#i have better memories of my great aunt and she died before them. man

[thecherrygod]

im thinking about my great aunt, who was basically the only family member from my moms side that we really knew. i remember her being kind but like. i was a little kid, if every time i went to visit you youd give me candy, or a toy, or a candy that came with a toy, id think you were a wonderful person

but im not exactly thinking about that, but what i think was the last time i saw her. like im. unsure if im remembering it right. i dont even remember how old i was, maybe a 5 or 6 year old.

it.. felt like a party of sorts, in her apartment. a lot of people i didnt know so i stuck to my mom. i. dont even remember my brothers or my dad being there i just remember being right next to my mom, and my great aunt was in bed i think, i dont know if she simply couldnt get up or what. but i also remember she gave me a... flower? or something like that. she had sculpted it before giving it to me, and the clay, or whatever the material was, was raw.

and i just. remember walking around the apartment. seeing an amount of people i didnt know, in my memory everyone was having a good time? and everyone was dressed sorta like for a party

..... also i think i managed to spend most of the party with the clay flower as a flower but at some point i sorta started playing with it bc i loved doughs and stuff a lot and i couldnt get myself, and i think i got a bit disappointed i couldnt turn it back into a flower

i cant remember if i managed to ask her to make it into a flower again or not, in fact i cant remember if i saw her again that night before leaving

[sissyisawitch]

Noctua...

Relationship: Ominis Gaunt & Noctua Gaunt

Summary: For his seventeenth birthday, Ominis receives a very unexpected present… A letter informing him that he has inherited his Aunt Noctua's house, and all the memories that go with it.

Word Count: ~2.5k

Author's Note: This one-shot was really important for me to write, so I really hope you'll like it!💚

Warnings: Remembrance of a lost one

Dear Mister Gaunt,

In the name of the Wizengamot, it is with great regret that I remind you of Noctua Gaunt’s passing.

I am writing to you as the executor of your aunt's will to inform you that, before her passing, she appointed you as the fortunate and only heir to her Gringotts vault, and house in Manor Cape. Now that you are of legal age, these assets rightfully belong to you.

To proceed with the official transfer of the property and funds, I will wait for you in Headmaster’s Black office on Monday morning, so that we can discuss the details and the steps to follow.

Best regards,

Ernest Hawkworth

It was the umpteenth time Ominis was rereading the bloody letter with the help of his wand. He had never expected to receive such a poisoned gift on his seventeenth birthday. "'Fortunate heir'"... What a ridiculous thing to read. Who in the world would be happy to learn that a member of their family had died? Someone cruel surely... Or simply anyone other than him in the Gaunt family. Any income was good news for them, whatever the context.

Ominis sighed dejectedly, and tucked the letter away in the inside pocket of his jacket. It was Monday morning. He had better get to Headmaster Black's office.

Mechanically, his feet carried him towards the Gargoyle Corridor, and led him up the stairs. He barely had time to knock on the wooden door before it flew open.

“Ah! Mr. Gaunt!” An unfamiliar man hurried to shake his hand enthusiastically. “I’m Ernest Hawkworth. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course…” Ominis answered idly. “Mr. Black is not with you?”

“No, no. He simply guided me here and left, claiming he had more important things to do, which I have no doubt he does.” Hawkworth explained with a wide genuine smile that could be heard in his voice.

“Typical Black…” Ominis muttered under his breath unintelligibly.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” The Slytherin student quickly replied, before changing the subject. “How did you want to proceed to the transaction, Mr Hawkworth?”

“Well, to start with, I need to show you your aunt's house.” Hawkworth suddenly looked embarrassed. “If you see no objection to… taking m-my arm, I'll apparate us to Manor Cape.”

Ominis knew that this abrupt stuttering had nothing to do with anything other than the fact that he was a Gaunt, a highly reputed family considered to be royalty by the other Purebloods. Hawkworth was probably intimidated by the idea that he was about to touch one of the Slytherin heirs.

Ominis did not bother to reply, restraining himself from rolling his eyes. He simply placed his hand on the man's arm as lightly as possible.

A second and a loud crack later, Ominis found himself in the middle of a radically different scenery.

The first thing he noticed was the melodious trill of birdsong. With each chirp and whistle, he felt a sense of tranquillity wash over him, as if the birds were welcoming him to the only place he had ever called home.

He looked up at the sky, taking a moment to savour the gentle breeze of the countryside brushing against his skin with a soft, comforting touch. It carried with it the faint scent of grass and flowers, a fragrant perfume that filled his senses and invigorated his spirit. Ominis inhaled deeply, taking in the earthy aroma of the land, feeling a deep connection to the natural world around him.

With each step he takes, the man becomes more attuned to the beauty of his surroundings, the sights, sounds, and scents of the countryside enveloping him in a sense of wonder and awe. In this tranquil moment, which awakened all the memories of the moments spent in the house that had enchanted his childhood.

“Well, here we are!” Hawkworth announced eagerly. “There are just a couple of things left to sort out. Don't worry, it won't take much longer.”

“That's all right…” Ominis automatically replied in a dreamy tone.

“First of all, here's the key to your aunt's Gringotts vault... which is now yours. All the arrangements have already been made with the goblins on your behalf.”

“Thank you.” Ominis placed the golden key in his pocket, taking no notice of it.

“And finally, you just need to sign this paper to finalise the inheritance.”

Ominis took the quill that Hawkworth handed him, and signed at the bottom of the parchment. Admittedly, Ominis could not write because of his deficiency (yes, he considered his blindness as such, just like the rest of his family had always done). As a result, he had always used a Quick-Quotes Quill, or asked someone else to write for him. However, once he was older and more mature, Ominis learnt to write his own signature by himself.

“Congratulations, Mr. Gaunt! You are now officially the owner of this delightful residence.” Hawkworth grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. He had found a brand-new sense of confidence, which even allowed him to pat Ominis on the shoulder. “May I take you back to the castle?”

“No, thank you. I'll stay here.” Ominis replied, taking a step back to put an end to this unwelcome contact.

He heard the man in front of him take in a sharp breath, “Very well, then. I won't keep you any longer. It was an honour to meet you, Mr. Gaunt.”

Ominis gently touched the stones of his aunt's house – which he still struggled to accept as now his own. Each stone, cold and ancient under his fingers, seemed to whisper anecdotes of the past, of days filled with laughter and the quiet hum of magic that once filled these rooms.

As he traced the rough texture, the ivy that climbed the walls reached out, tenderly tickling the back of his hand, as if nature itself was trying to comfort him, to bridge the gap between the loss he felt and the legacy he had inherited. It was a small, almost imperceptible connection, but in that moment, Ominis felt a little less alone, surrounded by the lingering presence of his aunt and the life she had cultivated in this magical place.

Hesitant to enter his childhood refuge, Ominis chose instead to wander towards the garden, finding solace in the idea of being closer to nature before confronting the memories housed within those stone walls. On his way, he caught a few wild branches in the face and heard twigs cracking under his feet, a testament to the many years spent without Noctua's care for her plants.

Despite the pitfalls, Ominis continued peacefully towards the lake. The smell of humidity and the soft murmur of the water's gentle eddies... seemed to call out to him, to urge him closer.

With a deep breath, he sat at the water's edge, slipping off his shoes and socks to touch the water, its icy caress sending a shiver up his spine. The cold sensation on his feet jolted a memory loose—a memory of a younger version of himself by this very lake, with his aunt by his side. At the time, he truly could not understand why his aunt had insisted on taking him to an unknown place, something that terrified him, given that he did not yet have his wand to guide him.

He had complained the whole way there, and upon touching the water, he had burst into tears, overwhelmed by the cold and a sudden fear of the unknown depths. His aunt had scooped him up, comforting him with her laughter and assurances that there was nothing to fear. He could still feel her breath against his ear when she whispered that she was right there with him, and that even though he could not see it, the world was too beautiful not to explore it.

Sitting there now, feet submerged in the chilly water, Ominis could not help but smile tenderly, because he now agreed with her. Even though his aunt was gone, her lessons and love continued to guide him, teaching him that it was okay to be scared and that there was strength in facing one's fears, just as he was doing now, one step at a time.

And just like that, his aunt’s words once again gave him the strength to face his current fear. He cast a drying spell on himself, put his shoes back on, and strolled back to the house. He stood still as he faced the front door, before taking a deep breath.

With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, Ominis finally summoned the courage to open the door and cross the threshold. Stepping into the living room, he was immediately enveloped by a wave of nostalgia and melancholy. The room was a shrine to his aunt's life, filled with her belongings and memories that seemed to echo with her presence.

Ominis put his wand away in his pocket and moved forward, holding his hands out in front of him to avoid bumping into furniture, as he used to do when he was only a young child.

First, he came into contact with the worn armchair by the fireplace, where she would sit and read late into the night. watch him, while she lent him her wand and taught him the spell that allowed him to see the outline of the objects surrounding him (the one he still used to this day). It was the first time he had really discovered the world, and it was entirely thanks to her. It was she who had created the spell. Just for him.

And it certainly was not the only time that Ominis had felt such gratitude towards his aunt, for not far away there was a library full of books written in Braille. It was Noctua who had taught him to read in the same way as blind Muggles, because it was essential to her that her nephew should be able to acquire an education from a very young age.

As he moved through the room, Ominis ran his fingers over the familiar objects placed on the shelves. Only souvenirs that Noctua had brought back from her various expeditions to the four corners of the Earth, and which she took great pleasure in recounting to her nephew afterwards to lull him to sleep at night.

Every object held a story, a piece of his aunt's past that she had carefully preserved… but he knew that not everything was there. His aunt's research was missing.

He knew he would find it in her study, which happened to be the room Ominis dreaded the most, out of fear it would bring back too many memories and shatter his heart with grief all over again. Still, he climbed the stairs to go there, and a sense of unease settled in his chest. The weight of anticipation mingled with apprehension, each step a reminder of the memories waiting for him behind the door.

With a trembling hand, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, the air heavy with the scent of old books and dried herbs. The room felt frozen in time, untouched since his aunt's passing, a silent witness to her tireless pursuit of knowledge and understanding.

Instinctively, his hands reached out for her desk. To his greatest surprise, he felt parchment under his fingertips. With a mix of curiosity and trepidation, he reached out and picked it up, his heart pounding in his chest.

He unfolded what appeared to be a letter, and took out his wand, guiding its tip along the lines…

My dearest Ominis, my little boy,

If you are reading this letter, it’s unfortunately because my curiosity and my research into Salazar Slytherin have gotten the best of me. I have always been fascinated by the history of our ancestors, but I fear that this time, my enthusiasm for the past has led me a bit too far.

I am writing these words to you, my dear child, because it is important for me that you know why I have chosen you as my sole and only heir. You might still be young, but your soul carries a wisdom and a purity that I haven’t found in any other member of our family. While many have let themselves be corrupted by greed, pureblood supremacy, or the desire for power, you have always followed your heart, staying true to your moral values and that integrity that so defines you. It is for this reason, and this reason alone, that I know my belongings and my research, but also my hopes and dreams for a better future, could not be in better hands than yours.

I fondly remember all the moments we have shared. Your first steps into the world of magic, your eyes wide with wonder when you finally saw how the world was shaped. You were so wise, so shy, and yet already so determined to do what is right. Your tenacity, even when faced with the greatest challenges, has always impressed me. You were that little boy with a stubborn temperament, the one who refused to be walked over, all while maintaining a softness and kindness that made you so special in my eyes.

Today, as I write these lines, my heart is heavy at the thought of not being able to meet the handsome young man, wise, intelligent, and accomplished that you surely have become. I have no doubt that you have grown to become an exceptional person, upholding the values we have shared and that I have tried to teach you.

My last advice to you, my dear nephew, is to never lose sight of who you truly are. You are a Gaunt, and you have strong convictions and a heart of gold. So, yes, you are a Gaunt, but it does not necessarily have to be a fatality. Stay true to yourself and show the world that not all descendants of Slytherin need to be feared.

Take care of yourself, my child, and always remember that you have within you the strength and wisdom to change the world.

With all my love,

Your aunt who loves you the most.

Ominis's tears flowed uncontrollably, falling onto his hands. He put the letter down for fear of soaking it and destroying one of the only things he had left of his beloved aunt.

Despite his deep sorrow, Ominis was suddenly overcome by an unshakeable determination. He vowed to himself to carry on his aunt's legacy. Armed with her research and her unwavering belief in him, he knew that he could face whatever trials awaited him. He felt a deep sense of connection to her, as if she were still there, guiding him with her love and her wisdom through this new chapter of his life… even from above.

She was the one who had shown him the world... so he was going to give his heart and soul to making it a little more like she had dreamt.

“You can count on me, Aunt Noctua… I’ll do it for you. I’ll make you proud. I promise.”

[r1poutmygvtz]

longgg ramble/vent/whatever's on my mind, idk man i'm tired and should probably schedule another therapy appointment soon

also this is kinda just all over the place, idk my thoughts are kinda scattered rn for some reason

(tws: mental health talk, sh, suicide attempts, od mention, ed, body issues, weed + alcohol talk, medicine misuse, childhood abuse, pet + family death mentions, possibly more idk if i missed one lmk and i'll tag it and put it up here)

my mental health right now is so fragile i don't understand, like obviously i know i'm depressed, i've been diagnosed for nearly two years now but i should've been much earlier, maybe that's why it got so bad, i don't even remember why i was diagnosed tbh, i think it was my first time back after like a year and a half maybe two years of not being in therapy and obviously a lot of shit happened, in that time that i went without therapy i tried to kms three times, had an alcoholic phase, and got addicted to weed

it was also sometime around my birthday i believe, which would make sense on why i got diagnosed, im always super depressed around my birthday, i mean i was expelled on my 13th, my great grandma died the day after my 14th and the day after that i tried to kms and that was the most traumatizing one and it took me over 2 years to be able to take the meds that i od'd on again without freaking out, i was literally so high i can't even remember my 15th, 4 days before my 16th i graduated (horrible for me, i had a panic attack everyday leading up to it for like 2 weeks straight) and 2 days after that my cat that i had since my 12th birthday died, so there's literally nothing enjoyable about my birthday and it feels more like a curse than anything

anyways, i've been the same since i was like 8 or 9, i was depressed and dreamt/wished i would die or get seriously hurt, maybe i just wanted my dad to care about me for once or maybe i did really just want to die, im not sure, i can't really remember my childhood, my therapist says i most likely have ptsd from the abuse which would explain the memory gaps and dpdr (depersonalization & derealization for those that don't know, the derealization is confirmed by my therapist btw just not the depersonalization but that's probably only because i didn't bring that up)

i think the most fucked up part is the fact it took me 16 years to find out the abuse was also physical, i spent the entire time before that thinking it was only verbal towards me and my siblings but i guess not, also apparently all the times me and my sister went to my neighbors/aunts house was because we were hiding from my dad, i thought we just went over to watch cartoons because we didn't have them at home, idk it was just weird for me to find out 7 years after it stopped, it doesn't really bother me all that much tbh my dad was already dead to me and i've been mostly no contact with him for almost 3 years now

also speaking of me as a kid, that's when a lot of my problems started, i was 9 almost 10 for the dpdr and 8 or 9 when i started hating my body, sh came in later tho i was like 10 or 11 when that started, i actually remember being like 9 and writing down everything i ate on a piece of paper, and when i was 10 i kept a notebook full of what i weighed in the morning and night and would see the difference in it, i also vividly remember asking my mom how many calories were in something from mcdonald's and she told me i was too young to be asking that so i just kinda stopped after that which obviously ended up coming back, i mean just look at my account

anyways yea i just hate how back and forth my mental health is, one day i could be doing great and think i'm amazing and unbelievably pretty and smart and ill try to better myself by getting sober and staying clean, then the next day i'll hate myself and consider going back to taking my meds throughout the day just so i was loopy and hardly able to process anything

tbh i do miss it a lot, i started back when i was heavily addicted to weed and would take my meds when i couldn't smoke, actually i used to take melatonin a bunch throughout the day so i could just pass out if anything happened that i didn't want to deal with (literally anything at all tbf) but that started to not work as well as i wanted so i turned to my meds, i'd take my nightly dose (50mg instead of the 20mg i was supposed to take) at like noon and would be loopy until it was time to actually take it, i didn't do it much tbh, my sisters bf caught on after the third or fourth time because i had just met his family for the first time that day and their dog tried to bite my face apparently and i didn't even react (didn't even realize it happened tbh) and he asked what was up with me and i told him bc i've known him forever, anyways yea he yelled at me to knock it off and went on about how it's gonna kill me if i kept doing it, so i did it like once after that and it's been months since i've done it again

it's kinda funny tho, those meds actually could've killed me regardless, i was supposed to take them three times a day but only really did once at school and i still got a bunch of the more serious side effects because i wasn't supposed to smoke while taking them but obv i did bc i was addicted, like breathing was hard, i nearly fainted all the time, my appetite was nonexistent, my heart was starting to mess up, like i literally thought i had a heart attack one day because the side effects were that bad and my mom and sister started looking up symptoms of POTS because that's what the side effects looked like, anyways i got taken off those months ago but i still have them somewhere and i'm fighting the urge to find and take them just so i have no appetite and so i'll sleep through the day

i think that's really all idk, there's more i was gonna say but i can't really remember plus this is already super long jfc, i don't expect anyone to actually read this, i just wanted it off my chest and i don't really trust talking to many people about this kinda stuff

[brummiereader]

Arghh this was so good, what a whirlwind of a chapter ❤️! I read this like a madwoman last night but didn't have time to reblog with my thoughts on it.

The first part of this incredible chapter had me on the edge of my seat. Not only was I feeling sad for heaven and all the thoughts plaguing her mind there was someone following her! What left me with my mouth wide open was the fact that it was someone from Heavens past who had tracked her down on behalf of section D 😱. And on top of that it was the brother of one of the men she killed! I was disgusted by the thoughts going through his mind about what he wanted to do to her, what a vile fucking man. I think it was very clever how you set this whole scene, Heaven was in a very vulnurable place tormenting herself with memories and promises her and Arthur had made eachother while a predator stalked her reflecting on his own memories.

Shark you couldn't have made me happier with the next part! I love Aberama Gold! I was so upset when he died in the show, so to read about him in your series had me smiling from ear to ear ❤️. We see so little of him in the show, and I think you have really picked up on his subtle mannerisms and personality so well. 😩 My heart ached with the mention of John and how heaven only wanted him to comfort her . They had an incredible bond, and now everything his fallen apart and her and Arthur are not in a great place her first thought is her John😭.

I’d rather get fucked by a horse than deal with this bastard.” this made me giggle so much. Not just because Heaven is sick of her brother in law and him being a complete dickhead, but because Tommy once said "I am a horse" 😂. I really loved this whole interaction between them!

What would these Shelby boys do without Aunt Polly. I love how she's so Frank with Arthur, he needs that sometimes else he gets himself in a bad place, too deep in his own thoughts. I knew Arthur would absolutely lose it when Heaven left and take it out on everything else around him, thank god Polly got to him before he did something irreversible. My heart hurts for him, he needs his angel the second part of his heart but she needs space. You did an excellent job at describing his spiralling into despair and emptiness, he is completely lost without her and this is where we really see the soft yandere side of Arthur coming through.

If it was because of the... kiss, or his moment of confusion as he liked to call it. This made me snort 😂, confusion not weakness, of course Tommy 🙄. I bet he was quietly thankful Heaven didn't mention anything to Arthur. Loyalty had its limits, and the limits bore your name, this was my favourite line in the whole chapter, it's speaks volumes of Arthur's love for Heaven. Blood is definitely not thicker when it comes to his wife, and that is honestly something to admire. I've never seen a love like Arthur has for her, twin flames ❤️. I didn't think my heart could ache anymore when Arthur attempted to reach her hand 😩.

Tommy wants the war between him and Heaven to end, hmm🧐. I feel as confident as Heaven about this, everything can't be forgotten just because he says so. Is he up to something ??

I'm actually relieved Heaven isn't backing down with Arthur, he absolutely needs to learn this lesson. She's a strong woman and better with a strong man by her side. They both have their weaknesses, but Heaven only lapsed in hers to show Arthur how much he was hurting her. Plus he needs to stop his shit because....Heaven is bloody PREGNANT 😯!!! I had absolutely zero feeling this was coming! I squealed when I read this ❤️!! Polly's famous boob grab is right again! I loved this whole scene between her and Polly, they're relationship is growing and her nickname for Heaven had me giggling 😂. I wonder if any members of the Shelby family will learn what Tommy did, she's hasn't told anyone yet, and I know when she will all hell will break loose! But Heaven is pregnant, I can't believe it! I'm so excited to see where this will go and how Arthur will react to the next when she tells him. I don't know why but I don't think she will tell him straight away, I could be proved wrong though! Incredible chapter, filled with so many twists and turns. God I love this series so MUCH ❤️ !

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Danger lurks in every corner of Small Heath now, a place in which you're forced to stay. A place where Changretta and Section D are ready to get you. As you're trying to work things out with Arthur following your violent argument, Polly tells you something that will definitely complicate your role in the Vendetta.

Words: 6.8k

TW: Angst, mention of drug use, canonical violence, mention of murder, mention of self-harm, co-dependent relationship, grieving.

Notes:

✞ This is chapter 13 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alone but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense and better.

✞ Quite a long chapter I admit, certainly the longer. The future chapters won't be as long I swear -- it's just that there was a lot of small "plot twists".

✞ Lucy is @emotionalcadaver's OC.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT

The thick fog of the night danced in front of the car’s headlights, swirling at the wind’s discretion. The driver, keeping an eagle eye on your dainty silhouette, had started the engine as soon as he saw you storming out of your house, disheveled and crying.  He only waited five seconds before driving at a very slow pace, scanning the misty streets of foul-smelling Small Heath to find you. For a short while, he was convinced you had managed to escape from his watch and, admittedly, the persistent fog only complicated the task further. “Fucking bitch”, he pestered, turning left on the next street as the car’s wheels squealed against the wet concrete of the road but you didn’t hear, far too deafened by the unremitting drumming of your own heart. You stopped your race near a field, and sat on a small wall, feeling your body wear out now that the adrenaline's effects were dispersing. Once settled, you buried your face in your cold palms and squeezed your eyes shut. Where should you go? What should you do? Were all of Arthur's promises empty? What will happen to your marriage now? Will Tommy keep ruining your life? All these questions played on repeat in your skull, like the unsettling loop of a broken record echoing in a murky abandoned house. And along the haunting tune resonated your and Arthur's voice, from a not-so-far memory.

"I'll marry you one day."

"You're already married, Arthur."

"I don't bloody care, it's you I want ay. Fook Linda, fook the family, fook the rest of the world. It's you. It has always been you."

A shiver ran down your spine as your mind went back to the night you had this conversation. You could almost feel the warm sensation of his naked skin against yours, as he cradled you to his chest, legs entangled, and his cologne all over your bedsheet. The first time you made love.

"Listen, I know you're scared and I know I’ve got a bad reputation. But if you give me the chance to be your man, I swear to God you'll be the only one for me. Look at ya. How could I want another woman? They can all die. I'll never, fucking never, cheat on you."

"But with Linda--"

"It ain't the same. We're talking about you. My sweet angel. My soul mate. My saving grace. The other part of me broken self."

"... Alright. Promise it then."

"Cross me heart and hope to die."

"No drugs either? Like, a bit of snow occasionally never killed anyone but apart from this, no relapse okay?"

"No drugs but..." He paused, gently taking your hand in his, and kissed all your fingers one by one "But in exchange I want ye to stop hurting yourself. I saw the inside of your thighs so please, no more cuts ay?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die." You smiled, interlocking your little fingers together in a sweet pinky promise.

You pressed one trembling hand against your mouth at the bittersweet memory, tears tingling your eyes and blurring your vision. A muffled sob escaped from your plumped lips, then a second, and finally tears came in waterfalls. It's been a long time since you really cried, and here you were. Weeping like a lost kid.

Despite the darkness of the night and the patchy coat of the fog, the stalker caught sight of the long crimson streaks that ran down one of your frail arms. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue as his hand reached for the gun hidden in the glove box. Finally, he thought, he was a short moment away from a very sweet vengeance he had spent years carefully planning. A little excited sigh escaped from his mouth while his fingers caressed the cold barrel of the gun, already aroused at the idea of pointing the canon against your head the moment he would force you to get in his car. Even if he knew that the wisest thing to do after your capture was to drive you to them, he thought about going on a little stroll with you. Maybe he'll bring you to an isolated land to shove you on the muddy ground, and make you regret the day you decided to murder his brother in the small mountainous town of Haute-Falaise. Only after he had ruined you enough, stealing every ounce of your dignity, he would drive you to Section D's headquarters. With a bit of luck, he could keep hurting you a little bit more before they decide to pull the trigger and repaint the walls with the contents of your brain.

The roots of his hatred had started the day he realized that each time he closed his lids, his brother's eyes haunted him. Or at least, the two hollow and dark holes on his face since his eyes had been gouged out. There was also the blood, running from his mouth, ears, nose, and even streaming down his cheeks in crimson tears. Maybe he should have listened to the local police when they told him not to look at the corpse, but he had to do it. To his questions, even the forensic pathologist couldn’t answer. The only certainty the experts agreed on was that Christian’s lungs and heart had been smashed to a pulp from the inside and that he had stab wounds all over his body just like the other four corpses found. Five corpses and nothing else. The murderer was nowhere to be seen: no one had witnessed something, not even heard the slightest muffled scream. It was as if Death came, struck them with his scythe, and left without a trace.

Closer. A little bit closer...

You jumped at the sudden and unexpected sensation of a man’s hand squeezing your frail shoulder. As nimble as a cat and as quick as a lightning bolt, you jumped from the wall and unsheathed the dagger you kept hidden in your right lace garter, “Who the fuck are you?!” You hissed, voice burning with fury and frozen eyes darting at the stranger. You had been so quick to react that the man, vaguely confused by what just happened, found himself in quite a poor situation. Indeed, he didn’t expect a young woman to press the tip of a sharp blade against his carotid artery, ready to slit it.  God knew he was a fearless fighter, but you had been too unpredictable, even for him. And yet, he didn’t move nor particularly react despite the unpleasant surprise.

“Heaven Shelby?” He asked.

You snarled and bared your teeth at this unfamiliar voice calling you by your name. If marrying Arthur Shelby had taught you what real love was, you had also learned how to become even more deadly than you already were. Seemed like the Shelby's wariness had turned you feral.

“Make one more step and I’ll bleed you like a fucking pig.” You warned. The cold wind of the night blew in your hair, making your long white locks dance behind you like the ghostly veil of a dead bride. He frowned, unsettled by its uncommon color. What disturbed him the most though was maybe the pale and haunting color of your eyes, whose shade reminded him of two cursed aquamarine stones.

“Mrs. Shelby. I mean no harm, ‘specially not when facing such a young and delicate lady,” He started, the corner of his lips stretching in a fathomless smile despite the awe you inspired him. His small and cunning fox-like eyes squinted as he grinned. Somehow, he didn't seem to mind the blade that was still threatening him as if such a situation was casual -- and it was. If anything, he was impressed by your fierceness and the hatred that shone in your iris, which created a striking contrast with your little frame and doll face, “Well not as delicate as I’ve been told.” His smile widened at his own comment, “It’s dangerous out’here m’lady, I’ve spotted you by chance and thought I’d bring you home safe.”

“Dangerous.” You snorted, unable to hold your sarcasm. “Get the fuck away from me.” Each word from your mouth was dripping with caustic vitriol, leaving no doubt about your hostility and lethal potential. Judging by your quick and deadly reaction, you were certainly more than capable of taking care of yourself -- in truth, he could tell you wouldn't hesitate to end his life. But instead of backing up, the man carefully brought his fingertips on the shining surface of the dagger and pried it away from his throat in a slow movement without breaking eye contact with you.

“A car is following you.” He informed you.

“What?” This phrase hit you like a train, impairing the fierceness and self-confidence you’ve been showing. Surveying your surroundings quickly, you did notice the shadow of a car not so far away in the distance with its headlights shut and two glistening eyes staring at you from the driver's seat. The moment the shadow understood that you had spotted him, the car headed away from you in a loud engine roar and disappeared in the misty night. Fuck, the lad was right: someone had been following you. You sniffed, still in shock, and quickly wiped your tears with the brush of one knuckle before tricking your anxiety into focusing on your unexpected savior again. Your armed hand might be hanging loosely from your slim body, but your fingers were still firmly wrapped around the dagger’s handle. It was an expensive and deadly blade, gifted by one mysterious red-head woman whose hair reminded you of a wildfire. You had trouble remembering the name — Lucy? Something like this. What you knew though was that this troubled soul was called ‘Tommy’s little spy” by the Shelby's family, but since you couldn’t care less about your brother-in-law’s personal life you didn’t investigate further. The girl had been nice with you, that was all that mattered.

Even armed and feral, you felt vulnerable. At your big confused eyes and at the sight of mascara running down your cheeks, the man couldn’t help but feel sorry for you. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you could pass off for his daughter or maybe because you were just a few years older than his own son? He slightly tilted his body to one side to let the weak beam of a street light disclose his face and overall appearance: long and messy gray hair, thin lips, small glistening eyes, and a mysterious and slightly disturbing grin.

“Mrs. Shelby, you should come with me.” He advised, then he extended his arm, about to lay his strong hand on your shoulder a second time when you stepped back to avoid his touch with a dissuasive hiss. He stopped, “Lemme bring you back to your husband. It’s Arthur Shelby, ‘m I right?” This time, he simply offered you his palm and waited for you to make the first step. You replied to his invitation by looking dagger at him: if your eyes could kill, this one would already be sleeping with the fishes.

“No.” You protested, as stubborn as a Shelby by birth. Your heart squeezed in your chest at the mention of Arthur, the thought of him coming back home all coked up and intoxicated was still fueling your rage like gasoline thrown at a destructive fire. The last thing you wanted at the moment was to see your husband. If someone had asked you, you’d have answer that what you sincerely wanted was John and his comforting arms. John and his beaming smile. John and his way of teasing you, his jokes, his softness, his cockiness... Yes, that was John you wanted, and you wanted him now. But the cruel truth was that John wasn’t there anymore. He was lying dead and cold in a morgue, leaving you with nothing but the insufferable pain of his loss and your head screaming. “I don’t want to see him.” You asserted and fled the man’s gaze, who soon understood the situation — with age came experience, and from experience he could recognize the aching expression of a young woman wounded by the hazards of love. These Shelby men… He thought with a certain disdain. Oh, he had not been irreproachable all his life either, but a woman’s heart was a gift he missed every day of his life since his wife’s death. The mysterious lad softly reached for your wrist and, not minding your feral nature anymore, he brought it closer to his face to examine the open gash on your porcelain skin.

“Did he hurt you?”

“I did this to myself.” You broke the physical contact right away and pressed your palm firmly on the still-bleeding wound. Adrenaline had pumped so hard through your veins that the pain had been numbed: only now your nerves were slowly wakening up,  sending unpleasant tingles where the cut was. While he observed you carefully, the man wondered why such a young and fragile thing like you would do this to herself.

“Seems like you had a harsh night, kitten.” He stated with a slight fatherly tone which surprised you before he noticed the goosebumps on your skin. The situation had been so exceptional that he completely obliterated that you were barefoot outside, in the freezing temperature of Birmingham’s night, wearing nothing but a short dress. Without further ado, the man took his long black coat off and put it over your shoulders. While you still shot him a suspicious look, the warmth in which he wrapped you felt good. Your muscles relaxed and your hand closed on the two sides you brought together near your throat to protect it from the wind. “While I get why y’don’t wanna go home, ‘specially if you fought with your man, you have to understand that being alone at night in Small Heath is not safe. Let alone currently, with Changretta’s men trying to murder you all. Maybe you’d like me to bring you to Thomas instead?”

A shiver ran down your spine at the simple mention of your brother-in-law’s name. The sensation of his lips against yours was still burning your flesh and even hours after your last encounter you couldn’t get rid of his cologne’s scent that was still lingering on your hair and skin, “I’d rather get fucked by a horse than deal with this bastard.” The man blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected you to have such a foul mouth -- that was why let out a soft chuckle, to which you replied with a very faint smile.

“Alright kitten… I get it. No Shelby men. And what about coming with me to my vardo? My son has lit a campfire and he is cooking some rabbits. Would you like that?” He suggested, one brow raised and his fox-like grin widening almost to his ears. 

“You still haven't told me who you are.”

The man took off his brown hat at your clever comment, “Ah yes. Where are my manners ay?” His dark blue eyes glistened with a cunning gleam as he slowly nodded “The name’s Aberama Gold. Nice to meet you.” 

“You bloody idiot… Sit here and don’t do anything stupid anymore.” Polly instructed her oldest nephew as soon as he had entered the room, pointing to an empty chair with her half-consumed cigarette. All alone with Ada and his aunt, who were still waiting for the other guests to come, Arthur took place and kept his head down. Polly simply took a long drag from her black cigarette and exhaled, smoke coming out of her mouth like the Devil as she quietly observed Arthur’s eyebags and bloody knuckles. Soon after your departure, she had heard the cacophony of screams and thuds coming from his house in Watery Lane. When she witnessed all the blood, destroyed furniture, and shards of glass in the living room, she had been was convinced that Arthur had murdered you out of jealousy or something. Fortunately enough, the situation wasn't that dramatic -- at least for her. After throwing herself at her nephew and forcing him to calm the fuck down, she did her best to keep the oldest Shelby brother from hurting himself more than he already did. When things got quieter, she had even scolded him as she did when he was a kid — except that all the other sermons he had been through in his childhood were nothing compared to the anger she had unleashed when he had confessed about taking drugs again.

“Is she coming to the meeting?” She finally inquired, one of her elbows resting on the wooden table and her cigarette consuming itself between her fingers.

“Don’t know Pol.” Arthur’s usual loud and gruff voice was reduced to a shy, hoarse, and saddened whisper. No matter his attempt at distracting his mind, his thoughts always came back to you. Only you. He didn’t know where you were nor if you’d come back to him and that was slowly driving him crazy. Or more than he already was. Arthur felt his fragile sanity slipping through his fingers and knew it wouldn't be long before he went berserk if it turned out you really left. Also, he was growing frustrated and agitated about sitting here in the betting shop, waiting for a useless meeting to start instead of looking for you. All he wanted was to burn this city to the ground and make it bleed until he found you and brought you back home where you belonged. That is to say by his side. Nevertheless, Polly had advised him against this decision, convinced it would only fuel your rage against him even more. She wasn’t wrong though, you needed space.

The fierce Aunt stubbed her cigarette out in the nearest ashtray and leaned toward her nephew to grab his wrist with one of her cold and sly hands. It snapped him out of his crumbling mind. “You’re insanely lucky to have a woman like her in your life, Arthur. Don’t be an ungrateful cunt by letting your addictions ruin the most precious thing you have. The bland and momentarily relief snow grants you will never hold a candle to Heaven. Understand?” She warned with the same tone she used when a young Arthur came back home all bloody after fighting at school. “Hey. Look at me.”  The gangster sniffed and raised his steel blue eyes to his Aunt, his lips trembling and dimples appearing on his cheeks as he clenched his jaws. How right she was. Even when snorting a ridiculously huge amount of snow he didn’t feel better. In fact, his high had been insipid when compared with how you made him feel, blissed out and in pure ecstasy, when his lips crashed against yours. An unpleasant surge of electricity crossed his body at this thought as he remembered how his whole being yearned for you. “She’ll come back. I know she will, and you’ll make up for your idiocy. But let me warn you, boy. Witches usually don’t believe in second chances. If she gives you one, don’t ever fuck it all up anymore, or she’ll tear your bloody heart from your chest and smash it in front of your beseeching eyes. And you’ll consider yourself lucky if she only did it figuratively. ” At these murderous words, which felt like another stab, Arthur bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood on his tongue.

“I’ll do that.” He concluded, closing his hands in fists in a vain attempt to keep his temper quiet despite his spiraling thoughts. Thoughts that revolve around either you and how he would end his damn life if you ever left him. With a loud bang, a strong rope, or hell, his own razor blade, he didn’t care. Polly simply nodded and sat straight again as the other members of the clan entered the room one by one and took place, waiting for Tommy. At each footstep, Arthur raised his head with impatience, wishing it was you and internally screaming when he realized it wasn’t. HeavenHeavenHeavenHeaven… It never stopped, the thought of you compulsive and maddening. He cleared his throat and grunted nervously, his gaze glaring at an invisible dot on the wall that was facing him.

Tommy erupted in the room, a placid expression etched on his face as always, giving the impression he was in complete control of the situation. Was he? No one was truly sure about that. He stood fearlessly in front of the small crowd, far from being impressed by public speeches, and let his turquoise eyes wander on every face. Sometimes you wondered if Thomas Shelby would better drop the criminal life and start a political career. After all, he had all the required qualities: manipulative, sweet-talking, dishonest, and heartless. Tommy took one look at his brother’s face and quickly got a broad understanding of what had happened -- It wasn't particularly difficult though considering how Arthur belonged to the expressive kind. His eyes usually talked before he even opened his mouth. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if it was his fault. If it was because of the... kiss, or his moment of confusion as he liked to call it. Yet, his sharp instincts knew that Arthur hadn’t been informed of this little event otherwise he would have certainly gone straight for his throat no matter the family blood running in their veins. Loyalty had its limits, and the limits bore your name. When he noticed your absence, Tommy discreetly clenched his sharp jaws for even if he loathed you, you had your place among the family for the meeting and the rest of them would probably not vote if you weren’t there. Nevermind, he thought. He had barely parted his lips when he heard the clicking sound of heels approaching and with the sound came your perfume. Just like Arthur, he immediately recognized the spring-like fragrances of your scent, especially now that he had buried his nose in your silvery mane.

Arthur’s heart made a leap in his tight ribcage as he saw you bathed in the warm light of the betting shop, dressed like the day you left the house except for your hair that was styled in two French braids cascading down the small of your back. He wanted to get up and embrace you, choke you in a hug, or fall on his knees to beg for forgiveness without minding the other people in the room but Polly’s strong hand squeezed his thigh to prevent him from doing so. Thus, all he did was just staring at you with pitiful and beseeching eyes. But you didn’t look at him. In truth, you didn’t look at anyone. Ignoring the burning sensation of Tommy’s turquoise iris following you, you passed by him and headed right to the free chair between Polly and Arthur. As soon as you sat next to him, he obliterated the world in favor of your heavenly presence as he usually did when you were around. The lanky gangster tried his chance and his fingers shyly searched for yours under the table. He was dying to feel your touch again, the coldness of your frosty skin being the only remedy to his troubled soul and broken mind. However, you denied him your affection by slightly shifting your hand away from him no matter how hard it was for you too. Your rejection stung him more painfully than a white-hot blade. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek harder but instead of making a scene or bursting with both rage and frustration, he tried his best to be a good boy and simply lowered his head as an unruly child who had just been scolded. His lonely hand rested on his thigh he nervously rubbed, desperately trying to chase away his sadness.

“John is dead.” Tommy exhaled loudly and made a short pause as if he was still processing the awful truth. John. Is. Dead. Your frail fingers fidgeted the fabric of your dress at Tommy’s statement, doing so only to avoid digging them into your own flesh and scratching it until you bleed. For a micro while, Tommy's self-confidence flickered, afflicted by his baby brother’s savage murder, before he regained composure and his eyes darkened again, “Esme’s back on the road with the Lees. She’s taken the kids. Michael is badly wounded, they say it’s 60/40 in his favor.”

“There’s no number, there’s no percentages” Polly cut him off, “So the hand, the hand beneath him stops his falling. Spoke to someone… My son will live.” It was more or less all you’ve heard of the conversation, for your mind soon drifted. As Tommy kept talking, your frozen eyes as glacial as Dante’s latest ring of Hell locked on your husband. Observing him with great attention, you tried to look for anything that would prove he was high. But despite a huge deal of effort, you didn’t see any grain of white powder near his nostrils. Arthur’s eyes weren’t dilated, his hands didn’t shake and his breathing was as soft as quiet. If anything, he looked awfully tired and miserable. To be honest, you could not help but think about how bad you missed him and how handsome he was in his suit even if your mood was still sour and resentful.

Arthur grunted, distracting himself from the pain by following the conversation and playing his henchman role. He took a golden bullet out of the pocket of his trousers and, holding it between his thumb and his index finger, looking at its shiny surface on which he had carved Luca’s name: “Yeah, Well… The bullet’s been written… It says Luca.” He paused, a glimpse of John’s face reflecting on the gold for half a second. “When the time comes and it will come… Me as the oldest brother —“ He swallowed again, John had disappeared, “Will put this bullet into his fucking head.” He concluded his speech by putting the said bullet on the table, the metallic sound echoed in the room and chilled you to the bones. Your eyes were still focusing on Arthur, but this time it was because you felt worried for him. Despite his rough and tough demeanor, the slight tremor in his voice and his need to take short pauses had betrayed his profound sorrow. You closed your fists on your dress because of how much you hated to see him in pain. All you wanted was to hold his arm and support him in these difficult times but you were certainly as pretty as stubborn.

“There’s been some bad blood between us.” While he had ignored you for most of his speech, Tommy’s intense gaze fell on you. Feeling the ice of his eyes burning you, you cocked an eyebrow. Was it a pathetic attempt to apologize? Or was he blaming you for it?

Bad blood… Polly scoffed. You snort. That was the least he could say.

It felt like an eternity before little King Shelby spoke again, not paying attention to his Aunt’s and your attitude. He looked at the ceiling, looking for his words then he went on, “Until this business is settled we stay together. We stay here…” To assert his claim, Tommy explained how the family would be safe as long as they stayed together, surrounded by an army of faces they already knew. His plan was simple: all the family remained together until they manage to kill Luca Changretta. Until then, no one was allowed to stray away from Small Heath. Arthur's first reaction following this suggestion was to turn his head towards you, looking with concern for far too well he knew you didn't wish to stay. A small sigh escaped from your plumped lips as you dived into his sad eyes, but you remained silent. Worst, you remained awfully placid and hated yourself for looking so much like Tommy for a short while. The rest bored you to hell and blurred into a mush of unintelligible bribes of conversation, except for the mention of Aberama Gold and Johnny Dogs’ complaints about the man. Savages he had said. The same word he had used the first time you met him. She's a freakin' savage, Arthur. An evil creature straight from the woods! Rolling your eyes, you bit your tongue to keep your mouth shut, and not scream at Dogs to tell him that Aberama Gold might be a savage but at least he took care of you these last few days better than any members of the Shelby clan did. At least not before interminable months of insults and death/suspicious stares. As the conversation went on, Polly put a glass of whisky in front of you but you pushed it away almost immediately -- you've been feeling nauseous since you left Watery Lane so drinking strong alcohol was the last thing you had in mind. Thus, you simply passed the glass to Arthur, who certainly needed it more than you.

“… Which means we have to agree to end this war between us.” Thomas Shelby might be addressing the whole family, but you knew his words were mainly aimed at you, which only made you move your foot impatiently under the table. Ending this war, of course, you thought. And what about the last two years of misery you’ve made me undergo each time we met? What about the moment you strangled me? And what about all the awful things you said after thrusting your tongue in my fucking mouth?  These would have been all the things you would have screamed at him if your legendary coldness had broken. Which, fortunately for everyone in the room, hadn’t.

Truthful to himself, Tommy asked for the family to vote.

“Peace.” Arthur finally decided, taking the glass and gulping down the amber liquid it contained in hope it would numb him. It didn’t. As surprising as it was to hear the oldest sibling choosing a non-violent approach to a conflict, you knew it was the best decision to make. So as everyone shared their opinion, you thought deeply about yours until your turn came. At first, you didn’t realize it was already your time to speak — only the sudden silence and the weight of a dozen eyes on you could snatch you from your mind. And among the pair of eyes, the one that burnt the fiercest was Tommy’s.  

“Now we’re asking for my opinion?” You said, sarcastic venom coating your words.

“Angel, please…” Arthur whispered, but you waved off his comment with a disdainful gesture of the hand. He currently wasn’t in the position to advise you. Not after hurting you like he did. 

“Truce.” You stated, coldly. The word left your mouth with the power of a guillotine’s blade on an inmate’s neck and surprised everyone in the room. In truth, they were all convinced you would disagree with the idea. Polly and Ada offered you a warm smile, while Tommy lowkey nodded in approval at your wise decision.

“Five for peace, two for truce.  Let’s get on with the war.” He concluded, turning around and walking out of the betting shop without one last glance at any of his family’s members: his scheming mind already focused on the next part of his plan.

As always, Tommy couldn't live without pulling the strings.

As the room cleared out and people left, you remained alone with Arthur in an uncomfortable silence. Because you had nothing to tell him, you got up from your chair and proceeded to walk to the exit without uttering a single word but the tall gangster caught you by the wrist, forcing you to stop. His long fingers closed around you a bit too bluntly than he intended though. You winced and as a result, he immediately let go of you, showing his palm open to indicate that he didn't mean to hurt you.

“Heaven, please." His gravelly voice called. "Enough with the cold treatment…  I can’t. It’s hurting me.” He said rather slowly, for putting words on his emotions was not something he was used to. Most of the time he just yelled and resorted to violence. , “I beg ye, go back home, angel.”

"You had promised me, Arthur." You articulated.

"And you had also promised me not to hurt yourself anymore." His gruff voice raised a little bit, threatening to turn into frustrated yellings because he didn’t know how to properly communicate his emotions, especially not when they were so obsessive and overwhelming. But Arthur didn’t want to scream at you so what he did was take a deep inhale to force himself not to be his usual loud and rude self. “You also promised to me, love.” He repeated in a calmer tone even if his quivering upper lip and twitching mustache showed how much he was struggling.

“So now we both understand how it feels when the other part of your soul breaks a promise. What a great step forward we’ve made.” That was mean. So mean you could barely believe that such an awful taunt came from your tantalizing mouth — but even though you instantly regretted it, you didn’t falter. No matter your mad love for Arthur and the untamable desire to throw yourself in his arms, you weren’t going to bend: things needed to be clear right now or they’ll never never be.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m fucking sorry alright?!" He growled, opening his arms as to silently ask you what he had to do for you to believe him. "I swear there isn’t a second during which I’m not regretting everything I did and said to you.” He finally admitted, long arms falling along his slim body, “I wasn’t meself even if I know this ain’t no excuse. I won't do it again. But…Please Heaven I can’t go on without you. And I don’t want to.” The only answer to his pleadings was a heavy silence combined with your frost-like gaze.

Arthur’s eyes lingered over your arm until they fell on the deep cut you had inflicted upon yourself. This is what it feels like when you take drugs. The powerlessness he had felt when he watched the blood running down your skin and soaking the fabric of your clothes was etched in his mind: he, who had promised to protect you against everything, realized he couldn’t save you from yourself if you chose to destroy you… And that powerlessness was the same you experienced when he egoistically relapsed. That was a harsh lesson, but a lesson he had learned.  “Please forgive me.” He begged and sucked in a sharp breath as if he was physically in pain, yet he still took your arm in his hand with indescribable softness and, with his free one, caressed your still swollen and red gash.

Your dainty body stood still, trying not to give in to the delightful sensation of his warm skin against yours but your heart sunk in your chest “You have to understand that you cannot act like a jerk, hurt me, treat me like shit and then come back with your puppy eyes, and beg for forgiveness. It doesn’t work like that." You said.

“So you're not coming back...” His voice broke, warm hand closing on your wound.

Your touch. I need it. It's a damn physical need.

“Don’t be stupid Arthur…” You sighed, the traits of your angelic face softening, “That’s not what I said."

"So please, love. Forgive me. I'll do whatever ye want. I'll get on my knees right now if that's what you want." His body shifted, closing the distance between the two of you until his arms wrapped around your waist. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach at the sight of his enchanting blue eyes, whose color was so different from his brothers. Slightly darker, far less colder. With your heart beating fast and your mind buzzing, you couldn't keep your fingers from gently grazing one of his cheeks. He half closed his eyelids at the sensation, the tremors of his body already calming down now that you were touching him.

"I don't want you to get on your knees. And I don't want to make a dog out of you like Linda did. All I ask for is my husband, who I know is a wonderfully strong man who doesn't need any chemicals to face the world. Not anymore." Your holy voice sounded like the purest melody in his ears like God's mercy whispered to him. Lulled by your words and strokes, Arthur would have purred if he wasn't already fighting against tears of relief.

"I've been such a fucking bastard... What the fuck is wrong with me eh? I still can't believe every mean thing I've screamed. The words I told ya, they're eating me sick brain." He gritted his teeth, "I don't fucking deserve you." Noticing that his breathing was getting faster, you wrapped his neck with your arms and lifted yourself on your tiptoes to lay a kiss on his chin.

"Stop it, Art. Don't beat yourself." You whispered in his ear, one hand lost in his perfectly slicked hair. "You want me to forgive you? Well; show me that all these promises you made weren’t empty. That our wedding can overcome everything, even the worst. Prove it to me." As you spoke, you softly rocked him from left to right, trying to calm his anxiety. A sigh escaped from your lips: you just couldn't abandon him as everyone else did. And part of you cursed him for making you feel so weak, especially when he was looking at you with his confused puppy eyes.

“I’ll show you then, angel. I’ll show you because without you birds don’t sing anymore.”  He nodded, softly rubbing his cheek against yours. You could feel his heart drumming against your bosom, crying for yours to open up to him again. “I'll show you I'm still a good husband." His lips trailed down your cheek to capture yours, but the moment he tried to kiss them you slightly turned your head to the other side to deny him access to your mouth. He clenched his jaws.

“Go find Thomas and organize the funerals with him." You simply instructed, taking a step back to free yourself from his arms. The lanky gangster nodded and left, head down and arms swinging as he walked away.

All you wished now was that he truly meant what he said.

All alone in the betting shop, you leaned against a wall and closed your eyes, needing a bit of peace to reorganize your thoughts and soothe your overwhelming emotions. Moreover, you had to come to terms with the idea of living near Tommy, here in Small Heath. It has been only weeks since you left your small house in the forest but you already missed it. Suddenly, you jumped at the feeling of two cold hands grasping you by the shoulders. When you reopened your eyelids, you were met by Polly’s motherly smile and dark gaze. Eyes so black it outmatched the bark of the most ancient trees you had ever seen. And just like these trees, they had something mystical, as if they were keeping the Earth's secrets and infinite wisdom. For sure, Elizabeth Gray was a woman of nature, born in the wilderness and raised among the soft whispers of the leaves. You even wonder if her body contained blood or if it was amber sap that was coursing through her veins.

“I’m happy you came back, white Devil.” She said with a soft smile. Since the day she heard Tommy spat the insult at your face, she decided to reverse the curse and use it as an affectionate nickname for you -- an idea you found absolutely delightful.

“I’m a Shelby now, everyone says so… So I suppose my place is here.” The melancholy of your grin betrayed your thoughts and Polly understood that only now you were starting to understand what bearing this family name truly meant. “I'm not gonna lie, Polly, I didn’t want to come. That’s Mr. Gold who convinced me I needed to. After hours of bargaining, he got me by telling me it would get under Tommy's skin.” 

“You call him Tommy now?” She teased, trying to make you smile but little she knew her remark had the opposite effect. You pursed your juicy lips and looked away.

“Something happened with him right.” The fierce Aunt frowned, observing your face as if she would be able to find an answer to her question hidden in your holy traits. Now sincerely concerned, her grip tightened on your shoulders, like benevolent roots anchoring you to reality. While she knew the difficult and rocky relationship you had with little King Shelby, she had never seen you display such a dreadful expression when his name was mentioned. 

“Something always happens with him anyway. But that’s not important.” You closed the topic, not wanting to talk about him any longer. The fucker had done enough to infect your brain, so you didn’t want to give him more space. "Do you think Johnny Dogs says the truth about the Gold? I mean, I'm not Romani but the Gold are nice to me and--"

"Heaven. Oh Lord." She cut you off, her smile swept away from her face so quickly you blinked several times.

"What's the matter, Pol?" You asked, eyebrows frowned.

Freeing your shoulders, her left hand grabbed one of your breasts to squeeze it softly while the right one felt your abdomen at different places, looking for something you didn't know. The more she touched you, the more her facial expression seemed concerned. Completely taken aback by her sudden behavior, your lips parted in surprise as you watched her.

"Does Arthur know it?!" She inquired, her dark eyes switching between you and your tummy.

“Does Arthur know what?"

“That you’re pregnant.”

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver

[puppy-stevee]

Misty Taste of Moonshine - ao3

Six months into their relationship, Steve realizes how different Eddie is when he's around certain people. He doesn't put on the theatrical facade he wears when he's at school or hanging out with the party, all loud and brash and in your face as the name Eddie Munson has come to be known.

He's been to enough Corroded Coffin practices to see the way Eddie interacts with the band. Little inside jokes and a casual affection that should make him jealous, but in those moments, he sees himself and Robin and feels nothing but warmth. That even after everything, Eddie can still have this with the handful of people that know him better than anyone.

Even so, they don't know the Eddie that resides at the Munson trailer. The real Eddie, not the one dimensional being that deals in the doorway under the dim porch light and in the shadows, the one that's on the receiving end of sneers and the word "devil" spat at his feet like his face isn't even worth the trouble of aiming for.

Steve learns that when Eddie was four, his mom died in a car accident on her way to pick him up from the babysitter's. His dad had never been around, so her brother Wayne was the only next of kin eligible to take him in.

"I don't really remember my mom," Eddie says one night after dinner. He and Steve are in Eddie's room. Wayne's already left for work so they've got the trailer to themselves until morning. They could use the time to fool around like the teenagers they aren't, but tonight, Steve just wants to hear Eddie talk. There's an acoustic guitar he keeps in the closet, a gift from his grandpa before he and Wayne moved to Indiana. He strums it quietly as they sit on the bed. "I remember she used to sing to me a lot, though. Lots'a Loretta Lynn and Johnny Cash." He's got a soft smile on his face as he plucks the strings absentmindedly.

"My first real memory is of me sittin' on my great grandma's knee in her kitchen. She had this rocking chair in the corner by the window that looked out over half the holler." He turns his smile to Steve. "I'm takin' you there one day, Stevie. You gotta see it."

They don't know the real Eddie. Steve considers himself lucky that Eddie trusts him and feels comfortable around him to let every single carefully constructed wall come crumbling down when they're alone in the safety of the trailer.

They don't know that the voice they hear everyday isn't his real one. The one he grew up speaking with. When it's just them, Eddie's outside voice fades into one with a soft twang and it makes Steve's insides melt like butter in the screaming hot cast iron skillet that's seasoned and so well loved by both Munsons. Steve can cook, don't get him wrong (with his parents gone for weeks at a time it was either he learn how to use the stove or starve) but compared to Wayne and Eddie, his food is on par with a ten year old who just learned how to boil water.

Eddie always appreciates Steve cooking for them. He stands behind him at the stove with his arms gently wrapped around his waist and his chin on his shoulder, gently swaying back and forth. In the beginning, Steve would get embarrassed with Wayne in the room and brush his boyfriend off, but now it's almost second nature to lean back into his hold and accept the kiss on the nape of his neck and the quiet "smells good, baby" in his ear, the man who has come to be more of a dad to him than his own father watching with fondness behind his beer can.

Steve has always known that Hawkins wasn't home to Eddie, not really. He knew that, to him, home was deep in Carter County, Kentucky where lived with his uncle and grandparents. And his great grandparents and various aunts and uncles and cousins. Unlike Steve, Eddie never grew up with a shortage of love. There was always plenty to go around, even if they didn't have much money. Then Wayne got laid off from the coal mine when Eddie was thirteen and they moved up here to Indiana where he got on at the Sattler quarry. From what Eddie's told him, though, most of his family moved out of the holler and into the southern regions of Ohio. Only a few cousins stayed behind to keep their grandparents' cabin in the family.

To this day Steve still kicks himself for not fully noticing Eddie sooner. For not befriending him before Tommy H. and Carol dug their toxic claws into him and turned him into the douche bag he's still revered as. He remembers the new kid being introduced at the beginning of seventh grade and how hard he tried to make friends. He remembers how he was shut down every single time with laughs and cruel comments. Kids outright making fun of his accent and his clothes until he no longer tried reaching out and hung back from everyone. He eventually met Jeff and Gareth, and Steve was so grateful to them for getting Eddie out of his shell again, but the damage was already done and it followed him every year since.

Sometimes Steve will ask Eddie to sing to him, and he'd settle further into the pillows on the other boy's bed (the trailer was more his home these days than his actual house) and listen with his heart almost bursting with emotion as Eddie played a tune on his acoustic. A Johnny Cash song that Steve vaguely recognizes, a song that Eddie says almost every Appalachian family has their own rendition of. Steve thinks it's also eerily fitting for everything that's happened in the past year.

And when he's finished, Steve will pull him into a kiss and vow to never take for granted this version of his boyfriend only he's allowed to know.

[shititbe]

Anyway, Peter Parker is Bi, and I Won’t Be Convinced Otherwise.

Firstly, we have to get our bases covered. What exactly is Bi-sexuality? What is sexuality? 

Sexuality is defined as a persons identity in relation to gender(s) they are attracted to. Why is this important? Peter’s sexuality has never been specifically stated in the comics, nor in any other form of media. It’s assumed that he is straight because of his popular relationship with Mary Jane Watson in the comics, and the movies. 

Now that we have a bases for what exactly sexuality is and how it’s defined, let’s go over Peter’s partners. 

Obviously Peter and Mary Jane are a piece of comic book history. They eventually get married, though sadly, during the events of Civil War II (I think, don’t quote me) Peter and Mary Jane sell their marriage to Mephisto in order to save Aunt May

They later had their memories of their marriage restored, they have yet to get back together and it’s been a few issues if I remember correctly. Next we have Peter’s first, and most unfortunate love, Gwen Stacy. 

They dated in high school where she later died. Of course, Peter has dated other people (namely, Black Cat, Betty Brant, Carol Danvers, Anna Maria, Cindy Moon, Lian Tang, and so on). Since we have his known history of heterosexuality out there, we need to move onto another important part of Peter’s Bi-sexuality. An important implication in any media, especially queer media though, and that is the homoerotic subtext. 

Homoerotic subtext is important part of queer culture, a lot of the time it’s used to portray a characters queerness without saying it out (see: Dorian Gray by Oscar Wild or Great Gatsby By Fitz). In current decade, homoerotic subtext is often used for queer baiting or creating more realistic male friendships. 

So what’s the difference between someone creating a health male friendship (or a character comfortable in their heterosexuality) and implying a character is queer? 

Here are some examples of a healthy male character, both with himself and his friendships.  

Clearly he’s just taking the shit, and messing around with Reed. He’s comfortable enough (or as I like to see it, so traumatized because good god this guy has been Spider-Man since he was 15 good god that’s awful. He probably doesn’t care anymore). Here are some examples of Peter a little more than just a straight man shooting the shit. 

This has three meanings. Two of which I will take, one of which is just deeply embarrassing. Despite Peter’s history with humiliating events, I don’t think he would get his own spunk in his eyes. Leaving the other two options, he has experience getting spunk of - some kind - in his eyes, and/or he’s taking the shit again. Which is very likely. 

Kissing a cop? For....no reason? A little not so hetero of you Peter. 

You can practically hear his disappointment in his voice. Also could be read as taking the shit, but why would you. 

Making out with The Thing? Gay. 

This one is the most important. Peter is clearly tired, annoyed by his teammates (see wolverine being wolverine in the corner). Shits on fire, its mid battle, and Peter has the audacity to mutter “I hate men” to himself. The only people I have every heard say this in that was are lgbt and straight women, and lgbt men. This kind of expression only comes from people who date, or deal with men in a completely different world than straight men. Straight men use this phrase as an endearment, “Oh have you seen Bill today, I hate that guy.” “Man Jerry can do so many push-ups, I hate that guy.” Very different language, and implications (I also, obviously don’t know how straight men speak). 

 Now that we’ve gone over our bases, and homoerotic subtext. How else could we gather that Peter Parker is Bi? There are many tropes in media - queer media - that allure to a characters queerness. Like homoerotic subtext, there are ways to tell an audience something without specifically saying it. 

This is a gay wedding Peter went to in the recent comics. I don’t know if any of you have been to a gay wedding recently, but Peters face (the first panel above the wedding) is the same exact face I made at my first gay wedding. It’s the face of excitement for not only the couple, but for yourself. The hope that maybe, you too can actually be in a same-sex relationship. 

I’m also going to allure to queer tropes as stated previously. Such as the real, and fictional trope of lgbt people sticking together. Thousands of years of belittlement and oppression will make groups of people not want to wonder out, and subconsciously look for others like them. 

Johnny Storm (and Wade Wilson since he comes in later but I couldn’t find a picture of the confirmation) is cannon Bi-sexual (Pan-sexual). 

Their friendship is deeply homoerotic as most queer friendships in media and real life are. Johnny flirts with Peter on many occasions (saying his ideal women is a female version of Peter, inviting him over to watch is sex tape, and so on) and of course oh my god they were roommates. 

Some other popular queer tropes are: Found Family, Soulmates, and Enemies to lovers. Because it’s superhero related, this includes the Identity Porn tag as well.  

Peter Parker and Wade Wilson have a famous Love/Hate relationship. I mean, how could you expect anything less when your first meeting with this known mercenary is him throwing your civilian persona out the window of a car. Now, Wade still doesn’t know Peter is Spider-Man in the current run of comics, but that doesn’t make anything about them any less gay. 

For the Found Family Trope: 

Because it’s Peter and Wade, their whole development can be read as Enemies to Friends to Lovers, so I wont bother backing that up because, uh, it speaks for itself. One panel really does to add that cause though 

I’m not going to explain what a free-pass list is.

The Soulmates part I know I have to back up. 

For SoulMates:  

Now this panel requires a little explanation. Wade kills Peter, not knowing he’s Spider-Man. Weasel takes over for Peter (they don’t know its him) so no one suspects he’s dead. Deadpool begins to feel guilty he killed his best buds best bud, so he tries to bring Peter back to life. Losing his stunning good looks (switching back to how he looked before Weapon X making his wife Shiklah estranged (then she married Dracula but thats beside the point)). Spider-Man is Peter’s “true self” or patronus for Harry Potter fans. Wade is stupid and hasn’t connected the dots yet, effectively making him the biggest simp in history. Seriously, who destroys their marriage for the c h a n c e for getting some with their idol? A Simp, that’s who.

Peter forgives Wade for killing him (and for saving him from killing their genetic daughter itsy-bitsy). If someone killed me they better be hot as fuck before I even thing about forgiving them. Ignoring Peter’s super sexy forgiving nature, uh, he’s kinda simping. 

Died in each others arms. Nothing else is needed. 

They’re heartmates. From what I read, the feeling has to be mutual in order for it to work. The witches (long story, comics are hard to explain) that captured deadpool were expecting his wife so they could get the headmistress back. Instead, they got Peter. Basically Heartmates = soulmates but chosen for you instead of chosen by you. 

To conclude my point: 

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. 

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Nie brothers time travel but something goes wrong and they end up in each other bodies. So now they have to defeat WRH, find a way to curb JGY worst tendencies, and hide (and undo) the switch before any cultivator decides they are possesed by evil spirits

“I can’t do this,” Nie Huaisang announced heavily. “I can’t. Nope. Cannot. No way.”

“You apparently found a way to time travel into the past,” his brother pointed out. He was taking this entire thing very calmly – or, rather, like he’d heard a really great joke. It wasn’t that Nie Huaisang had forgotten that his brother had a sense of humor hidden under the rage, especially in the earlier years before Jin Guangyao got at him, but he may have downplayed his memories of how annoying it was to be the target of it. “Your abilities are clearly well beyond what you’ve been leading me to believe.”

“I’m sneaky,” Nie Huaisang explained. “I can scheme and plot and play politics, sometimes, if I have to. But I cannot be a general!”

I cannot be you, he meant. He might currently be inhabiting his long-dead brother’s body – an unfortunate side effect of messing up the time travel array, he suspected, but then again experimental things were often imperfect – while his brother’s spirit had been cast out into his own former self, but he wasn’t his brother.

He could never be.

(But Nie Mingjue was alive, alive and well with bright eyes and that stupid smirk that didn’t fit right on Nie Huaisang’s smaller face except in the ways it sort of did, and that was all Nie Huaisang had ever wanted in his life, other than Jin Guangyao to pay in blood and shame for depriving him of it.)

“Why not?” his brother asked. He leaned back and stretched lazily. Nie Mingjue never did a lazy thing in his whole life, so it was deliberate. He was enjoying this. “We have a battle strategy, already decided; most of the rest of it is on-the-ground tactics, which can be done just as well from behind the lines as at the front of them. There’s a reason that no one ever settled on the best place for a war-leader to be – it comes down to temperament.”

Nie Huaisang threw his hands into the air. “I know that! I was sect leader for nearly two decades, da-ge; I assure you, I’ve heard all the sect’s philosophical musings by now. But I don’t have your temperament – there’s no way someone won’t figure out what’s happened, that we’ve switched, and that’ll be a disaster.”

“Two decades,” Nie Mingjue said thoughtfully, focusing on the entirely wrong part of the conversation.

“A decade and a half to avenge your untimely murder,” that got a flinch out of his brother and his focus back, just as Nie Huaisang had wanted, “and another five to find a way to come back and avert it entirely.”

Nie Huaisang had always been resourceful. Resourceful, and ruthless – sometimes to a degree that scared even him.

When he was younger, it was okay. After all, the only thing he used it for was sneaking treats and spoiling himself, and it didn’t really matter if he was ruthless about stuff like that. And then his brother died – was murdered – and suddenly he knew what it was like to be his brother: a young man suddenly shoved into the role of sect leader, and having to balance everything he now had to be against the overwhelming blistering hatred he bore for and the crippling weight of the vengeance he had sworn against a man who had taken away someone he loved forever for something as pointless and ephemeral as political advantage.

(He had to take a deep breath at the mere thought of it, the family rage spiking under his skin. It was a bit of a surprise, actually, to find that his brother didn’t have more of it - he’d always assumed that his rage was lesser, weaker, the way his golden core was, but no. It turned out their rage was just the same.)

“So what you’re saying,” his brother said, and he was smirking again, oh no, “is that you’re focused, efficient, and unyielding in pursuit of your goals, given the right motivation. That sounds like general material to me.”

“Not if the goal is to make sure no one knows what’s happened,” Nie Huaisang hissed. Had own face always looked so incredibly punchable? “Da-ge, it doesn’t matter what type of general I might be. What matters is that it’s not the same type of general you are – you’re always at the front line, leading the charge. I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can,” his brother said. “By the time you’re in the middle of a charge, you’re not really thinking tactics anymore. It’s all just fighting, and I know you know all the moves, no matter how much you bitch and moan about having to practice them.”

Nie Huaisang glared, crossing his arms over his chest – his brother’s arms, his brother’s chest, and this was still just too weird. He hadn’t even had time to properly weep and cry and hug his brother the way he’d expected to in the event the time travel array worked; they’d had to jump straight into explanations and strategizing because there was a pretty big battle happening in less than twenty-four hours and they needed to fix this first.

His brother rolled his eyes at him, and for the first time Nie Huaisang realized that his brother was going to have no problem at all pretending to be him – the acting problem here went only one way. “Just let Baxia handle the aggression part, okay? The rest is muscle memory, and I, at least, have done enough to build that in.”

“Letting the saber spirit in like that is dangerous, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang reminded him, eyes narrowed. His brother was also assuming that Baxia would agree to be wielded by anyone other than her beloved master, which was a stretch – she barely even agreed to be sharpened by someone else, resisting violently whenever someone tried. 

Jin Guangyao had died still bearing the scars from his attempt. 

“Well, apparently I get murdered before it becomes an issue, so why worry?” his brother cackled, and Nie Huaisang glared harder. It had no impact whatsoever: Nie Mingjue stood up and stretched again. “You know what, Huaisang, if you’re feeling the need to sit around and pity yourself, you’ve got at least a few incense sticks’ worth of time to do it in before actually doing something becomes necessary – I, on the other hand, am going to do something productive with my time.”

“Like what?”

His brother grinned at him with teeth. “Saber training. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Nie Huaisang picked up a teacup and hurtled it at his beloved big brother’s head. Naturally, Nie Mingjue dodged, effortlessly, and left laughing.

“At least pretend like you’re going to behave!” Nie Huaisang bellowed after him, but his brother just waved at him, and – ugh. This was vengeance for a lifetime of laziness, wasn’t it? Coming to bite him in the ass.

After a few minutes, Nie Huaisang picked up another teacup – they always had dozens of them in the Nie sect, cheaply made in bulk and specifically designed to shatter easily because of the family tendency to throw stuff around and not calm down until something was broken, and better a cheap teacup than an expensive door or table, better something designed not to hurt anyone who happened to get in the way or didn’t know how to duck faster enough – and threw it against the door again.

It shattered beautifully. NIe Huaisang had only rarely been able to get it to do that, and never so effortlessly – the advantage of his brother’s strength.

Strength, and height. Nie Huaisang was tall now.

Okay, self-pity could wait until later. Nie Huaisang was going to go patrol the camp for a little bit and enjoy looking down at all the people.

It was going to be great.

It was, too. Even talking with people wasn’t as difficult as he thought it was going to be. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised at that; he had been sect leader for years, so he was accustomed to answering questions and making on-the-fly rearrangements and responding to things with leading questions that made the other person come up with the solution on their own, not to mention saying encouraging things that made people feel better about things. 

He’d had to do a lot of that, being the Head-shaker, and even more afterwards, when he’d shed his disguise like a cicada shedding its skin.

It was easier now than it had ever been before, of course. The Nie sect was still strong, under his brother’s leadership; his disciples didn’t have that discouraged look lurking in the back of their eyes, the shame of being led by the disgraceful Head-shaker. It was easy to brighten someone’s day with a nod in their direction, disciples blooming like roses at the sight of their stern sect leader looking approving, and the questions he received were far more intellectually stimulating than the usual – less about making sure he knew what he was supposed to do and more actual puzzles, things that had really tripped people up.

Nie Huaisang tried at first to keep his answers short, tried to pretend to be more stoic and stand-offish the way the famous Chifeng-zun ought to be, except when he did everyone just smiled at him the way they always had when he’d been the Head-shaker – a little indulgent, a little pitying, a little “well he’s trying his best” – and after a while Nie Huaisang started remembering things he’d long ago forgotten.

Things like how his brother was actually kind of a mess sometimes, emotionally speaking – he was the sort of person who got weepy over dramatic literature – and how he’d never quite gotten the hang of people, how he valued his friends like gold and held grudges way too long and promoted people just because they seemed decent; how he sometimes spent his entire money pouch and more on buying Nie Huaisang stupid trinkets because it seemed to make him happy, even borrowing money from their escort, which would always be doubled over laughing at how their fearsome sect leader couldn’t bring himself to say no.

Like how Nie Huaisang’s sect was his family, aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters, whether born in or adopted or just part of the sect. The good type of family – not always the closest, not always your friends, not always even people you really liked, but still all predisposed to take your side in a fight if it came down to it.

These were the people who supported him and stood behind him – even when he was the Head-shaker.

He’d almost forgotten.

And so, despite himself, Nie Huaisang softened a bit. He stopped trying to respond to everything with a grunt or a huff, started asking about people’s families, making suggestions, telling them they’d done a good job.

“Glad you’re out of your mood,” Nie Yongbiao, who’d been quietly trailing him, finally commented, and Nie Huaisang blinked owlishly at him. “What kicked it off this time? You usually only get that closed-mouth after having to host guests.”

And that was true, wasn’t it? It had been such a long time, and after so much trauma, that Nie Huaisang had forgotten how his brother used to shut down whenever there was a discussion conference or an important meeting – how it took him longer and longer to get better on the other side as the qi deviation drew nearer, his meridians filling with Jin Guangyao’s spiritual poison. By the end, he had barely ever been open and free, barely seemed to remember how to drop his guard and relax, to act like a regular person with a sense of humor again, be the person Nie Huaisang knew his brother to be. 

But that was then, and this was now - war had been good for Nie Mingjue, in a strange way. Here in the camps there was a lessened expectation of etiquette, a great appreciation of strength, and his brother was more free to be himself, straightforward and blunt as the off side of a saber.

(Nie Mingjue had tried so hard to be a good brother to Jin Guangyao, Nie Huaisang abruptly remembered, but he’d shut down after every visit, worse than ever before. His heart had known the truth, even if he had allowed himself to be convinced by Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang to keep giving Jin Guangyao second chance after second chance. He should never have listened to them.)

“Argument with Huaisang,” he said, a safe answer, and Nie Yongbiao nodded wisely.

“Can you say what it was about?” he asked, rather unexpectedly – Nie Yongbiao wasn’t exactly talkative, and no one ever pried about their family affairs. Catching Nie Huaisang’s surprised look, he shrugged. “He’s obviously very upset.”

“He is?”

“He’s at the training field,” Nie Yongbiao stressed, and Nie Huaisang had to choke down a hysterical laugh. Of course Nie Yongbiao would think that something must have gone horribly wrong to get “Nie Huaisang” to go willingly to train.

Nor was Nie Yongbiao the only one, for that matter: when Nie Huaisang arrived at the training field they’d set up in the middle of the camp, he saw an entire crowd of Nie sect disciples milling around at the edge of the field, bearing a suspicious resemblance to a flock of over-anxious quail.

He reached up to his face, pretending to want to pinch the bridge of his nose but actually to smother a smile, and luckily he had regained control of his features by the time he reached the edge of the small sea of disciples because they immediately all turned to him with relieved expressions, their cries of “Sect Leader! Sect Leader!” ringing in his ears like the coos of his pet birds.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, and immediately received the full story: Nie Huaisang had come to the field looking upset – one person insisted there had been tears in his eyes – and had set himself up against a practice dummy, and he hadn’t stopped whacking at it ever since.

Clearly, the world was ending.

“We had an argument earlier,” Nie Huaisang admitted, and managed, barely, not to laugh at how they all looked at him with disapproving eyes. “I’ll talk with him.”

Approving nods all around, although they didn’t disperse.

“Sect Leader,” one of the older generation said, very hesitantly. “If it’s about – the clan matter – if there’s anything we can do to help –”

Nie Huaisang shook his head, feeling touched. When it really had been him, his brother had kept the specifics of it secret – the tombs, the inevitability, the deterioration he was so avidly trying to put off – until it was too late, and he’d had to learn about it the hard way; it was nice, though, that they apparently all worried so much on his behalf about it.

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it. “But it’s a different issue.”

Namely, the issue was that the person doing the training wasn’t Nie Huaisang at all, he thought, but when the crowd finally started breaking apart, people going back to their assigned tasks, and he finally managed to make his way to where his brother was, he was surprised to see that his brother really did appear to be upset.

He wasn’t practicing any of his normal training routines, but rather wielding Aituan in the same way a novice woodcutter would wield an axe: repetitive strikes, made wildly and with too much strength, as if hitting the practice dummy was the only thing that could vent his feelings.

“Uh, ‘Huaisang’?” Nie Huaisang asked, worrying his lip as he came closer. “Are you –”

His brother dropped Aituan to the ground – which, hey! Watch it, that was his saber! – and turned, and Nie Huaisang had only a moment to see his glassy eyes before his brother threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight.

Nie Huaisang automatically responded, wrapping his arms back around and holding Nie Mingjue close – it was nice, he thought, to finally have the reach he’d always felt he should have, big and tall and enveloping in its warm the way his brother had been for him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice low enough not to carry. “Did something happen…?”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, but his lips were pressed together to keep them from trembling. Nie Huaisang’s body had always been free with his emotions, much to his annoyance; he’d learned to cultivate it into a disguise, but he hadn’t really liked it. Tears had never been a relief for him the way they’d been for his brother. “No, it’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously not nothing,” Nie Huaisang said firmly, and carted him off back to his tent. Being as worried as he was, he did his best not to be too smug about finally being the one who was strong enough to pick his brother up, rather than the other way around – not that he needed to, what with his brother following docilely along with him – but there was, perhaps, a little bit of smugness. “Okay, we’re back, silencing talismans are back up because we apparently have the nosiest disciples. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing, really…”

“Da-ge.”

“I left you alone,” his brother blurted out, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “For twenty years. Whatever I did, however I got murdered – some moment of carelessness – it doesn’t matter. I failed you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no– 

“No,” he said out loud. “No, da-ge, you were tricked – it wasn’t – it wasn’t your fault.”

“I always said I would hold up the sky for you,” Nie Mingjue said bitterly. “And instead I left you with the same inheritance that I received. I never wanted that for you, Huaisang. Never.”

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said helplessly. “Da-ge, you don’t understand. You were trying. You wanted – you were doing everything you could. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t fail me. I was the one who failed you. I’ve always failed you –”

“Never!”

“I’m lazy, I’m selfish, I’m good-for-nothing, a head-shaker –”

“So what?” his brother said, glaring up at him. His eyes were red, but with tears, not qi deviation. “Even if it’s true, which it isn’t, because no head-shaker could have avenged me, could have found a way to come back, could have become the Nie sect leader and kept it for two decades, even if it’s true – so what? As long as you’re safe, I don’t care. As long as you have a way to defend yourself, and you so obviously must have, then nothing else matters. Nothing has ever mattered but your happiness.”

“And yours,” Nie Huaisang shot back. “You have the right to a life too, da-ge! You – you should have had my support. You should have been able to share your burdens, I should have helped you instead of anchored you down –”

“Huaisang –”

Nie Huaisang pulled him in tight again. “It’ll be different, this time,” he promised, his voice rough. “I’m older than you ever go the chance to be, da-ge. This time, I can help you with the things you’re not good at – I can do the politics, the people. We can bear the weight of the sect together.”

He felt a whisper in the back of his mind that was strange and yet familiar, approving. Baxia, he realized. Baxia, approving of him; Baxia, who would let him wield her,   and he sensed her confidence that no one would get past her iron guard, together protecting his brother in both body and soul.

“All right,” his brother said. “Together. You and me – and the others.”

“Others?”

“After so many years, you must know who’s trustworthy,” Nie Mingjue pointed out. Already back to being practical, even if he was wiping his eyes. “If we tell those people, they can help us keep up the impression that I’m you and you’re me for as long as we need it.”

Nie Huaisang was nodding along, because that made sense, only then his brother said the last part and it was like a sunrise had opened up in his head, the way terrible and wonderful ideas always did.

“Da-ge,” he said, tasting the words in his mouth. “Da-ge, how do you like my body?”

His brother blinked up at him. “It’s fine, I guess? You’re actually in pretty decent shape, better than I thought, and your cultivation is – well, you could do a bit more with that, honestly, but it’s not uncomfortable or anything. Why?”

Nie Huaisang smiled. He’d always been remarkably resistant to their family’s cultivation curse, and not only, as he’d pretended to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji all those years ago, because he didn’t practice - it was his temper, or lack thereof, that softened the saber spirit’s effects on him. 

Even if his body’s cultivation increased, he was far enough behind the curve, with his mediocre talent, that it would take decades for him to reach the level that it would be dangerous to him, while his brother’s prodigious talent, coupled with his inheritance of the family temper, made him even more likely to succumb – it was that prediction which had worried him so much that he had sought out treatment even before it had become a serious problem, the same worries that had driven him into Jin Guangyao’s trap.

What do you think? he asked the brand-new whisper in his mind. Aituan would probably bitch and moan about having to actually do things, but he’d secretly enjoy getting a bit more evil-killing in; the question was Baxia. What would she think?

A purr of agreement.

“I was just thinking,” Nie Huaisang said. “Chronologically speaking, I’m older than you are. I ran the sect for years – it might be hard to let go of that habit. How about we just…stay as we are, for now?”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “Baxia –”

“I’ll use her in public, and Aituan in private,” Nie Huaisang interrupted. He’d known that would be his brother’s first concern. “And you’ll do the opposite. And when we’re settled enough, we’ll come up with some excuse to switch.”

His brother hesitated. “But…you don’t like doing things. Responsibility. That sort of thing.”

“I got over it,” Nie Huaisang assured him. “Trust me, I have a whole system – I’ll implement it once the Sunshot Campaign is done; you’ll be amazed at how much easier it makes things, and then all the things that are left over are the stuff I actually enjoy. And this way, you could…I…”

He swallowed, and put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. He didn’t want to manipulate his brother into something like this – he didn’t want to manipulate his brother at all. His brother deserved the truth and honesty he had always freely given the world, and so Nie Huaisang could only offer up the unvarnished truth.

“I want to do this for you, da-ge,” he said. “I want you to have the life you should have had. I want you to have hobbies again, to make friends, real friends that will put you first. I want you to have fun with them without thinking of how people might think about it…please, da-ge. I came back here to keep you alive, but I want more than that. I want to see you live.”

“Okay,” his brother said, and he was choking back tears again. “We’ll – we’ll discuss it later, but I’ll think about it. Okay.”

“Good,” Nie Huaisang said. “Now catch me up on the tactics we’re planning on using in tomorrow’s battle, and I’ll let you know everything I know about what happens in the future…oh, and one more thing.”

“Oh?”

Nie Huaisang’s hand dropped to the table, parallel to Baxia; he could hear her purr in his mind whistling like the rumble of thunder. He smiled.

“Can you tell me where Meng Yao is?”

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Love... and a soft place to land.

Request: Hey! can I request a Harry x reader where the reader finds out she's pregnant and going through the pregnancy with Harry? It can even be when they're still at Hogwarts if you want!

A/N: Thank you for the request!! I’ve written this post!Hogwarts as I don’t feel comfortable writing teen pregnancy (I hope you understand!) but nevertheless I hope you enjoy! The title is a quote from A Discovery of Witches, I use the full quote in the fic and I have put that in bold so you’re all aware. There’s loads of cute moments in this; I wrote it in one sitting and made myself cry at one point.

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: pregnancy, odd cravings, she/her pronouns, FLUFF - ALL THE FLUFF.

Word count: 2.3k

The two lines staring back you confirmed your suspicions.

The nausea being the main symptom that had you counting back the days to your last cycle. Realising the lateness had you leaving Harry in bed while your rushed to a muggle chemist, buying three tests. The chemist gave you soft smile as she rang them up, asking whether you’d be paying by cash or card. You tried to return the smile, but knew it was a watery one.

It wasn’t as if you and Harry were actively trying to avoid pregnancy, you just hoped you’d have a little more time to have him to yourself before sharing him with a son or daughter.

Rushing home, you find Harry still in bed, snoring away and utterly oblivious to the world.

You shut the door to the bathroom quietly in the hopes of not waking your husband. You’d have woken him sooner, but the idea of getting his hopes up for something he had wanted since he slid the golden ring onto your finger, only spurred you on to make sure you were pregnant.

Your heart soared and your stomach dropped as the two lines appeared on each test.

A knock on the bathroom door has you dropping the test still held in your hands.

“Love, you’ve been in there a while, is everything okay?”

You clear your throat, swallowing around the lump there, “I’m fine, love. I didn’t wake you did I?”

Harry chuckles, “No, I woke up when I rolled onto an empty side of bed. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You pick up the dropped test, placing it next to the others. Unlocking the door, you say, “You better come in.”

Harry wastes no time entering the bathroom. He scans the room quickly, checking for whatever the problem could be.

He does a double take at the sight of the pregnancy tests laid next to the sink.

His eyes do a circuit; the pregnancy tests, your face, then dropping to your stomach.

His eyes do this three times before he whispers, “Are you pregnant?”

You grin, handing him one of the tests, “It seems I am.”

“You’re really pregnant?” He asks again; disbelief lacing his voice.

“Yes Harry. I’m pregnant – you’re going to be a father.”

“How far along are you?”

“I’m not sure, I need to make an appointment with a Healer to make sure.”

Harry nods; the smile never leaving his face. He drops the test into the sink; his arms circling around you. “You make me unbelievably happy; you know that?”

You laugh, letting some tears fall. Harry kisses them away, “I think you’ve made me the happiest man in the world. I thought nothing could rival what I felt when I saw you walking down the aisle to marry me, but this. This is something else.”

“Harry Potter, you are a sap.”

He kisses you; long and languid – his happiness pouring into it. He pulls away; the both of you breathless. He drops to his knees before you, pressing kiss after kiss to your stomach. The sight of it has you crying again. Harry stands back up, pecking your lips once more before rushing out of the bathroom, “I’m going to make you an appointment at St. Mungo’s, I’ll be right back.”

You laugh to yourself; your hand dropping to curl around your lower abdomen where in nine months, a bump will be sitting.

You grin as you hear Harry’s excited chatter on the phone; ever grateful that St. Mungo’s installed phones a few years ago to make the booking of appointments easier.

You pass by him on your way to the kitchen to begin breakfast. Your hand runs across his shoulder, and the smile he gives you in reply is breathtaking.

Your earlier worry about this being too early in your marriage has now dissipated.

Now, you couldn’t wait to begin this journey.

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

Two months after you tell Harry your news and the elation has worn off, the panic begins to set in. You work through it logically; borrowing book after book from your local library, setting up appointments at St. Mungo’s with the help of Draco who offered as much advice as he could give – he’d had his son almost a year ago now; he was happy to help in any way he could.

Harry took it in his stride; coming to every appointment, following the progress of his unborn son or daughter. From the moment you told him, his heart had stretched wider to be able to fit the love he already felt for his unborn child. Harry thought it would burst the moment he heard his child’s heartbeat on the ultrasound. However, he couldn’t help but feel panicked. This baby was going to be loved, there was no doubt about it – it would have enough aunts, uncles, and cousins to never be bored and Harry already adored the baby with his whole being.

But he couldn’t ignore the nagging doubt stemming from the little voice in the back of his head. The voice had him doubting his abilities to be a father; after all, his own had died when he was fifteen months old and then Sirius was ripped from him at the Department of Mysteries – he had never gotten to truly know his godfather who was supposed to guide him through life in the absence of his own father. Every chance to have a father figure was ripped away by death, and it led Harry to question his abilities and his readiness.

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

It comes to ahead on blustery night in March, four months into your pregnancy. Harry lays beside you in bed; propping himself up on his elbow as he watches you eat your latest craving – cheese and onion crisps with a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate. His nose crinkles as he continues to watch you eat, but he’d make sure it was always available at a moment’s notice.

The room is quiet save for the rustling of the crisp packet. Harry runs a hand over his face; he hadn’t been sleeping well these past few night – his doubts keeping him awake until the early hours of the morning.

It’s hard to miss the panic settling in his blue eyes. You run a hand through his hair, asking, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Harry blinks away the tears forming, whispering, “What if I’m not a good father? I’ve never had a father figure to guide me.”

Your hand falls from his hair to his chin, where you grasp it, keeping his eyes on you. “You’re going to be a wonderful father, I know it in my bones,” You hum, “All children need is love, a grown-up to take responsibility for them, and a soft place to land. I know for a fact you can offer all three.”

He buries his face in your stomach, where a small bump has started to form, “I can’t be sure though,” he mumbles.

“Well, I’ll be sure enough for the both of us.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“If I remember correctly, you tripped me up in the corridor. Sent me flying into a statue.”

Harry snorts, thinking of the memory, “It was love at first sight.”

“More like I wanted to throttle you.”

“But you soon fell for my charms,” He flirts.

“How could I not? You were so apologetic, and you carried my books for the rest of the day – meeting me outside my classrooms. I’d fallen in love with you by the end of the day.”

“I could tell. I felt like the king of the world.”

“I bet,” You chuckle, “I knew Ron took the mick though didn’t he?”

“Of course, but I shut him up when I told him to make a move on ‘Mione.”

You laugh again; lapsing back into silence as you both return to thinking of the same memory.

“Are you feeling any better?” You murmur after the bout of silence, referring to his earlier panic.

He nods, shifting his position from laying on his side to sitting up against the headboard next to you. “We have each other through this.”

You take is hand, tangling your fingers together. “We have each other through this.”

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

Arthur Weasley is the one who takes Harry aside on a random Sunday in June.

At this point, you’re seven months along in your pregnancy and your son is making every effort to squeeze your bladder to the point it bursts. Harry isn’t ashamed to admit that he shed a few tears when told he was going to have a boy; it meant that he could take the reins his father and Sirius had left behind.

As you’re waddling to the bathroom at the Burrow, you overhear the conversation between Harry and Arthur.

“How are you feeling, Harry? How is (Y/N)?” Arthur asks. From your spot on the stairs, you can see through the railing that Arthur has his hand on Harry’s shoulder and a caring expression on his face.

“(Y/N) is great; taking it all gracefully.”

“And you?”

Harry sighs, “I don’t know how I feel. The closer we get to the due date, the more nervous I become.”

Arthur chuckles lightly, “I felt the same way with Bill… I felt the same with all of them.”

“Does it ever go away?”

Arthur shakes his head at your husband, “No, it doesn’t. You find new things to be worried about. But Harry, I’m here to help you. I know I’m not your father or your godfather, but I’ll help you in any way I can.”

Harry pulls Arthur into a long hug; surprising the patriarch of the Weasley family. When Harry pulls away, you can see the tell-tale signs of tears.

Harry sniffles, “You’re as good as, Mr. Weasley.”

Arthur sniffles too, “You’ve become a great man, Harry. You’re going to be a great father too. Molly is beside herself with excitement to meet the little one.”

You wipe the tears running down your own face, taking the final few steps to the bathroom where you blow your nose on some tissue.

Harry was going to be just fine.

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

The labour is long and intense, and for a while, there’s the worry that you’ll need to have an emergency c-section. Harry is by your side through it all; he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. He wipes your forehead with a cool cloth after each contraction; he holds your through each push – bones be damned if they break.

With a loud cry, your son enters the world just after midnight on a quiet night in August.

There are no words to accurately describe the feelings that coursed through his body when the midwife asked him to cut the cord. It was the first look at his son, and then and there, Harry made a silent vow to never let his son question his talents and abilities whatever they may be.

Wrapped in a pale blue blanket, he’s placed onto your chest with a cry. Immediately, the tears begin to fall down Harry’s face. Nine long months and his son has arrived; and you, you took it all so gracefully, sniffling slightly as you welcomed him into the world.

You hand Harry his son; being careful to make sure that the head is stable before letting yourself relax slightly into the hospital bed. The midwife hands you a cup of tea and a slice of toast, and you thank her gratefully for all that she has done for your new family. She pats you on the head before leaving, letting the new family have time to themselves.

You watch Harry with a tender expression on your face. He had been so worried for so long, but as you watch him walk his son around the room, murmuring to him absentmindedly, you know that he’s going to make a wonderful father. You never had any doubt about it.

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

A few hours later, there’s a small knock on the door and Hermione’s voice rings out, “Harry, (Y/N), it’s us. Do you mind if we come in?”

You nod at Harry, adjusting the babe at your chest. He opens to the door, being pulled into a hug immediately by Ron. Hermione enters the room with a bouquet of pale pink roses; your favourites. She sits the vase down on the other side of the room so as to not disturb the baby too much with the new smell.

Hermione tiptoes over to you, “I’m sorry we didn’t send an owl.”

You shake your head, “I wouldn’t want you stay away anyway.”

Tears line her eyes as Ron and Harry join you at your bedside. Your son gurgles, shifting in your arms, aware of the visitors here to see him. Hermione holds a hand to her mouth, eyes flickering to Harry, “He’s got your eyes, Harry.”

Harry nods, “I know. But he has his mother’s hair, and her mouth and nose.”

You hush your husband, “He’ll be the carbon copy of you, I know it.”

Silence falls in the room as the four adults continue to watch the new life slumber in his mother’s arms. He shuffles for a minute, finding a comfier position before settling back into his dreams.

You shift your gaze to Hermione, silent tears falling down her face. “Would you like to hold your godson?”

“Godson?” She whisper-asks, “Me?”

Harry places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing, “We want you and Ron to be godparents.”

Ron sniffles, reaching a hand up to wipe at his eyes. “Harry, mate, we’d be honoured.”

At those words, you hand your new-born son to his godmother who holds him like a pro. She dips her head down to sniff at his head; smiling at the new-born smell.

Hermione lets her tears continue to fall as she stares down at her new godson in awe. Ron’s arm is tight around her waist as he asks, “What name did you decide on?”

Harry’s voice breaks as he replies, “James Sirius Arthur Potter.”

*******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe​ @imboredandneedalife​ @levylovegood​ @mytreec​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @teheharrypotter​ @chaoticgirl04​

[gloryofluv]

Order Up! (Coffee Shop AU) Chapter 5

Well, I guess Alex is going through the motions. I am really starting to love how well-rounded this is getting. Flirty fics are fun, but they always need heart and perseverance!

Chapter

1 - 2- 3 - 4

Fuck. Why did she do that? Alex wanted to toss her phone but knew she couldn’t afford a new one yet. Memories. Social media keeps track even if you don’t. She was bundled on the ground of the bathroom she just cleaned and sobbed.

All she wanted to do was look at this real estate agent that Lucifer texted her. She glanced down at the picture of her and her mother while she was getting dressed for prom. Would she be upset that she was thinking of selling their home? Would she be proud? She felt so fucking alone.

There was a knock at the bathroom door, and she stuttered on a breath. Fucking get it together, girl. She wiped her face and nodded. “I’ll be out momentarily,” she said in a cheery tone.

Breathe. Stand up. Bitch, buck the fuck up, you’re at work. Alex listened to her inner dialog, turned on the water to the sink, cleaned her hands and face, and fixed her makeup. After she was satisfied, she picked up her tool tote and walked to the door with a plastered smile.

Solomon was on the other side of the door. “Hey, Alex,” he said with a curl to his lips.

“Hey, Sol, how are you doing?” she asked.

“Not horribly. I’m a bit stuck on this formula, but it’s bound to come to me,” he voiced while walking in step with her.

She rocked her head and shifted at the entrance to the counter. “Let me just go put this away and clock out. We can chat a minute after I’m off the clock.”

He rocked his head and leaned on the wall nearby. “Want to take a walk with me?”

She tilted her head and hummed. “Maybe.”

“Good, I’ll order, and we’ll head to the park.”

“Oh, good, we’re taking a walk to the park?”

Alex glanced over to see Satan wander over with his tea and pastry bag. “Oh, hey, Satan. I didn’t see you there.”

He tilted his head and gestured to his messenger bag. “I was grading pages.”

Solomon crossed his arms before touching his chin with his fingers. “You want to join us?”

Satan rocked his head. “A little fresh air would be great.”

“Okay, let me just go finish up,” Alex smiled and walked to the back of the shop. Well, it was quite the variation, but after how interesting her Sunday had been, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. She turned to the computer after putting the tote away and clocked out. Shaking out her body and taking off her apron and hat, she rolled her neck.

There was something to be said about the smears on her uniform. Alex stripped off her overshirt and straightened her purple tank top, and pulled out her ponytail. After checking her face in the mirror and reapplying a few touches on her eyeliner and lip gloss, she was ready.

Better. Alex smiled and collected her bag before marching to the front again. Solomon and Satan seemed to be in a discussion about the book in Satan’s hand. Their hand gestures only confirmed the estimation as Alex walked over to collect her drink.

“Hey, babes,” Jess hummed. “Do you think you could do me a favor and take my Friday shift, and I’ll take your Saturday one. It's closing, and I have a date.”

Alex rocked her head. “Yeah, I can. You never ask me to trade, so they must be pretty hot,” she teased.

Jess smirked and rocked her head. “Yeah, Mr. Macchiato, who comes in the evenings.”

“Nice, well, I hope you have tons of fun. Text Jordan and let him know, alright?”

Jess beamed and blew a kiss. “You’re a lifesaver for my social life, hun.”

Alex waved and met up with the two intellectuals holding their beverages. “I’m just saying that Dickens wasn’t as extraordinary as we make him out to be,” Solomon huffed.

“Oh, no, we’re on about Charles again?”

Satan laughed and shook his head as they walked out the door. “Just Solomon’s primary dagger.”

“Solomon, do you just enjoy debating?” Alex asked.

Solomon smiled and shifted his head from side to side. “Occasionally, but so does Satan, so we have a mutual understanding never to take it to blows.”

“I think the Brontë sisters are probably a staple for every woman,” Alex added to the conversation.

“And men,” Satan nodded.

“Very true, but we need to selectively decide what mannerisms are dated in order to value the interpretation,” Solomon voiced.

Alex smirked and raised her hand to her chest. “'Do you think I am an automaton? — a machine without feelings? And can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! — I have as much soul as you — and full as much heart!'” She paused after the quote and laughed. “Imagine declaring equality to a man who was higher in rank and stature than you in that time. The dated behavior is only setting.”

Satan let out a stream of hearty laughter. “Oh, Alex, I would have loved to have you in my class today. There was a sexist animal who was definitely in need of a strong female to set him straight.”

“My little Jane isn’t very plain,” Solomon chuckled and waved his hand.

“No, she isn’t,” Alex laughed before sipping her iced tea.

“I was referring to you,” Solomon hummed.

Alex smirked at him and shrugged. “I do pretty well, I suppose.”

Satan cleared his throat, drawing Alex’s attention to her left. “So, you realized that half your customers are my brothers.”

Alex rocked her head. “Yes, I was informed of that by Belphegor in a rather creative way.”

“I heard,” Satan laughed. “We all live together.”

“So I’ve heard,” she smiled.

“Interesting dynamic,” Solomon voiced. “All seven of them together.”

“They also throw some ridiculous parties,” Alex said and then waved her free hand in a circle. “From what I’ve heard.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I know you live across the street,” Satan snorted with a smug smile. “I’ve known longer than Lucifer.”

Alex gasped as they walked on the sideway in the park. “What?”

Satan chuckled and rocked his head. “Yes, I knew from Jordan. I was the one to buy his motorcycle.”

She shrieked and gasped. “Oh! That’s why I’ve seen it around the cafe.”

Satan wagged his eyebrows. “So yes, I’ve known for about four months. He pulled it out of your garage and brought it over. When I asked why he moved, he told me about your circumstance and why he was torn, but family comes first.”

“It does,” Alex smiled. “His mother was great to me when my parents died. She practically lived with me for the first six months. Then Jordan moved in, and he got me a job at the cafe. He’s always been like my big brother. So when his dad got injured at work and couldn’t work, I told him to move home to help.”

“How did you both meet?” Solomon questioned.

“Oh, that’s a funny story, actually. So, in middle school, he was a grade above me, and I was super shy. He saw me being harassed by some asshole. He stepped in and smoothed the situation. I was so shocked he was able to do so without violence. Jordan took me to the bathroom, cleaned me up, and told me that the only bitches in our life are the beautiful bitches we can be, so I needed to learn to walk like it. From then on, he just started pulling me into his antics,” she explained and laughed while shaking her head.

“You were shy?” Satan questioned.

Alex stopped drinking her tea and nodded. “I actually am in general. I took his advice to heart. I’m friendly and enjoy people, but I don’t have very many people I consider close with.”

“Is this why you aren’t dating anyone?” Solomon questioned.

Alex narrowed her eyes at him and smirked. “Yes.”

“Liar,” Solomon smiled.

“Wait, I really find this fascinating. You aren’t close to any family?” Satan asked.

Alex shrugged and hummed. “My aunts and uncles all live in different parts of the country. I was an only child, and now that my parents aren’t here, the only people I see are Jordan and his parents. Jordan’s sister left for a university across the country two years ago. I see them probably once a month.”

“You live alone? Like no one ever comes to knock on your door or calls your phone?” Satan questioned with a scowl.

“Well, I won’t be living there much longer,” Alex sighed. “I have to sell the place, so I’ll have to clear it out in the next couple of weeks. The financial officer, my parents, left in charge, said that the funds wouldn’t cover the expenses this next year, so it would be a good idea for me to sell.”

“Hm,” Solomon murmured. “I could help.”

“No,” Alex shook her head. “It’s time. I don’t need handouts, Sol. I appreciate it, but no.”

“Why do you feel like you have to do everything alone?” Satan asked as they rounded the outside of the park.

Alex breathed and shook her head. “It’s such a long story.”

“Your parents?” Solomon voiced.

This analysis was cathartic in a way, and Alex felt this heavyweight being pulled from her shoulders. “Well, yes and no. I was telling my mother before she passed that I was thinking of taking a year off to go with my boyfriend at the time to travel the world. She was so supportive, even though it would put my education in jeopardy. When they died, he bailed with some other girl, so I kind of just stopped relying on others.”

Satan tutted and exhaled. “To be an idiot teenager who couldn’t handle grief. I’m sorry you had to go through that, especially at such a young age.”

Alex smiled and shrugged as they made their way back to the cafe. “I’m pretty good. I have a degree. I’ll have a decent nest egg to pay for my schooling for an even better education and my best friend. I’m doing pretty well.”

“I have an intrigue before we conclude our adventure into your life,” Solomon hummed.

Alex tilted her head as she grinned at him. “What’s that?”

“You are strong without someone, but it makes it so much richer to share your heart with others,” Solomon declared.

“Says the man who has done his fair share of that,” Satan snorted.

Solomon rolled his eyes. “Satan, don’t cast stones in glass houses.”

“You have been married three times now,” Satan snorted.

News. Alex raised her eyebrows. “Three times? Aren’t you like barely forty?”

“I resent that,” Solomon scowled. “No, I am not. However, marriage and love are difficult measurements in a formula very few understand. I’m difficult.”

“I actually like that about you,” Alex laughed.

Satan scowled as they stopped at the sidewalk near the cafe. “You enjoy that he’s difficult, but you won’t text me?” he questioned with a sly smile.

She puffed and pulled his phone from his bag’s pocket. It was sticking out and available. Alex then went to his keypad, dialed her number, and pressed the call. Her phone soon rang, and she hung up.

“Now, you have my number. Stop trying to make me do all the work, you pushy professor,” she snorted and handed his phone back.

Satan was grinning as he pocketed his phone. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Solomon handed her his phone, and she groaned but did the same exact thing. “If you both call me all the time, I will block your number,” she teased.

“If you need any help with your house, please tell me,” Solomon nodded. “I am quite organized.”

“I will,” Alex smiled.

Solomon tossed his cup in the trash and smiled before walking to his car. Alex watched him wave and climb inside before driving off in the silver vehicle. Satan shifted and tilted his head when she turned back to him.

“Did you want to have dinner with me tonight? I’ll cook,” Satan offered.

“Just because we’re temporarily neighbors does not mean I’m a booty call, understood?” Alex questioned.

Satan snorted and straightened his shirt. “You’re far too interesting to blow on a booty call, Alex.”

“Just had to make it clear. I would take your offer for dinner, but I’m actually exhausted. Diavolo came in for a coffee tasting, and I hosted it. Since then, I’ve just been drained.”

Satan rocked his head. “Well, I’ll ask tomorrow then,” he smiled and shrugged. “You’ll eventually say yes,” he chuckled and walked over to the motorcycle.

Alex smiled and observed as he slid on his helmet, waved, and climbed on the bike. Bad boy, professor. Pretty sexy. That tickled her to no end. He pulled out with a roaring shift of gears and headed in the same direction she needed to go. Home. Even if it was just for now.

@rsmrymnt-tea @otome-scribbles

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 4: Anxceit

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 4: There is a trail of color only you can see that marks out where your soulmate has been.

Content warning: parental death from heart attack (none of the sides), homophobia, religious themes regarding said homophobia, concert, minor sensory overload (Virgil is technically autistic but it’s not explicit).

Word count: 3.3k

The last thing Janus Natter had ever wanted to do was return to his hometown. 

It only held bad memories that stemmed from living in a small town, of homophobia and school bullies and dirty looks from neighbours. Granted, he’d never actually been kicked out of his home after coming out, but word spread like a wildfire and the people in his neighborhood weren’t the most open minded. His mom didn’t talk to him; she blamed herself, and there were all too many nights he walked past her room and heard her praying and crying for the repentance of her baby boy.

So the moment he turned eighteen, he was out of there. Waved goodbye to the woman who stiffened every time he tried to hug her and moved halfway across the country, starting a new life for himself in a rundown apartment and a minimum wage intern job and not regretting it for a second. Everything seemed better for a while. A promotion followed a couple years after, and his apartment was upgraded to one that actually had a separate kitchen and dining room so he wasn’t eating on the counter anymore. Until he got a call from one of his aunts at three am, four days after Christmas.

Obviously, he cried when his mom died. He broke down as soon as he hung up the phone, sitting on the edge of his bed and letting the news slowly integrate into his system. Sure, they hadn’t had the best relationship, but she’d been a great mom up until he admitted the truth that drove a wedge between them. And he’d never really blamed her, knowing his own internal homophobia would only be heightened in her. But it still hurt that she hadn’t reached out whatsoever when she was put into the hospital after the first heart attack. Maybe he would have been there when the second one hit and been able to save her. Or at least say goodbye.

The funeral was rough. None of his family bothered to talk to him, and the one little cousin that ran up to give him a hug was swiftly pulled away. Not like he was expecting much else, but c’mon. It’s not infectious. At least no one commented on him crying again. 

He was on the first flight back out, and after a couple days off work to recenter himself, things seemed to back to normal. It wasn’t as if any part of his daily routine was disturbed. He wasn’t missing any motherly catch up calls, no little packages, no life advice, that he’d never gotten before, so it was almost easy to pretend that nothing had changed. Until he got another call. 

This time it was his uncle, calling in the middle of his work day, to tell him that he needed to come back home and clear out his mom’s house. He was reluctant at first. Why couldn’t someone else do it? What was so important that he had to do it? But the family seemed determined to distance themselves from the house as much as possible, and when his uncle insisted that “we’re all still in mourning, Janus,” as if to imply he wasn’t upset at the death of his own mother, he hung up the phone with a curt agreement to come back as soon as possible. He later got a text that stated the house was going to be put on the market in the coming week, so he needed to get there soon. 

That’s what led to him exiting a cab three days later in front of his childhood home, suitcase in hand, with a disgruntled expression. The house was much less threatening than it had always seemed when he lived there, unassuming and indistinguishable from the other houses on the block, but the memories of lonely nights of crying himself to sleep and craving a hug from his mother were at the forefront of his mind. You’re never going to get another hug from her. He quickly snapped out of it before the tears could rise, thanking the cab driver and walking up to the front door. 

His mother had taken his key when he left, claiming it was to give to a neighbour to water her flowers when she went on a cruise or something equally far fetched, but Janus figured she just wouldn’t want to be surprised by him visiting. This was, afterall, the first time she’d been free from his disappointing presence in years. Luckily, they’d always kept a spare under the plant by the door, now wilted and crusty and dropping leaves when he leaned it over, hand slapping the concrete underneath.

Nothing.

He picked it up off the ground entirely, sweeping the ground directly under it and then scanning the surrounding area with growing irritation. Had someone taken it after the funeral? How the hell did they expect him to get into the house? Oh yeah, come clean the house but we’re gonna take the key! Fuckers. 

A loud crash from behind the door startled him enough to drop the plant, the ceramic pot smashing on the stairs. Whoops. Another sound from inside, something that sounded like a chair scraping on the tiled kitchen floor, and Janus realized with mounting horror that the front door was open a crack. His family had all claimed to not be able to even come near the place, so… Fantastic. Someone had broken into a death house and he was going to have to deal with it. 

The wise choice would have been to call the police. 

So Janus pushed the door open and walked in, ignoring the sudden flurry of memories in favor of following the source of the noise. 

“Hello?” Yeah, smart, Janus, that always works in the horror movies!

Another scrape in the steadily approaching kitchen, accompanied by muffled swearing. As an almost last thought, Janus picked up the first small object he could feel on the entry table, acknowledging its heft and hoping it would be a suitable weapon without taking his eyes from the hall. Here goes nothing.

Then, in a move to top all stupidity, he turned into the room in a whirl, hoisting the weapon above his head, ready to beat down on whoever was rifling through his dead mother’s drawers. Only to freeze.

“Remus?”

“Janus, what the fuck!” The statement was said with a surprising amount of glee. Remus was the only person he knew who could turn swears into something joyful. 

Janus turned his gaze to the floor and the chair Remus was standing on, surrounded by a pile of glass shards. It looked to be the remnants of the entire glass collection, if the amount was anything to go by. Remus gave another shuffle of his chair, the loud shriek sounding again, as he tried to scooch closer without stepping on the shards in his bare feet.

“Why are you holding a banana?” 

It took him a solid second to process Remus’ question before he looked down at his own hand, his fingers curled around the metal banana from the decorative fruit bowl in the entry. 

“No reason. Why are you in my house, destroying my dinnerware?”

“Help me not step in glass and I’ll tell you.”

Finding a broom was easy; it was still in the same place it always had been before he left. Cleaning the glass took longer, what with Remus’ flurry of questions and Janus’ focus between answering him, sweeping, and not whacking Remus on the head with the broom handle. Apparently it didn’t take long for him to become annoying again.

Still, the grinning man had been the one and only reason he’d had trouble saying goodbye to the town, the only person who still gladly befriended him after coming out. He hated to admit how much he’d missed him.   

When the floor was clear, Remus hesitantly stepped down off the chair, wiggling his toes on the ground.

“Why did you take your shoes off when you came in? It’s not like anyone’s gonna be pissed if you track mud in anymore.”

“I didn’t wear any.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

Remus shared a softer look with him, the manic smile drooping, “Hey, I’m sorry about your mom. That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” Was Janus’ incredibly eloquent response. He shook his head, and Remus accepted the subject change with no questions, “So why are you here?”

“Well, I heard you were coming to clear the place out eventually, so I thought I’d get here early and start. Help you out.”

“And…”

“... And snoop around a little bit.”

“There it is.”

“Not like, bad stuff! Just… I don’t know. Deep, dark, family secrets.”

Janus sighed, taking in the kitchen for the first time since entering. “The biggest secret this family tries to hide is me.”

“Dark.”

“Mmhm.” He gasped as two arms suddenly wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into the most physical contact he’d had in… years.

“Welcome back, Natter.”

“Yeah, well,” He cleared his throat of voice cracks before continuing, “I only got two days off work. So I’m not staying long. I somehow need to completely clear this place out in 48 hours,” He ran a hand down his face, pulling away from the hug reluctantly, “You wouldn’t actually be interested in helping, would you?”

It was more of a statement than a question, but Remus ignored it completely. “You’re only here two days? Inconceivable!”

“You’ve been watching Princess Bride again.”

“We gotta hang out!” The pleading expression on Remus’ face was almost enough to sell him on the idea.

“Weren’t you listening? I literally don’t have the time.”

“I’m going to a concert tonight in Brookton. Come with me!” Remus continued as if he hadn’t spoken, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Just one night, Jan. Pleeeease? I’ll even come here and help you the rest of the time.”

With an affectionate snort, he shook his head, “As fun as that sounds, I’m broke.”

“I can get you in.”

“You’re not paying for me.”

“Who said anything about paying?”

Janus raised an eyebrow, though it was more like how a parent would scold a child than surprise. They’d always gotten into trouble together as kids, and this was just… a level up, in a way. Not that he condoned it.

“I know one of the security guards. He’s one of my hookups, and he happens to owe me a favor or two.”

  Wait. “You’re gay?”

“Shit, I didn’t tell you?!” Remus shrieked, grabbing Janus’ hand and dragging him to the front door, key waving in his face, “I’ll tell you all about it on the way. C’mon, it’s an hour drive.”

Well, looks like he didn’t have a say in it. And he’d be lying if he claimed he hadn’t missed hanging out with his old best friend… or just a friend at all, really.

“Fine, but you’re stopping by your place to grab shoes!”

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

It wasn’t a small venue by any means. It wasn’t Beyonce big, but enough to know that if he lost track of Remus, he’d be fucked. In his rush out the door so soon after a morning of traveling, he’d forgotten his charger and his phone was conveniently dead. Janus kept a careful eye on Remus, following the bob of his neon green and black jacket through the crowd and only distantly wondering what band they were actually about to see. The gremlin kept pushing through, ignoring the annoyed shouts of people he shoved, leaving Janus to hastily apologize each time as he followed in his wake.

When Remus slowed just for a moment, stretching on his tiptoes to find a good spot over the sea of heads, Janus lunged forward and grabbed his sleeve. The taller man raised an eyebrow.

“As fun as it would be to get lost, I’m not in the mood.”

“Ah,” Remus’ eyes settled on a spot near the stage, one that Janus couldn’t see being a head shorter than him, “Good timing. Hang on tight.”

And hang on he did, because Remus fully embodied the physicality of a snow plow and plunged back into the crowd with new ferocity. Janus just closed his eyes and blindly let himself be led, letting the bubbling breathiness of a laugh escape his mouth. It had been too long since he’d just been able to have fun like this, without the threat of work and bills in his peripheral. The chatter was deafening in the best way possible, drowning out his worried thoughts, and the flashing lights that were still visible through his closed eyelids was invigorating. The promise for more elated him. 

When Remus finally stopped, Janus didn’t get the memo on time and ran into his back full force. He grunted and opened his eyes, focused on his throbbing nose, before realizing how close to the stage they really were. The taller man was staring down at him, grinning maniacally, seemingly impressed with their placement as well. 

Then a flash to the side caught his attention, and his throat went dry.

“Remus, look me in the eye and tell me you see that.”

His eyebrows scrunched in confusion before he followed Janus’ line of sight, seeing nothing but the dense crowd. “See what?”

“The light, the light trail…” Janus inhaled sharply through his nose, grip on the other’s sleeve tightening, “It’s my soulmate. He’s here somewhere.”

“Your soulmate? Seriously?”

“Yeah, I…”

“Well, fuck! You’re welcome, eh, Natter? I told you you should have come!” He gave Janus’ arm a light punch, smile widening. “Go find him!”

Janus seemed hesitant, eyes flickering between Remus and the deep purple light trail, weaving between the people and heading towards the back of the venue. “How will I find you again after?”

“That’s a problem for future you. Go, you idiot!”

“Okay, okay! I’m going! Just don’t leave without me!”

He was off before he could hear Remus’ answer, ducking under raised arms and trying his hardest to follow the quickly dissolving trail. Now that he had his eye on it, it had decided that it was time to disappear, and he was quickly losing sight of it. 

No, scratch that, it was definitely getting brighter now. And more concrete around the edges, instead of fading out. Was he close? He weaved past another small group of people, eyes following the purple line until-

There.

Holy shit.

He was stunning, that was the first thing Janus noticed. The purple trail stopped at him, covering him with a faint lilac aura before fading completely, content with it’s work. At first he thought the slight tint to the other’s hair was left over from the soulmark, before the lights switched and he realized, no, his hair was dyed purple. The most eye catching thing, though, besides his makeup, was the bulky pair of… were those headphones on his ears? At a concert? Granted, it hadn’t started yet, but still.

Apparently he was standing in one place for too long amongst the constantly moving hoard of people, and his stillness got the attention of the boy in front of him. He gasped sharply when they made eye contact, shocked from what Janus assumed to be the soulmark that probably surrounded him. And then he started hyperventilating. Bad.

“Shit! Okay, hey, calm down, okay? It’s fine-”

He was cut off by a loud riff of an electric guitar, almost immediately drowned out by the screaming fans that surged forward like a tidal wave. The boy in front of him curled in on himself, hands pressing into the headphones around his ears in an attempt to drown out the noise. Despite his more cautionary side, Janus reached forward and took his arm, guiding him gently towards the door.

“Let’s go outside and talk, alright?”

Maybe following a stranger outside alone wasn’t the smartest idea but… Virgil had seen the soul mark, a gentle yellow glow around this man that quickly dissipated, leaving behind a man sharing an equally shocked look on his face. So that had to mean he wasn’t totally bad, right? Either he was his soulmate or some kind of guardian angel, and neither of those were necessarily bad options. 

As soon as they stepped outside the main arena, it was as if the tight band around Virgil’s chest loosened. Not gone completely, but enough that he could catch his breath. He reached up and pulled his ear defenders off his head, relieved that the quiet was enough that he didn’t need them anymore. They were definitely a life saver, but sometimes the way they muffled noise was indescribably uncomfortable as well.

The man noticed his immediate relief, letting go of his guiding arm and slowing his pace so Virgil could walk beside him. 

“I’m Janus.” 

“Virgil.”

In a blur, they ended up outside the venue, sitting on the curb directly outside the main doors. Virgil was fiddling with his ear muffs, eyes trained on the inky darkness surrounding them. Besides the dull resounding of the bass echoing from inside and steady stream of traffic just out of their view, it was reasonably quiet.

“So, you live in Brookton?” Janus finally broke the comfortable silence, leaning back on his hands.

“Yeah. Not for long, though.”

“Oh?”

“Planning to get out soon. Don’t know where, don’t know how. But I’m not much of a ‘small town’ guy.”

“Brookton counts as a small town?”

Virgil hummed, finally placing the head gear down beside him and closing his eyes, breathing in the smell of fast food from the variety of food trucks around the area. It was a strange cacophony of oil and salt, oddly enticing even if just the scent was enough for his skin to break out. 

“What about you? From around here?”

“Sort of?” He explained his story in as few words as possible, flying over his mom’s general unacceptance and her death, and the fact that he had to clean out her house in two days. “Less than that now, I guess. One and a half. It’s gonna be hell.” His head fell into his hands, fingers rubbing at the temples as if to soothe the headache he was expecting.

Virgil was a good listener, nodding along to the right parts and avoiding those stupid sympathetic looks he was so tired of. It was a nice relief to actually feel listened to, not pitied. 

“My parents are kind of similar. It doesn’t feel like I have much to complain about, though, because… I mean, they didn’t kick me out. Don’t openly hate on me. But it still sucks. They don’t even acknowledge me half the time.”

“Exactly! And then you see people who have it worse, and it makes you feel like a piece of shit for feeling upset!”

“Good match, universe.” Virgil flopped onto his back, purple hair splayed out on the concrete. “It’s the subtle homophobia for me.”

“Ah, you’re a ‘meme person’.”

“Sucks for you, you’re stuck with me now.”

“I’ll manage,” Janus joined him on the ground, suddenly disgusted that he was still in the same outfit that he’d flown in today. He hated the smell of plane, and he must reek of it. But Virgil didn’t seem to mind his general disheveled appearance as he made an abstract comment about the moon being full today, and how that generally meant bad things. Janus made the mistake of asking him what he meant, which turned into a full blown lecture on mythology and cryptids, one that Virgil didn’t have the capability to control. It made him smile though, seeing the emo so utterly delighted to explain it, and he realized with a start that he was going to get to enjoy this man for the rest of his life. Two people who could talk, matched with a person who loved to listen equally as much. Virgil had been right. Good match, universe.

[wonderwomanfantasy]

Today. Tomorrow. Forever.

no one liked the first part but fuck you a part two 

part one

Dabi x reader (we’ll get there)

warnings: Drinking, abuse, cannon divergence, swearing, spooky stuff

word count: 2,000 (about)

summary: the longer you stay with these ghosts the less you feel like yourself, as if something else had taken your place. 

“Shoto, can we talk?” you asked quietly, as he poked at his bowl of cereal. Everything had seemingly gone back to normal, the only evidence that last night had even happened was the marks left around your throat. He shook his head and you sighed. 

“Shoto, we have to talk about last night,” you said. His cheeks went hot with shame. 

“I-I’m sorry please don’t be mad,” he pleaded tears filling his eyes. You blanched not knowing how to deal with this. 

“No, No I’m not mad Shoto,” you reassured him, he didn’t calm down. 

 “It’s my fault!” he shouted putting his face in his hands. 

“Sweetheart no,” you tried again, then on impulse you added “I won’t leave,”  he sniffled and looked up at you. 

“You’re going to stay?” he asked.

“Yeah I’m not going anywhere,” you said, reaching out to him, he winced and you didn’t touch him, not completing the action waiting for him to come to you, eventually he did. Giving you his hand to squeeze reasuringly. 

“What happened lastnight wasn’t your fault, and it’s not going to scare me away.” you declared patting his soft cheeks dry with a napkin. 

“Does that kind of thing happen a lot?” you asked and he nodded. “And did something like that happen and the last nanny got scared away because of it?” you asked and he nodded. 

“The last three,” 

“Well, Not me, that mean old ghost isn’t anything I haven’t delt with before,” you said in an effort to sooth him. 

“He’s not mean- not most of the time anyways,” Shoto defended. “He just gets mad sometimes and it’s scary but he wouldn’t hurt me,”  this supprised you, and you couldn’t help but not believe him. Even if this ghost loved him, even if this ghost was family, it could still hurt him. 

“Do you know his name?” you asked. Shoto crossed over to you and cupped his hands around your ear before whispering in that loud breathy way children whispered. 

“Toya,” 

You didn’t plan on doing much that day, both of you too shell shocked for chit chat about books or a trip to the movies but you were saved from having to do any planning by a loud ringing of the door bell. 

It made you jump. Anyone who worked at the home just came and went as they pleased, as did Enji, and any pakages came through the back door. You realized this must be the first time you’d heard the door bell rung. Shoto looked equally puzzled. 

“Do you want to go see who it is?” you asked and he nodded sticking out his hand for you to take hold of. The two of you went down stares and just as you reached to forer  you saw a white haired man about your age being welcomed in. 

“Natsuo!”  Shoto called out dropping your hand to rush to the man. Natsuo laughed and crouched catching Shoto in his arms and whisking him up in a tight hug. 

“Hey kiddo!”  he laughed happily than turned to you. 

“Sorry for the unannounced visit, If I had had your number I would have called you,” he said, you offered him a tight smile. As bad as you were dealing with children you were even worse with your peers. 

“No truoble at all, I’m (y/n) the nanny,” you said taking the hand he offered you and shaking it furmly. 

“Natsuo, i’m the older brother,”

You warmed up to Natsuo quickly. It was hard not to like him when Shoto was so clearl thrilled to see him.  He seemed like a good guy and you spent the day playing with hot wheeles with the two of them. You even let Shoto stay up passed his bedtime so he could spend somemore time with his brother, and when he was too sleepy to keep his eyes open any longer, Natsuo put him to bed.  

“Can I get you a drink before you leave?” you offered. 

“I’d love that,” he said. The cook had already left for the day, but you could manage yourself just fine. You poured him a glass of wine, then a glass for yourself, you both stood around the counter drinking and talking in hushed tones together. 

“I’m surprised you took the job honestly,” he said, now just taking a quick swig form the wine bottle before passing it to you so you could take a drink too. 

“I needed it,” you admitted. 

“Still, there are better places to work, better people to work for,” he said bitterly. 

“To be fair, I don’t know your father as well as you do,” you siad.

“But you heard the rummors right?” 

“Just the ones that this place is haunted.” He scoffed, taking another drink. 

“That all is bullshit, I’m talking about what people say about dad,” 

“That I haven’t heard,”

“Well they aren’t rummors you know? T’sall true. He beat our mom until she went nuts and killed his own son. Everyone knows he did it too, but he’s got that rich bastard money so all his problems dispeared,” he spat drunkenly. There was an uncomfortable pause after that, you weren’t sure what to say after that, and Natsuo seemd to realized he’s killed the mood. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

“It’s okay, can you tell me about your brother?” you asked. Natsuo shrugged. 

“He’s a good kid, but you know that, Shoto’s a good kid.”

“Sorry, not Shoto, your other brother,” you pried furhter. He sighed deaply. 

“Toya was a mother fucker.” he said stuggling to think of anything else. “But I loved him. He was, mean and a son of a bitch but we were thick as theives growing up, he faught with dad alot, but I loved him.” He told you. It wasn’t much to go on but you guessed you should be glad that you had gotten that much. 

“Fuyumi was the smart one she always had her nose in some book but we’d pull her hair to get her to chase us… god I miss her i’should call er,” he mumbled to himself. 

“Natsuo do you want me to call you a cab? You probably shouldn’t be driving,” 

“That be great, thank you.”

You called the cab. And saw Natsou off. And then you were alone, in this large house that felt so small. You turned off the lights in the house, as much as you hated to do so, and started to make your way upstairs. You gripped the hand rail tightly, and looked down at your feet making sure they landed firmly on the stair each time before you trusted your leg with your weight. 

You were drunk, although not as drunk as Natsou and your vision blured slightly around the edges. There was a low groaning sound as the house settled and you stopped for a moment resting your head agains the railing. You were too drunk to deal with any ghosts right now. 

“Please don’t” you said softly, hoping in vain that if someone was listening the would grant your plea. You straightend. Getting dizzy from the sudden head rush, and kept marching up the stairs. You felt your way down the hall using the walls as guidance to your room. Your sad room that felt so small. 

 You needed a shower you decided and stumbled to the bathroom. You took off your shirt, then your pants, then your undergarments. You looked at yourself in the mirror there was another person in the mirror. Ablurry second you. Naked, ecept for your silver locket, thick purple bruises still on your neck. 

You could see there were scars running down your chest and arms from the last time you had taken the locket off. But this time is different. You thought. She’s gone, she can’t hurt you anymore. You felt like you were going to throw up, but whether it was the alcohol or the thought of your mother it was hard to tell. 

Quickly you turned on the watter and stepped into the shower embracing the ice cold spray. You took a shuddering breath and balled your hands into fists. 

You had been devastated when your mother died. Your father had left before you were born and she was all you had. Of course, she was dead, but not gone. It was hard to ignore her screaming and thrashing at her own funeral, demanding that people look at her, see her. But you had to pretend that she wasn’t there. After all, no one else could see her. You had been gifted the locket the next day, and moved in with your Aunt the day after that. 

And your mother followed. Sometimes, you talked with her, sometimes you ignored her. Sometimes she kept quiet and let you ignore her, but often she didn’t. It had been horible watching her spirit wither away, litterally loseing pieces of her self day by day. You had just been a child, you hadn’t known any better. You were just scared of losing your mom. 

When your mother possessed you, it set her back to normal, at least for a little while, all her peices were there. And she was so happy everytime too, so proud of you. She would smile and tell you how wonderful it was to eat again, to sing and be seen, all the things living people take for granted. It was awful everytime, to be ejected from your body and losing chunks of time and memory, you could still rembebr how empty it all felt. 

But it made her so happy, and it ment you wouldn’t have to say goodbye. It became easier and easier for your mom to take over, until she just had to touch your locket to be in control of you while your own contious slipped away. She had started taking over more and more often too. 

It was awful, you had just wanted to be in your own body for a single day so you took your locket off. 

You flipped the watter from cold to hot, deciding that you had sobered up enough and wanting a bit of comfort. You set the water so hot that it burned, but burned in a good way. You breathed in the steam and watched your fingers prune before finally turning off the shower. You towled off and looked at your self in the mirror again. Just one you this time. 

It was late, nearly one in the morning. But you weren’t ready to turn in yet. You slipped on your robe and started padding around the halls. The robe was soft and a deep wine red color. You had never had a robe before, let a lone felt the need to use one, but it had come with the job, provided for you like the soap and the toilet paper. 

The house was stil dark, still empty. Quiet and still except for the sound of your foot steps, your wet feet sticking slightly to the hard wood floor and pealing off of it with ever step. It didn’t take long for you to get lost, it never did, but you didn’t mind. You just wandered, deaftly poking the bruises on your neck to feel the sting. 

Part of the hall way was illuminated by moonlight streaming through a glass door. You looked out and saw a balcony that you had never seen before. You reached out and touched the door nob. Unlocked. 

You opened the door and stepped out into the crisp air night, the cold concrete felt good on your feet as the night breese fluttered your still damp hair. It was a full moon tonight. You could see hundreds of starts above you in the sky, the mansion was so far out from the citty that light polution wasn’t a problem. 

 The stone parapet was thick enough to sit on, so you did, letting your legs dangle over the edge. It was so far down. You noted, then wondered what floor of the house you were even on. Where exactly where you anyway? You kicked you feet back and forth watching them swing above the courtyard. 

And when you looked up, the ghost from last night was there. Standing in the air. He gave you a small two-finger salute. Then he spoke

“Hello there.”

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Thursday 12 October 1837

7 ¼

2

fine morning F52° now at 8 ¼ - sunny fine morning – ½ hour with A- while she breakfasted then out – (A- had Mr. Horner at 10) – breakfast at 9 with Mr. Gray – then had Mr. Jackson from Mr. Duncan tailor who brought grooms suit – paid him for it – and desired to have a bill of particulars that I might know what should be gone upon in future – had Mr. Holt between 10 and 1 – approves my plan – as H- went away about 11 ½ had Mr. Parker about the hotel for the people from the Golden lion in George street H-x – would I divide it – let off the stables or part of them and perhaps the great room separately no! would I take £300 a year no! Inquired about Butterworth end – reserve bidding £1400 – Mr. Haigh had offered about £1300 but now would have nothing to do with it – P- would take £1300 and wished me to buy it – no! asked if he knew whether Miss Marian was likely to settle at H-x or not – he thought not – the report had died away – I asked P- to see Aquilla Green and get me off the agreement about the corn mill – Mr. Wheatly came before P- went away – to give Mangnall (A-‘s new horse) a dose

SH:7/ML/E/20/0144

of physic (to be sent for tonight) and see him on Monday when he ought to be fit for A- to ride – Coates to come tomorrow about riding Felix and training him for harness – should have him out 2 hours a day (never exceeding 3 hours) for a fortnight – price 30/. or 40/. Mr. Macaulay had paid W-‘s commission on purchasing Magnanll – had given W- 10/. – said I should have had to pay him 20/. – usually charged 20/. per horse for buying and selling – Mr. Jubb came a little before 2 and staid near an hour – A- the better for his medicine  - shewed him Mr. Harper’s birds eye view of the Northgate ground laid out in exchange and cattle market – J- admired the drawing –speaking of the Infirmary owned that before all was complete, the expense would be above £6000 remembered that I had told him it would cost £6000 – I said Mr. Harper’s design would literally have cost less – at 2 50 off to walk with A- and left her at Cliff hill gate end of the footpath in the Crownest carriage road at 3 40 – walked leisurely home and back at 4 ½ - out about till came in at 6 ¾ - John Booth brewed today – 1st time in the new brew house – 1st time since the old brew house was pulled down above a year ago – Booths’ men busy today as yesterday about the flower garden cistern – the cistern placed this morning – perhaps the job may be finished by tomorrow night – the hay-barn roof in progress of putting on since yesterday morning – Nelsons’ men going on with the walling along the kitchen court (east side) and Parkinsons’ at the terrace walling up to opposite the cistern, and 5 or 6 at the laundry court wall – Amos at the foot path steps down to the gateway – Edward, and Mark at the gateway – James and Robert Sharpe (as yesterday) at the hay barn roof helping the carpenters Robert and Richard the inside York Joiners took down the hatchment to the memory of my aunt this afternoon – and A- and I went out of mourning this morning – dinner at 7 20 – coffee asleep – read the paper – George returned about 9pm from Royston after taking back the bay horse yesterday told him he was to go back into the stable – and not be taken at all into the house – came upstairs at 10 20 – ½ hour with her talking over household etc. thought our whole establishment here would be kept up for a thousand a year as it is at present – or rather including footman and groom and gardener under ditto and John Booth and 1 farming man and Oddy and Cookson and housemaid and kitchenmaid – 3 saddle horses and 2 farm ditto and one gin horse, and one cow – very fine day – F52à at 10 ¾ and then till 11 20 wrote the whole of the above of today – Holt much approved my plan of turning Listerwick pit into engine pit, and sinking an air pit next the road at the low end of Charles H-‘s northwood end field – Listerwick pit to be sunk to the middle band stone if possible to see what quantity of water we shall have to pump – then drive one gate in the upper bed old works to the air pit – must be walled and arched – will be done at 4/6 per yard – length = about 150 yards – a 4 horse engine – the 2 heads in the low bed will soon be driven and we may be getting coal by the 1st of May or before – Can pull over 10 colliers at Listerwick pit – at Holt’s pit in Siddale, above 100 yards deep, they pull over ten colliers .:: can be done at L.P. only about 60 yards deep – had best get upper bed as well as lower – mix them and then can sell both at 9d. per load H- obliged to have a high pressure engine – Cliffe will furnish it 6 horse power for £120 – cannot have a condenser on account of all the water being to pump for it! will burn 8 loads coal a day – the pit including engine will cost £1400 – they begin to pay rent next February £100 for each bed = £200 per annum whether that worth of coal got or not – the whole sum being to be paid in so many years – they have paid Waddington already £7,000 for coal – (the price per acre is I think about £80 for low bed and £60 or £70 for upper bed) – they got 33DW. in ten years (and as told me some while ago vide Journal and cleared £50 a year per collier – said H- ‘it did very well for us’) that is, they sold at about the rate of 2 acres per annum or something more – cannot I sell as much at Listerwick? H- thinks there is no doubt I can clear 4d. per load - .:. if there be only 4 loads per square yard I shall clear £320x2 = £640 per annum Sam Holdsworth and c° in trying to force my Spiggs-loose stopping, have so silted themselves ‘wrecked’ themselves up that they have very little breadth of coal left – 5 or 6 colliers will get it all in as many years – and they can loose nobody – Joseph Stocks met SH. the other day at the Swan ½ drunk – gave him more wine, and got him to sell his share of the Swales moor coal for £300 Stocks wants to buy the other 2 shares of Holt and Holmes (S- keen about buying – this would loose him 40DW. in upper Shibden hall land – and he could soon pull coals at Holts’ pit which is close to upper SH. land) – Holt advises Holmes to sell their 2 shares for £800 and they will now buy all the Clarkes’ shares = ½ the Northowram estate coal – Stocks  having all the other ½ I think – very right, said I – reminded H- that I told him sometime ago, he ought to buy these shares but he would not hear of it – glad he had come over to my opinion at last -2 of Holts’ colliers had got work of Wilson, and thus got to see how all was going on – W- knowing not what he is about, is going to cut thro’ the throw – he will then have a sea to pump and will loose all Northowram hall coal, and Mrs. Lancashire and Mr. Deans’ etc  W- will be knocked up – said I, you have only to agree with Joseph Wilkinson and me and you will all be loosed at once – oh! said H- we will not mind him – we must come to you – very well! said I, only give me what I ought to have and I have no objection – the principal colliers will then in your hands and Stocks and mine, and there is enough to do for us all, and we can then keep prices as they should be, only we can agree t behave fairly and honorably – thought I, as I mused about it this afternoon, I see how it is – a 14 horse power engine in Lower place Parkfield would pump for us all – but they shall pay for it fairly – I will try for common wood from the d. of Leeds per Mr. Gray – and breathe the thing to nobody else but A- she came to me just as I was beginning this page and sat about ½ hour – then afterwards till 12 ¼ wrote thus far – Read dear V-‘s letter – how foolish not to have read it last night! I might have written to her at Leamington – I will always in future read my letters at the moment – why was I so foolish? sat up looking at the large plan – it cannot be that the Northowram estate coal can be loosed by way of Common wood – Holt must have meant Staups land –

[sdottkrames]

Welcome Home My Boy (Welcome Home My Son)

✍🏼By: me, @sdottkrames

🎁For: @skeeter-110 for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

⭐️Rating: general audiences

💜Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, Tony Stark/Pepper Potts

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Pepper Potts, May Parker (au where she’s not Peter’s aunt)

Summary: Tony Stark’s life is missing something. Peter Parker is an orphan who wants a family. And Pepper Potts comes up with an idea that brings them together

Read on AO3: Here

“Do you have a family?”

“Yes. And I will see them when I leave here. You Stark?”

Tony’s mind flashed first to Pepper. Then Obadiah, Rhodey, Happy. But the memories exploded with the car crash that had killed his parents and faded along with the life in the eyes of Edwin Jarvis. He had no family. He’d kept it that way, distancing himself with booze and sunglasses and a falsely confident persona, all to protect himself from being hurt even more when he inevitably lost them, too.

“No.”

 Ho Yinsen had changed Tony’s life in more ways than one, but perhaps the greatest change had been through that admittance he’d been forced to give. 

Ever since that whispered “no,” there had been something stirring in Tony’s chest. He’d squashed it down vehemently when a black Tetris puzzle crawled across his chest and neck like some evil game. When he’d been freed of that, he’d found a little family in his best friend and his (now) girlfriend who hadn’t let themselves be pushed too far away by his fears and insecurities. 

Then his family had unexpectedly and, at first, unwelcomingly, grown. But soon the five other superheroes had forced their way into his heart and home. He rearranged the tower to house the new avengers, and found himself participating in weekly team training exercises and helping Steve Rogers of all people cook for team dinners. Game nights and movie nights and pool parties became part of the norm and Tony found himself slowly working through the anxiety and fear that carrying a nuke through a wormhole and falling almost to his death left in its wake.

 His life had never been more full of family. But something was still missing.

Then he’d had the dream.

***

Pepper was pregnant. 

She came to him with tears in her eyes, excitement and joy warring with worry and fear on her face, and showed him the positive test. 

“Tony,” she whispered, and he found himself speechless. The joy he felt spread all the way through his chest and stilled his tongue so he answered the only way he knew how: he swept his beautiful wife into his arms, shoulders shaking a little with a joyful sob that broke through.

“You are?” He finally choked out, and saw the fear and worry leave the battlefield of her eyes and she nodded.

“We- we gotta get a room together! A crib and, and paint. What color? Grey? You like grey? That’s neutral right? Then it doesn’t matter what they are- boy or girl or even if they decide to say eff off to gender norms.”

Pepper cut him off with an ecstatic kiss, and Tony felt that stirring for something different, something more, settle and dissipate. 

He’d finally found what was missing.

*** 

Tony woke up in tears, mourning something he wanted with every fiber of his heart, but that he feared he would never be good enough for.

He mentioned it to Pepper, and she was the one that came up with the idea.

“Tony, I want you to listen to me, and get this into your head. We’ve both talked about how we aren’t ready for kids, but I need you to know that it isn’t because I don’t think you’ll be a wonderful dad. When we decide to have kids, you will be the best dad those kids could ask for. I believe that with all my heart.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath and letting himself hear her words and believe them.

“What if you volunteered at an orphanage or something?” she said. “Get around kids, fulfil that desire until we both feel ready for a family of our own?”

“That’s not a half bad idea.”

Pepper had left him to his thoughts then. Once he got that look on his face, she knew that he wouldn’t let it go.

Sure enough, Tony found an orphanage in severe disrepair and desperate need of some support. After a few meetings with his teammates to make sure they were okay with little kids coming to the tower for a bit (Natasha and Bruce had thought it sweet, Steve had smiled and got a look in his eye like he was already imagining hanging out with the little ones, and Clint and Rhodey had all agreed enthusiastically) and filing all the paperwork with the best lawyers he could find, he’d gone to the orphanage to offer his help.

May, the sweet but slightly frazzled orphanage caretaker, had burst into tears right there.

“I- I don’t know what to say. I’m speechless,” she said, chuckling through grateful sobs.

“No thanks needed. I’ll take the kiddos off your hands for a couple months while my guys fix this place up. You just tell them exactly how you want it and what you need. We’ll take care of everything.”

Three weeks, several panic attacks, and more trips to Toys “R” Us and Ikea than he wanted to admit to, Tony had one of the lower floors of the tower completely arranged to house seven small children and was preparing to welcome them into his home.

“Everything’s gonna be fine, Tony,” Pepper whispered, hearing his breath hitch as the car he’d sent to pick up the kids pulled in.

“Yeah,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Just fine. Let’s go meet our new roommates.”

***

Peter Parker could not believe his luck. 

When his parents had died in a horrible car crash a year ago and he’d ended up in the orphanage, he’d been labeled as having bad luck. Every little trip they went on, something happened. He’d accidentally let the class snake out at school (May had told him about Harry Potter, and how he'd let a snake out, too, which made Peter feel better). And there was the time that he’d gotten left behind during an outing at Central park, and the time a bird had pooped on his ice cream while he was eating it outside with his best friend Ned, and the time that-

Well, you get the picture.

Joselyn called it “Parker Luck,” but she wasn’t trying to be mean. She just talked even more than Peter did, and tended to say exactly what she thought. She was one of Peter’s best friends at the orphanage, and besides, she wasn’t wrong. Peter did tend to have some not so great things happen to him.

But not today.

Today was the greatest day of his life, because today was the day that all the kids were moving into the Stark Tower. 

Three weeks ago, Tony Stark himself had come to the orphanage. Peter remembered May crying and he hadn’t known why. He’d drawn her a picture to make her happy, but she explained that they were good tears, and had told him and all the kids that they would be leaving for a few months to live at Stark Towers. 

Peter had nearly peed his pants in excitement, and he was quivering with it again as the car pulled up and he could see both Tony Stark and Pepper Potts through the glass door. 

One by one, each kid got out of the car while a small swarm of workers gathered their things to take up for them.

“Hello, everyone,” Pepper greeted them with a smile, and Peter felt his cheeks heat up. Tony was his hero, but he also knew how smart and wonderful Pepper Potts was. 

“Welcome,” Tony said, grinning.

As soon as the man spoke, Peter couldn’t help the way his eyes went wide and his mouth popped open with a gasp. He was everything the boy had imagined, standing confidently in a sharp black suit with those signature sunglasses on his face.

The two adults began to explain the rules of the tower as they took the children on a small tour. They introduced the security guards, explained who to ask for help if they got lost or hurt, where they were allowed to go and what areas were off limits, and how they would be getting to school. Peter didn’t pay too much attention though. He was too excited, taking in the sight of the tower, his hero, and thinking about how cool it was that this would be his home for a little while. He was certain nobody was luckier.

“Mr. Stark?” one of the other boy’s- Mikey- asked when they passed one of the labs they were being shown on their little tour.

“Yes?”

“Where’s your Iron Man suit?”

Tony chuckled. “It’s in my private lab, away from anybody’s hands that aren’t mine. Don’t want anything breaking them.”

“Not the Mark 50,” Peter asked softly before he could stop himself.

“Huh?” Tony’s piercing gaze was turned to him. 

Squirming under the sudden attention, he tugged on his shirt. “W-well, the nanite suit, sir. Unless a person broke the actual nanite robot, the suit could just be reformed.”

“You know about nanites?”

Chocolate curls flying, the boy nodded enthusiastically. He couldn’t help himself once someone got him talking about the things he loved. “Yeah! I did a report on them a month ago. I read all your papers on them, and I even started trying to make my own so that I could-” Blushing furiously under his hero’s appraisal, Peter cut himself off and ducked his head. “Sorry.”

But Tony Stark didn’t look angry. “I’m gonna give you a piece of advice, kid: never apologize for being the smartest in the room.” He winked. “You really read my work on nanotechnology?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m impressed.”

And Peter was grateful that his legs didn’t give out right then. He could hardly believe the compliment. He was dazed for the rest of the tour, soaking the praise in with a huge grin.

Eventually, they arrived at their floor. It was a large one, and after the Battle of New York, it had stood mostly empty. There was a spacious living area and a small kitchen, and then a hallway with three bedrooms and en-suite bathrooms.

“Now, you’re going to have to share,” Tony explained. “We don’t have seven rooms on this floor, but each room has a bed and desk for you.”

“You three girls will share a room while the boys will split up in twos,” Pepper added. She gestured to one of the rooms. “This one’s yours, girls. It’s a little bigger and we’ve put three beds in it. Boys, you can decide which of the other rooms you want and who you want to share it with.”

Joselyn, along with the other two girls Kaylie and Hazel, dragged their suitcases and chatted excitedly as they entered their room.  If it had been possible, Peter would have roomed with Joselyn...or Ned. But those two not being an option, he looked to the boys.

He was the oldest out of all of them. There was the four year old Greyson and the six year old twins Mikey and David. It was fairly obvious that the twins would stick together, so Peter took Grey’s hand.

“Can I be your roommate, buddy?” The little boy nodded enthusiastically. “It looks like the twins took the middle room, so we get this one!”

The boy genius led his new roommate through the door and for the second time that day felt his jaw drop. 

The room was huge, and the beds looked like they were clouds, piled high with pillows Peter was almost certain were the most comfortable things on the planet. Grey seemed equally as overwhelmed, walking over to inspect the bed.

“Can you help me put my clothes away?” he asked, turning to the older boy.

“Sure.”

And slowly they got settled into this new chapter of their lives.

*** 

Tony was about ready to throw something at the wall, which meant that he needed to get out and move around, distract himself from the problem before he actually did break something. It wouldn’t be the first time, but he didn’t want a repeat of the great Potts meltdown of ‘09. 

Sighing, he stood up and stretched, letting a loud yawn out as he did before wandering out of the lab. 

It had been nearly a week with the little kiddos staying at the tower, and Tony had enjoyed having them so far. He even invited them up for dinner and a movie the other day. Most of them had been totally starstruck and it had made him smile. He figured they might provide a decent distraction, so he wandered down to the “baby floor,” as he called it. 

He was delighted when the first face he saw was Peter Parker’s.

The boy was shy, but also unfailingly kind. Tony had seen him take the hand of the smallest boy when the two twin boys ran into their room, making the little one feel welcome and loved; had watched as the kid listened to his friend Joselyn, who tended to ramble, with a patient and kind smile, never seeming annoyed by how verbose she was; and had smiled as the kid let one of the other girls hold his hand during a part in Snow White that scared her.

He was exactly the sort of distraction that Tony needed.

“Hey, Pete. How’re you doing?” he greeted, smiling a little as the boy’s cheeks turned pink and his lips lifted in a small, excited grin when he was called by name.

“G-good, Mr. Stark. How are you?”

“I’m doing good. A little frustrated with a project I’m working on, so I figured I’d take a break and come see you kiddos. How was school? Learn anything good?”

Peter’s eyes lit up as they had the first day the older genius had met the kid and they bonded over nanotechnology. Tony smiled as the chatter about 2nd grade science (they were learning about cells) and math (how was an 8 year old already doing functions?!) swept his frustration right out the door with its soothing familiarity. He didn’t have to figure anything out or meet any deadline. All the kid wanted was someone to listen.

So Tony did, oohing and mmhmming in all the right places, until the kid asked: “So what project were you working on before? Maybe I can help so you’re not so frustrated? can I?”

He’d known how sweet Peter was, but Tony was still taken aback by the kindness. “Well, if you want to-“

“Sure!” The little eager beaver said quickly. “What’s the project?”

Hesitating only for a second, Tony explained how Clint’s explosive arrows weren’t working properly, detonating too soon because of an unstable chemical inside them.

With a few graphs and a little breaking down of some more technical terms, Peter understood the problem.

“Let me think a little bit, okay?”

“Sure, buddy,” Tony chuckled. “However long you need.”

And he let the kid think while he checked some emails and wandered into the kitchen to grab him and his mini genius a granola bar.

He stopped for a moment before joining Peter at the table, his steps halted by the adorable crease in the boy’s brow and the way his tongue poked through his teeth as he drew some diagram.

When Tony finally pulled himself together to sit down against and offer Peter the snack, the kid announced: “I got it!”

Surprised, Tony raised an eyebrow and motioned for Peter to continue.

“What if you use your nanites? You could engineer them in a way that they wouldn’t jostle or affect the catalyst. Clint could control when they fell away, which would cause the explosion to happen.”

He pushed the little picture he’d drawn to illustrate, compete with a stick figure Clint Barton in purple (Hawkeye’s theme color), and Tony let his jaw go slack.

“Kid, honestly, I’m impressed. That’s genius. How in the world did you think of that?”

Peter flushed under the praise, and explained the process to Tony, the latter encouraging him whenever he seemed self conscious about his rambling. 

“You, my friend, are one of the smartest kids I know. Would you like to help me build these arrows?”

Peter’s eyes widened to the size of a dinner plate. “What?”

Tony chucked. “They’re your idea, kiddo. It’s only right that you should help me make them. I’ll handle all the explosive parts, but I think you should help engineer the nanites.”

“I would love to!” The boy choked out.

“Great. After school tomorrow, come to my lab. Jarvis will know where to take you.”

“Okay!”

Tony stayed a little while longer, enjoying talking science with Peter, before being called to other projects. He was grateful for the distraction though, because he couldn’t wait to see the look on the kid’s face when he saw the lab.

And, boy, Peter did not disappoint.

When Jarvis opened the door, Peter’s jaw dropped and he practically flew to one of the Ironman suits. Talking a mile a minute, he inspected every inch of the lab. 

“Oh my gosh, what’s this?! Wait, no way, is that- it is! Mr. Stark this is amazing! And woah look at that!”

Tony just chuckled at the kid’s enthusiasm, and pulled his attention to the reason for their working together after a few more minutes’ exploration. 

The two spent hours in the lab together. Tony hadn't ever thought he would enjoy sharing his lab with anybody, let alone an 8-year-old child, but Peter was different. He found himself wanting Peter to come help him more often.

This is only temporary. A cynical voice inside him said.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be. Maybe I can give him a real internship and a real job? Said the more hopeful part of his brain.

A seven year old with a job. Yeah, that’s a great idea.

Tony shook his head to clear off the thoughts. He would enjoy the lab time he did get with this kid that had somehow wormed into his iron heart. He’d just have to baby proof the lab first.

***

Peter fought back the tears, trying hard not to let Flash’s taunting get to him. He kept walking, ignoring his classmate’s teasing behind his back as he nearly ran out the front door.

“Hi, Mr. Happy,” he greeted, trying to keep the sniffling out of his voice. The man Mr. Stark had assigned to drive him to and from school didn’t like little kids. (At least, Peter thought he didn’t. He wasn’t mean, but he seemed to grunt and growl more than use really words.)

“Hey,” Happy grunted, as was his usual greeting, and Peter didn’t notice the concern in the man’s eyes when he didn’t answer right away as he blinked back tears. 

The drive to the tower was quiet except for the occasional snuffle from Peter, who was trying to his sadness. He hated when Flash was mean, especially about his parents. He missed his parents and his Aunt and Uncle. It was right of Flash to bring them up, but there wasn’t much Peter could do about it.

When he came into the tower, he was surprised to see Mr. Stark there, waiting for him in the living room. Usually the man had him come straight to the lab, but they hadn’t been scheduled to work together that day.

“Hey, kid,” Tony greeted.

“H-hi. Are we having a Lab day today?” Peter tried to keep the hope out of his voice. Tinkering around the lab with his hero was exactly what he needed to cheer him up. 

“I was thinking we might spend some time in the lab, yeah. If you’re up for it?”

“Yeah, i'd love a lab day, sir!” Peter said, smiling his first genuine smile since Flash had said the word “orphan” at lunch.

“Yeah? Let’s go, young padawan.” 

Peter gave a small smile at the Star Wars reference. Mr. Stark wouldn’t have known that reference if Peter hadn’t rambled about the franchise one of their last Lab days, which then led to the man insisting they watch the movies together so Peter could “make sure he understood what was happening.” He was pleased Tony seemed to have enjoyed the endeavor! The pleasant feeling followed him as they went to the lab and began working on the housing unit for the nanites in Clint’s arrows.

Tony, however, kept a watchful eye on his little friend.

Happy had texted saying that something was off with the kid, and while Tony had no experience with children prior to the last few weeks, he did have experience with being a genius and an orphan. He figured tinkering would be a good distraction, and he’d wager he was correct after seeing the look of relief and excitement on Peter’s face when he was invited to the lab.

It wasn’t until they had the housing unit almost complete that Tony decided to actually broach the subject.

Though working with his hands seemed to have stemmed the tears Happy reported seeing in the car, the boy was definitely off. He sniffled more than once, and didn’t seem as talkative or enthusiastic as he normally did. There wasn’t a single excited ramble about his friends Ned or Jocelyn, or whatever the last thing they learned in science was.

“So, Peter. How was your day. You haven’t said much.”

Tony didn’t miss the tears that misted the boys eyes slightly 

“It was fine,” he said, turning back to his project with a barely concealed sniffle.

Tony felt slightly awkward and unsure. He’d never had a conversation like this with a little kid before. Heck, he was barely getting to the point of speaking openly to his girlfriend and best friend about some things. But if he wanted to someday have kids, he figured he’d need to start getting used to stuff like this. With a deep breath, he took the plunge.

“Buddy, if you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s okay. But, uh, if you do want to talk about whatever is bothering you, you can. I mean, I’m all ears or whatever. I can blast or make fun of or drown in ice cream nearly any problem you have.”

Peter hesitantly turned towards him. “I-it’s really nothing. I’m f-fine.”

“I’m real sure, kid,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously, is everything okay?” The hesitation in the boy’s eyes warred with the desire to tell what had happened. “C’mon. Out with it! The sooner I know who or what I need to blast, make fun of, or drown in ice cream, the better we’ll both feel.”

“W-well It’s this kid n-named Flash.” Peter began twisting his shirt into knots as he finally gave in. “He was just making fun of me for not having parents and he just b-bothered me more today, I guess.”

Tony’s heart squeezed in sympathy. He had plenty experience of his own being an orphan and dealing with bullies.

“Since I can’t blast a kid with my repulsars, although he maybe deserves it for being such a jerk,” he finally answered, “and I don’t feel right making fun of him, either, I’m going to settle with drowning it in ice cream. I know a great place just up the street, whaddya say?”

There was a small smile, which Tony saw as an absolute win, and then a shy nod, and Tony whisked the boy away for ice cream.

“Ya know, kid, none of what this Flash kid says is true,” he said as he licked his mint chip cone. “You’re not unlovable, or unworthy of parents. You didn’t do anything wrong the day they died. You couldn’t have been a better son. Trust me. All those things are utter nonsense.”

Peter stared at him dumbfounded. “H-how did you know?” He whispered.

“I’m an orphan too, ya know. I lost my parents many years ago, but I definitely know a little of what you’re feeling and dealing with.”

“Really?”

“I promise.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Anytime, kid. Anytime,” Tony said. “Now, are you drowning enough in ice cream? Do you need more chocolate sauce? You look like you need more chocolate sauce.”

Peter giggled, and Tony couldn’t help the slow smile that stole across his face as he went to go get more chocolate sauce, determined to keep that little boy smiling as long as possible.

***

“Um, can you find it in an aquarium?”

The science genius duo was enjoying their usual time in the lab and Tony had begun a session of “I’m thinking of an animal.” His animal was a hippo, which he’d felt fairly confident about until this last question.

“I don’t know, kiddo, I’ve never been to an aquarium!”

Dropping his jaw and his screwdriver, Peter spluttered out an incredulous, “what?”

“I’ve never been to an aquarium.” Tony shrugged.

“Oh, man. You don’t know what your missing, Mr. Stark! There’s fish and turtles and sometimes even hippos and alligators. My favorite are the turtles.” Peter's Big brown eyes widened and Tony grinned in anticipation of the child-like excitement that was sure to follow in whatever story the kid was going to tell next. “One time, there was this huge sea turtle and it came and swam next to the glass right where I was sitting for literally five minutes. My mom took tons of pictures. It was so cool!”

Tony chuckled. “That sounds really cool, bud.”

“It was! Did you know that some turtles only lay eggs every four years?”

They continued working and sharing weird animal facts and Tony was again startled by the desire to make this little kid smile. 

“Jarvis, buddy, can you look up the nearest aquarium?” He asked when Peter had left to go to bed.

“That would be the New York Aquarium.”

“Does it have turtles?”

“It does.”

“Hippos?”

“No, sir. But the Philadelphia Aquarium does.”

“Get two tickets to the New York one for this Saturday. And clear my schedule for that day.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

A few days later, Tony was nearly bouncing with excitement as he waited for Jarvis to bring Peter up to the penthouse for them to go to the aquarium.

“Mr. Stark, is everything okay?” The boy asked as he exited the elevator.

“Yeah, kiddo. Everything’s just fine. We’re going on a little field trip, though.”

“We are?” Peter’s eyes lit up. “Where to?”

“That’s a surprise!” Peter’s grin widened to match Tony’s. “My schedule’s all clear. You good to go?”

With a floppy-haired nod, they were off. 

The little boy had no clue where they were going, and Tony indulged 20 questions, but by the time they arrived, Peter was no closer to figuring it out.

“Wait...an aquarium?” He gasped when he got out and took in the building.

“They don’t have hippos or alligators, but they just got a couple turtles. I figured after hearing about how wonderful aquariums are, I should try and go to one, and I thought you could show me around.”

Peter didn’t hesitate one moment, unabashedly grabbing Tony’s hand and pulling him into the aquarium. They presented their tickets and the younger genius continued to drag the older genius around from exhibit to exhibit with huge smiles on both their faces. Like Peter, Tony’s favorite part were the turtles. The way they gravefully swam through the water and their kind faces made him feel peaceful and warm and fuzzy. And Peter’s little hand in his while he spouted off lots of facts about turtles made him feel even more so.

But the kids were leaving within the next couple weeks, and those pesky thoughts were back, marring the joy a little. Tony dutifully beat them back, aided by the peaceful feeling of being with Peter and the kid’s head modded off onto his shoulder on the way back to the tower.

***

Peter had nightmares more than he wanted to admit. 

They woke him up shaking with his heart beating so fast and hard he could hear it in his ears. The worst part about them, though, was how they would linger, seared into his eyelids. Scary images of his parents and aunt and uncle as their plane went down in flames replayed themselves over and over. 

Sniffling back tears, Peter decided to quietly sneak out of the room. He didn’t want to wake his little roommate.

“Hello, Peter,” Jarvis greeted, making him jump even though he knew the AI well. (Tony had even started helping Peter code his own when the boy showed interest.)

“H-Hey, Jarvis.”

“It is quite late for you to be up. Or early, depending how you look at it. Are you well?”

“Just can’t sleep. I’m heading for a snack, that’s all.”

“I think I have something that might help, if you’ll follow me, sir.”

The AI lit up a pathway and Peter shrugged before following it. He thought Jarvis would lead him to the kitchen, but instead he found himself staring at a door that definitely wasn’t for a kitchen. He’d never been to this part of the tower.

“Uh, where am I?”

“You’re outside Mr. Stark’s bedroom.”

His stomach flipped like a monkey after a banana, and Peter stumbled backwards. 

“Jarvis,” he hissed. “I can’t wake Iron Man up! Why’d you take me here. I thought you were bringing me to the kitchen for a snack!”

“I did not say that I was, only that I had something I thought would help.”

“No, I’m not going in there. I’ll find the kitchen myself,” he said, backing away as quickly as he could. 

But it was too late. 

A light flicked on and before Peter could turn around, the door opened to reveal a sweatpants-clad Tony Stark.

“Peter? What’s going on?”

“I’m so sorry Mr. Stark.” Peter’s voice was shaking and tear were burning his eyes. He’d gotten closer to the man the last month and a half they’d been together, but this was beyond embarrassing. He couldn’t ask Iron man to help him with his nightmares. “I couldn’t sleep and thought Jarvis was leading me to a kitchen for a snack.”

“No worries kid. C’mon. I’ll make you something to eat.”

“Y-You really don’t have to do that, Mr. Stark. I’m okay, I swear.”

Tony rolled his eyes, ruffling Peter’s curls and throwing an arm around the kid’s shoulders to lead him down the hallway. “It’s not a problem, buddy. I don’t mind cooking.”

So Peter was lead to the kitchen, and he was surprised how much better he was feeling not being alone. This was the second time Mr. Stark had saved him from being alone like this, and it felt really nice. He would miss it when he went back to living at the orphanage in a few weeks when the renovations were done. Sometimes, he would imagine what it would be like if Mr. Stark was his real dad, or adopted him, but he knew that would never happen. He usually tried to stop those daydreams fast.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. That looks really good,” Peter said, breaking out of his thoughts to take the toast with butter and jelly that he was offered.

It was quiet as Peter ate, Tony sitting next to him in companionable silence. Once the plate was empty, the bolder genius spoke up. “Again, kiddo, you do not need to explain, but if you want to talk about what’s got you up at nearly 2 in the morning, I’m all ears.”

Peter felt tears well up in his eyes. He had done so well not crying in front of his hero and he didn’t want to start now. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists to keep the tears from falling, but he was grateful to talk to someone.

“Um, I keep having dreams about- about my parents. The, uh, the day they went on the plane that crashed? And they just make me sad.” He shrugged. “S-Sometimes it’s hard to go back to sleep after I have one.”

“I have dreams like that, too,” Tony whispered.

Just like when the man had practically read his mind, saying exactly what Peter had needed to hear when Flash made fun of him the last week, a shock went up Peter’s spine. “Really?”

Tony sighed. “Yeah, I do. I lost my parents, too. Car accident. I also have dreams about being stuck in Afghanistan, in that cave, or in the wormhole. They’regetting better, though.”

“That must be really scary, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, patting the man’s arms.

“Heh. I’m supposed to be the one comforting you, kiddo.”

“Well, we all need comfort sometimes.”

“Thank you, buddy. How are you feeling?”

Peter looked up shyly. “Better. Thanks for the food.”

“No problem. Wanna watch something? That usually helps me fall back asleep.”

“Okay!”

They chose Iron Giant, and Peter felt so comfortable as Tony threw a blanket over him and pulled him under his arm. Slowly, his eyes drifted closed.

Tony watched as the little boy fell asleep, his heart melting and wrapping around his finger even more. After a few minutes to make sure the tyke would stay asleep if moved, he slipped his arms around the little body and carried him up to bed.

As he closed the door and saw Peter’s chocolate curls poking over the blanket, his tears prickled with tears at the realization he would lose this in a couple days.

Shut up he vehemently told that pesky little voice, and went back to bed, but didn’t get much sleep.

*** 

There were tears in everyone’s eyes, but Tony was going to blame it on May, who greeted him with tears of gratitude. All the kids gave her hugs before running off to explore the new building, chatting excitedly as they ran to the new beds and play area.

“Mr. Stark-“

“Tony, please, May.”

She smiled. “Tony. Seriously, though, I cannot thank you enough. You have no idea how much this means to us. How much this means to me.”

See, this is why he was blaming May for the misty eyes. “Not a problem. The pleasure was all mine. It’s a special group of kiddos you got there.”

“They really are. And thanks to your help, the orphanage got some media attention, and now I’ve got people interested in the twins and a couple of the girls! I hope they all find good homes.”

“That’s amazing, May!” Tony said, and he meant it. Every single one of the kids had found a way into his heart, but none more than Peter. And the thought of that little boy going to another home caused another round of tears to come, though he quickly blinked them away.

“Mr. Stark!” As if called by Tony’s thoughts, Peter came bounding up, throwing a hug around the man’s waist. “This is amazing. Not as amazing as the tower, obviously, but this is a close second. Thank you so much!”

Tony hugged the boy back and assured him that he was happy to help, all the while trying to pretend his heart wasn’t breaking.

***

“Tony, this is ridiculous,” Pepper said, marching into his lab after the fourth day in a row of him being there. 

“What is, dear?” He asked, deflecting as usual.

Pepper raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her crisp blue suit. Even under her scrutinous glare, Tony had to admit she was gorgeous.

“You know what, dear. Peter’s gone and you’re back to moping in the lab.”

Acid curled his stomach, and he had to look away. “Well, what do you want me to do. Yeah, I miss the kid, and I’m trying to work through it. Just...just give me few more days.”

“You won’t survive another few days, Tony. You’re not invincible, you know.” She came over and ran a comforting hand through his hair, and his eyes closed of their own accord, trying to hide the tears. “Tony, what if...what if we adopt Peter?”

His eyes shot open. “What?”

“What if we adopt Peter?” She repeated. “You clearly love him, and I’ve watched him with you. He loves you, too. And I...I don’t know him as well as you do, but he’s so sweet and it’s impossible not to love him.”

“You’re serious?”

Pepper smiled. “100%. Tony, you’re ready. We’re ready. Let’s start a family.”

And just like in his dream, Tony couldn’t say or anything except pick his girlfriend up and spin her around.

“Thank you,” he said, tears in his eyes again. “I love you.”

***

Peter loved the new orphanage. He really did. The beds were as comfortable as the tower’s, and there were lots of cool toys and a new playground.

But Mr. Stark wasn’t there.

Peter tried to deny how much he missed him. How much he missed his own dad and how Mr. Stark helped fill that void a little with lab days and movie nights. He’d even helped Peter when Flash was mean and he’d had a nightmare.

And he missed him.

It also didn’t help that Jocelyn and Greyson got adopted, and the twins might be as well. People had been buzzing at the orphanage ever since the renovations. The media had run a few stories on how the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist had taken in the group of orphans and funded the renovations of the building. People had been coming ever since, but none of them really connected with Peter.

He hated to admit it, but he compared all of them to Mr. Stark, and none of the fit. Besides, they all wanted the younger kids.

“Peter!” May called, interrupting his moping. “Come here, sweetie.”

“Coming, May!” 

He jumped off the swing set, running towards the orphanage, but screeched to a halt as he saw a familiar face. Two familiar faces.

“M-Mr. S-Stark? Mrs. Potts?” He stammered out. “W-what’re you doing here?”

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony greeted. He looked nervous- a hand running over his carefully defined goatee, feet shifting back and forth, fingers clasped with Pepper’s.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, buddy, everything’s fine. We, uh, we were wondering if,” he hesitated and Pepper squeezed his hand. “We would like to adopt you, Peter. If that’s something you’d be interested in?”

Shocked, Peter couldn’t say anything, which was a rare thing for him. Or so his parents used to say.

“Really?” He finally choked out.

“Yeah, sweetie,” pepper said, smiling kindly. Peter was surprised. He’d gotten close with Tony, but not as much with her.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Tony grinned at him. “Well, say yes, buddy! We got a room all ready for you and a team of the best lawyers to make it official if you want.”

“Yes!” Peter said, throwing himself into their arms. “Yes, I want to!”

Again, everybody was crying (happy tears) and once all the paperwork was filled out, Tony took Peter’s hand.

“Let’s go home,” he said, his heart at peace finally, the nagging sensation of something missing finally filled by the little boy who was now his little boy.

“Home,” Peter repeated, smiling. His new favorite word.

[nineteenninety-six]

hey babe,can u write somthing where , a time after grace dies,lizzie is there to help tommy, hoping one day he will love her back,them he meets the oc, and behave like he used to,when he first meet grace and lizzie gets jealous? btw,love ur writing

I made Lizzie into crazy bitch, I’m so sorry.

Also thank you for 700 followers! You guys are the best! I promise once my deadlines end, I’ll post more frequently <3 

Also, has anyone been having problems in receiving notifs that you’ve been tagged in smth? Like I’ve gotten the odd email but other than that I haven’t got anything, so I’m sorry if you’ve tagged me in something and I haven’t responded :((

REVITALIZE

Tommy was drowning in the pain of losing Grace. The love of his life and the mother of his son was gone and it was his fault. He couldn’t sleep and he self-medicated with alcohol, he knew he should do better, especially for his who cried at night for his mother but he couldn’t pull himself out of the hole he was in. 

He also knew he was pushing the limits of his family’s patience and sympathy, they knew he was going through hell but they weren’t going to enable his destructive behaviour and after his disappearing act to Ireland, they were at their breaking point. John and Ada had also lost their significant others but who he was as a person prevented him from reaching out for help.

When he woke up one day stinking of sweat and vomit and having no recollection of the past week did he finally decide to do something. Anything was better than drinking himself sick every day so he stuck himself in work. He spent more than half the day in his office or off somewhere in the country for business and only came home for a few hours each day to spend time with Charlie. Being home was painful as it only held memories of Grace but he could not find it in himself to sell the house, the memories were painful but he wanted Charlie to grow up there. 

Despite his distracted mind, he wasn’t oblivious to Lizzie’s actions. The woman thought it was a great opportunity to place herself within the family and try to get with him but he wasn’t worried as she had been trying to get into the family as long as he had known her and she had tried her way with each of the older Shelby brothers but to no avail.  

After a long day immersing himself with work, the last person he expected to see was his Polly. He knew she came around often to check up on him and make sure he was feeding himself and that Charlie was okay but finding her in his office caught him off guard.

“Pol.” He said as a greeting, “What can I do for you?”

“The staff here aren’t equipped enough to raise Charlie, I think you should hire a nanny.” Polly, as usual, went straight to the point.

“A nanny?” Tommy scoffed, “I don’t need help raising my son, Polly.”

“You’re barely here enough to see him when he’s awake, Thomas. Charlie needs round the clock care at his age and the maids you have aren’t good enough to do it.” Polly argued

“So what, you want me to waste my time conducting interviews for nannies?”

“No. I’ve already done it and she’ll arriving on Saturday.” Polly stood up from her seat and made her way to the door, “Make sure you’re there to greet her and you’re sober.”

With that, Polly left his office and Tommy listened to the clicks of her heels until she left the house. He hated to admit it but Polly was right, Charlie needed a nanny and him denying it didn’t solve the situation. 

When Saturday came, Tommy and Charlie stood on the steps outside the house and watched as a car drove down the long driveway before pulling to a stop in front of them. Polly stepped out first and she was shortly followed by a young woman around Ada’s age. The woman politely smiled at the driver who passed her, her bags before she followed Polly to where he stood.

“Tommy, this is (Y/N). Charlie’s nanny.” Polly introduced them to each other.

“Hello, Mr Shelby.” (Y/N) greeted the man and smiled at Charlie who was looking at her curiously

Tommy merely nodded before he turned around and walked into his house. Charlie poked his head over his father’s shoulder, still curious about the new woman. 

“Don’t take it personally, that’s just how Tommy is,” Polly explained, not wanting the poor woman to think she upset Tommy in some way.

“Come. I’ll show you around the house and introduce you to the staff.” Polly walked into the house and motioned her to follow.

Once she had gotten the tour of the large house and introduced to the staff, Polly had taken her to the family room where Tommy and Charlie had escaped to. (Y/N) didn’t know what to think of Tommy Shelby, everything she was told about him came from his aunt but she could tell that there was hurt within him that didn’t just come from the death of his wife.

“I’ll be going then. Give me a call if there are any problems.” Polly smiled at (Y/N) before she turned to her nephew and shot him a look, “Behave.”

They sat in awkward silence, neither of them willing to speak first. (Y/N) was too nervous and Tommy didn’t care about the nanny enough to strike up a conversation. It wasn’t until Charlie made his way over to the new nanny did the awkward silence in the room end.

“Hello, sweetie.” (Y/N) cooed at the little boy who toddled his way over to her, “It’s very nice to you meet you.”

The boy giggled and grabbed her hand before he attempted to haul himself up onto her lap and once he had gotten on, with a little help from (Y/N), he shuffled forward and pressed his small hands over her face, as if he was mapping it out.

Tommy silently watched as his son and the nanny began to get to know each other, the little boy was utterly fascinated with her and it was rather adorable. He had never seen Charlie act like that with a new person ever and he unsure how he felt about it.  He was unsure of how he felt about the nanny as well, she was pretty and so far gotten on well with Charlie but he was going to be cautious until he knew she could be trusted. 

As the months went by, Tommy found himself getting closer to the nanny, he wouldn’t say he liked her but there were times he did feel soft for her. Her relationship with Charlie also become closer, the little boy refused to be out of her arms for the most part and you could always hear his bubbly laughter and squeals during the day. 

Though like always, Tommy’s brief moment of happiness didn’t last long and it’s disruptor came in the form of a storm named Lizzie. The woman noticed the change in Tommy’s behaviour coincided with the arrival of the new nanny was it was safe to say she was fairly miffed at the woman’s effect on Tommy. 

For years, Lizzie had been trying to become a member of the Shelby family in some way, she had offered to get married to John and said that she’ll look after his kids but that was quickly foiled by Tommy. Tommy had also used her services a few times before Grace came back and there were moments where she hoped she might become pregnant but she didn’t and now that Grace was dead, she hoped she had another chance but the new nanny was making that difficult. 

Tommy’s late nights at the office no longer existed, he always left early enough so he could arrive back at Arrow House before Charlie was put to bed and along with the fact that Tommy’s shoulders weren’t always tense and he smiled easier, made her burn in jealously. She wanted to be the one was behind his positive behaviour changes and she would even bet that the nanny didn’t even know the effect she had. Hell, Tommy probably didn’t even know how much he’s changed.

Tommy was off in London so Lizzie decided to put the nanny where she thought she belonged. 

Lizzie loudly knocked on the front door of Arrow House and pushed past Mary who had opened the door.

“Is Tommy in?” Lizzie pulled off her coat and rudely passed it to the housekeeper.

Lizzie walked around the foyer, her heels loudly clicking against the floor as her eyes took everything in.  

“No.” Mary was unamused, “But you’re his secretary and you should have already known that.”

Lizzie shot Mary a nasty glare and began to round her but was interrupted by soft footsteps and quiet giggles. (Y/N) walked into the foyer and Charlie ran in after her, they had been playing tag and the little boy had been running after his nanny.

“Mary? Is there a problem?” (Y/N) asked as she walked closer to the housekeeper.

“I’m looking for Tommy.” Lizzie interrupted.

“Well, he’s not here.” (Y/N) frowned.

“Miss Stark knows this. She’s Mr Shelby’s secretary.” Mary wasn’t holding back.

Lizzie scowled, “How dare you--”

“Mary, would you be able to entertain Charlie for me for a few moments? I shall deal with Miss Stark, it shouldn’t take long.” (Y/N) interrupted.

Mary narrowed her eyes at Lizzie before she slowly nodded, she unceremoniously through Lizzie’s jacket to the side on one of the chairs that rested there before she gently began to guide Charlie away.

“Is there a message I could pass to Mr Shelby for you?” (Y/N) asked, after she was sure Charlie and Mary were safely away

“No. I actually came here to speak to you.” Lizzie sauntered over to where (Y/N) stood.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” Lizzie rolled her eyes, “Listen, nanny. I don’t know who you think you are, waltzing in here, acting as you’re a member of this family.”

“I-i don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m only here to look after Charlie.”

“And then what? You plan to seduce Tommy and slip into his bed?” Lizzie stalked towards (Y/N) and pressed her against the wall.

“Seduce?!” (Y/N) didn’t know what to think.

“Stop acting clueless and innocent! I’ve had my sight on Tommy Shelby for years and I won’t let some tart that’s been picked up off of the street to take that from me!”

(Y/N) could only gape in shock at the woman who stood in front of her. Lizzie was red in the face and her hands were shaking in anger.

“Lizzie.”

Tommy’s voice caught both of the women’s attention, their heads whipping to the door where he stood. 

He walked to where they were standing, (Y/N) was still pressed against the wall and Lizzie had taken a few steps back as Tommy made their way over to them.

“Want to explain why you’ve got my nanny corned to the wall?” Tommy’s face wasn’t betraying anything but his voice held a warning not to lie to him.

“We’re just having a talk.” Lizzie straightened out her clothes like she hadn’t been caught threatening someone.

Tommy’s calm facade crumbles at her lie and he glares at her, “I warned you not to lie, Lizzie. Now, I want you to leave my house and I’ll deal with you on Monday.”

“Tommy--” Lizzie began to defend herself.

“Lizzie out!” Tommy roared, making both women jump.

Lizzie quickly ran out of the house, so focused on leaving as fast as she could, that she left her coat behind. 

When the door slammed shut behind her, Tommy turned to (Y/N) who was still stood against the wall.

“Are you okay?” He held his arm out for her to take and when she did, he guided her into the family room, calling for one of the maids to bring her some tea.

“Yeah…” (Y/N) nodded, “How much did you hear?”

“Most of it,” Tommy admitted, “But I’ll make sure she’s dealt with.”

“She seemed determined.” (Y/N) quietly noted

Tommy sighed, “Yeah, that’s Lizzie but she overstepped the line here. I apologize.”

(Y/N) smiled at him, “You don’t have to apologize on her behalf it’s fine but I would like an apology from her.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, “It won’t be sincere.”

“No, but it’ll be humiliating.” (Y/N) smirked, “What do you think about inviting your whole family around to watch?”

Tommy couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, “You won’t hear any complaints from me. Or them for that matter.”

It was at that moment, Tommy finally realized how much (Y/N) had an effect on him. He smiled more and felt less strung up. She was a blessing in disguise.

[hailing-stars]

@febuwhump day 9: buried alive 

BURIED ALIVE

“So, while we’re just hanging out in the bathroom,” says Tony. Peter’s head hangs over the toilet, and he shuts his eyes tight, willing Tony to stop talking. “I thought we could chat.”

“Maybe that can wait,” says Peter, dryly, and miserably. “Until, I dunno, I’m done puking my guts out.”

“It’s waited long enough. Besides, you never call me back, and you won’t talk to your aunt.”

OR

Peter's guilt over a recent run in with Mysterio literally makes him sick.

BURIED ALIVE flashes in neon letters across the screen, the techno theme music plays, and Peter’s eyes glaze over. He’s officially entered The Zone, and there’s no pulling him out of it until his character dies or he achieves the highest honor, a score enormous enough to knock MQB off the hall of fame.

His hand clutches the joystick, and his fingers glide across the buttons, and he can feel Ned staring at him, but it doesn’t distract him from the current mission.

It doesn’t help him, either.

This game ends exactly the same way every game before it had, on level five, when he’s only points away from taking first place away from MQB.

He sighs, and reaches a hand in his pocket, searching for more tokens but finding it empty.

“Shit,” says Peter. “I’m out of tokens.”

“Again?” asks Ned. “How many times have you played this? Exactly?”

“I dunno, not that much.”

Ned doesn’t look like he believes him. He looks worried, and Peter tries to shove the annoyance he feels deep, deep down.

He wishes people would stop looking at him that way. Like he’s just one fall away from breaking and shattering in a way that’d leave his pieces uneven and unfit to be put back together the correct way, the uniquely Peter-way.

“Maybe we should do something else,” says Ned. “Go to a movie, or pick up that limited edition Star Wars set?”

It’s tempting, and Peter wants to go, wants to be anyplace but this arcade, going to war with himself over a some stupid high score on some arcade machine. An environment without all the flashing lights, screaming children, and annoying game music would be a nice change in pace, but he can’t.

He has to stay. Until he’s won. Until he wipes that name off the charts and replaces it with his own.

“I need more tokens,” says Peter, as a way of answer. He hopes the way his voice sounds like a zombie will go ignored.

He walks past Ned, and heads towards the token machine, dodging running, shouting kids on his way. He fumbles around with his wallet, until he finds the credit card Tony had given him for emergencies. Not for the first time, he swipes it at the token machine and receives a hundred new chances to defeat his enemy.

If that isn’t an emergency, Peter doesn’t know what’s supposed to make that list.

When he turns, he comes face to face with Ned.

“Dude,” he says. “Maybe you should take a break. Have you even eaten dinner yet?”

His stomach growls at the mention of food, and his eyes automatically drift towards the restaurant installed into the arcade. He supposes Ned has a point. He can afford to stop his gaming long enough to scarf down some pizza.

“Yeah, okay, good idea.”

Relief washes through Ned’s features, and Peter’s stabbed with guilt. It attacks him from all angles.

He’s guilty for worrying his friends, and his family, and guilty because he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s guilty of the wave of crime overtaking Queens now that Spider-Man has abandoned it, in favor of standing still at an arcade game.

Guilty for that thing he doesn’t allow himself to think about.

Most of all, he’s guilty, because instead of working towards wiping away the current charts on BURIED ALIVE, he’s sitting at a table eating pizza, wasting time.

*

Drops of sweat trickle down his forehead, and a shiver runs through his body.

And he tries ignoring it, the way his stomach is heavy, and cramping, and the way his body is just begging him to take a seat, close his eyes, or more pressing, run to the bathroom and shove his head in a toilet.

But he doesn’t, because he can’t. Because he’s just so damn close.

When game over flashes across the screen, he slams his fist down. He considers what might happen if he didn’t hold back his strength, if he just destroyed the machine right then and there.

“Peter?”

He stared at the screen., refusing to look away.

“You’re not looking so great, kid.” Tony’s hand comes up from behind him, and presses down on his sweaty forehead. “Yep, that’s a fever.”

“Mr. Stark,” says Peter. “What are you doing here?”

“Ned called me,” he tells him. “He was really worried, and so am I.”

Tony wipes the sweat off his hand and into the insides of his suit jacket.

It’s the first time in awhile Peter takes his eyes away from the screen, and the room blurs. All the flashing, neon lights merge together. All the kids, teens, parents combine into one collective shout that threatens to make his ears bleed. The arcade tilts, and the knot in his stomach is pulled tighter.

“I need to get outta here,” says Peter, a shake in his voice.

“Then come on,” says Tony.

He grabs him by the arm, and leads him through the jungle of prize hungry children, beeping game machines, and parents trying to ignore it all.

Fresh, cold air hits Peter’s face when they step outside the door, and he breaths it in, then he bends over and pukes in the on the sidewalk while strangers watch in disgust, while Tony rubs his back, and while the paparazzi snaps photos of Iron Man comforting some poor, sick kid.

*

“So, while we’re just hanging out in the bathroom,” says Tony. Peter’s head hangs over the toilet, and he shuts his eyes tight, willing Tony to stop talking. “I thought we could chat.”

“Maybe that can wait,” says Peter, dryly, and miserably. “Until, I dunno, I’m done puking my guts out.”

“It’s waited long enough. Besides, you never call me back, and you won’t talk to your aunt.”

It just figures. That there’s so avoiding it now. That there’s not even a proper distraction to keep him from the things he’s not trying to think about.

That day comes back to him and hits him with full force, as if were angry Peter had been suppressing it.

His memories are pulled backwards to Mysterio’s twisted game. That dull, grey day the fishbowl guy taunted him with a devastating choice, save May fall from a skyscraper, or save a stranger from suffocating six feet under the earth.

His failure flashes across his mind.

He’d thought he could save both, but he’d still made the decision to go after May first. Once she was safe on the ground, he had bolted to the burial site, only to dig up a man who was already dead.

He’s selfish, and he’s sad. All this bad will stirs his stomach enough to force his head back in the toilet to throw up some more.

Tony rubs his back until he’s finished with his gagging. He puts the toilet lid down, and flushes, and he leans against the toilet, weak and wanting the pain in his stomach to ease so he can sleep and not exist for awhile.

So he can continue avoiding the conversation Tony keeps trying to force him to have.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” says Tony. “That fucking psychopath created that situation to fuck with your head.”

“But I’m Spider-Man,” says Peter. “I should’ve been able to deal with it, without - someone dying.”

“Can’t save them all, kid. No matter how hard you try.”

It’s as if Tony’s words bounce off him. He hears them, but he doesn’t. They don’t sink in. He won’t allow them to, and it’s as if Tony hadn’t spoken at all.

“Suppose I deserve this,” says Peter. “Feeling this way.”

He isn’t sure if he means the stomach cramps, or the guilt, or both, but the alarm that flashes across Tony’s face only makes the stabbing pains worse.

“You only deserve good things, Pete,” he says. “I don’t know how to convince you to believe it.”

*

When he opens his eyes the next morning, his stomach is peaceful, but his memories are hazy. They exist, just vaguely.

And it’s better that way, really. Puking and crying on the bathroom floor while Tony held him and told him it would be okay weren’t exactly his finest hours. Peak teenage embarrassment that he hopes will go forgotten, or at least unmentioned, in future conversation.

He’s ready to crawl and hide under the covers when the guest room door creaks open, but he stays visible when he sees it’s just his Aunt May walking through the doorway, carrying crackers and a mini bottle of Sprite.

“I hear you had a rough night,” she tells him. She puts the sick people snacks on the nightstand. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better.”

May’s face folds into disbelief, and Peter releases a breath, realizing there’s no avoiding it anymore. Not after last night.

“I’m sorry, May.”

“About what?”

“About Mysterio.”

She sits on his bed, and takes his hand. “From what Tony’s told me, you’re tired of hearing it, but I’m going to stress again that that wasn’t your fault and you will not accept responsibility for what some demented man cooked up in his free time, okay?”

“But May -”

“If someone asked me to choose between my own life and somebody else’s,” she starts. “You know I would choose theirs. We’re Parkers, and that’s what we do, for better or for worse, but if someone forced me to choose between a stranger’s life and yours? Peter, that’s not even a choice, it’s an instinct.”

“But May I should’ve -”

She squeezes his hand, and cuts him off, a second time. “You have to let this go. You weren’t being selfish, and you did everything you could’ve done. It’s not your fault. You didn’t kill anybody.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument, so he doesn’t try. He lets her hug him, and even hugs her back. He even feels a little lighter now that he’s been ordered to move on.

*

Tony’s idea of helping is to throw money at it. He goes to the arcade and pays them a ridiculously large sum of money for the BURIED ALIVE game machine.

It’s sitting in the workshop when Peter arrives for their lab hours, along with giant hammers and other tools of destruction.

“I think they do this in therapy,” says Tony. “Something about getting it all out. Healthy destruction. All that.”

“They let you break things in therapy?” asks Peter, apprehensively taking the hammer from Tony.

He’s gotta admit, he’s warming up to the idea of letting Tony pay for a therapist, even if he knows he only said it for that very reason.

“Sure,” says Tony. “Why not?”

Peter stares at the game. The thing he’d been using to distract himself from his misery. The thing he’d become obsessed with as a way to relive the past, take some control. Of course, getting the highest score would’ve never brought back the man Mysterio killed, but obsessions weren’t exactly rational.

“I have a better idea,” says Peter.

They spent the next few hours taking the game apart, piece by piece, and then, and until late in the night, they use the parts to build a new, better game. Something that Ned has to come over and help them program. Something with a less morbid topic.

And Peter starts to think better, feel better.

There’s something cathartic about taking apart the horrible things and turning them into something new. It’s a breath of fresh air. It’s a sense of hope, for himself, that eventually he’ll be able to take May and Tony’s reassuring words and believe them.

[ginger-bread-official]

She Was There for a Reason

A fanfic of the battle of Hogwarts from Tonks’ perspective.

-

She was dodging curses, jinxes and falling stone while navigating the castle. It was pure choas; students, teachers Order members all fighting against the death eaters, giants, and... was that a acromantula? Tonks fended off a pair of death eaters form some students who clearly didn’t have much dueling experience.

“Thanks.” one of them panted when she stunned and bound their attackers. she nodded and asked,

“What in Merlin’s name are you kids doing here?” they all ducked at the sound of a near by explosion. “You all need to get out of here now!” She scolded them and cringed at how quickly she’d adopted a motherly tone.

“No we’re of age and McGonagall told us we could fight.” She sighed, not in the frame of mind to argue.

“Fine, but stick together and find some high ground.” A jet of purple light collided with the stone wall behind them, sending shards of stone flying all over. She shielded the three teens out of instinct, and fired at the closest death eater who was dueling Kingsley Shackelbolt.

“Thank you!” the only girl of the three said.

“Get going!” she yelled over her shoulder throwing another jinx to assist her fellow auror. They turned to do as she instructed, but she remembered the reason she came. “Wait.” They looked back to her, “Have you seen Remus Lupin?” she asked desperately. 

“Professor Lupin?” The tall boy asked.

“Yes.” another jet of light narrowly missed the group.

“He was leading a group onto the grounds, but got caught up fighting Dolohov near the courtyard.” he responded. The ground shook and she ushered them away with thanks to Dean for the information.

Kingsley was loosing ground against Yaxley near by as the students headed for better position. Tonks hurtled over the rubble she was taking cover under to aid him. 

“Tonks!?” was all he could yell out in the heat of battle.

“Need help old man?” she hollered back shooting a barrage of jinxes at Yaxley. The death eater stuttered backwards for a moment giving Kingsley the time to right himself. The pair danced in the duel as their mentor had taught them. For a man who trusted no one Mad eye sure knew how to build a perfect team. Crabbe and Goyle appeared to help Yaxley against the duo. Kingsley in these settings tended to take on the role of defense while Tonks charged forward on attack, but in the face of three death eaters he stepped in front of the new mother; the woman he loved like a sister, and wildly blitzed the men. Tonks held the defense, shielding any jinxes and watched as her friend dealt a decisive blow, and cut down all three death eaters. 

“What the Hell are you doing here?” He yelled turning to her.

“Saving your sorry arse!” She responded defiantly

“I was doing fine, and what about Teddy?!”

“He’s with me mum.” A great rumble shook the castle causing them to grab each other for stability.

“You’re in danger.” He looked wildly around for cover, “We need to get you out of here. Why did you come?” He asked franticly. 

“I came for the same reason I joined the order, the same reason I became an auror.” She looked up at him, “I have to help, I need to help.” He understood. They all had the calling in them, you can’t ignore the the cries of those in need. 

“Fine.” he sighed. “But keep on high ground.” She rolled her eyes. He was treating her like she was a trainee again.

“Have you seen Remus?”

“He was down in the courtyard last I saw.” They began to run in that direction, “Took Dolohov off my hands leaving me just with Yaxley.” The pair split up at the great staircase, Tonks promising to look for Lupin from above and stay out of harms way. She was helping some students on the upper levels overlooking the courtyard, fending off any enemies that approached, while looking for her husband. It was all a haze and everything was exploding all around them. She was holding strong against some incoming dementors, and had a few students helping her when she saw something that twisted her insides painfully.

Bellatrix Lestrange was playing with her food.

Her aunt, the one that resembled he kind loving mother, was torturing Neville Longbottom at the base of the great staircase. His screams curdled her blood and pierced her heart. She was taunting him. 

“Ickle Longbottom screams just like his mommy did.” She was sick, demented. Tonks remembered the vile threats she made on Teddy’s life. That woman had caused enough pain. Her wolf patronus pushed back the last of the Dementors and rushed off towards Bellatrix with Tonks close behind. She thought of Teddy holding his beautiful face in her minds eye as she charged her aunt. Neville was Alice’s Teddy. “As fun as this is. Bloodtraitor, I’ll have to cut it short.” Neville was panting from the most recent bout of torture, sweat drenching his clothes and shimmering on his young face. The tip of her wand began to glow green, “Avad-”

“Bellatrix!” Tonks screamed. The older woman paused and turned to see her niece standing at the top of the staircase.

“You.” Her attention was completely on Tonks now, hatred and fury now emanating from the oldest Black sister.

“Neville,” Tonks looked to the young man, “Go help your friends I’ll handle her.” Neville began to protest, “Run! Now!” She shouted as she shot a jinx at her aunt. Bellatrix easily dodged it, but at least her attention was off of the boy now. Neville hurried to the aid of Ginny who was fighting Greyback nearby. The death eater and the auror trades a few curses with Tonks keeping the high ground and landing a some good hits on the older woman. Her aunt’s actions were wild and desperate. 

“After I kill you, I’m going to kill your mutt of a husband and then your precious pup.” She spat out before sending another few killing curses at Nymphadora. 

“If you keep talking like that Remus and I are going to take you off the Christmas card list.” she smirked taunting the woman. A few more curses wizzed passed her as the pair took their duel to the second level of the castle. Tonks was losing ground, but to be fair even the great Minerva McGonagall struggled against Bellatrix.

It was heated to say the least. Tonks felt satisfaction for her small hits and limited victories, but then immediately felt exhaustion from dodging, and shielding from the countless attacks. She had to win she needed to protect Teddy Bellatrix was the looming cloud over everything they did. They hid their marriage because of her, hid the pregnancy because of her. It needed to end. Tonks became more frantic, attacking with the smallest openings, resorting to dark curses and risky maneuvers. She was turning the tide, she could feel it she could land one last hit.... But she was too slow. Bellatrix blasted her back in one of her exposed blitz. She hit the wall hard knocking the wind from her and dropping her crumpled on the ground. Her aunt’s laugh was manic as she charged forward sending stunning, cutting and bruising jinxes at Tonks. She fended off one barely, but was hit by the others. She rushed in close to her niece, grabbing her spiked pink hair with one hand and pressing her wand into her throat with the other.

“I wish I had more time to enjoy this.” She hissed into Nymphadora’s bloodied and bruised face. “Like when I killed your mudblood father.” a pain ripped through Nymphadora. “I took time with his punishment. Days and days I spent breaking him.” She licked her lips at the memory. “But I suppose I’ll have that again with your husband and baby.” Tonks felt the hatred build in her to a breaking point. Her sweet father had died at the hands of this monster. Remus would suffer, Teddy..... no. She thought of everything Bellatrix had done. All the nights her mother spend crying over her sister. Neville’s parents, her father, every vile and heinous thing that boiled Tonks’ blood, and with the last of her strength she raised her wand and blurted out.

“Avada Kedavra.” A green jet shot out and sent Bellatrix flying backwards to the opposing wall. A mixture of horror and relief washed through her at what she just did. Her hatred and fear had taken control she was desperate to do anything to save her family. Her feelings hadn’t settled when the heap that was her aunt moved. She got to her feet with difficulty as her aunt rose seemingly from the dead. The Death Eater’s face was bloodied and her motions seemed pained, but yet she lived.

“That was a good first try.” She turned fully to Tonks with clear pain in her face. “But it’s more than just hate dear.” Tonks raised her wand while still leaning on the wall for support, “Its the joy of killing. Let me show you.” Tonks felt a single tear run down her face. Not for her, but for Teddy. it was his face she held in her mind as she heard her aunt give her demonstration.

-

I hate when people shit on Tonks for going to the battle. She is a good soul who couldn’t stand by when people needed her. I wanted to give a concrete reason why she needed to be there, why her sacrifice meant so much more than her leaving Teddy orphaned. She was a hero and people shit on her because of it. this is the only time you see me admit she died. But I believe she had to be there to save Neville. She would have been the only person short Harry that could have diverted Bellatrix’s attention. She sacrificed herself and Neville was able to aid Harry and the rest is history.

Also as badass as Molly Weasley is, the first time we see her Duel is against Bellatrix, and I think it would make more sense if Bellatrix was weakened when she died at Molly’s hand.