiding me, Ms. (L/N). Let me remind you, we had a deal. A fucking deal and now, you're not fulfilling your end of it." He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, glaring at you.

"There was no deadline, Mr. Changretta. I will do what I have to —"

"NO YOU WOULDN'T!" He screamed, cutting you off.

You were stunned to find yourself pressed to the wall. It was so quick, you mentally cursed yourself for having been so slow. What had happened to you? His palm was lodged to your throat, squeezing the life out of you — only, it wasn't enough to kill you. You gasped for air, trying to free yourself from him grip but his hold on you was tight.

"Now listen to me. You've got one night. Tonight you do what I've bloody asked you to do and if you don't, I'm coming for you first." With this, he slammed you hard against the wall, the back of your head hitting hard against the surface. Pain shot through the back of your head, almost causing blackness to shroud over your eyes but with what little vision you had, you gave him a glare full of hate, watching his silhouette disappear as he left you alone.

A few minutes later, you found yourself standing on the Arrowe House doorstep, your coat wrapped around your body, your gun and a pocketknife hidden securely in a garnet on your thigh. Tommy's housekeeper, Mary, let you in and she took your coat, informing you that Thomas is in his study. Nodding to her, you slowly made your way to his study and knocked.

"Mary, for fucks sake, I asked you not to disturb me—"

You pushed open the door and stepped in, your eyes falling on Thomas Shelby OBE, his round glasses on his eyes, a few papers in his hand and a pen. The minute his eyes fell on you, they softened and he kept the papers away.

"Is everything alright love?" He stood up and walked up to you, looking at you, head to toe, as if you were hurt. It was strange seeing him again, just an hour after he had dropped you back home. Your heart swelled up and tears clouded your eyes, you knew why you were here, Luca's words rang in your mind like a bell, again and again.

Until tonight.

The deadline was finally set—

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and blinked, hot tears sliding down your cheek.

"Did something happen? Tell me." His words were suddenly dark, his glare dangerous and possesive.

"Kiss me Thomas, please?" Your words came out a mere whisper and is if Tommy understood your thoughts, that whatever it was, it was something you couldn't tell him, he didn't ask you again, and instead, wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you into his embrace. Your hands wrapped around his neck and your fingers grabbed his hair as you kissed him with all the passion you could find.

When finally, out of breath, you finally pulled back, Thomas grabbed your arm and almost pulled you into him.

"What the fuck happened (Y/N)?"

"A nightmare." You lied.

"Stay with me tonight." He whispered, his expressions softening. And you nodded. You were staying with him tonight. You had no other option.

His arm snaked through your back and lifted you up bridal style as he slowly walked out of the study, his footsteps creaking against the floorboards as he made his way towards his bedroom. Your eyes outlined the side of his face, admiring his taut, chiseled jaw, his cheekbones as he kicked the door open with his foot and finally let you down. You knew he suffered from nightmares so you'd struck a chord in him.

"I'll just be right back." You whispered, making your way into the washroom when you saw him walk up to his closet and pull out a shorts.

You locked yourself up in the bathroom, pulling out the gun and the pocketknife , staring at your weapons, and at your own reflection in the window.

You could be free—it would take just one squeeze of a trigger.

Shaking those thoughts away, wanting to spend one last night with him before you ended this man's life, you hid the weapons underneath the washbasin and walked out of the bathroom.

• ───━━━━─ ● ─━━━━─── •

You didn't sleep a bit, you just kept staring at the bland ceiling in Tommy's room, his hand locking you in place. His soft, carefree breathing relaxed you as your naked bodies lay entwined with each other under his silk sheets. Without wanting to disturb his sleep, you inched closer towards him, only to find him in a heavy slumber, laying on his front, his hair heavy and tousled, his lips parted as he exhaled and inhaled softly.

It was now or never.

Gently, you reached forward, placing your lips against the side of his face his temple, planting a soft, chaste kiss— before sliding out of bed. Tommy stirred in his sleep when you sneaked out of bed, wrapping his discarded shirt around yourself to cover your modesty as you tiptoed towards the bathroom.

You locked the bathroom door behind you, finding your body shaking at an abnormal pace, your heart palpilating. Pulling out your gun from underneath the washbasin, you placed it on the edge of the washbasin and took a deep breath.

You were in love with Thomas Shelby.

You loved him— so much, it killed you.

So you grabbed the scissors from a holder where a few of his combs were kept and grabbed your hair, your scissors working against your hair as you chopped off your lovely black locks, letting them scatter across his bathroom floor, your eyes swollen and red.

You didn't recognise this person you were now looking at. And maybe, Luca Changretta won't too— because you were not harming a hair on Tommy's head.

An hour later, you bit your lip hard, trying to blend yourself as much as you could into the crowd at the port, a straw hat covering your short cropped haired head, your hands empty and bare.

You felt regret, and a deep melancholy. You should have told him, you should have faced him, he deserved it but you couldn't do it— so you'd left before he even woke up, all traces of you gone. You'd cleaned up his bathroom floor, leaving your gun and your pocketknife there for him to find. You'd written him a note, writing to him that Luca Changretta wanted him dead, asking him to be careful and to always take care of himself. You had ended your note by asking him to live, you needed him to live, even if you would never see him again, it will bring you comfort in knowing that he is safe, somewhere. You had whispered to his sleeping form how much you loved him and how much this hurt and you'd swallowed your own tears as you sneaked out of the Arrowe House like a robber.

An empty handed robber.

And now here you were, leaving this country, once and for all, away from Thomas Shelby, away from Luca Changretta to make a new life for yourself.

You gripped the railing of the deck of the ship you were in hard, your knuckles turning white and watched as the land faded away from your sight— England, your home. You didn't know where you'd go, what you'd do there in America but you had no option. You wanted to live and you wanted Tommy Shelby to live.

[ikeromantic]

For the Best

An Ikevamp Leonardo story occurring toward the beginning of Ch. 11 of Leo’s main route. Approx 1000 words. Angsty-ish?

I can’t help but imagine Leonardo and le Comte having a complicated relationship, especially where MC is concerned.

First: That First Night

Previous: Tease SFW/NSFW

Comte did not miss Leonardo’s muttered words on parting. 

“Always with the suggestions.” And a heartbeat later, “. . . I’ll do it.”

Those last three little words. Simple, on their face, surfacing from a deep well of pain. Leonardo and his ideals. Held so precious he’d rather keep them than take a moment of happiness. It killed Comte to see his friend like this. 

When he’d asked Leonardo to watch out for the girl, he hadn’t expected Leo to feel much of anything besides amusement. It came as a surprise to see them growing close. To watch those bonds settle around Leo’s heart.

Yet, he thought the bonds between Leonardo and his cara mia were light enough to still break with little damage on either side. That would be for the best for them both. Leonardo would continue on his lonely path and the girl . . . he supposed it would be best to send her home after the month, as promised.

It would be such a pity to lose her though. Sebas truly appreciated her help, and more importantly, she brought a spark of joy and life to the sedate residents of his mansion. Even to him. Comte smiled.

***

The garden smelled like fresh turned dirt and blooming flowers. Comte settled onto a stone bench, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun. He shrugged off his coat and set it beside him.

“Would you like a cool drink?” The girl - she’d noticed him and immediately asked after his needs. Sebastian was a good teacher. 

Comte shook his head. “I am not thirsty. But, I would enjoy your company. Please, sit?” He motioned to the open spot beside his coat.

She blushed prettily, her gaze on the ground as she took her seat. “D-did you need to talk about something with me?” She risked a glance up at him.

“No.” He looked at her, the flush of life in her cheeks, the spark of curiosity in her eyes. “I thought we might spend some time together. After all, it won’t be long until the door opens and I will have lost my chance to know you better.”

This only made her blush more furiously. “I - that is, Monsieur, le Comte, ah - “

“Do I make you nervous?”

She nodded.

“Because I am an ageless, time traveling nobleman who drinks blood to sustain an unnatural lifespan?”

She nodded again, finally looking up at him.

Comte laughed. “I am sorry, cherie. It is not my intention to intimidate you. Truly. Can we think of each other as traveling companions, chance met?” 

The girl considered this and then nodded a third time. “I- yes. I think I can do that.”

“Excellent.” He took her hand and kissed it. He could feel the pulse beneath the fragile skin, and taste the slight tang of her sweat. “Now that we are off to a better start, I would like to ask for the privilege of taking you into town.”

Her nose wrinkled. “For work?”

Comte laughed. “I am not Leonardo. No, my dear. I want to show you some of the sights. Things that are gone in your age, but that still grace Paris today. Perhaps you can find a way to include them in your blog?”

“Oh! How did you know about that?”

“Sebas has very fine things to say about you. And I have a certain fondness for writers.” 

The girl considered his offer. He found it fascinating that she actually thought about it rather than quickly agreeing. He wondered if this was shyness on her part, or stubbornness. Leonardo had quite a bit of trouble getting her to go along with his plans.

After a brief silence, she told him she would love to. 

“Then let’s go.” Comte picked up his coat and laid it over his arm and then took her hand. “Would you like to hear about one of my past acquaintances? He was a Dutch prince with grand ambitions and I - I convinced him I was a real alchemist.”

***

From the window above, Leonardo still stood, smoking his cigarillo in the late afternoon shadows. He had not expected Comte to wander off with his cara mia. It made him uncomfortable to see her smile up at that old devil. Holding onto his arm, laughing. 

Leo tossed his cigarillo to the ground and crushed the tip to ash with the toe of his boot. “Fine,” he told the empty garden.

Isaac was in the library, working on a formula that looked promising. Leonardo interrupted him by taking a noisy seat in one of the comfortable worn leather chairs.

“Have you heard of something called radio waves?” Leo asked the physicist. 

“What is it?” Isaac looked up from his work, mildly annoyed.

“Ray-dee-oh.”

The physicist shook his head. “Is this some silliness from Doyle? Or did you pester the word out of poor Sebastian?”

“Neither.” Leonardo frowned. This was supposed to distract him from his sweet compagna, not remind him of her. He stood up, uncomfortable again. 

“Hm. The girl then? She doesn’t seem very . . . learned. Though I was quite impressed with her linguistic skill. Tad sorry she wasn’t properly trained. I imagine she would have an ear for Latin.” 

Isaac was getting on Leonardo’s nerves. Yes. That was it. This was the entirely wrong distraction. He rushed out of the room without another word, leaving Newt to give a bewildered glare at his retreating back.

Arthur was nowhere to be found, much to Leonardo’s dismay. But Theo was in the dining room, sipping a sweet cordial. Leonardo poured himself a glass of wine and sat. Yes, this was much better. 

Theo ignored him at first. Making notes in his ledger and drinking. It was peaceful. 

Leonardo noticed the light outside was turning red-gold, the sun setting behind the trees.

“You keep looking out the window like a man that lost his dog,” the art dealer commented. 

“I didn’t lose anything.” 

Theo smirked. “Just like you were all alone in the thermae before Vince and I popped by?” He shook his head. 

“That was a misunderstanding,” Leo sighed. Clearly talking with Theodorus was an even worse distraction than Isaac. He could not escape the worry that his cara mia would enjoy her time with Comte. More. More than she enjoyed him. But . . . wasn’t that for the best? 

“You look like you swallowed a cherry pit.” Theo grimaced. 

“Something like that.” Leonardo took out a cigarillo and lit it. The smoke made him a little calmer. More able to think. He left the dining room in a little cloud of his own making. 

He was still stewing when he heard the first strains of his compagna’s sweet voice. It drifted in from the front of the manse. She and Comte were speaking her language - Japanese. She was still laughing.

“It’s better this way,” he muttered.

Next: Be Gentle

[jacks-jester]

My Love.

[Phoenix! Joker x Reader] angsty but ends with fluff

Words: 3,193

Warnings: Angsty, abandonment trauma, sexual harassment, mentions of murder, mentions of attempted sexual assault/rape. (This is a pretty heavy piece, nothing super explicit though)

Summary: After three years, you run into the man you had abandoned all those years ago. He was never the Joker to you though, to you he was always Arthur- your love, your one and only. What happens when he reunites with you for the first time post killing Murray? What happens when it seems the person you left has disappeared.

A/N~ This took me literally all day to type up, I kept revising it and fixing it up. I think I portrayed Arthur a bit better but still would like to work on him more, I feel I can do better in the future. Once again, Requests are open for fics/drabbles/hcs. Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

It had been three years since you had last spoken to Arthur, three years since you two had slept together, three years since you had left him. It was no secret that the two of you had your fair share of mental issues, but maybe that's what had balanced you two out so well. You both understood each other, truly saw one another, when either one of you had an episode or a fit, the other would know the perfect way to calm the situation down. However, there were downsides to Arthur and your relationship. The main issue though, was both of your shared insecurities. The two of you both thought you weren’t worthy of one another, though you would both combat each others thought constantly.

It was painful leaving him, but you had done it and the second it was done, you couldn’t find the guts to go back. You and Arthur had been neighbors for years, the two of you always sharing light conversations in the elevator, eventually the light conversation grew into a friendship, and soon after a relationship. You are Arthur had always been a match made in heaven, always being there for each other and ensuring the other was supported at all times. He was the only person you felt who truly saw you, and likewise to him - some things are just too good to last you always told yourself.

You had left shortly after your 2 year anniversary, after a night spent in each others arms, the two of you staying up until you were exhausted, relishing in the feeling of each others bodies. Arthur always had a habit of falling asleep after making love, always seeming most at ease in the moments afterwards. You figured it was due to the fact he felt content, secure, and cared for in those moments - his deepest insecurities buried away temporarily. It was that night as you stayed awake, fingers gently combing through his brown hair that you truly took him in. He was perfection in every sense of the words - his hair soft and fluffy to the touch, his cheeks hollowed out which only made his jaw and cheekbones that much more chiseled, he was skinny - to a point some might be scared of his form, but to you he was absolute artwork, every nook and cranny etched in your mind, his emerald eyes were always full of love and admiration when he looked at you no matter how difficult the day had been. Your favorite thing about him though was his carefree laugh, his real ones, not the kind the racked his body, his throat closing as the cackles were forced out due to discomfort.

In that moment your insecurities rang in your head on repeat, unable to tear your gaze from the man you loved so deeply. He was everything someone could ask for, and you had no doubt he was the only person out there for you, the only person who would ever understand you, the only person in the entirety of this wretched world that would love you unconditionally. He always had such a big heart, and you knew from the moment you had first seen him that he was the one for you. Deep in your subconscious though, your monsters whispered venom into your mind. 

‘He’s too good for you. You could never give him what he deserve. He’s only settled for you, and now you’re holding him back from what he deserves. He could find someone so much better than you, you’re suffocating him from that opportunity. You’re not his one, even if you wish you could be.’

Your illness had won that night, tearing you away from your home, from happiness, from him. You didn’t spare a second glance as you packed a few of your personal belongings in one of his work duffel bags, pushing a decent amount of cash into the bag, left your key on the counter, and left with not so much as a note. You had taken the first bus out of town, trying your best to settle a life outside of Gotham, as far from him as possible. You never dated anyone else, unable to find attraction or comfort in anyone but him - always comparing the people you met to him. You found yourself worse off than when you left, but hoped he would find someone better for him. There were several times you had to force yourself to not run back - too ashamed of what he might think, even more scared you’d find him with a new life, despite the fact that it was what you had wanted in the first place.

Three years had passed, scrounging for money, trying to find work, attempting to find some remnants of the happiness you had felt before you’d left. By a sick twist of fate, you had found yourself back in Gotham - Gotham being the only place you could find decent work. A week. That's all it took for you to regret taking the job. You were working as a bank teller, your boss was an absolute pompous snob, your coworkers were perverted, and the customers were absolutely horrific. You bared with it though, knowing this was one of your last real opportunities for a steady job. The entirety of Gotham drained your energy completely when you lived here; so in an attempt to maintain some of your sanity and positivity, you avoided the news at all cost. In Gotham, the news brought nothing but negative things to dampen anyone's day.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It was another lousy day at work, dealing with customers who were idiots, dealing with groping and harassment from your coworkers, your boss seeming to constantly look for an excuse to fire you. You were nearing the end of your shift when it happened, protestors had moved up the city after being confronted with police aggression downtown. These weren’t the peaceful type though, these were the kind hell bent on causing as much chaos and damage as possible. A good part of you sided with them, understanding their outrage at the unfair treatment towards the less unfortunate of Gotham, towards the kind of people you and Arthur were. Even now, you had to forge documents to get your job, knowing any sign of mental illness would immediately erase any chance you had at securing a job.

You watched as people in clown masks flooded the streets as night began to fall, the glass doors of the bank allowing you a full view of the riots. Cars were set aflame, a few more confrontational protestors smashing the glass of the bank doors and windows, the city was screaming. The anguish and anger radiated off the mob like wildfire, their shouting echoing through the streets outside the bank. You knew it was only a matter of time until they would begin robbing the bank, hoarding the money they could secure. You opted to leave the second you shift ended, wanting to keep as far away from the damage as possible, just go home and sleep. 

You secured a few of your belongings, tossing your bag over your shoulder as you headed out the backdoor, sparing a last glance at the building crowd. You let out a sigh as you began walking away from large white building, knowing it was fastest to take the back alleys to get to the buses. The alleys were smothered in fog and smoke, the moldy air clinging to your lungs with each breath your took in, you hated it here. You had nearly reached the end of the alleys when you were harshly grabbed by the arm, thrown against a wall soon afterwards. Your head buzzed as you tried to ground yourself, your eyes clenched shut as your pulse frenzied, anxiety quickly beginning to overtake you. 

Upon opening your eyes, you were met with the figures of three men in clown masks, their statures towering over you. You knew this wasn’t going to end well for you, that was one thing Arthur had always worried about - there were too many stories of girls being found dead in alleyways after a mishap walking home. You watched them closely, the middle one of the three holding a knife out towards you, the blade less than a foot from your face. You could hear their deranged laughter, giddy at the sight of you so helpless as your eyes flicked around wildly, like a animal cornered by predators, aware of the fact you were prey. They were like hyenas, stalking the meat they so desperately craved, knowing nobody would bat an eye if you were to turn up dead the next morning, knowing they could easily get away with it with no repercussions in sight.

You let out a muffled scream as one of them clapped a hand over your mouth, the other two making their way towards you, hands already reaching out to strip you of your clothes. You pinched your eyes shut, preparing for what you knew was coming, knowing nobody was around to help, knowing you had nobody who would mourn you. While your eyes were clenched shut you couldn’t help but try to ground yourself from the onslaught of panic, trying to think of happy things - though only one thing came to mind. Arthur. Not a day had gone by that you didn’t miss his company, longed to hear his laugh and feel his arms around you, wished for the way he’d look at you, actually seeing you with unprecedented love and admiration. Artie. 

While your cries were muffled and salty tears poured down your face, you and your attackers had failed to notice a presence approaching the four of you. You jolted as three gunshots rang out, the bangs resonating off the narrow alley walls. Your ears rang due to the close proximity of the gunfire, the touch you had been dreading never coming, instead you could hear bodies falling to the ground with sickening thuds, the hand over your mouth immediately releasing as another thud sounded from beside you. You didn’t dare open your eyes as tears continued to pour down your cheeks, streamlines running down your paled face. 

You jumped lightly as the new intruder gently kicked your foot in order to get you to look at them, upon opening your eyes you were greeted with a white handkerchief. You had yet to look at your protector, grabbing the handkerchief with a choked out thank you. While drying your tears, you were greeted with the familiar scent of cigarette smoke, coming from the person directly in front of you. He wasn’t what you’d pictured he’d look like. He had emerald green hair, a crimson suit which comfortably hugged his body, a green nearly teal button up, and a mustard vest. He stood comfortably, one hand tucked in his pants pocket while the other held a cigarette between his lips, the pale alley light casting an ethereal glow around him.

After a moment of looking away, he turned to face you, a hand going out to help you up. He didn’t say anything in that moment, simply beckoning for you to stand. Due to the dim lighting and the fact your were shrouded in darkness, you were surprised he had hit his targets and not accidentally hit you. You doubted he could see who you were in the darkness, you hand shakily grabbed his as you made your way to stand in front of him. You released his hand the moment you were up, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear as you tried to compose yourself. “Thank you.” You were frozen the moment you looked up to thank him, your eyes meeting his own.

There's no way this could be real, you could feel rushed panic closing up your throat, your airways denying you air as the realization of who was standing in front of you hit you. You could see the glimmer of recognition cross his eyes, though his face as a whole remained unphased. You always could read him, even if he remained stoic. “A-Arthur?” You could see his eyes shift slightly as if he had something to say but swallowed it, “Go catch your bus.” He murmured it loud enough for you to hear before turning on his heel to leave you behind in the alleyway, the same way you did to him all those years ago - without a second glance. 

You couldn’t stop yourself as you rushed forward to grab his wrist, “W-wait! Please. I just... I need...” He stopped walking, not turning to face you as his body tensed under your touch. You let out a small hum, your mind reeling as you attempted to find the words you so desperately wanted to say. You needed to know that he was happy, that's all you needed to move on with your life. “I-... Please just tell me you’re alright. That you’re happy, that you’ve found someone deserving of you.” A dry laugh escaped his lips at your words. “Everything is absolutely peachy. Haven’t you seen it? The cities burning and I’m a high class criminal.” His sarcasm rang through the air, your eyes bubbling with tears at the familiar feeling of his skin on yours. You lowered your head downwards as emotions and anxiety coursed through your veins, overtaking your mind. “I’m so, so sorry Artie.”

You could feel him tense at the use of the nickname, his tendons bulging in his wrist, his fist subconsciously clenching in response. You could feel the sick feeling of bile rising in your stomach as an onslaught of words poured out of your mouth all at once. “I didn’t want to hurt you, you deserve everything this world has to offer and I couldn’t and can’t offer you that. You need someone who isn't a wreck, someone with a solid job, a nice place, someone who is deserving of your love. That person isn’t me, even if I’d like it to be. I thought it would be best if I just disappeared, gave you the freedom to find the happiness and life you deserve.” 

You were surprised when he whipped around his own chin shaking with emotion, although your weren’t sure if it was sadness, anger, resentment, maybe a combination of the three. His voice came out low at first, gradually raising in volume as his emotions climbed. “You don’t get to be sorry. I’d be happy if it weren’t for what you did, none of this would have happened.” Deep inside him, Arthur knew it wasn’t true but he couldn’t help it as confusing rage bubbled inside him. Never in the 2 years of being with Arthur, did you ever see him angry, he never raised his voice, and even when he was upset he put on a happy face for your sake, never wanting to worry you or hurt you unintentionally.

You could feel yourself breaking down at his words, the tone of his voice successfully slicing through you like the stroke of a hot knife on butter. “I thought I was helping you by cutting you off. I’m not worth your time or affections, I never have been. You deserve so much more than what I can give you Arthur. Believe me when I say I love you more than life itself Arthur but I couldn’t be the one who held you back from finding someone who deserves you.” You looked  up to him, his eyes catching yours as you both remained silent, the tension between you two thick enough to cut through.  You couldn’t say you were surprised when his hand gently shook you off, retreating to his side. You watched closely as his green eyes met yours, and for the first time you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, several emotions flicking across his gaze faster than you could register.

You watched as he raised his hand slowly towards you, his hand hesitating before landing on your cheek. It was strange, you’d seen the photos of this man standing before you, heard small talk of the “Joker”, he had a terrifying reputation among the elite you were surrounded by at the bank. Yet still, this was your Arthur. Sure his appearance changed, he was more bold, but just the way his eyes shone showed that he was in fact the same man you remembered. He still held the soft gaze you were so familiar with, even in his upset state. You didn’t blame him, you could only imagine what your reaction would be if the roles were reversed. You’d be heartbroken, unsure what to do with your life - though you supposed you were heartbroken when you left and didn’t know what you were doing with your life even in the present.

His touch was enough to calm the onslaught of tears that rushed down your face, relaxing as you thought about the care he maintained as his thumb gently brushed away the spare tears. “Is that really why you left?” His eyes bore into you, searching desperately for an answer as his uncertainty came through in his tone. You furrowed your eyebrows as his eyes stayed in contact with yours, confusion flashing through your eyes. “Of course it is, why else would I leave? You were the only positive thing I had going for me, I wouldn’t mindlessly throw something so precious to me to the side.” You watched as the ghost of a smile quirked at the edges of his lips, forming the small smile you’d seen so many times while watching Murray with him late at night.

Without another word his face came down to meet yours, his hand gripping your jaw tightly as his lips melded against yours. Instinctually your eyes closed, your hands coming to rest against his lean chest as he pulled you closer to him. His scent flooded your senses, the smell of cigarettes, cheap cologne, clothing detergent, and a new foreign smell, the faintest scent of gunpowder lingered on his clothing. His lips were perfectly suited to yours as the kissed deepened, this new Arthur being bolder than the one you’d left behind, his tonguing sipping into your mouth as he spread his red greasepaint across you lips.

You pulled away only to catch your breath, your hands not leaving his chest as he opened his eyes slowly, the green of his eyes gleaming in the dim alley lighting. “ Artie I can’t, you have to under-” He cut you off, pressing his finger to your lips. “That's is for me to decide doll, I need you beside me, not anyone else. You are my one and only, if you want me to be happy, then come home.” You looked up at him with confliction in your eyes but you knew your mind was made up the moment you caught a glimpse of Arthur and his adoration for you within his emerald pools. So you spoke 3 simple words, your heart swelling as you took in the beautiful man before you, the man you’d missed for three years, your love and happiness.

“Okay my love.”