#i imagine he heard my prayers. it's a little quiet but still nice to listen to <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[movedto-mrs-bluemarine]

"damn it's storming hard. Too bad it's almost finished and we didn't get to hear any thunder" :/

Wes: oh, worm?

[venny-the-chubbyblack-writer]

Title: The Weight of Heartbeats

Part of the: kny blind date series

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Gyomei Himejima was nervous, though he would never admit it to himself. The man, towering and silent like a mountain, was unused to the feeling. As a Hashira, he had fought demons and seen horrors unimaginable to others. But tonight, he faced something entirely different: a blind date.

He could still hear Shinobu’s teasing voice from earlier in the day. “Even someone as strong as you needs someone to care for them, Himejima-san. Perhaps this will be a chance to open your heart a little.”

The subtle push from Shinobu had felt oddly compelling. So here he was, waiting outside a quaint little tea house, the lanterns casting a warm, flickering light against the night sky. His prayer beads rested loosely in his large hands, the soft clinking of each bead a source of comfort as he waited. He listened to the soft sounds of the town around him, trying to keep his mind calm and steady. Though he couldn’t see, he knew how much the world could still be painted through sound, touch, and smell.

And then he felt her approach.

Gyomei could sense her before she spoke—a soft rustling sound of fabric and the distinct, warm scent of vanilla and cocoa butter. When she greeted him, her voice was rich and kind, with a hint of nervousness. “Hello, Gyomei-san. I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Her voice was beautiful, he thought, smooth and comforting. Gyomei nodded respectfully, smiling softly as he turned towards her, though his unseeing eyes gazed somewhere beyond. “It’s a pleasure, (Y/N)-san. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but feel the same butterflies in her stomach. Gyomei was as large and imposing as she’d heard, with a calm, serene aura that only added to his intimidating presence. Yet, his gentle tone and respectful demeanor softened her initial nerves. She found herself adjusting her clothes self-consciously, hoping her figure—a chubby, full-figured Black woman—wouldn’t be off-putting to him. She wasn’t used to blind dates, especially with a man like him, but she’d agreed at her friend’s urging.

She led them to a table inside, the warm lighting and quiet ambiance of the tea house providing a cozy, intimate atmosphere. She noticed how Gyomei, though he couldn’t see, moved with an incredible sense of spatial awareness, careful not to bump into anything. When they sat, the server brought their tea, and (Y/N) took a deep breath, relaxing bit by bit.

As they sipped, the conversation began to flow. At first, they kept it light—talking about favorite teas and childhood memories. But gradually, their topics deepened.

“Do you enjoy your work, Gyomei-san?” she asked after a lull in the conversation, curiosity lacing her tone.

Gyomei nodded slowly, his expression contemplative. “Yes, though it is difficult. There is… a heaviness to it, knowing that every battle could be my last. But it is a burden I willingly bear to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

(Y/N) felt a pang of admiration and sorrow. “It must be hard to carry that alone. I mean… you’re human, too, even if people see you as a hero. I imagine it’s lonely sometimes.”

He paused, the weight of her words settling on him. She had touched on something he rarely allowed himself to think about. “Yes, it can be. But I have my fellow Hashira, my comrades. And now… I am grateful for this moment, for your company.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words, her smile widening. She realized how rare it must be for him to speak openly about himself. Gyomei was someone who held his feelings close, but he seemed to sense that she would listen, that she cared.

“I know what it’s like to feel alone,” (Y/N) admitted, her eyes downcast. “People… they see me and make assumptions. I’m too ‘different’ for some.” She laughed softly, trying to shrug it off, but Gyomei felt the tremor in her voice. She was strong, he sensed, yet vulnerable, and her words resonated deeply with him.

“People often look but do not see,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with understanding. “But I believe there is strength in our differences, (Y/N)-san. You are… radiant.” He hesitated slightly, as if gauging his words. “I can sense it in your presence. It is as calming as the sound of falling rain.”

(Y/N) felt her heart skip a beat. The way he spoke, so honestly and with such care, made her feel beautiful in a way few ever had. She’d always been proud of who she was, yet this moment made her see herself through different eyes, through his words. It was both unexpected and deeply touching.

“Thank you, Gyomei-san,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. She cleared her throat, composing herself, and added, “I never thought… I’d hear something like that from someone like you.”

They talked for hours, the tea house quieting around them as the evening wore on. Gyomei listened intently to her stories, chuckling softly at her playful remarks and feeling a warmth grow in his chest whenever she laughed. He found himself entranced by her spirit—her wit, her kindness, and her strength. Though he could not see her face, he could imagine her expressions, the way her eyes might light up with every laugh, every word.

When it was time to leave, Gyomei offered her his arm, which she took gladly, and they walked back together through the cool night air. At her door, there was a pause, an unspoken tension between them, both feeling the tug of connection and the reluctance to part ways.

“I… had a wonderful time, Gyomei-san,” she said, her voice a soft murmur in the stillness.

“As did I, (Y/N)-san,” he replied, his voice as calm as ever but with a gentleness that made her heart race.

Before she could overthink, (Y/N) took his large, calloused hand in hers, squeezing it lightly. “I hope… we can meet again.”

Gyomei’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around hers, his expression tender. “I would like that very much.”

As she walked into her home, she leaned against the door, her heart pounding, a smile playing on her lips. And outside, Gyomei lingered for a moment, listening to the faint sound of her steps fading. He felt the warmth of her hand lingering in his, a reminder that perhaps, in this vast and often lonely world, he had found a kindred soul—a bond as grounding as the earth beneath him.

End

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I hope you enjoy this @thecreativeblueberry-blog 🥰

[tamagochiie]

when the rumbling came; erwin smith

pairing. Erwin Smith x Fem!reader 

synopsis. You were tired of work, of people, and of life treating you poorly. You quickly came to the conclusion that if you were going to end your life, now would probably be a good time as any. 

word count. 3.36k

tags + warnings. TRIGGER WARNING! depression, attempted to attempt suicide, reader being completely dead inside (metaphorically), modern!au, office!au (just a pinch), angst, comfort/fluff, 

notes. I don’t romanticize depression or suicide. Writing is my way of coping and dealing with everything that’s going on right now; don’t worry, I’m okay, really I am. So, this one shot is more or less self indulgent. Please, if you you’re going through some hardships don’t hesitate to reach out for help. My inbox is also free, and I’m always willing to listen. 

You had alway built yourself in a firm foundation made of rocks, that nothing could ever shake you and even if it did, you’d snap back like an elastic band. But very recently, very, very recently, you’ve been living on a faultline and for a while now there’d be tremors - nothing strong enough to shake you, though. 

But your foundation soon turned into sand as the weeks came by and stress came to you in waves. The little tremors eventually turned into big ones. You found yourself swaying, crumbling, and now you were barely reaching the end of the week without falling to your knees and weeping, your pleas for mercy hung in the air, right in your face as if it were mocking you. 

The home you had built for yourself had fallen into rubble and nothing could protect you. 

Nothing could save you from all the wind and rain, and quite frankly, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to be saved. Being saved meant continuing on, meant trudging through the fight and you had no more fight left in you. 

So there you sat, on the very edge of the roof of your office building with your feet dangling. Night life in the city glimmered and glowed, completely ignorant to you suffering. But it looked nice and you found yourself thankful because at least life was kind enough to give you one last “good” view before you did the deed. 

I’d just have to scoot and I’d be on my way to the pavement, you thought idly. 

You weren’t even scared, and maybe that’s what scared you, that you were completely okay with ending it here. That you didn’t even bat an eye when the idea came into your head while you bought yourself a sandwich during your lunch break. 

It kinda felt easy like solving 1+1.

So maybe it was your calmness that scared you. Maybe it's the fact that once you had made up your mind, you had been set as if you were picking out clothes for the next day kind of set. 

You swung your feet, feeling yourself scooch closer to the edge and your heart didn’t even race - not even a flutter.

You craned your neck back to look at the sky, not a single star in sight. You heavily sighed and played with your hands while you teared up and eventually cried. All the burdens you carried, the responsibilities you shouldered, and the insecurities you kept close to your heart flooded out of you in one single, painstaking sob. 

Your chest heaved and your voice cracked as you screamed into a void, knowing you’d never be heard over all the honking and clamouring from the city beneath you. 

“I dunno who's listening,” You croak to the night, your throat dry from all the crying, “but if I’m not supposed to die tonight, can you give me a sign...or something? Like, send someone out here to do a handstand or something. If - If there’s like, any sliver of hope I have left or whatever...If I’m not supposed to end here, then just do that because I really dunno if I’m supposed to hang on anymore...” 

You never prayed a single prayer in your life, maybe just once when you were wavering in your ability to attain such a fine job as this, or when both your parents fell ill and you were left alone to fend for yourself. But other than that, you more or less suffered silently, cried to yourself when you needed to, and pulled yourself out of trouble. 

It was late into the night, so the prayer was already silly to begin with. Everyone had gone home and you made sure of it because you hid in the bathroom until the lights turned off and the floor of your office was completely silent. 

And the more you thought about it, as you imagined yourself hiding in that bathroom like a dumbass, you felt your cheeks flush in embarrassment. 

Well, it wasn’t like you were going to be alive to bear it into tomorrow morning anyway. 

You flinched at the sudden sound of the fire exit creaking open, the metal scratching against the pavement. You turned your head and squinted at the shadows and the little light provided by the exit sign. 

“Hello?” You called out to the shadows and flinched when you saw it move, heedlessly pulling yourself away from the edge as you leaned back to take a closer look. 

You gasped lowly as a familiar, rather burly figure emerged from the darkness. It was your boss, Mr. Smith, who had his eyes widen in surprise, as if he was shocked to have actually found someone on the roof. 

He narrowed his gaze on you and wore a tight lip as he studied you intently. He stayed near the fire exit, hand in the pocket of his clean cut slacks while the other hung by his side. 

You had sworn everyone had gone home. 

Not everyone, you supposed. 

“Can I help you?” You asked through your sniffling, but Mr. Smith kept quiet; the silence grew to be quite awkward the longer he stood there. 

After a few beats, he stepped forward, rolling up the sleeves of his button up shirt before he ran his fingers through his hair. A tremulous breath escaped his lips as he spun on the heels of his shoes, facing the wall. 

You cocked your head, blinking owlishly at him. And in one, fluid motion, with little to no effort, he bent down to lean onto his hands and kicked his feet up to the air, leaning against the wall for support. 

He did a handstand. 

What? 

You would be laughing if you weren’t in the state you were in. 

Mr. Smith was still looking directly at you as he stood on his hands, his clothes bunched up beneath his chin while his face burned red from the sudden rush of blood to his head.  

All you could do was leave your mouth hanging open, blinking at him in bewilderment. 

With a faint grunt, Mr. Smith brought his feet back to the ground and pushed himself off his hands. He brushed his hands together to dust away the dirt before he looked back to you as he ran his hands down the creases of his vest. 

“Before you say anything,” He spoke, his voice deep and velvety, “I have absolutely no idea why I did that, but there was a little voice in my head that told me to.” 

You licked your lips and stayed quiet, still taking in what had just happened. 

“But my question is,” He began, “are you okay?”

“Do I look like I’m okay?” You spat, but you bit your tongue and cleared your throat when you realized who you were talking to. “Sorry,” You quietly muttered, twisting yourself back to look at the building in front of you. 

You listened as the footsteps behind you drew closer, ultimately coming to a quiet halt. 

“Mind if I join you?” He dipped his head down to look at you and you glanced at him in the corner of your eye, shrugging your shoulders. 

Mr. Smith took the spot beside you and swung his feet over the ledge, mirroring the way you sat before digging his hand back into his pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes. 

“You got a lighter?” He asked, sticking a cigarette between his lips. You shook your head, amazed at his nonchalant demeanor. “That’s okay, I’ve got one.” 

You watched him with a puzzled look as he lit his cigarette and blew a smoke. 

It was pretty obvious what you were trying to do; your eyes were red and looked sore, your cheeks stained with tears, and not to mention you were setting on the ledge of a build without your shoes on. 

How was he so calm?

“I’ve seen you around the office,” He recalled, blowing a few more smokes before he turned to you, “you look like a hard worker.” 

“Depends on how you define ‘hard worker’,” You mumbled. Mr. Smith brought the cigarette in front of you as if signaling you to take it. You do. “I’m more of a half-assed worker that’s just ebbing and flowing bullshit just to get the job done so I can go home and wallow in self-pity in silence.” 

He chuckled. It sounded sweet. 

“So why are you sitting on the ledge?” 

You drew out a smoke. 

“I don’t wanna live anymore.” You deadpanned. “I hate my life and I hate that it’s fucked me in the ass -” You blew another smoke before passing it back to Mr. Smith, your body a lot more calmer and your mind unfiltered, “ - without even my consent.” 

“I don’t blame you,” He said earnestly, and it shocked you. The golden boy who strolled up and down the office floors with his chest out, head held high, and a smile that made every woman’s knees go weak was agreeing with you. His eyes looked like it held all the hope and promise in the world, yet he was agreeing with you.“But are you sure you wanna do that? What if life gets better?” 

You snickered though no trace of amusement on your face. 

“I’ve been living on ‘what ifs’, Mr. Smith,” You pointed out plainly, “I’m not about to keep going. What’s the point of living on ‘what ifs’ when nothing happens? At the end of the day, I’m just an idiot that keeps thinking, ‘What if today’s better?’, ‘What if there’s a new flavor of ice cream that’s been released and it turns out to be my favorite?’ -- it’s stupid.” 

“What if your boss gives you a raise?” He smirked at you playfully but you only rolled your eyes. “What? It was worth a try.” 

“Your try was shit.” 

“What about if you tried a different approach?” 

“Look, Mr. Smith,” You sighed in annoyance and snatched the cigarette from his hand and propped it between your lips, “I don’t have a lot of fight left in me, okay? I’ve tried, I failed. That’s it. So, would you just leave me to do what I need to do? Please?” 

“If you wanted to kill yourself, you would’ve done it by now.” 

You threw him a sour look, offended that he didn’t think you could do it. 

But why would you be upset about that? 

“You don’t know me.” You muttered.

“I know well enough that if you wanted to call quits, you wouldn’t have sat here for nearly an hour, praying for a sign.” 

“You heard?” 

He nodded. 

“You lied!” You raised your voice and without giving it much thought, you punched him in the arm. “You said you didn’t know why you came up here!” 

“Oh, I didn’t,” He calmly argued. “Not completely, anyway. I saw you go up when I was on my way out. When I noticed you didn’t take your things, not even your phone, I had a gut feeling it was something bad.” 

“I waited for a little while,” He explained, “I thought that maybe you wanted some fresh air, but the longer I waited, the more worried I got. So I went up the steps just to check on you, and your voice...did you know your voice carries well in the stairwell? I heard your voice, small and completely detached from life. Even then, you were asking for help, and how could I refuse?”

“Do you make it a point to get into other people’s business?” 

“Only when they’re trying to take their life.”  

“And now what?” You sounded detached and uninterested, and he didn’t blame you for it. He never spoke to you outside of meetings or work, not even once. Of course his words wouldn’t have any impact. “Are you gonna tell me not to go through with it, talk me down or something? You gonna tell me ‘If you can’t live for yourself, then live for me’? That kinda dumb shit?” 

He shook his head, a faint pout on his lips. Despite your mocking tone, Mr. Smith remained calm and didn’t take it personally. Though you kinda wish he did, so he could leave you alone.

“No, nothing like that....” Mr. Smith weighed his options, choosing his next words and his next approach carefully.

He’s been here before and he falls into shallow thought, remembering all the things he didn’t do and see if he could do it now.  

“I - I’ve been both on both ends of the situation, I just -” Mr. Smith sighed heavily, as he rubbed his hands together, “- I didn’t do anything last time, so - so when I saw you I thought maybe I could somehow make up for it.” 

“That kinda sounds shitty,” You pointed out. 

It was indeed a shitty thing that you were somehow being used to clear a conscience, but you understood where his heart was at.  It was nice that he was trying - it was nice that someone had noticed. 

But that’s all that it was for you: it was just nice. 

“I’m just so fucking tired,” You admitted, your eyes stinging with fresh tears. You tilted your head back to keep it from spilling, but like all of your attempts at anything, you failed. “I’m so fucking tired of being tired, and nothing’s going right. I’ve tried different approaches, changing my mindset. I even did all these stupid Pinterest self-help boards, but that didn’t help either. I’m desperately grasping for straws and I’ve finally decided to just...stop.” 

You rolled your head, looking at your boss with lifeless eyes and it terrified him. He didn’t know what to say - not then and most certainly not now. But what does anyone say to a person who’s given up all hope and interest in living? 

You seemed to have made up your mind and Mr. Smith worried that he’d have another life in his hands. He didn’t want that and he found himself growing desperate. 

He liked you, whether it be a co-worker or something else, he liked seeing you around the office. You were smart and though you looked soft spoken, you most certainly weren’t. You never ceased to amaze him with the things you submitted, so he truly wondered why you felt so inadequate. 

Mr. Smith couldn’t help but blame himself for not paying attention.

“I say don’t die,” He said rather confidentiality, and you furrowed your brows at this. He was becoming persistent in his meddling. “I say wait it out another day or week, and then if you really wanna, fine. I’ll even leave the emergency exit unlocked for you.” 

You widened your eyes, your mouth parted but not a single sound came out. 

“Why should I wait when I can do it right now?” 

“Because of the ‘what ifs’.” 

You grunted. 

“I already told you --” 

“Yes, but what if I tried to help you?” 

“I’m not going to be your charity case, Mr. Smith,” You chastised. “I’d rather die than be your charity case.” 

“You won’t be,” He said rather calmly. A small smile crept across his lips and his eyes twinkled against the faint glow of the city lights. “You’ll be my friend and I, too, need a friend.” 

“Mr. Smith --” 

“Call me Erwin.” 

You cleared your throat. You felt embarrassed to say the least. You opened your mouth and found it weird when you spoke his name. You didn’t like it, but it was something you could get used to. 

“Why would you wanna be my friend?” 

“Because life’s fucked me in the ass without my consent, too.” It was weird hearing something so crass coming from the poster boy of perfection and all things pure. You almost thought you’d completely lost it and had imagined he ever said it. “And I heard that suffering with someone makes the experience a little less painful and a little more bearable. So, won’t you be my friend and suffer with me?” 

Mr. Smith noticed your hesitance, even more so when he held his left hand out for you to take. It felt formal like he was trying to close a business deal or something. It was a bit weird. 

“You’re not gonna be my reason for living,” You said, letting his hand awkwardly hang in the air. But he didn’t bother to retract it. “I’m not looking for a savior.” 

“You’re looking for your strength and so am I, so let’s just look together and see what we find, mm?” 

You looked at him, studied him. Why did he care so much, and why did you want to know? 

After all, you did ask for a sign, yet here you were being stubborn and pretending as if you hadn’t seen it at all. You didn’t believe in miracles or spectacular alignments of the universe, but when you took his hand, you felt a warmth of reassurance - a sense of peace. 

Suddenly, with a high pitch yelp from your lips, Mr. Smith quickly moved his left hand and wrapped it over you and pulled you down with him as he threw himself back onto the pavement behind you. His right hand cushioned your blow and he winced in pain when he caught you. 

You found yourself tightly gripping onto the material of his sleeve when you took a peak to check on Mr. Smith. He was looking down at you, a nervous smile plastered across his face. 

You shoved him off, muttering to yourself as you patted yourself down. 

“That was uncalled for.” You grumbled. 

“How would I know? You would’ve changed your mind for all I know.” 

“I took your hand!” You chided. “That was basically me saying, ‘Okay, I’ll be your friend’! What if you had thrown yourself forward instead!” 

“But I didn’t.” He replied calmly, a smile, one that irked you completely, pulled the corners of his lips. 

“Yeah, but what if you had?” 

“But I didn’t.”

He stood up from the floor and patted the dust and dirt of his pants before reaching down to help you up from the ground. 

“Thank you for being my friend,” Mr. Smith grinned. “I promise you won’t regret it.” 

You rolled your eyes as he kept his hold around your hand, shaking it. 

“Your promises don’t mean much to me.” 

 It had been months since your moment on the rooftop with Erwin. Though he had been keen, inviting you out for lunch, for dinner, and spared some time for small talk in passing, you were still walking on eggshells, especially because you worried that it might’ve looked unprofessional. 

But really, no one cared as much as you did. Everyone had just assumed Erwin was just being kind. But still, it gave you more stress than it did comfort you, and though you had spat a few unkind words his way, he never left. 

He always came back with a bright smile and offerings, whether it were candies or actual food. 

Eventually, you eased in and you were no longer agitated. You found yourself looking forward to Erwin’s occasional visits to your desk or when he’d ask you out for some coffee. 

At the end of every day Erwin would never miss a beat and would ask you how you were doing, and it never felt performative or forced. He was warm and genuine, and he’d share his burdens with you, too. 

And you found yourself realizing that he was right, that struggling with someone made things a little less painful and a little more bearable. That despite the struggle, knowing someone so patient and understanding, would be there to catch you. 

“Hey,” You spoke over the rim of your freshly brewed tea as you sat across the little round table of the coffee shop. Erwin’s eyes flicked up at you as he took a bite of his muffin. “Thanks,” 

He raised a brow and cocked his head to the side, “What for?” He asked, his words muffled by his stuffed mouth. 

“Thanks for being my friend.” 

He smiled, a few crumbs falling from his lips and onto his plate. 

“Thank you for being mine.” 

[quillify-tries-to-talk]

Yet Another Rewrite (Part 2)

For the thomstair appreciation week by @youngreckless ik it's over. Sorry I'm late :(

You can read part 1 here then come back and read this one.

Thomas and Alastair working things out part 2. Enjoy!

Tw: mentions of racism, bullying, abuse, colonialism

"Even our angels have mercy, Thomas." His voice was hollow now. 

Despair threatened to pull him under. It wasn't worth it. Anything. He would always be like this. It was a miracle even Cordelia was able to look him in the eye without hate. He did deserve this, he thought, settling back on his bed, all the fight drained. He deserved every blow and every bruise he'd inflicted on others.

Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa 

Funny that he now remembered his Latin lessons.

The bed dipped under Thomas's heavier weight, and he felt a flash of warmth when hesitant fingers crept over his skin. Too close. He was too close. 

Let go, he wanted to say, but lies seemed to evade him whenever Thomas Lightwood was present. His eyes looked dark brown in the dim lighting. There were  dents on his bottom lip where he must have bitten it. It took everything in him to not let his hands rise and trace the lines of his jaw.

"I remember Paris."

Alastair's eyes widened. He sat frozen, and Thomas took that as his cue to continue. "You were kind to me when I was very alone, and I am grateful." He looked up, face a bit red. "It was the first time I realized you could be kind.”

He tried not to let the last comment needle him. “It is my favorite memory of Paris as well.”

“You don’t have to say that. I know you were there with Charles.”

His jaw went tight. Not that. Anything but that. "Charles Fairchild? What about him?”

Thomas cocked his head to the side, his expression innocent. “Wouldn’t that be your best memory of Paris?”

“Exactly what are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything." His tone indicated the exact opposite though. Cheeky little–

"I’ve seen the way you look at Charles, the way he looks at you. I’m not an idiot, Alastair, and I’m asking …” Thomas shook his head, sighing. 

He was going to say it. Right here. Angel help him.

“I suppose I’m asking if you’re like me.”

There it was. 

Perhaps he could salvage this conversation. He gathered his thoughts, straightened out of his slouching position.

“Thomas Lightwood,” he said. “I am nothing like you."

Thomas stared as if he'd been clubbed on the head, eyes dazed in shock again. He was shuffling from side to side, probably preparing to launch himself far, far away from him.

A bit more effort, dâdâsh, Layla said in his head, amused and exasperated.

Right. “I am nothing like you, Thomas." His breathing was faltering again, throat closing up, fighting against the vulnerability he was exposing. “Because you are one of the better people I have ever known. You have a kind nature and a heart like some knight out of legend. Brave and proud and true and strong. All of it.” 

He smiled bitterly. “And all the time you have known me, I have been a terrible person. So, you see. We are nothing at all alike.”

His head snapped up, surprise etched on his features. His eyes started twinkling again. What was he doing to him? Even looking at him made Alastair want to smile. 

He hadn't wanted to smile in a long, long time.

"I'm not—" Thomas broke off. "That's not what I meant."

Don't I know that, eshgham? "I know what you meant." His voice had softened. The words hung in the air for a moment. But he needed some answers of his own now. "How did you know about Charles?"

“You wouldn’t tell me what you were doing in Paris,” Thomas replied. Alastair thought he heard a note of hurt in his voice, but promptly dismissed the notion. “But you mentioned Charles, over and over again, like you got pleasure out of just saying his name. And when you came to London this summer, I saw the way you looked at him. I know what it is to have to hide the—the signs of affection.”

“Then I imagine you may have noticed I don’t look at Charles that way anymore.”

What did you just say, Carstairs? Admitting to your own failures now? Couldn't even hold on to first love?

His jaw tightened again. Get out of my head, baba. Charles. Get out, both of you.

“I suppose I did,” Thomas said. “Though for the past four months, I’ve been trying not to look at you. I told myself I hated you. But I could never really make myself. When Elias died, all I could think about was you. What you must be feeling.”

His father's name reopened the gashes on his heart. Heat sparked behind his eyelids. “I insulted your father and blackened his name. You were under no obligation to care about mine.”

“I know, but sometimes I think that it is much harder to lose someone who we are on bad terms with than it is to lose someone with whom all is well.”

“Bloody hell, Thomas. You should hate me, not be thinking about what I must be feeling—” Alastair passed a hand over his face. It came back wet with tears. He didn’t even know when that happened. He’d never had an audience for his crying before. 

"But I do," said Thomas softly. His fingers ghosted higher along Alastair's wrist, making his heart skip a beat. Once, twice, three times.

Bewildered, he marvelled at the sensation such a small touch could cause. 

"I'm sorry." Thomas's voice was soft, filled with guilt. His head bowed as if in prayer. "I—what you said. What happened at school." His gaze trailed over Alastair's features, and he shook his head. "I always found you beautiful. Then and now. I didn't know people hated how you looked. You're like a poem, but in human form."

"Poem," Alastair repeated numbly. If his brain had short-circuited before, it was blown to bits now. No one had ever called him that.

Charles had called him a beautiful secret. His safe haven. His comfort and best friend.

Never a poem.

"Yes." Thomas's cheeks were slowly flushing rose. Another nice contrast with his skin and hair. "Graceful. Elegant. Confident. You were always so poised and sharp. Like one of Jamie's knives. You were smart, managed to turn people over. They listened to you. Look what you did just now. I didn't know what to do. If I wanted you. Or if I wanted to be you. Remember when I followed you around school?"

Alastair's rusty throat muscles regained a bit of their ability. He wanted me? It wasn’t the best, but it was okay. Charles had wanted him. It hadn’t been too bad. Until the end. Until the horror of his actions had dawned on him. Until he realized that all his time spent with Charles had been wasted in tending to his needs, not Alastair’s. He hadn’t even known a relationship required his own needs to be taken care of. That it was a necessity. 

"I remember,” he managed. “Then I met you in Paris and you’d grown up and turned into Michelangelo’s David. I thought you were beautiful. But I was still caught up with Charles—” He broke off, regret weighting his stomach. “Just another thing I’ve wasted. Your regard for me. I wasted my time and my affection on Charles. I wasted my chance with you.”

Thomas blinked. And blinked. And blinked. A pulse had started in the base of his neck, thudding against the delicate skin. Alastair raised his eyes only to find him already staring. 

"Thomas?" His name tasted strange on his tongue.

"You said angels too have mercy," he said in answer. "I—I must apologize. I'll admit I didn't know how people treated your family. I have been sheltered in that regard."

"You must know where those indigo-dyed silks came from," said Alastair softly. They were from India. Ariadne had mentioned it during their little dance, the news that had trickled in. The brown-skinned, hollow-eyed servants brought in for labour by mundanes and Shadowhunters alike. "Or why England never has a shortage of adamas, but my country does." 

That one was still going on. Britain liked guising their nefarious schemes behind offers of trade. 

He released a sigh, shaking his head in despondence. "They never tell you. Layla and I knew because we saw it happen; we know our histories ever since we could walk and talk. And it still happens. It's more than demons and humans for us. It’s always been that way." He held one brown hand up to the light, and Thomas’s eyes followed. “This isn’t apparently how we were supposed to look. I tried changing that, and it did work for sometime but.. I hated myself even then. I hated my family and my culture and my books. Do you flinch from your own face, Thomas? I always did. Still do, sometimes. 

“I hate that my skin isn’t like yours. If it was, perhaps people wouldn’t have said so many things. Perhaps I wouldn’t have as many bruises.” He leaned his head back against the wall, ignoring the tightness in his chest. “In another life, perhaps we would’ve had our chance, you and I.”

His words ended with a plaintive note; the bone-deep weariness that there was nothing he could do, aside from ripping off his own skin or trying to be like his father. In appearance, at least. They remained silent for a long while, but it was the thoughtful sort. Alastair didn't know how many hours he passed by just counting the cracks in the walls when Thomas's voice pierced the quiet.

"Teach me."

He jerked awake. "What?"

"You said there are things I don't know about you. About where you come from and what you and Cordelia have to face. And… perhaps I'd like to know. I'd like to understand how the world works." A small smile ticked up the corners of his mouth, and Alastair found himself besotted by the expression.

By the Angel. Definitely not coming out in one piece.

"You'd like to… umm…" Words had fled when he'd needed them most. Damn you, Thomas. 

Thomas’s fingers enclosed over his wrists. The warmth was steadying, comforting. His expression was hesitant, at odds with the way his body commandeered space. “I want help. Really, truly. I found myself fascinated in Spain by the difference in language and culture. And then Paris. One-time travel gave me a different perspective, so imagine what more knowledge would do.” He was practically shaking with excitement at the prospect of learning of his ancestor’s atrocities. “You’ll be teaching me, so it won’t feel like a debt to you.”

“Are you sure you want to know, Thomas? People have done some terrible things.”

“I need to know what I’m redeeming myself for before I ask for forgiveness.” His hazel eyes were clear, expression determined. Like a knight readied for battle. A scholar rewriting history on pages. 

Alastair felt his throat tighten at his excitement. He wasn’t used to any of this. Apologies. Forgiveness. Love. Hope. His story was supposed to have died after all his attempts to apologize to The Merry Thieves. He’d failed then to ask for friends, so why would someone give him another chance?

“And maybe you’re wrong,” Thomas added in what was supposed to be a nonchalant tone, but Alastair detected a slight tremor in it. “About me.”

“Speak sense, Lightwood.” His tone sharpened, a defense against his wrecked emotional state. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this.” In answer, Thomas hooked his hands around Alastair’s shoulders, and the sudden onslaught of warmth and gentleness made his body sway with the sheer impossibility of the situation. No glass. No manipulation. Nothing but warmth and truth and compromise. The good sort. 

This had to be a dream. He would wake up any time now, but he couldn’t stop staring at him. Couldn't stop admiring his smile, the brightness of his eyes, the shape of his mouth, that damned pulse at his throat. And more. His strength. His passion for learning. His bravery in venturing after a killer alone. The openness of his heart.

I’m not worth it, Alastair wanted to say, but by then his head had fallen on his shoulder, nestled in the crook of Thomas’s neck. He felt lighter than air. For the first time, his head felt empty of anything: trouble, grief, responsibilities, duties. It was just them. Thomas with his arms around him, holding him in the storm of his life. His heartbeat was a steady clock that Alastair could time his breaths to. 

With Charles it had been all heat and desire, and the furious pounding of his heart in the thrill of being wanted by someone. This felt like coming home, sitting down for a cup of tea with his favourite book. Warm and right and natural. Tears slipped down his cheeks, freed after years and years of being locked away for the sake of his family. 

Thomas set his lips to Alastair’s brow. 

His body seized up at the soft pressure. It felt like someone had poured sunlight into his veins. Another tear slipped down his cheek. Impossible. Wake up, now. Happiness wasn’t a part of your life. But he was still here, feeling Thomas lean his cheek against his hair. Through the swirl of emotions, he heard his voice again.

“We’ll get past this together. I will relearn you, Alastair.” The sound of his name on Thomas’s lips sent his heart careening again. “Negaran nabash.”

Don't worry. Even with the different cadence, it would’ve been hard to miss. Thomas had just spoken in Persian. 

Lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow. “Where did you learn that?”

“Oh. Umm. Just something…” That adorable smile surfaced again. “A little hobby? Like Kit and his test tubes?”

Shaking his head, Alastair allowed himself a little smile. Perhaps, it had been worth it to risk his neck. For this. Only for this.

Taglist: @cherilyn-rose @youngreckless @eugeniaslongsword @nott-the-best (2nd part eeeeeeee🥳🥳🥳) @cant-think-of-anything @livingformyself

[thetaoofzoe]

FIC: The Mercy In You 1/1

Pairing: Demon Priest! Henry Cavill x YOU

Summary: You liked Sunday Sermons in the courtyard of the church the most. 

Rating: Explicit, some religious/satanic imagery, oral sex (male receiving), rapacious absolution and yes, it’s the smutty smut you expect ;)

Notes: I don’t remember who said it, but this came out of the conversation regarding Sherlock!Henry’s high white collar :)

Bonus points if you know the song from which I took the title.

(sherlock pic from andyicons)

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

It was an extremely pleasant mid-Autumn morning and you enjoyed the warmth of the sun on your shoulders as you sat on the soft, neatly cut grass in the small courtyard between the church’s main building and the second smaller building which had been repurposed for administrative offices.

A thick luscious green hedge enclosed one side of the courtyard, and on the other side stood a tall iron lattice fence woven with thick ropy green vines from which sprouted sweet smelling red and purple flowers. 

As you sat there, basking in the sun, you watched as two men, dressed all in black, ferried a small table and two matching chairs from the administrative building and into the courtyard where they set them up near to the tall hedge. Another man brought out a white dish, a vase of flowers and a silver goblet which he arranged carefully on the table. 

One of the men looked your way and you gave him a friendly wave. He nodded and you went back to checking your audio equipment. 

It was just another daily sermon session that the church liked to provide for parishioners who could not, or did not want to attend in person, but still wanted to receive the good word. You and your crew had been working with the church for months now, helping them to set up and livestream the daily sermons, and then edit and post the videos to the church’s website for future viewing.

You attended most of the filming sessions and found that each presenter brought a different flavour to their sermons, which you liked. And, while you weren’t particularly religious you found yourself liking the Sunday Sermons the best, for was a nice positive way to start the week. 

‘Well,’ said the cameraman, glancing at his wristwatch. ‘We’re just waiting for the priest. We’ve got about a half hour before we start the stream.’

With a soft groan born of stiff cramped muscles from sitting cross-legged too long, you pressed up from the ground and stretched.

‘I’ll go and have a look around for him. I also want some water, so… two birds, one stone.’

The cameraman shrugged and you turned away, scowling, rebuffed that you didn’t even get a chuckle from your off-handed joke.

You walked across the grass to one of the open doors that you knew led to the corridor that ran directly passed the ladies loo and into the kitchen. Stepping  into the cool dim interior, something odd grabbed your attention. 

You paused and listened carefully, but there was only muted silence. You closed your eyes and a sudden wave of strange arousal washed over you. You sucked in a sharp breath, surprised by the response of your body to that unseen force.

Then as quickly as the fervour had seized you, it was gone. You opened your eyes and casting about an apprehensive glance, you let out a shaky breath. You were alone in the corridor. Or at least as alone as you could tell. You made moves to continue to the kitchen when your bladder reminded you that there was another pressing matter at hand.

You eyed the heavy wood loo door and said aloud, ‘Ok, three birds.’

There were no towels, so you were still shaking your hands dry when you left the toilets,  and walked down the hall to where the offices were located. If the priest giving the sermon was anywhere, it was probably in there.

As you approached the offices, you could hear a soft chanting. The sound of it seemed to be coming from everywhere and you stopped, feeling a little disorientated. There was that rush of arousal again and you could feel the wetness beginning to seep into the crotch of your knickers.

The chanting waned a bit and keeping your focus on the door marked ‘Office’ you forced yourself to keep moving. You then realised that the chanting was coming from behind the office door. Male voices rose and fell rhythmically and you wondered if they were getting ready for the morning. Although you were loathe to disturb the men, you lifted your hand to knock on the door as you had to fetch the priest who would be giving the sermon in less than half an hour.

You knocked, and the chanting ceased. Putting on your pre-emptively chagrined face, you waited nervously for the door to swing open and possibly reveal a frazzled looking priest. However, you were still facing a closed door after a few minutes drifted by.

You knocked again.

Silence.

You felt uneasy and slipped your hand down the smoothly worn wood to rest on the door knob. You didn’t want to just barge in, so you waited and lifted your hand to knock again.

‘Are you looking for someone?’

The quiet voice behind you made you jump. You spun round, and pressed back against the office door.

‘Oh!’ you cried, pressing a hand to your breast and cringing at how dramatic you sounded. ‘You gave me a such a fright! I didn’t hear you.’

You recognised the tall man standing behind you and he looked perfectly pleasant with his bright blue eyes, brown curls and stiff high white collar. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said slowly, but looked anything but. ‘That wasn’t my intention.’

You let out a relieved, breathy laugh and mentally groped for his surname.

‘It’s Father ahh…’

‘It’s just Henry, please. There’s no need for formalities.’

You tasted his name on your tongue, licking it into the roof of your mouth, savouring it as you formed the syllables of his name and dumbly repeated it back to him, much to his visual delight.

It was an effort to break his gaze and you silently congratulated yourself when you managed to do it.

‘I’m ah…’ you jerked a thumb over your shoulder at the door behind you. ‘I’m looking for the priest who is doing the morning sermon. I... hahaha... I got distracted by the chanting.’

His eyes slid over to the door and then back to you and you felt thoroughly probed by his intense gaze. Your nipples tightened reflexively and you were embarrassed by the sweet lasciviousness that rose unbidden in your thoughts.

‘I don’t think anyone’s in there,’ he said, sounding incredulous about your claim of hearing chanting.

You opened your mouth to defend your own lucidity, but the words dried up when he reached for you. A pulse of excitement echoed in your core and you tensed, ready for the heat of his hand on you.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, he merely nudged you aside and closing his hand round the wood doorknob, he turned it. You barely had time to step away before he swung the door open, revealing a small cluttered room with one dusty window and four wood desks crammed close together in the centre. Trying to keep a respectable distance between the two of you and failing miserably, you curved around the door frame and sheepishly peeked in.

The room was empty and the free standing water dispenser gurgled mockingly from its place in the corner.

With his hand still on the knob, and his body trapping you in the corner between the door and the wall, Henry looked at you.

He was so close.

‘Maybe that’s what you heard?’ he asked, indicating the dispenser with a jerk of his chin.

‘I heard voices,’ you mumbled, looking back at him. 

Noticing the thin strands of grey mingling with the curls at his temple, you caught yourself before you leaned in and sniffed him like a bitch in heat.

There was that wave of dark arousal again, deep and thrumming and more intense this time and you could only imagine that the source of that tantalising sensation, was Henry.

He pulled the door closed again and it slapped unceremoniously against your bottom, startling a gasp out of you.

‘Anything else?’ he asked, sounding pleased with himself.

There was something that he wanted, something that he expected from you and you couldn’t bring yourself to admit that whatever this thing was, you wanted to give it to him. 

‘Forgive me, Father,’ you gasped, words escaping your wicked mouth before you even attempted to squash them.

His eyebrows rose with interest, silently asking about what you let hang unsaid in the air, and his plush lips lengthened into a knowing smile. There was an eagerness to his manner now, excitement and expectation in his fathomless blue eyes.

Was there a need to respond?

Obviously not, for Henry turned round without another word and beckoning you with two fingers, he led you from the administrative building to the main church and to the row of confessional booths lining the back wall.

When he pulled open the door to one of the booths, you belatedly thought that if this was the Father who was giving the sermon, this might make him late.

You had to say something.

‘I– I ah…’ you started and he paused mid-step into the booth, but didn’t look at you.

And in between slow, deep breaths, you heard him say, ‘Come, child.’

Or at least, you thought he spoke.

The whisper of his deep voice swirled around like smoke, coming from everywhere, coming from you and you weren’t sure which of you had spoken. You felt dizzy and unfettered and Henry was the only anchor that your mind could hold on to.

He then stepped fully into the booth and was sitting on the bench seat when you too stepped inside and closed the half-latticed door behind you. There was a low padded stool between his feet and instinctively you dropped to your knees before him. On the wall above his head hung the upside down cross outlined in thin red neon tubing and he was vaguely illuminated in the crimson tinged darkness.

You were sure that he was saying something and this close to him, you could feel his voice rumbling through you more than you could hear, or make out the words. You put your hands together in prayer in front of your face, then pressed your lips to the backs of your upraised thumbs.

Henry murmured soft encouraging praise when you reached forward and pushed aside the front panels of his black cassock. The material was softer than you expected and smiling a little, you stroked your palms up his surprisingly muscular thighs to where his trousers were fastened with a simple button and zip fly.

Henry trailed delicate fingers along your hair line and you could smell the scent of sugary vanilla and warm heather. You closed your eyes, inhaling the pleasant scent of his skin, and let your hands work blindly to guide his rock hard cock from his trousers. He was thick and heavy in your hands, nearly monstrous and your mouth watered at the sight of him. 

You looked up at the sound of a soft exhalation of breath and what you saw made your own breath catch. He seemed to glow, the caramel highlights in his chocolate brown hair catching the blood red light, that same light causing the wetness between his slightly open lips to glisten. Sharp, jagged upper fangs curved down against his lower lip and the evidence of his true nature pulsed molten heat through you. This is what he was, this beast, you thought ecstatic to be privy to this sinful delight.

It was nothing at all to slide his glorious cock into your eager mouth and even further when he pressed your head down.

The scent of him surrounded you and the taste of him was incredible. Flattening your tongue, you drew back and trailed saliva wet strokes up and down the underside of his rigid flesh and Henry groaned deeply, voluptuously in response. Greedily, you engulfed him again, suckling him desperately, unashamed by the muffled, hungry noises you made.

You dug your fingers into his thigh to gain some purchase as you encircled the base of his cock with the other. When you squeezed, he swore beneath his breath, pushing you on to do it again. You swirled your tongue round the swollen, leaking head, licking him, sucking him until his hips snapped up to force his slick cock down your throat.

He gripped the back of your neck, and growled, ‘Accept your absolution.’

You held your breath and went still, relishing the fiery pulse of cum filling your mouth. Your face went hot and with salty tears stinging your eyes, you accepted it rapaciously.

Mouth brimming with thick creamy fluid, you gazed up at him once more, and in the dim crimson light, he gave you a contented grin that again exposed his ivory coloured fangs.

 He then fisted your hair and dragged you up from your knees before forcing you to straddle him.

Leaning in you let his sticky cum dribble into his open, waiting mouth as he guided you down into a sloppy possessive kiss.

Your walkie talkie crackled and you could hear the staticky voice of the cameraman.

‘Have you located Father Henry?’ he asked, sounding annoyed. ‘He’s going to make us late!’

Henry continued to kiss you, sucking your tongue into his mouth, heedless of the call for the Sunday Sermon. His grip on your arse held you tight to him and it was a struggle to pull away.

‘They… they’re looking for you,’ you gasped, stating  the obvious.

‘And?’ he asked.

‘And, you ahh… promised?’

What else could you say to a demon priest who was scheduled to perform the Sunday morning sermon?

Henry righted himself, huffed a disappointed sigh and standing, dumped you off of his lap. You tried to take a step back, but stumbled over the low stool. He caught you up by the waist and tutted softly.

‘I shan’t dare damage you as I wish to have you for later.’

In his dark embrace, you found yourself swooning. He lifted you effortlessly with one hand and opening the booth door, he deposited you carefully on your feet out in the main hall’s interior. You stared helplessly up at him, your devotion to him burning like a live wire inside you. You felt that you could weep at the sight of him. 

He looked perfectly composed and just as pleasant as he did when you encountered him earlier in the day. You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth to silence your disappointed moan when he turned and strode to the courtyard where the filming crew waited.

Instead of following him, you went to sit in one of the back pews and looked up at the monstrous upside down cross that hung behind the pulpit -  a knowing specter that had been a witness to your rapturous gratification.

Your walkie crackled again.

‘Get out here! Who else is going to work the audio?’

With a sigh, you heaved yourself up from the pew and trudged out to the courtyard. You knew you wouldn’t survive the next hour.

-End. Please like reblog and follow, all that good stuff. Comment if you were moved :)

[dokoni-mo]

Far Away, Together || Darth Vader x Reader (Chapter 3)

(A/N: hello all yet again! welcome back to my little series here on this little cite!! :) I am so glad that y’all have been enjoying my series thus far. I have had a blast writing it and seeing y’all’s reactions to it. As always, please feel free to ask to be on the taglist for this, or just ask questions about the series in general! I love talking with yall :))) links for the previous chapters have been provided below. This is where the series is really gonna start picking up, so stay tuned!!! also, do I see the smut chapter on the horizon? I believe I do...) 

Chapter One: [x]

Chapter Two: [x]

Chapter Four: [x]

WARNINGS: slight angst, a bit of crying, mentions of death (nothing too serious), cursing, otherwise none!! 

Key: (F/N) = first name, (L/N) = last name 

Word Count: ~4600

Peace and tranquility were two old friends that had not visited in a long time. Yet, they finally came for one today. 

After cleaning yourself off that morning and hastily getting yourself ready, you had made your way over to the site of our new workstation: Lord Vader’s personal hangar, primarily used for entering and exiting the Super Star Destroyer on his TIE. 

The walk to your new station was everything but pleasant. Everyone had seemed to know exactly what you were up to. This is partially due to the fact that you were now the talk-of-the-town amongst your peers. Some new-face baby coming here and getting one of the highest positions imaginable so damn quickly? Unheard of. Getting picked out personally by the Dark Lord himself? Impossible. Unimaginable. How could someone like (L/N) manage to pull off the impossible? 

This was also partially due to the direction you were headed. Anyone walking this direction was always eyed by those around them, if they didn’t happen to look exactly like some odd mouse droid. Lord Vader’s hangar was located dangerously close to his personal quarters. Everyone knew that it was the number one unwritten rule of working on this empirical vessel: Do NOT enter Lord Vader’s personal quarters under any circumstance. Unless you wanted to be dead within a matter of mere seconds, do NOT enter that room. Everyone had heard the stories of those who had tried. A stormtrooper who came out with his neck snapped, a woman who was impaled with his lightsaber, each one more terrifying than the last. So, as your polished, black boots clacked right in that direction, it was only natural that you got some stares and silent prayers for your safety. 

You thanked them silently and unconsciously, but you knew exactly what you were doing.

Following the directions that the old officer gave you, you eventually made your ways over to the new doors of the new hangar. The doors were almost exactly like him. Tall, dark, cold, unforgiving, to name a few characteristics. As you stood before them, you felt an odd feeling of nervousness in the bottom of your diaphragm, your fingers trembling all so slightly. 

If I ever piss him off, you thought to yourself, there is no one around to hear me scream.

But who would care? 

Who would dare challenge the Dark Lord himself? 

No one. No one at all. So, don’t screw this up, (F/N). 

Without turning your head, you let your eyes fall to the keypad adjacent to the door, it's buttons emanating a soft glow. Reaching out a hand, you punched in the digits that the old man gave you to allow you access into the hangar. You were surprised that the code actually worked, despite you knowing that it would. In the back of your head, you had still thought that maybe that old officer was somehow toying with you. That door opening was confirmation that this was no sick joke. 

Stepping into that hangar almost felt like stepping right into the jaws of some beast. The hangar looked almost exactly like your last one, only smaller. However, you instantly noticed that it was much quieter than the one you had started with. Much emptier, too. The only thing within the whole hangar was one workbench full of tools, a few crates of unknown contents, one mechanic who’s heartbeat was thumping a mile a minute, and one destroyed TIE Advanced x1. 

Despite the atmosphere of unease, you smiled brightly at your surroundings.

It was so quiet. Tranquil, even. 

You were so happy to finally be able to work in peace.

As your first action as Darth Vader’s personal mechanic, you quickly ripped off your uniform jacket and threw it on the ground, giving it a kick and a stomp. You hated that thing. And, Lord Vader never seemed to mind you breaking your dress code. So, you decided that your new uniform was your pants, boots, goggles, and tank top.

Eat shit, Empire. 

Your second action was to immediately get to work.

~~~

The silence was much more deafening than you had originally thought. 

Yes, it was nice not having to listen to the annoying chatter of the other workers in your prior hangar, but this was something else. The silence had let you slip into your own thoughts far too often, much the opposite to your liking. Thinking let your mind wander, and you had a tendency to think about impossible scenarios. Going back home, seeing your family again, finding a new job, to name a few. 

The diagnostic had returned nothing of great importance, thank the stars. Just some alerts of wires being fried. Nothing that you couldn’t handle.

Right now, sweat was leaving a heavy sheen on your forehead, and your arms and legs were screaming for some sort of rest. You were currently trying to make some progress to the destroyed wing of the craft, a way to take a break from trying to turn the damn computer back online. And, this wing was giving you no sort of break. Of course it wouldn’t, (F/N). Nothing is ever easy anymore.

You currently had the biggest wrench you had on your workbench wrapped tightly in your grasp, to the point where it made your knuckles white and your palms burn. Your nose and eyes were scrunched, your teeth bore for all to see as you tensed your shoulders and pulled the tool towards you with all your might. You needed this bolt off for you to gain access to the ligaments of the wing that held it onto the TIE. You had tried everything else to get it off (burning it off, freezing it off, and even praying to your maker while giving the ship a swift kick in the ass), but nothing had seemed to work. You were only left with one last tactic: hoping your brute strength was enough to pry off the stubborn piece of shit. 

Tears had started to brim in your eyes from the stress of your pulling. Your arms were so tired, and your legs were equally as such. Relaxing your muscles suddenly, you loosened  your grip on the wrench, finally allowing yourself to exhale. Panting in silence for a moment, you turned your hands over to inspect them. They were much redder than normal, and the joints in your fingers ached like hell.

Looking down at your hands in silence, you were overcome with an emotion you had no way of describing.

Why were you here? Why did you even accept this job in the first place? Things were so much simpler when the Empire hadn’t come to your home planet, when it was just you, mom, and dad. You could have run. You could have gone with them off-world, but you didn’t believe them. You didn’t believe that the Empire would totally destroy your home. You didn’t believe that the Empire would force you into working for them just so that you could have some sense of protection. You didn’t believe that if you had stepped into their hands, you would never see your home or parents again. 

Liars, you had thought back then, mom and dad do not see the truth. 

Oh, how wrong you were. 

If you could turn back time right then and right there, you would punch your past self in the face for being so fucking blind. 

You didn’t notice that you were crying until you felt something warm and wet drop against your palm. Focusing your attention back, you stared deeply at the small puddle on your palm. Letting your mind brew a few moments longer, you frowned deeply as you closed your eyes and bunched your hands into fists. You leaned against the surface of the TIE Advanced, covering your face from the outside world. 

Maker above, please, grant me the power to turn back the hands of time. Even for just one day. 

Your legs finally giving out, you slowly slid down the surface of the ship until you were crouched on the cold, shiny floor, your tears now only a slight trickle. Forgetting exactly where you were, why you were there, and who exactly was your boss, you sniffled as you allowed yourself to lay on the ground, your legs and arms sighing in relief.

Staring up at the ceiling above you, you had noticed that there was a small window garnishing the roof of the hangar. This had caused you to let out a small chuckle past your tears. Something added to this damn ship purely for aesthetics? You must be going crazy. 

Looking at the window, you let your eyes be transfixed on the view that the tiny opening provided. The stars were just barely visible from your point of view, like miniscule flecks of dust. A fleeting moment of relaxation overtaking you, a thought quickly made its way across your brain. 

I need to get back to work. 

You made no attempt to do so as you felt your eyelids become heavier and heavier.

~~~

He had only the faintest idea of exactly how long you had been there when he found you. 

He had sensed your force energy waver from halfway across the Super Star Destroyer. The sheer amount of anger and frustration emanating off of your person was surprising. He had thought that you were the more calm and collected type, but reminded himself that human emotions were common. It surprised him that someone as small as you could feel such overwhelming amounts of anger. Being a sith lord, he would say that he was almost impressed. However, something inside of him kept him from feeling as such. 

Instead, he felt… saddened. He didn’t exactly know why. 

As fast as your immense feeling of anger came, it went. Sensing this new feeling within you, his attention was piqued. 

A deep sadness. A melancholy, even.

For a moment, he couldn’t tell where exactly he had felt such a thing before. He did not have to delve far into this memory before realizing exactly where he has sensed such strong feelings prior to now. 

He had felt them from within himself. 

As he was currently in a meeting with some high-ranking officers and a handful of moffs, he knew he couldn’t step away so suddenly and without warning without them pestering him. He did not like to be pestered. Yet, something deep down inside him told him to go to you, to check on you and make sure that you were…

No. He had more important matters to attend to, he told himself. 

Continuing on with his meeting, he couldn’t help but feel an odd sensation bubble within the core of his being. It pulled him away from the meeting, and beckoned him to leave these people and direct his attention towards you.  

There are more important matters to attend to, he had tried to tell himself, but his thoughts did nothing to silence the voice telling him to leave. 

After a long moment or two, he felt what was left of his natural body stiffen beneath the leather and robotics that encased him. Honing in on your force energy once again, he felt a cold feeling run through the web of nerves that remained within his body. Your presence had faded suddenly, a shadow of itself only a few moments prior. He couldn’t tell what you were feeling. 

Surprising him, he felt his mind race with various scenarios of what could have happened. Was something finally fixed on the ship? Had you inadvertently broken something further? Were you taking a break?

He clenched his fist when the most worrisome thought of all popped inside of his head, making all the others fade away into nothing. 

Were you dead?

He tried in vain to calm himself of the thought and put it to rest. He had seen you only the night before, and you appeared to be in perfect health. You had even smiled. This did little to calm him, however. As he would try to focus on what these idiotic officers had to say, his mind would always slip back to you. 

A great sense of frustration started to smother him whole, causing him to clench his fist even tighter. He was frustrated that he could not pay attention to the meeting. He was frustrated that he had to attend the meeting in the first place. He was frustrated that these officers and moffs were so damn stupid. However, most of all…

He was frustrated that he couldn’t go to you. 

He was frustrated that you had such a profound effect on him. You were just his mechanic. Why did he care whether you were dead or alive? You could be replaced. 

...couldn’t you?

The second that words were spoken to signal the end of the meeting, he had turned and exited the meeting room, the wind of his fast exit making his cape flutter behind him. He sensed that the other men in the room were confused and almost startled by his sudden departure, but he didn’t care. He had to go to his hangar immediately. 

Marching past all the other workers of the Super Star Destroyer in his path, he ignored all who tried to grab his attention. Idiots. Fools. Worms. 

Couldn’t they see that he was in a hurry?

But why was he? 

Why was he so in need to see you? To hear your voice and see your eyes? To hear a report on your progress? 

Because (F/N) is my mechanic. Nothing more, he told himself. Why did it feel like a lie? 

Finally at the doors of his hangar, he punched in his code to the keypad and stepped through the doors. The space was eerily quiet, and this unnerved him. Were his suspicions true? 

Hastily making his way over to your workstation, he couldn't help but notice the palm of your small hand capsized on the floor in front of his TIE, the rest of your body obscured by a crate in the way. 

No. 

No.

This cannot be.

Quickening his pace, he moved his hand to extend in front of him. Reaching out with the force, he threw the crate covering the sight of you across the hangar, it’s landing making an unholy crashing noise. 

As he drew closer to you, he noticed how you were laid on the floor, one hand stretched to an unknown receiver and the other pulled close to your chest. You were resting on your side, and, unsurprisingly, your jacket was long since discarded. He did not blame you for hating that infernal article of clothing. 

Finally within conversation distance to you, he stopped his quick pace and pointed the face of his mask to look at the tiny frame at his feet. Watching you carefully, he noticed that your chest and shoulders were slowly rising and falling in a rhythmic beat. 

You were alive. 

He pretended not to notice the feeling of relief wash over him.

~~~

When you finally awoke again, you were immediately hit with three startling realizations. 

Number one: you had no idea how much time had elapsed since you were looking at that window. Squinting your eyes to open slightly, you tried to process the time based on the amount of light within the hangar. This was hard to do, however, since you were still very groggy from your sleep. A for effort anyway. 

Number two: you were no longer on the floor where you had originally laid down. You could tell this from the feeling of one of your legs dangling off the edge of the object you were laying on, as well as the same feeling in one of your hands. This was confirmed as you pulled in your hands close to your chest, turned your torso, and pushed yourself up with wobbling arms. Your mind was still very fuzzy, but you were just able to make out the foregin surface beneath you. From the patterns on its surface, you deduced that it was one of the crates that littered your workstation.

Number three, and probably the most frightening of all: you were not alone. After a moment of your grogginess slipping off of your body, your ears finally turned back into your consciousness. They told you of the noise they heard, and the fear you should be feeling as a result of it. 

Heavy, mechanical, rhythmic, breath. 

His breath. 

Taking a quick glance up from the surface of the crate, you beckoned your eyes to tell you whether or not your two ears were the biggest liars in the galaxy or not. Of course, they weren’t. Before you was that silhouette you knew all too well. 

Shit. 

Quickly rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you scrambled to try and stand up and assume your attention stance. You found this difficult, however, since your muscles were still aching from before. 

Oh maker, you thought, is this how I die?

“My Lord! Lord Vader!” you were able to say, your eyes finally able to focus on your boss. After a moment of processing the sight before you, you thought that maybe you were dreaming, or somehow hit your head on the way down to the ground. Lord Vader was about ten feet away from you, his buff arms folded across his large, taunt chest, and his gaze locked firmy on your frame. All of these were not surprising. What was surprising, is that he was doing all of this from a seated position upon another crate, only this one had obvious scratches and skid marks on it. Was it always like that?

You realized that this was the first time that you had ever seen Darth Vader sit down. He was always standing, always looming above everyone you ever saw. But, even as he was in a more neutral and open position, he was still very intimidating. If anything, he looked even bigger and more dominating than when he was standing up. 

You hoped he didn’t notice how your cheeks turned pink as you beheld him before you. 

“My Lord, my apologies you have to see me this way, I-I have no idea...” you began to speak. If he was going to kill you, he was sure taking his sweet time with it. He had every reason to do so. You were resting on the job. Not even pretending to do your job, on the first damn day no less! This would have been met with the harshest punishments by the officers. And, if the stories had taught you anything, Lord Vader’s would be even harsher. 

Trying to formulate the rest of your apology, you were also trying again and again to stand at attention. Your arms and legs, however, had different plans. Their weakness kept you firmly in your sitting position upon the crate. This only made the internal panic for your life stronger. Lord Vader detested weakness. Saw it as only a burden, and would be eradicated swiftly and unkindly. 

After a few attempts to stand and choke out an apology, Lord Vader rose from his sitting position, letting his strong arms fall to his sides. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. He was coming to kill you. You knew it. You would be dead here in a matter of minutes, sliced in two by his red saber. 

Adrenaline kicking in, you hoped that the hormone would give you the strength to stand once again. Nothing.

Vader stepped slowly and decisively closer to you, his gaze still locked upon you. Despite the rapid beating of your heart and your brain telling you to run as fast as you could, you stayed put. Lowering your head, you stared down at your feet and sighed quietly, taking a long, slow blink. If he was going to kill you, you hoped that he would give you at least the mercy of making it as quick as possible. 

Once he stopped about three feet away from you, you closed your eyes and braced yourself to hear the sound of his saber igniting in his grasp. 

This never came.

Instead, you felt something heavy, strong, and leathery make contact with your left shoulder. It was enormous, and dwarfed the joint in almost every way. Picking up your head, you darted your eyes over to the source of the pressure. Following your gaze from the touch, you followed it to its source. 

Lord Vader. 

His hand was on your shoulder. 

Maybe you really had hit your head on your way to the ground. 

“(F/N),” he said, his mask pointed squarely on your face, “I have been waiting some time for you to awaken. Do you wish to tell me why I have found you in such a state?” 

Oh yeah. You definitely hit your head on the way down. 

Licking your bottom lip and swallowing, you paused a moment before responding. You decided to tell the truth. If he wanted me dead, you figured, he would’ve killed me already. He doesn’t seem the type to draw these things out.

“I… I was trying to loosen one of the bolts on your TIE, my Lord. I tried many methods to remove it, but none of them worked. So, I thought that I would try and just try and pry it off myself. I guess I tried too hard because I just felt so weak all the sudden… Please pardon me, my Lord, I was not trying to avoid my work.” You said, letting your gaze fall only briefly as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You felt your cheeks burn brighter the longer he had his hand on your shoulder. 

“I see.” he said flatly, taking his hand off of you and placing it on his belt alongside his other hand. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since you felt something like it, but you quickly missed the feeling of his hand upon your body.

“I do hope that you have enough strength to continue on with the day, Miss (F/N). I can see that you are making good progress, and it would be a shame if you did not continue as such.” he continued, tilting his head to the side. 

“Y-yes, My Lord. I can continue on with the day.” 

“Good.” he responded. Lifting up his hand once again, he unfurled it from it's gripping position, pointing his palm towards the ceiling as he extended it within your gripping distance. It took you a second of staring at his hand dumbly for you to register what exactly he was doing. “Do not allow me to keep you occupied then, Miss (F/N).”

Flicking your gaze from his hand to his mask over and over again, you hesitantly lifted your hand, your fingers loose. Gently placing your hand within his, another shot of blush made its way onto your cheeks. Your hand was noticeably smaller than his, your palm and fingers being dwarfed by his own. You could barely wrap your hand around his. 

Once your grip was secure, Lord Vader wrapped his robotic digits around your grasp. Cue another shot of blush on your cheeks. His grip was strong, secure, stable.

Deep down within you, you wondered what it would feel like to have his hands on other parts of your body. 

Helping you bring you to your feet, Lord Vader flexed his arm to pull you up off the crate. The strong motion definitely helping you to your feet, your legs only wobbling in protest for a moment before allowing you to stand again.

You were now awfully close to Lord Vader. 

Only about a foot away, your hand still wrapped tightly in his. 

Realizing that you had forgotten to pull your hand back, you blushed for what seemed like the fifteen-millionth time that day and slowly pulled it back. You kept your neck craned as you looked up at him, your height different now more apparent than ever. Looking right into the eyes of his black, menacing mask you mumbled out a quiet thank you, my Lord. 

The two of you stood dead-locked in a galaxy-wide championship of a staring contest for a long while. The only sound that interrupted the silence between two of you were his breath and the distant rumbling of the engines of the Super Star Destroyer. Many thoughts darted through your head as you looked right at him, trying to see if you could see his eyes beneath the mask’s.

What exactly is his game here? Why didn’t he just kill me? Am I that important? Of course not, I’m just a mechanic, he could always get another one. Then why? I wish I could see his face. Don’t think that, (F/N), that would never happen. I want him to touch me again. STOP THAT, (F/N). I don’t want him to leave. I want… 

Stop humoring yourself, (F/N). He sees you as his mechanic. Nothing more. 

It was him that broke the silence again. A simple sentence, nothing more.

“Do not dawdle any longer, (F/N). I will return again for another report at a later time.” 

You gave him a nod and a courteous yes, my Lord before he turned to leave, walking off yet again. 

Sighing to yourself, you returned to your earlier position, wrapping your hand around the wrench that was still wrapped around the bolt from before. You had hoped that the bolt would have just magically loosened itself from the time you had fallen asleep to now. 

With a brief complaint from your arms, you tried pulling the wrench towards you once again. Big shocker, it still didn't move. Cursing to yourself silently, you tried again. Want an even bigger shocker? It still didn’t move. Surprising, isn’t it?

Taking a step back to try and think of some other way that you could pry off this bolt, you shook out the pain from your hands, your brow furrowing. 

You thought that you must be hallucinating as you stared at the wrench. Without you even touching it, the wrench had started to turn towards you, taking the stubborn bolt along with it. Your confusion only grew as it repeated this motion a few more times until, suddenly, and without warning, the bolt came undone, crashing on the floor with the wrench. The sudden noise made you flinch and jump back, your mouth opening in a silent yelp. 

You were beyond bewildered. How the hell did that happen? Are you high? Hallucinating?

Quickly putting two and two together, you turned your body to the door, your lips parting. Sure enough, there he was, his hand extended it the direction of the wrench and bolt, fingers relaxed. You couldn’t believe it. You had heard the stories of this power before, his power, but you didn’t believe them. You thought it had just been people exaggerating the level of his strength. But, now, you knew that it sure as fuck wasn’t. 

You should have been scared. You should have cowered in fear, knowing that all the legends you heard were true. Yet, you didn’t. You couldn’t, even. 

All you could do was smile. Smile like a dopey, bumbling idiot and laugh in disbelief. 

You had no idea what came over you.

Calling out a hasty thank you, my Lord, you hoped that you didn’t look as girlish and giddy to him as you felt. You hadn’t smiled like this in such a long time. 

Offering nothing more than a long look and a nod, Lord Vader left the hangar, leaving you alone there once more. 

You ate an extra ration that night, the ghost of Vader’s touch still lingering in your nerves.

How you craved for him to do it again.  

~~

TAGS: @spaghetti-666​ , @soullesstaco​ , @arsonistvoyager​ , @robin-obsessed​ , @glitter-rian​ , @captainrexstan​ , @easterncryptid​ , @deviatedwinter​ , @roseangel013bf​ , @danicalifxrnia​ 

[elysiashelby]

In Another World - T. Shelby Imagine Ch. 3

Paring: (Eventual) Thomas Shelby x Aliena Welsh (OC)

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Word Count: 4,010

WARNINGS: Cursing, Attempted R*pe scene, Deliberate Intoxication of a Character 

Summary: Aliena Welsh has been living in the universe of the show Peaky Blinders for 6 months now. She has proper pay and she thinks she regained some normalcy in another world. However, trouble has struck the Shelby’s and Thomas has plans for her. Will she remain safe as he’s promised her?

MASTERLIST  CHAPTER TWO  CHAPTER 3.2

A/N: So, I forgot to add something very important. I am not from Liverpool. I do not know the proper way scousers talk. I’ve done some research and watched movies, but I will not advocate that it’s perfect. If y’all want it gone, it will be gone. PAY ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS!!

It's been six months. I'm kind of an official part of the Shelby family. People part the streets for me and greet me. I'm paid two pounds, but John gives me a couple shillings whenever I go home for the day. I have no clue how much I make. I don’t exactly have enough time in me day to count up all me savings right now. I’m being led by the reins like a horse. 

I have a little routine now and what can I say? It gives me peace! Sometimes- I have to admit, there'll be nights where I had cried about not being with me own family. However, it's not like I have the mental capacity to try and change my current situation, so I'm rolling with the punches. 

I was folding clothes in the living room when Thomas bursted through the doors. 

"I'm calling a family meeting for tonight, 8." Thomas said and then pointed at me. "Aliena, be there. Okay? Okay." Then, he walked right back out. From the distant slam of a door, I knew he had gone into his office. 

I looked to Polly who was already staring at me. 

"That fucking boy! Do you know what's goin' on, Ali?"

I shook me head, furiously. 

She just sighed and said. "I guess we're finding out tonight. Finish folding, love, then come help me with dinner."

"Okay, Pol."

As I was folding, all I could focus on was me anticipation. I wanted time to move faster.

I knew the information wasn't about me lies. If he had wanted to confront me about that he would have done it privately or only in the audience of Polly. It wasn't 1919 meaning that season one hasn't begun yet. So, maybe it has something to do about Thomas fixing races? No, that's right! He didn't tell anyone about it! Wonder what it's gonna be then?

Eight rolled around and the family was waiting for Thomas to start. I was over by the doors blocking Finn from geggin' in. 

"Right, I called this family meeting because we got a problem. This problem's name is Harry Chadwick. He's been seen following us and our men around. It would seem that he's a new small time copper looking to make a promotion. Now, some of you are wondering why I invited Aliena to this meeting and I'll get to that in a second. I am going to meet with Chadwick in 3 days time." 

Roars of outrage poured from the family. 

"I am going to meet with him! I told him that I got information on Billy Kimber, and that I'm willing to do a stitch on him in exchange to keep quiet about our doings. I've discovered that Mr. Chadwick frequents Mr. Zhang's brothel whenever he gets tired of spying on the lot of us. Mr. Zhang told me that he preferred his… women on the younger side." Thomas looked at me and I instantly knew his plan. 

I swallowed harshly before looking back down at me feet. A million thoughts went into me head. 

‘Was this a test? Is this me proving me loyalty? What if I go through with it, and he doesn't stop him in time? Why would he do this to me?’

"Like hell, Thomas! She's just a girl!" Polly yelled while gesturing toward me. 

Thomas nodded in response. "Yes, Polly. She's a girl, who'll catch that bastard's attention! Now, if you'd let me finish! I was gonna tell you that I plan on killing 'em. She'll just be a distraction, and I'll let no harm come to her." The look in his eyes was intense. It was almost like he was trying to telepathically reassure me. 

‘This is a test. This is a test about loyalty, I just know it is.’

Polly and Thomas started arguing while I debated over it. 

I sighed. "I'll do it."

They stopped fighting. 

"What?" Polly asked, looking at me with disbelief written in her face. 

"I'll do it." I repeated with a clearer voice and me head held high. Thomas and I stared at each other until he gave me a nod. 

"There you have it, Pol. She made her choice. She's a big girl." 

Polly scoffed and began fighting with him again. I listen to John bud in and then Arthur shortly. I heard them, but it was like white noise. I was breathing quicker. But just as soon as I was consciously aware of the fact, I held me breath for a while and relaxed meself. The way me brain worked would never let meself freak out in me entirety. I've never experienced a complete panic attack. I always had the strength to snap meself out of it. That didn't mean that the effects went away any quicker. In fact, I knew this feeling of dread would follow me until we were actually enacting his plan.  

I let meself out without, being like, allowed to. That night I didn't sleep. I just pondered over the grim possibilities that could occur three nights from now. 

It was finally the day, and I am terrified. I was allowed to sleep in. I woke up around 10 in the morning. I ate breakfast and lunch that wasn't made by me, and then Polly told me that she had prepared a bath. I was to scrub meself spotless and shave. 

As if I was really a prostitute. 

On the flip side, this body of mine didn't have your common body hair. I had no hair on me body except for me private part, me eyebrows, and well- me hair. See I hated having body hair with a passion, so it was nice having smooth legs with no stubble. 

Polly kept talking to me as if I were a child. She kept reassuring me that Thomas would never let anything happen to me. It was nice to see her worrying about me as if I were her daughter. Some days it really felt like that. After the bath, I was dressed in garments that were really rather in its best condition. It seemed like silk. I put it on with no protest. Polly even tried helping me with that. Then she went on to do me hair. It was beautiful, really. She put me hair in a bun with a single braid. Me hair framed me face just how I liked it.

She did me makeup next. I wanted to stop her, but I didn't have the heart to. I looked in the mirror and admired her work. The foundation didn't match me skin tone. It made me appear whiter than I was. But this was how women did it in this era, and I thought I still looked pretty. I smiled at meself even though I wished we were doing this under better circumstances. 

Finally, the dress. It was a dark, maybe, navy blue. It's sleeves reached to me elbows, and it was a rather loose dress. I'm so used to wearing tighter one's than this one, feels like a sleeping gown.

"You look absolutely beautiful. Oh, look at you! Just like a dream." Polly said with her hands together in a prayer against her lips.

She rushed to me and rubbed me arms up and down. "Tommy won't let anything happen to you, Aliena. After this, I'll make sure you'll never be in this side of the business again. You'll just be taking care of the kids and doing the chores again, I promise! No more Peaky Blinder business." 

I nodded. "Okay, Polly." I put on a grin while smoothing out the dress. 

I was only allowed a few moments to meself before Thomas shouted for me. 

"We better get down there then. Quicker we get it down, the sooner you both come home." She said as she pulled the door open and led me down.

As we were doing down the stairs, the three Shelby brothers were talking at the bottom of it. Upon hearing our heels, their gazes snapped on me. I noticed Thomas was wearing his usual suits, nothing out of the ordinary. 

"Ain't she a sight!" Arthur yelled. 

"Ali, you look absolutely beautiful. I think I'm fallin' in love!" John yelled. 

I scoffed and shook me head. "Thank you, Arthur. And John, shut your trap." I was able to slap him across the chest. 

He flinched, quite dramatically, while snickering. But then this hush of silence washed over us, and it was like we were all waiting for what Thomas had to say. 

Thomas cleared his throat and muttered. "Come on, then." He extended his elbow for me and I took it. 

We said our goodbyes then left. It was weird being in the passenger side of a car in the UK. American cars were different. I'm so used to being on the opposite side. As he drove, I took in the views. I loved car rides so much! God, I missed this. 

"I'm sure you already know this, but I know you're lying to us." Thomas said while taking a drag. "You don't have a birth certificate, no record of any sort. I couldn't even find your father's war record. So, even though you are a hard worker, you've lied to us. After this… If you do it well and complete what needs to be done, I'll let your lies slip and accept you into this family."

Me heart was beating in my ears. Me face was hot. "Okay, Thomas." I whispered. After that, it was quiet for a while. 

Then, Thomas broke it. "So, do you, maybe, want to tell me the truth?"

I scoffed, looking out the window. Even though there really wasn’t one. "You wouldn't even believe me." 

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t fully anticipate him investigating me. I just thought it would be normal for a girl to show up with no papers. I was caught in a blag and like a brat, I wanted this conversation to be done with.

"Try me."

I don't know if I could contain my annoyance. 

How the fuck could I explain it to him when I didn't understand this situation much meself! If I did tell him the truth, I figure he'll get me thrown in an asylum. 

I went to massage me eyes, but then remembered that they had makeup on ‘em, so I slapped me hands on me thighs. 

"Well, I'm not from here. At all! I'm from another universe or Earth. To me, you and your family are characters on a TV show called Peaky Blinders. Do you believe me?" I revealed to him while staring out the window. I couldn’t bear to face him.

He didn't answer for a good solid 5 minutes. "Well, it has to be that. Or, you lied about your dad being in the war and your family avoided records with home births. That you're Gypsy kin ‘cause there have been too many times that you have looked like you know something I don't, and being a Gypsy would explain that. So, yeah, I believe you." 

I pursed me lips while leaning my head on me fist as I leaned my arm on the window. 

'He doesn't believe me. A blessing in disguise.'

"Yep, you got me. So why don't you tell me what we're really going to this bloke's house for? I know it's not for the bullshit you spat at the meeting." 

Thomas squinted his eyes at me. "How did you know I lied?"

I rolled me eyes. "Since Billy Kimber came out your mouth. What does Mr. Chadwick have to do with you planning to fix races?"

I turned me head to him and stared. His head was down, eyes on the floor of the car. His eyes darting back and forth rapidly. His Adam's apple bobbed and he said, "He's got something I need to actually fix those races. He's not a cop. But he does want information on Kimber and I'm going to feed him false information. Not like he'll be able to check, though."

While gazing at me fingernails, I hummed. "Thank you for your candor, Thomas."

After that, we didn't talk. When we pulled up to the house, he got out and then walked over to my side. I took his arm like before and we walked to the door. It wasn't a mansion, but it was a nice house. A maid opened the door and told us that we had been expected. We were led to a room that must have been the lounge area. There was a bar at the far right side and a pool table in the middle, but the room was still small. 

"Ah, Mr. Shelby! So, good to see you!" Mr. Chadwick had to be the most stereotypical pedophile I've ever seen. 

Mentally, I was giving meself a prayer and hoping that my discomfort was not showing on me face.  

Thomas greeted him back. They shook hands and that's when creepy decided to lock eyes on me. 

"Why, Mr. Shelby! Who is this enchanting young lady?" I watched as his hand slipped from Thomas' hand and reached for mine. 

I reluctantly gave him me hand to shake when he clasped both of his hands over mine and started to stroke it. I could feel the muscles in me face ache, so I knew I was still smiling. 

"This is Ali. She works for me Aunt." Thomas replied. 

Mr. Chadwick greeted me, but it's like I knew that he was trying to make it sound sensual. I wanted to die! I just gave him one back and he finally dropped me hand. 

"Well, enough with the pleasantries! Let's negotiate." Mr. Chadwick said as he walked over to his desk. 

We all gathered around the desk when Mr. Chadwick offered drinks. Thomas and I both declined and sat down. After that, they dove straight into business talk. As much as it hurts me pride, I couldn't follow what they were saying. So all I did was pretend to be engaged. I smiled whenever his eyes lined up to mine. I tilted me head to the side to, I guess, show off me neck. Other times, I raised me chest and used other cues to get his attention towards my tits. 

"You know what, Mr. Shelby, the agreement was set upon me getting rid of the information I have on your family. But not on yourself. How about you let me have her and we call it a deal?" Mr. Chadwick said while looking me up and down like I was fucking scran!

Thomas cleared his throat saying, "You're goin' to have to be more specific. I can't let you have her forever. She's my Aunt's employee. So, the most I could offer is an hour."

Mr. Chadwick scoffed. "The rest of the night."

"45 minutes." 

"3 hours."

"1 hour."

"Hour and a half." 

"Deal." 

They rose and shook hands. I wanted to show me disgust. I felt absolutely nauseated. I just felt this pit in me stomach grow more and more. 

Thomas placed his hand on me shoulder and I looked up at him. He nodded and said. "I'll be out in the hall."

"You can have my maid entertain you, Mr. Shelby!" 

Thomas had already walked out of the room. I huffed. Me gaze went to the bar. 

"Do you fancy a drink, Ali?" He asked me. 

I got up from me chair. I was shaking. I just knew I had to look like Bambi when he was learning how to walk. "I could go for something. A glass of water would be fine." I said while tucking a strand of me hair behind me ear. 

Mr. Chadwick laughed as he walked over to his bar. "I think you're gonna want something stronger than water, dear. Ever try gin?"

I shook me head. "No. No, I haven't. Water's just fine." I slowly walked closer to him. He was behind the bar as he poured the drinks. But he managed to quickly stride toward me. He handed me me drink and I took a gulp of it. The cold water was refreshing, but I couldn't help but notice he was staring at me while I drank the water. 

I wanted to furrow me eyebrows at him, but instead I gave him a smile. 

"So, how old are you, Ali?"

"16."

"Your accent, you're a scouser, aren’t cha?"

"Yes, sir, born and raised."

He hummed after that. I just awkwardly held the glass in me hand while shifting from one foot to the other. 

"How did you meet, Mr. Shelby?"

"Uh, I was looking for a job and one of his brother's kids were out playing on the street. I managed to keep… him calm enough to get him… home. Apparently…, that was like… a miracle and… I was offered… a job. " I was feeling dizzy and it was getting harder to breathe. 

I held me hand up while I pressed the hand holding de’ water against me chest. The glass was colder than I thought. " 'm… sorry. I… really need… to get some… air!" I went to turn away from ‘em when he grabbed me and pulled me to him. 

I gasped for breath. I whimpered as he placed his forehead on mine. 

He whispered. "God, you're so cute. Look how short you are and those tits. You've been wanting me all night. Don't try to deny it, you little minx. I bet you're all wet and ready for me." He started to nip and kiss me neck which made me flinch. 

'I can't breathe. I can't breathe!' 

Me legs soon gave out and he rushed us to the pool table. The pain the shot through me back as the table dug into me hips made me wince. He lifted me up ‘n sat me down on it, and me body fell limply on the table. The glass of water slipped out of me hand, but it didn’t fall since it didn’t make a sound. 

I limply attempted hitting him, kicking him! They were weak hits. They barely did anything to him. I knew they were annoying him, though. 

I kept trying to scream at the top of me lungs, but all that came out were hoarse whispers. I knew this feeling, familiar with it and I still hated it. 

He stopped fiddling with his belt, grabbed me arms, pinned them down. "Stay fucking still!" 

He kept me hands pinned and me head lopped to the side. Me gaze was on the doors from where Thomas and I entered. Me vision was getting blurrier with me tears. I took a deep loud breath and choked on a sob. I heard his belt fall to the ground. 

"Tommy." I chanted. I kept saying his name. I felt him start to shimmy up me dress 'til I felt all of me legs exposed. Me heart was beating faster than ever. Something just clicked as I screamed, "Tommy!" 

And like a fucking hero, he bursted through the doors and shot the bastard. The guy groaned as he fell to the ground, and a second shot rang throughout the room. 

I stopped crying, but realized I really was paralyzed since I couldn’t pick meself back up. Me adrenaline was going down, and I just wanted to go to sleep. I heard Tommy’s thundering footsteps as he ran to me. I felt as he tugged down me dress, and then picked up me torso by me armpits. He stroked me face. I thought it was a caring touch, but realized he was probably wiping the tears. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I was late, Aliena." Thomas whispered. His face was red and his jaw clenched.

I tried to tell him, "Nothing happened yet. So you weren't late." It fell on deaf ears.

He shook his head. "I was late…" He tugged me a little forward and then carried me bridal-style. 

I heard a faint crunch that was familiar to glass. 

'Huh! Maybe it was the glass falling that actually alerteded him and not my supposed shout.'

As we walked out, I saw the maid dead on the floor as well as a butler that was near the front door. He carried me to the passenger seat and laid me down then left. I was really fucking uncomfortable, but I still wanted to go to sleep. I let me eyelids flutter shut. 

"Oi, Aliena! Aliena, wake up! Wake up." Thomas shouted at me while tapping my face. 

I whimpered loudly but opened me eyes nonetheless. 

"Attagirl! Good girl, Aliena. Now, we're going home. Okay?" Tommy wrapped his free arm around me shoulder and me face was tucked into his side. His touch was comforting. His slow strokes on me back reminded me of me ma’. This made me start crying again to the point where I was sobbing uncontrollably. 

"Almost there, Ali. You're alright now. Fuck!" Our bodies jolted as Tommy struck the steering wheel. 

The cold night wind was refreshing. I tried focusing on that. I wanted to just curl up, sleep, and be able to get over it tomorrow. I'll get over it tomorrow. 

I wanted to enjoy this moment as I snuggled up to Thomas Shelby, but I couldn't! 

I always wanted to know what his cologne smells like and now I still wouldn’t know since my nose is stuffy ‘n runny.

Me sobs turned into sniffles and it took sometime before we actually made it back to the house. It was a series of Tommy keeping me awake and me crying about it. 

Tommy carried me out of the car and ran up to the door. He started pounding on it 'til Pol opened the door. 

She gasped and shouted. "What-!"

Tommy didn't let her finish. He rushed past her and sat me down on the couch. Me body was still limp, so me head fell back and me arms slumped to me sides. 

"What the hell, Thomas! You said nothing would happen!"

"There were more people in his house than I thought and got held up. He didn't manage to do anything to her yet, but he drugged her." 

"Fucking christ! Make sure she doesn't fuckin’ fall asleep! She needs to drink water."

Polly's last comment got to me. It reminded me of me ma’ getting me milk when I was too high. I started to chuckle and tried asking them for milk. Tommy leaned his ear close to me mouth and then shouted for milk instead. I was still laughing, but it came out breathily. 

I could hear Polly yell for Arthur and I tried following her voice but that meant turning my head. Which made me close me eyes. Tommy tugged me face where it originally was and ordered me to stay awake. I attempted to stick me tongue out at him. 

Aunt Polly came back. She put a wet cold towel on me head and put the straw in me mouth. I instantly started drinking it. 

"Slowly, love." Polly whispered as she started to wipe me face and neck with the towel. "Slowly, love."

When I was done having a drink, I tried lifting up me arms and it happened very slowly. I slowly pushed the cup away from me. I didn't really realize that it was Tommy holding it. 

"I don't blame you." I tried saying. 

Polly sucked on her teeth. "Her fucking speech is slurred." By the end of her sentence, her voice was shaking. They fretted over me for a while until Polly said that she was going to have me be in warm water. 

Thomas and Arthur helped me up the stairs. In the end, Polly was the only one in my room. She undressed me and helped me into the water. I could honestly say the water woke me up!

When I got most of me motor functions back, Polly got me out, helped me get dressed, tucked me into bed, and I fell asleep.

TAG LIST: @amirahiddleston​ @nemesis729​

[echoes-lighthouse]

18 for writing prompts with you and Jester?

-haha,,,guess,,,guess,,,guess who it is,,, Echo can you guess

Thanks for the prompt, @raynards-rambles! You're the best. (self-ship writing asks/prompts)

18. Making a boring chore a little more fun together

--

“Hey, Jester!” Echo nudged the door open with their foot. “It’s mending time!”

“Ughhh, I hate mending time,” Jester looked up from the notebook she had been writing in, cross-legged on the bed. “Do we have to?”

“Unless you want Nott to run out of underwear, then yeah, we have to.” Echo let their arms drop, and the large bundle they had been carrying fell onto the floor. “We should invest in a sewing kit, maybe.”

“We really should,” Jester said, nudging the pile with the toe of her boot and a dubious expression.

“I don’t know about you, but I hate patching socks more than I hate mending them. We’re just cursed with magical prowess.”

“Everyone takes us for granted.” Jester slid from the bed onto the floor, her skirts settling around her and her tail flicking across her lap. “Let’s get this done.”

“Agreed.” Echo sat down across from Jester, the pile of broken and torn things between them. Mending was a biweekly activity, when the Cleric and the Bard put their Mending cantrip to good use for half an hour and fixed all the wear and tear from the Mighty Nein’s adventures. There was slashed armour, broken crossbow bolts, and yes, the occasional socks or underwear that had gotten torn.

For a few moments, there was relative silence. Jester murmured her prayers to the Traveller, and Echo hummed their mending song under their breath.

“This is so boring!” Jester complained at last, throwing down Caleb’s jacket, which was a regular part of the mending pile. “Echo, tell me a story, you’re good at that.”

“I need my voice for mending!” Echo laughed, taking a break from their own casting. “I’ll tell you a story afterwards, I promise.”

“You could sing me a story,” Jester said hopefully. “Then it wouldn’t be so boring.”

“Eh….” Echo looked down at the torn belt in their hands, running their thumbs over the frayed edges. “I’m not very good at singing, really. That’s why I use my flute for most of my spells.”

“I’ve heard you singing! You’re really good!”

“When have you heard me singing?” Echo blinked up at Jester, surprised.

“Whenever you’re in the river, you sing. Doing laundry or washing up in the morning. You like to sing.” Jester smiled, and Echo didn’t think they were imagining the fondness in the expression. “And I like to listen.”

“I do sing by water, but that’s only because I thought the river drowned me out! Oh, no, has everyone been listening to me?” The thought was mortifying.

“I think I’m the only one who listens. But Caduceus said he liked your voice! It’s really nice, I promise.”

“Thank you. I think.” Echo was still cringing.

“So, now will you sing me a story?” Jester asked, picking up Caleb’s coat with expectant eyes. “I’ll love it, I promise.”

“I guess… I can try." Echo took a moment to think of songs that they knew well enough to use for mending. "There’s a story my father told me, about gods and mortals, but not the ones that live in our world. They live on the same plane, these gods and mortals, connected by a long track. And a carriage runs on that track, back and forth. They call it a train. And it takes people to the afterlife. It’s a story about that.”

Echo twisted and untwisted the belt around their fingers, already losing themself in the story. It was one of their favourites, as a child, and they had loved all of that other world’s gods and goddesses. They had made up their own stories about those deities, who were no further away from their mortals than up on top of the nearest mountain. Or underneath the mountain, as the case may be.

“I want to hear it, I want to hear it!” Jester’s eyes were big and expectant.

“Alright.” Echo turned their attention to the mending, bringing their fingers to the break in the leather, and began to hum. The humming rose into a quiet rhythm, and then the words began, hesitant at first, but growing more confident as the leather knit back together.

“Once upon a time, there was a railroad line Don’t ask where, brother, don’t ask when It was a road to Hell, it was hard times, It was a world of gods and men.”

Jester watched Echo work, their song becoming magic, flowing down their fingers and bringing together the broken and town. She watched and smiled, listening to a voice that was unremarkable but special because it belonged to Echo.

“It’s an old song… It’s an old tale from way back when. It’s an old song… and we’re gonna sing it again.”

[aponderingcharming]

We Have What We Have When We Have It - Part 3

The day to return the stones finally came. Steve made sure that the soul stone was the last stop on his trip. It was time to say goodbye. Read on AO3.

The day to return the stones had finally come.

Bruce had spent the past number of days making all the necessary tweaks for Steve to safely travel to all the different locations and spots in time and get back in one piece. The last thing he needed was to get stuck in the past and/or on some planet lightyears away, so he was thankful for the extra time that the scientist was taking in exacting the formula.

Meanwhile, Steve had spent the last few days reading and re-reading all of Natasha’s notes and letters. All of them were for him. Each one was different; the tones and lengths varied and the timeline in the shifting of her affections became more and more noticeable as he read. A lot of them described missions they had gone on or were about to go on, sometimes in extreme detail like it was almost therapeutic for her to do so and other times in broad brushstrokes with just dates and times. Some of them accounted conversations they’d had with one other and he found himself recalling the memories with ease as soon as the words popped from the page as though he was back there in that moment with her. It was so easy – too easy – to get lost in the memories, to change them ever so slightly so that they’d end differently – like maybe he gathered up the courage to compliment her or maybe even to be so bold as to tell her how he truly felt.

He caught himself replaying her phrases all throughout the day, each time hearing them with a slightly different voice of hers – sometimes light and airy, other times heavy and quiet. At night he lay awake imagining the ways in which she might have revealed her feelings – sometimes they’d be on a mission and she’d blurt it out casually in between kicks and gunshots; other times they’d just be sitting together on the couch like they did countless times before and she’d just whisper it into the room like a soft prayer. Each time it hit him a different way because while the scenarios he conjured up weren’t real, her words were.

Every now and then she’d write something that would appear so out of place among the rest of the sentences that it’d cause him to pause, put the paper down and squeeze the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger because it’d get too much. She’d note things like: ‘And then you smiled at me, and it was different than your usual smiles. More…I don’t know, private, I guess? As if it was just for me. So I smiled back and I can’t explain it but it was like something expanded in my chest. I felt…warm, I think. But not in an uncomfortable way; in a really, really nice way. I kind of always want to feel like that.’ But then, later on, she’d write something like: ‘Do you have any idea how stubborn you are? You think you know what’s best but really you’re just floundering about like the rest of us because newsflash, Rogers, none of us have ever had to face anything like this before. So we’re all just trying to throw around ideas and come up with a plan and you’re just sulking over in the corner with your arms folded across your chest in this defiant, patriotic stance – and it’s really unhelpful. Sometimes I wish you’d just listen a little bit more.’

Reading them was unpredictable, much like Natasha herself. And there was a beauty in that. There was a beauty in the way she didn’t just paint pretty pictures of how she felt or how things went down; she was raw and honest and funny and heartfelt. The letters were like a glimpse into her soul and while Steve knew without a shadow of a doubt that he loved her, he knew it even more as he read her stories and worries and fears and insecurities. And though knowing that nothing he could do could bring her back, they provided him the chance to have her with him always.

The night before the mission, Steve had been up writing a letter to her, trying and failing to find his words that could accurately and deeply convey everything he felt about her. God…he really didn’t want to say goodbye. He never planned on saying goodbye. So the words didn’t come easy. They were hard-fought and clunky, and didn’t really make much sense when he read them back to himself, but what else could he do? He hoped that maybe, somehow, by some stretch and bend in the cosmic world, she would be able to hear what he had to say because he was planning on leaving his heart there on that mountain in Vormir. This felt like the best way to finish their story. Because that’s what it was. She wasn’t coming back and there was nothing anyone or anything could do to change that.

But Natasha deserved to hear that she was just as loved and wanted – he was going to make sure of it.

He was thinking of taking a break after this, some time off to re-evaluate what he really wanted to do. While walking away from Captain America wasn’t something he thought he could ever do, a hiatus from it all felt like the right decision. There were people out there looking after different worlds and nations, people who they could count on if anything got too hairy down here, people who could be trusted, people who were friends. Earth was in safe hands.

It was time to get a life and getting a life meant figuring out who Steve Rogers was without the title and the role that came with being an Avenger.

It was strange; it felt as though returning the stones was the end of an era, the last chapter of this book that he had been writing for the past few years. Going on missions, fighting and saving, being part of a team, had become a part of him over time and it seemed funny to him that he was going on this, pretty huge, pretty vital, last mission by himself. But, in a way, that was what he wanted.

This mission allowed him to say goodbye to the two women who shaped him into the man he was now.

Getting a chance to say goodbye to Peggy in a way that he never thought possible was too great of an opportunity to miss. Not ever getting to have that date or that dance together was something that haunted him for years and even though she was alive when he came out of the ice, he never quite felt like he expressed just how much she meant to him, at least not in a way she could understand. And he really wanted to show her. Just one dance. That’s all he wanted. And then he could move on and put that life, and all that came with it, behind him.

But when they mapped out the various routes for the trip, he made sure that returning the soul stone was the final stop on his quest.

It was a beautiful day; sun shining high, not too hot, not too cold, a delicate breeze in the air. The perfect day for a last mission – at least for now, anyway.

The suit felt tighter.

Heavier, too.

Almost like the material knew it was the beginning of an end.

Steve took a long, hard look at himself in the mirror in his bedroom, taking note of all the scratches and tears and patches that now adorned the suit. They were battle scars; scars of victory and scars of loss. He smiled sadly at his reflection, catching all of the scars his face and body displayed too. He looked different; tired and dismayed. Older. A version of himself he’d never met before.  

From outside he heard Bucky call his name.

It was time.

Bucky and Sam had insisted on sending him off, even though to them he’d only be gone a few seconds, but Steve knew that if the roles were reversed, he’d do the same. Getting both of them back really helped in the aftermath of the battle; whilst talking about what he was going through didn’t come easy  - or at all most days, just having them around as a solid presence brought him a sense of peace. There was a solace in knowing that he wasn’t alone.

When he ventured out to the lake, Steve admired the view one more time. The trees that protected the lake like a fortress now swayed in the light breeze, almost as if they were waving farewell to him. Even though he knew and believed that he was coming back, he knew he wasn’t coming back the same – and it felt like nature knew that, too.

“You ready?”

With a nod, Steve joined Bruce and Sam by the workstation that had been set up.

Bruce, arm still in a sling and looking a little more worn than usual, presented the case with the infinity stones inside to him.

“Remember,” he started, “you have to return the stones to the exact moment you got ‘em or you’re gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.”

Steve nodded. “Don’t worry, Bruce,” he assured, taking the case. “I’ll clip all the branches.”

“You know, I tried - when I had the gauntlet, the stones...I really tried to bring her back.” The man paused, forlorn and defeated. Turning his head to look at Steve, he continued with a sigh, “I miss her, man.”

The blonde dipped his head at the admission. It was obvious that Bruce still cared about Nat and though he never really let his mind go there, Steve knew that a part of her still cared about him, too –not in the same way she had at the time of Ultron, but still enough to want to rebuild a friendship with him. And despite never discussing the relationship they had, Steve knew that Bruce was grieving just like he was.

He peered up at the other man. “Me, too,” he replied, the words heavy and definite.

An understanding smile passed between them.

The letter he had written to her burned in the pocket of his undershirt that lay against his heart.

“Let’s do this,” he proclaimed louder, more assured, Captain America in full flight.

Returning the stones (and Mjolnir) hadn’t been as difficult as Steve anticipated. Sure he could have done without having to inject the reality stone back into Thor’s old lover while she slept – that he’d be sure to lord over the man for many years to come, but the rest were thankfully fairly inconsequential. Sneak in, return, sneak out, don’t cause any ripple effects or alter anything in the process. There was a slight hiccup with the space stone in Morag which resulted in a ducking-and-diving-from-an-intergalactic-weapon kind of getaway, but Steve considering fleeing from gunfire to be pretty standard territory at this point.

The second last stop on his quest was to return the space stone back to the military base in 1970. And he finally, after all these years, got to have that dance with Peggy. Maybe it wasn’t in the location they’d pictured with the fanfare and anticipation and all that came with a first date, and maybe there wasn’t any music playing, but it was worth waiting for. A part of his heart that once seemed empty had now been filled and while it hurt more than he would ever admit to say goodbye one more time, he took comfort in the fact that she would live a great life and be happy. And he was glad that he was able to keep his promise to her, too. Feeling bound to his old life had taken up so much of his time in the present day and he more than knew that couldn’t keep living his life like that anymore. Time had passed, he had changed – the Steve Rogers from then didn’t exist anymore, and getting this chance, this final moment in time, gave him the push to really and truly move on.

Though all of his travels were always going to lead him to Vormir last, a part of him sometimes wished he had gone there first just so he could get it over with. As the time dragged on and each stone had been put back in its place, the dread of knowing what was to come gnawed at his emotions. It felt like the week leading up to a funeral where all the arrangements had been made and you were just waiting until the day when it became official. He didn’t want it to be official. There was this odd comfort in ignoring the obvious truth for a while but he knew the second he landed on that planet it would all become real again and there’d be no more escaping into daydreams or fantasies. No, he’d have to stare the loss right in the eye.

What he didn’t expect was how beautiful Vormir was. Not in the traditional sense, but in this other-worldy way that his mind would have never been able to conjure up on its own. It looked like what he thought a planet in outer space would look like – but then so much more. Vibrant clashes of colour with impressive shapes of land like sketches of a child where there was no rhyme or reason to what something could and should look like. It exceeded all human concept and imagination. And even as he gazed out at this barren landscape, he had a moment of awe at the direction his life had taken. It was breath-taking and beautiful, yet crushing and painful at the same time. He had achieved so much, had seen so much, experienced more than he ever thought, saved the world and individuals alike. But he’d also learned true pain, felt isolated and alone, discovered new levels of anger and confusion, lost battles and friends.

The mountain sat ominous and foreboding in his eye-line. It was sharp and jagged; a place that looked like death and danger personified, and it was surrounded by pools of water laid out in a nonsensical pattern. Wind whipped around him, flicking snowflakes into his eyes as he trudged his way up, jaw tight and set as he ground his teeth together to fight off the cold. His breathing was laboured as he made the ascent and he briefly wondered at how Natasha had felt about making the climb – he could imagine her and Clint complaining about the others having it easier than them and a sad chuckle sounded from him at the thought.

When he finally reached the top, he took in the surroundings. Nothing to be seen for miles.

Suddenly, a voice boomed from behind him, “Welcome…”

Steve zipped around to a see a floating entity dressed in black. His eyes narrowed.

“Steven, son of Sarah,” the voice continued, making his blood run cold.

He approached it slowly. “Who are you?”

“Consider me a guide to you and to all who seek the soul stone.”

The blonde raised his head. “I don’t seek the soul stone,” he announced calmly and then reached into his pocket to take out the glowing orange rock. He had discarded the case after seeing Peggy, making sure to tuck the final stone into a secure part of his suit for the last trip. “I seek to return it.”

“It has never been done before.”

“Well then I guess I’m the first,” he pressed.

The body then moved toward him and as it drew closer its features became more defined. Steve’s eyes widened as the face of the Red Skull became clear. “What are you doing here? How are you here?” he seethed.

“I am the keeper of the soul stone. I was banished here to this purgatory state to guide others to a treasure I cannot possess.” The Red Skull waded past him toward the edge that overlooked a canyon of darkness. “A great sacrifice was made for that stone that you hold.”

The rock suddenly felt weightier in his hand. “I know.”

A few moments passed and then, “What you seek lies in front of you, as does what you fear.”

Steve peered over into the abyss and swallowed hard, knowing that at the bottom was where she once lay. There was nothing there now. Just emptiness. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I already have the stone; what is this?”

“The soul holds a special place amongst the infinity stones and its ways are unknown. The soul demands a sacrifice – in order to take the stone you must lose that which you love. No one knows, not even I, the price for returning it.”

He was irritated now. “So you’re trying to tell me that I have to do something in order for this to be put back? I don’t see how that makes sense.”

The Red Skull’s timbre was haunting. “I’m merely offering you all the knowledge I have on this matter. What you long to do has never been attempted before. There are secrets of the stone that I do not yet know and cannot pass on.”

“Well thanks you’ve been a great help,” the man sniped sarcastically and then released a long sigh.

So no rules, no ideas, no maps to follow. Just gut instinct and a bit of luck. Steve didn’t believe in luck.

With a shake of the head, he walked to the edge and retrieved the letter from his pocket. No matter what, no matter what worked or didn’t work, he came here for this. He stood there on the cliff edge, the chill in the air not just from the temperature but from the unnerving atmosphere of grief. The price of sacrifice hung in the breeze that started to grow stronger the longer he stayed there.

Stars sprung and danced across the purple sky, blazing and burning in countless patterns. It was stunning, and not for the first time on this journey, Steve tensed his eyes so that the tears that were threatening didn’t dare to fall. No more tears. Knowing that this sky was the last thing that Natasha saw was like the universe offering him one last link he could share with her. A short, but real smile flickered across his face at the thought, his soul feeling somewhat soothed.

He unfolded the pages and began to read.

“Dear Nat,” he declared out into the void.

“I know it’s late, I know it’s not enough but wherever you are, I hope you know that I feel the same way as you do. Writing letters is something I gave up a lifetime ago but after I read yours, I knew I had to respond. Forgive me if it’s not as eloquent as yours. Usually the first thing you do in replying to a letter is thank the person for writing to you in the first place and so I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for leaving me something of yours that I can have forever, for baring your soul and letting me into your heart. That is a privilege I don’t take lightly.

I don’t know how space and time and all that works, but I’ve seen enough to know that nothing seems impossible anymore. We’ve seen things that just defy explanation. So I believe that as I read this to you, you will hear me.”

He cleared his throat. “Nat, I’m sorry.

For so many things.

I wish…I wish things were different. I know why you did what you did and if I was in the same position I probably would have done the same thing, because whatever it takes, right? That’s what we all agreed; we knew what we were doing. But, God, I wish there was another way. But the thing is,” he sighed, “even though it’s selfish of me to stand here and wish you hadn’t of done it, I know that you would make that choice every single time because you would do anything for your family, and all you ever wanted was to make everything right again – because you, Natasha Romanoff, are a hero. You’re my hero. Go ahead and laugh all you want at that –because I know you are; I can hear it,” he sniffed sadly. “But it’s the truth.

We won because of you.

We got everyone back,” he stopped then, mouth dry, “… but we lost Tony. He sacrificed himself so that Thanos could be defeated and I miss him every day. And he missed you, by the way. It’s funny, he’s usually so vocal about things but when we all found out that you didn’t make it, he was strangely quiet. I think it hit him harder than any of us knew. You were important to him. To all of us.

The trouble with trying to save the world is that we embody this kind of confidence – maybe even arrogance – that we’re gonna make it, that while there’s risk and danger, we’re gonna win and we’re gonna get through. And that’s good because if we weren’t confident in ourselves and in each other, then I don’t think we’d ever win. But it’s also bad because it blurs the lines of reality that one of us or all of us could be killed. We don’t let ourselves think of that. We drive forward with intent and do what we have to do. But, Nat…” he shook his head, rolling in his lips, “…I should have been clearer on how I felt about you – you said it yourself I’m always waiting, but this time it’s all on me. I should have made more of an effort during those 5 years; I should have reminded you more of who you are and what you’ve done. I should have been more open and more honest. You deserved to hear that you were loved by us all, especially me.”

Steve lifted his gaze so that his eyes were searching the skies. “I love you, Nat. And I’m sorry you’re finding out this way.

When I met you, I gotta admit I was a little intimidated. You were the most skilled fighter I had ever seen. You didn’t take anything from anyone, and you trusted your instincts. I always admired that. And when you opened up to me the day we realized that SHIELD was really HYDRA well, I saw a part of you that I could really connect with. I saw a glimpse of the real Natasha. You know, sometimes I think about that day. I think about how you had just found out that everything you’d been working for had been a lie and for most people, that would have stopped them dead in their tracks, but not you. No, you’re not most people. You became adamant and focused on fixing it. You showed me true loyalty when I hadn’t given you much reason to. You showed me that you were someone who wanted to be better and wanted to fight injustice.

You know, we’re not all that dissimilar when you really think about it.

And as the years went on I saw more of that person, and I grew to not only respect and admire her, I grew to care for her – more than ever I cared to admit to even myself. You risked your safety and security and position to help me when I went after Bucky – you trusted my instincts. You showed up at Peggy’s funeral even though we disagreed on what to do with the team because you didn’t want me to be alone. And, Nat, I was never alone when I was with you. Ever. You said that I made you feel seen, well you opened up my heart again.”

His voice cracked at the end of the sentence and he cursed, annoyed at how hard his heart was thumping and how his lungs burned and his head ached. He could feel the Red Skull’s stare on his back but he persisted on.

“You know - and I’m pretty sure you’re gonna be smirking after I say this - but sometimes I think about the time you kissed me on the escalator. Though I hate to admit it, I lied to you then; that was my first kiss since 1945. But now more than ever, I’m glad that it was with you…even if it was terrible and I was way, way, out of practice.

But I’ve also thought about the other times we got close to kissing yet never did because…well, because we couldn’t risk losing each other. It never felt like the right time, it never felt like the right thing to do, but once the moment had passed, all I felt was regret. Every time. I think we were just scared to enter into new territory. We knew what lives we lead and we knew that it would complicate things and that we needed each other on a much deeper level and underlying it all, there was always this fear that it would ruin what we had. You have no idea how much I wish I had taken the jump and told you sooner, though. I wish we could have navigated it together - and you’re right, I don’t know what it would have looked like but I know we would have made it work because,” he softened his voice then, bringing to just a breath above a whisper as if she right there in front of him, “you’re the most important person in my life too, Nat. I would have put my everything into making it work, because you’re worth all of the uncertainty and all of the risk and all of the confusion. And I’m going to say that again so that you really understand: you are worth it. All of it. I know you think that your past prevents you from having anything good in your life, but I want you to know that whatever experiences you had to go through to get here, they shaped who you are now. And she is someone who I think is incredible.

I miss you so much that it hurts, and I know that it’ll always hurt when I think of you. I’ll miss the late night conversations and the jokes and your eyebrow that can change everything with just one move and the assurance of knowing someone has my back. Most of all, I’ll miss the way your eyes light up when you get excited about something and the smirks that transform into real, genuine smiles once you’ve let your guard down and the way you understand me, like no one else does. You were my best friend, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to find another one like you.”

The last line of the letter became blurred through his tears and Steve tore his eyes away from the page for a few beats, unable to bring himself to read on. Once he read it, it was over. This was the end. A couple of drops landed on the sheet, blotching some of the ink. His hand shook as he raised the page closer to his face as if the proximity could force the sounds of him. He needed to do this.

Voice thick and quivering more than he would have wanted, he finally whispered, “I love you, Natasha Romanoff, with all of my heart. I hope that someday, somehow, someplace, I’ll see you again and get to tell you to your face.

All my love,

Steve

Before he could change his mind, he then released the piece of paper and looked on as the wind caught it and swirled it around open space. Hands clenched tight, he made sure to keep his stare on it as it plummeted to the bottom of the cliff. Tears burned in his eyes. The orange rock shone in his hand, its dazzle almost taunting him. Here goes nothing, he thought and without much effort, he let the stone drop from his grasp and inhaled sharply as the glow illuminated the steep descent. This was it. No more stones. No more chance of seeing her or getting her back.

It was over.

And then it all went dark.

The slop and slosh of water yanked him from the depths of darkness and he could feel wetness flowing around the frame of his body. Blinking heavily, Steve’s eyes opened to a new scene; the magnificent purple sky that had enraptured him earlier was now a silky lilac, all of the stars tucked back away for a later time. Was it now morning? A white moon, much like the one on earth floated off in the distance as if awakening too.

Realization that he was lying down dawned on him, and he pulled himself up into a seated position, turning his head from left to right as he scanned the new surroundings he found himself in. Over in the distance, what could have been miles away, was the mountain he once stood on.

“What the…?” he mouthed aloud to himself.

“I think you found a loophole.”

He jerked at the sound from behind, and hurried to his feet, arms out in front ready to attack if necessary, water splashing around with the movement.

But then he saw her.

And his whole body went slack.

Red hair tied in a braid with streaks of blonde running through it. Green eyes that bore deep into his own. Lips slightly curved into a smirk. Black suit he’d know anywhere, anytime, anyplace.

This couldn’t be real.

This wasn’t real.

“Nat?” he breathed.

She just nodded, eyes filling just a little. “Hey, Soldier.”

Though it was obvious the greeting was meant to be a little mischievous, it came out raspy instead, like she hadn’t used her voice in a while and was trying to get a hold of it again.

“Wha…” he paused, gulping and then, “…how?”

“I don’t know,” she rushed, licking her lips, breathing slightly ragged. “I…” she gazed fiercely at him, “I…could hear you…somehow and then…” she squeezed her eyes shut for a beat, “…and then there was this glow and it was so bright and I just…I just woke up here and I saw you and…” she pulled up then as if really seeing him for the first time, “…I saw you,” she repeated in awe.

The stone. He threw the stone down with the letter and both of them ended up here.

But how?

“You heard me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I don’t know how but I did. All of it.”

As much as he had prayed to a God that he wasn’t sure even existed that somehow this would happen, he still couldn’t understand how she was here with him. Unless…

You must sacrifice that which you love.

Steve understood and was willing to say goodbye to someone he loved wholeheartedly.

Letting go of Natasha was the ultimate sacrifice. The ultimate exchange.

The price of returning the stone.

He had brought her back.

His eyes clapped on her then, his relief and joy unbridled. She met his gaze with similar intensity. Steve closed the gap between them in an instant and pulled her into a hug, needing to feel that she was real. With only some hesitation, Natasha encircled him with her own arms, one hand gripping his back, the other on his neck, fingers brushing the end of his hair.

“This is real?” she asked so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

All he could do was nod.

“I can’t believe it,” she breathed, her words watery.

Breaking back only so much that their faces were mere inches apart, he tenderly brought up a hand to cup her face and gently danced his thumb across her cheekbone. “Nat, I love you. I’m so sorry I never said it.”

Her brow crinkled, green eyes incredulous but so hopeful, “You do?”

“Yeah, I do.”

The words ran off her tongue as if she was afraid they’d disappear if she didn’t get them out, “I love you, too.”

Her own admission seemed to take her by surprise and before she could say or do anything else, Steve leaned in and kissed her. The most perfect kiss he could have ever imagined. It wasn’t forced or rushed or planned or complicated or any of that other stuff that comes along with a moment like that; it just was. It was everything he wanted and so much more.

When they pulled away, one of her signature smirks appeared and boy, did he miss them. “Now that was worth waiting for,” she laughed breathily. “Have you had practice?” she quipped, cocking an eyebrow. He missed that, too.

He offered a smirk of his own in reply. “Just saved the best for the right person, that’s all.”

She bit her lip, dropping her stare. “I,uh… think I have to get used to this. This is really…” she waved her hand out in front of her loosely, “…really new to me.”

He nodded in understanding, wanting her to feel seen and heard, wanting to be her safe place again. “We’ve all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere, Nat,” he assured, taking hold of one of her hands.

“Well, good,” she responded, now fixated on their hands, “because neither am I.”

“So…how about we go and get that life we were always talking about?”

Her smile was full. “I thought you’d never ask, Rogers.”

The End.

[clumsyclifford]

you are the taste of something sweet (and i’m tangled in the sheets)

hi i couldnt sleep so i wrote sleepy morning jalex and now i still cant sleep so im posting it. at 6am yes yes move on

this takes place in the same ‘verse as all hung up like i was on you (tumblr link), the fic based on t-shirt by thomas rhett. it might be better to read that first but if u dont feel like it then all u need to know is alex is a middle school teacher, jack has an office job, they are boyfriends yeah that’s all

this is fluffy fluff and i don’t think there are even any tws on it so!! fun for the whole family. (i mean there’s swearing but. at this point it’s a given)

title from holly (would you turn me on?) absolutely chuffed as they say to be finally using that as a title. just totally stoked i cant lie

read it here on ao3

Later, when Alex is more eloquent, he'll say that Jack is golden.

Or, no. More like Jack takes golden light and weaves it into something new, some gleaming…well, something. The point is that later on Alex will have the words, but right now he doesn't.

Right now, he just has the picture, but what a beautiful picture it is.

Jack is still asleep. Alex doesn't fault him, since it's Saturday and he's only just woken up himself, even though the clock has informed him it's half past noon and the sun is already high in the sky. Alex could move. He could get up, pull on some sweats, and shuffle into the kitchen to make some mid-afternoon coffee and brunch (breakfast eaten at lunchtime). Sure. He could.

But God, Jack is so gorgeous.

It's been a little while since Alex has had the opportunity just to watch Jack sleep. He watches Jack whenever he can, watches him shouting at the Orioles on TV (because honestly they could not possibly have chosen a less competent team to back), watches him pore over documents Alex still doesn't quite understand the nature of, watches him when he drives Alex home, windows down, breeze ruffling through his clothes and hair, singing terribly along with whatever early 2000s pop punk song happens to come on shuffle. It's so easy to watch him because there's always something to see; Jack is motion manifested, always on, always shifting like ripples in water, never quite the same on a second glance. 

But now, though. Now is special. Moments like these are special, because for once Jack is still, and what a stunning still photograph he makes. Long eyelashes over sharp cheekbones, dark hair contrasted against the white pillowcase, the blanket falling just low enough that his left shoulder is exposed, ink from the tattoo sprawling over tan skin. Alex could drink it in for the rest of his life, and he doubts he'd ever grow tired.

It must be a few minutes, but Alex is happy not to keep track. Eventually Jack stirs, and his eyelids twitch before he opens his eyes, slowly. When his gaze meets Alex's, he smiles, lazily.

"G'morning," he says huskily. The sleep hasn't cleared from his voice. Alex hopes it never does. 

"Morning," he answers.

"Time?"

"Don't ask." 

Jack breathes a tired laugh at that. "How long you been up?"

Alex feels a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Ten minutes, maybe."

"And you've been just sitting here watching me sleep?" Jack's eyes flutter shut as he smiles. "Creep."

Alex can't help it; he reaches out, fingertips landing on Jack's face, thumb tracing underneath his eye. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs. Jack exhales quietly, happily. "I love waking up with you." Wish I could do it every day, he means.

They haven't discussed it, but maybe it's time they do.

"You're not so bad yourself," Jack says warmly in return, but he doesn't open his eyes. 

Alex drags the pad of his thumb down Jack's jaw, then brushes over his cheek with the plane of his index finger, taking his time to trace the outline of the most beautiful face he's had the good fortune of falling in love with. Jack doesn't move, and his halfway smile doesn't waver as Alex smoothes his thumb over Jack's lips. "My Jack," he says softly. In the sanctuary of this morning, from the golden boy at the end of Alex's fingertips to the promise of sunshine and coffee when they finally get up, it's easy to add, "I love you."

At this Jack's smile does grow, and he finally opens his eyes. Alex can't even imagine what he sees. A man too far gone for his own good, probably. 

"Wait, say it again," he says. "I didn't get to look at you before."

It's so profoundly Jack that Alex has to swallow back a laugh. "I love you," he repeats, and the words taste like glitter and sunlight and Jack's smile is gold, pure gold.

"I love you too," he says, the most beautiful four-four measure Alex has ever heard, like Jack has somehow figured out a way to twist stardust into language; the shortest love song ever written, just for Alex's ears.

Alex smiles, and he knows he's not half as radiant as Jack when he does, but it's not like he could stop himself. To be in love with Jack is a privilege all by itself; for Jack to be in love with him, Alex thinks he must have been some kind of Odyssean hero in a past life.

"We should get up," Jack finally says, and Alex realizes he's lapsed into silence again, drinking in the sight of Jack once more. "At some point."

"Nah," Alex says. He threads his fingers through Jack's hair and shifts closer, until Jack rolls onto his back and Alex can lean over him, arms braced against the pillow. "I disagree."

"Oh, well, in that case," Jack says dryly, but he hasn't stopped smiling since his eyes opened to meet Alex's.

"We should stay here forever," Alex suggests. He ducks down and presses a kiss to Jack's cheek, and Jack giggles. "We should stay here," and he drops another kiss on Jack's other cheek, "and never go anywhere," his temple, "or see anyone," his nose, "or do anything else forever," and he starts trailing kisses down the line of Jack's jaw.

"We'll both be fired," Jack says pragmatically.

Alex shakes his head. "Don't care. We'll become hermits. I'm pretty sure hermits get a monthly check from, like, Hermits United."

"I think you watch too much Doctor Who."

Somehow this startles a laugh out of Alex, and he pulls away for a moment to look Jack in the face. "But you got the reference, so who's the real geek?"

When Jack laughs this time, Alex feels it vibrate against his lips where he's leaving soft kisses down the line of Jack's throat. "Oh, God. This is my worst nightmare. You've made me a Doctor Who fan." Then, "If anyone was going to corrupt me, of course it would be you."

Alex pulls back again, smiling in the gleaming light of Jack's fond look. "I hardly think Doctor Who is how I'm going to corrupt you. Didn't I just suggest we both get sacked and hole up in your apartment?"

"That's true." Jack skims a hand up Alex's chest and curls his fingers around Alex's neck. "I kinda liked that idea, though. Tell me more."

Alex hums. "Well, I can promise you it will involve a lot of this," and he dips down to kiss Jack on the lips, slowly, intently, savoring every second, committing the taste to memory in case anyone ever asks him what sunlight tastes like. 

Jack smiles against Alex's mouth, so Alex moves back just a breath. "I'm convinced," Jack mumbles. His fingernails scratch lightly at the back of Alex's neck, at the ends of his hair. "I'm in. Let's do it."

Alex chuckles and lowers himself down, kissing Jack again with absolutely no intention of stopping, and Jack lets him, and after a moment Alex thinks of something to say that requires breaking the kiss, so he does.

"Move in with me?" he asks.

Jack hums. "You should move in with me," he says. "All your shit is here anyway, and I live closer to your school."

"Sounds like you've thought about it."

"I have," says Jack. "A lot. I've been thinking about it for a long time."

Something about that makes Alex's heart skip a beat. "I'd love to move in with you," he says, a little breathless. "God, I fucking love you."

Jack gazes at Alex, deep, earnest brown eyes as sincere as they'd been the first day they'd met. "Alright, gig's up," he says. "I already said you can move in. You can stop the bribe now."

Alex laughs and hides his face in Jack's neck, barely moving his lips to brush a kiss over his collarbone. "No way, babe. I have weeks of not saying it to make up for."

"Weeks, huh?"

"Yeah, weeks."

"Oh, well. That's alright then." Jack's arms are tight around Alex's neck. "I love you. I'd love you more if you made coffee."

"This love can't be conditional," Alex protests. 

"It's not conditional! I'm just saying if you made coffee I'd love you even more."

"Choosing to believe you already love me the maximum amount," Alex says airily, "but I will make you coffee anyway, because I'm that nice."

Jack sighs contentedly. "You know, I always think I love you the maximum amount," he says reflectively, "but then every day I fall more in love with you. So I'm starting to think there might not be a limit."

Alex's heart skips another beat. That might become a problem if it continues. "Holy fuck, that's romantic," he says, because it is, and then, fervently, "Me too, by the way."

He feels Jack giggle. "Well, I woke up and the first thing you did was call me beautiful. I'm just trying to keep up at this point."

Alex wonders how he ever existed without Jack, and he sends up a silent prayer to whoever's listening that he never has to again. He shifts, rolling onto his side and pulling Jack with him, because his arms are getting kind of tired, and affords Jack a grin. "I meant it," he promises. "You are. So gorgeous. I wish I could just look at you forever."

"But then how would you watch Doctor Who?"

Alex laughs. "Good point. I take it back. I wish I could look at you forever except for forty-five minutes twice a week."

"That's more like it." Jack moves to cup Alex's face in his hand, and his smile is so soft, so quiet, something only for Alex to see. "I don't think I mentioned, but you're also beautiful, Alex. You're just." He sweeps his thumb over Alex's cheek. "I wish I knew more words, or more languages, or something, so I could figure out how to say what I'm trying to say."

And Alex thinks maybe he understands, because if it's anything like what Alex has been trying to say then he knows already there are no words for it in any language. It's not something that gets said; it's a feeling, or maybe a moment, and it's in the room right now, settling like a blanket over them both. "I know," he whispers, letting his eyes close, letting Jack lean in and kiss him gently, leisurely, like they have all the time in the world, and maybe they do.

(Sometime later, Alex will find his best approximations for what they're both grasping at right now. It'll start with I remember when I woke up the morning you first told me you loved me, my first thought was, "Wow, this man is golden," and it'll end with I do.)

[kutemouse]

Can you writing a yandere au? I would like to request soft yandere with joon, when he overprotektif and possesif, fluff fluff~

Disclaimers: The images from my header belong to BigHit and BTS, but I edited them together. I obviously don’t own Netflix, Converse, or BT21. Koya is BT21’s character, which belongs to Line Friends Corporation and BTS.

Hi kutie! So this is my first EVER attempt at yandere. I’ve read it, I’ve studied it, I’ve looked up multiple examples… so I hope I did the genre justice. It was way fun to write, I quite enjoyed it, especially with Namjoon. It was really interesting to explore the way he’s so level-headed on the outside, but maybe not so much on the inside 😅 Also, I split this into two parts, because I thought up this scenario and another one that went hand-in-hand. Look for part two soon! 💜

@kpopyandere, how did I do? 😳

Age Recommendation: 18+

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, yandere themes as in unhealthy obsession and possessiveness, swears, sexy Joon (yes, that’s a necessary warning).

Word Count: 2,690

Summary: A bit after moving to a new neighborhood, you happen to meet your sexy new neighbor completely by coincidence. Or was it?

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Becoming His (Namjoon One-Shot, Yandere, Angst, Fluff) Part One

You stared, slack-jawed, at the sight in front of you. Through your window, across your front lawn, and over the sidewalk stood none other than an absolute sex god. His white tank clung to his sweaty body in all the right places, revealing just how toned he was, and the way his brown hair was styled in a perfectly messy quaff made you go weak in the knees. He bent down and stretched out a leg, causing his shorts to ride up and reveal thick, muscular thighs. Your mouth parted open as your soul nearly left you.

The steaming cup of coffee in your hands nearly slipped from your grasp as you watched him stretch out his other leg, then walk up the neighbor’s driveway. Wait, no. That couldn’t be…? You scrambled over to your bay window, kneeling on the bench. The guy pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door. The sex god was… your new neighbor?

Right before he stepped inside the door, his dark eyes suddenly flicked your way. You yeeted yourself off the bench and pressed your back to the wall, hoping and praying he didn’t see you. After all, you weren’t some creeper. You just happened to be passing by your large, front room window and simply stopped to admire the view. 

It might have been your imagination, but you could’ve sworn your heard a chuckle before a door slammed. You crept back up to the window to find he had indeed gone inside, his door firmly shut.

What you didn’t know is that, against all your hopes and prayers, he had seen you. In fact, he’d been seeing you for a while. Kim Namjoon first noticed you the day you moved in. Boxes were all over the front drive, and you were directing the movers as best you could. He thought the way you ran your hands through your hair every time you started to get flustered was cute. Since then, he’d been keeping an eye on you.

Your every-day routine was pretty much the same. You’d get up, shower, then make a cup of coffee. You’d begin working in your office, which had a window that faced Namjoon’s house. Near midday, you’d go out for lunch and pick up another cup of coffee, which you’d stay and drink while continuing to work, or come back and drink while continuing to work. Namjoon preferred it when you came back home.

You ate dinner while working, then would finally call it quits and do one of three things: Binge Netflix,  play video games, or go for a swim in your backyard pool. The first time you emerged from the water, dripping wet, slicking your hair back, Namjoon knew he was in love. Now it was just a question of getting you to notice him.

He grew nervous in the few hours leading up to you seeing him for the first time. What if you woke up early that day? What if you chose to not sit in the bay window, staring out at the world as you drank your coffee? Namjoon could barely sleep from the anticipation. You, however, were dependable as usual. He couldn’t have timed it any more perfectly. The way your mouth fell open when he stopped in front of your house and stretched was exactly the reaction he was aiming for.

Now Namjoon needed to meet you. Talk to you. He knew the second you saw how much he cared for you, you’d fall in love with him too. He saw his chance two days later, when you decided to go for a swim rather than laze around. Despite the warm, humid evening, Namjoon went outside to shoot a few hoops, working up a good sweat as he repeatedly sprinted towards the basket, shot the ball, and caught it.

One time, he over-shot the ball, and it flew into your yard, landing in the pool. You yelped in surprise, quickly standing up as the orange sphere splashed down. “Sorry!” a voice called out. You wiped water out of your eyes and looked over to see your smokin’ hot neighbor peeking over the fence.

“It-It’s okay!” you spluttered, getting out of the pool and wrapping a towel around yourself. “I’ll throw it back!”

“No need!” His head disappeared, and you gasped as he suddenly vaulted over the fence. Oh god. He was shirtless. And sweaty. You swallowed hard as he ran a hand through his hair, looking like the most perfect of wet dreams. Wait, were you dreaming?

“I’ll take that,” he said, an easy smile spreading over his lips as he took the ball from your grasp.

You opened your mouth but no words came out. “I’ll, uh… I’ll be going now,” he said, jutting a thumb behind him.

“Wait!” Oh lord almighty. You couldn’t speak earlier, but the second you could, that was the only thing you could say?

He stopped and turned back towards you, eyebrows raised. “W-What’s your name?” you stuttered.

He smirked. “Kim Namjoon. And you are?”

“L/n Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you… Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you.”

You lost your ability to form words once more. It was hard to think straight with his naked upper half glistening in the sunlight. Still, you couldn’t help sneaking little glances at his body and face, admiring just how handsome he was from up close.

Namjoon’s smirk grew. This is exactly the effect he hoped to have on you, and now he knew your name. He knew he’d be sleepless again tonight, murmuring your name over and over again, stretching out the syllables in different ways until he memorized it through and through… not to mention how good it sounded with the last name “Kim.”

“Thanks for letting me get my ball back,” Namjoon said.

“It’s no problem at all,” you replied, pressing the towel to your face to both warm and dry it.

Namjoon hesitated, wondering if he should continue. He didn’t want to ruin such a perfect moment, but at the same time, he wanted to prolong his time with you. “Listen,” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I was thinking of grilling some hamburgers… Would you like to join me?”

You hesitated, and his heart sank. You, however, didn’t pause for the reasons he was imagining… you were pausing because you didn’t know how you’d be able to keep your hands off such temptation. You moved here for the quiet, to write in peace, not to get caught up in some heated, drama-filled thing with your neighbor. After your last so-called relationship, you’d had enough of that for a lifetime and then some. Plus, he was your neighbor. If things turned south, you’d have to either see him all the time or move again. Then again, the what-if’s were killing you. 

“You don’t have to,” Namjoon said, backtracking. “I just thought I’d offer since I ruined your pool time.”

“Oh, no, it’s not that,” you replied, quickly thinking. How much damage could sharing a meal really do? “I mean, a burger sounds great.”

He smiled, relieved. “Great. I just need to shower and change. Meet me over at mine in a half hour?”

“Sounds good,” you said, glad you’d have time to freshen up.

Those thirty minutes flew by in a whirlwind of stress. What to wear? Should you put on make-up? Would it be too much if you wore a dress instead of jeans?

“Fucking hell,” you thought, finally settling on a pair of jean shorts, a rose pink top, and your favorite pair of white Converse. You left your hair loose, tumbling around your face in waves, and you kept your make-up light. You were barbequing after all. It’s not like it was a date. Or was it?

Before you could stress yourself out any more, you forced yourself out the door and across the few meters to his front door. You timidly rang the doorbell, but he didn’t answer. Did he forget he invited you? You raised a fist to knock when Namjoon threw open the door, out of breath and tugging the hem of a white shirt down over his toned torso.

If you thought he looked good shirtless or in workout clothes, you had another thing coming. The collared white shirt he wore had sleeves that cut off just below his elbows, and the jeans he sported were held up by a black, leather belt paired with matching boots. The entire ensemble showed off a pleasantly sophisticated side of him that caused your stomach to flutter.

“Sorry,” he said breathlessly, gesturing for you to come inside. Truth was, Namjoon had been stressing just as much as you, perhaps even more so. Everything had to be perfect. He needed you to fall for him, no matter the cost.

“It’s okay,” you said, giving him a smile as you brushed by him. It was then that he caught it. Your scent. Namjoon thought it smelled familiar, but couldn’t put his finger on it. It was less flowery and more fruity. Whatever it was, he needed more of it. With your back turned, he closed his eyes and deeply inhaled, allowing you to overwhelm all of his senses.

“Wow,” you said, causing him to open his eyes. “Your place is… nice.”

Namjoon supposed it was. He hired a decorator back when he moved in, and they had done a pretty good job.

“Do you have any roommates?” you asked, facing him.

He shook his head. “Nope. Just me.”

“A big huge house all to yourself?”

He tossed you a sly smile. “Yep, it’s just me. I don’t… Well, I prefer peace and quiet when I come home.”

You smiled. “Same. I’m a writer. I absolutely need a tranquil atmosphere to do my thing.”

Ah, so that’s what you did on your computer all day. “A writer? Really? That’s so interesting,” Namjoon said. As you talked, he led the way to his backyard. It looked similar to yours, except his was bigger and had a slab of cement with a basketball hoop.

He produced a bottle of wine and poured you a glass. “Sit,” he said, smiling.

You did as he requested, sitting down on a patio chair sitting in the shade of his deck. “Are you sure I can’t help?” you asked.

“No, no, please. It’s the least I can do after chucking a basketball at you.”

“Probably for the best. I can’t cook worth shit. I just order take-out all the time.”

Namjoon found himself slightly taken aback by your colorful language. “Sorry,” you said, covering your mouth. “I just–”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, cutting you off. “If it makes you feel better, I can’t cook worth shit either. Well, except for burgers, that is.”

“Oh, thank god,” you said, laughing. Namjoon’s heart soared. He loved the sound of your laugh. If he could record it, he’d listen to it forever.

You took a sip of wine which helped to loosen your tongue. “So tell me, Namjoon,” you said. Oh god. He loved the way his name rolled off your tongue. Forget your laugh, he’d take a recording of that instead.

“What do you do for work?”

“Me? Oh, I code software. Last year, I developed my own app. You ever heard of one called Koya?”

You gasped. “Oh my god, I use that app all the time!”

Namjoon chuckled. “Well, then. Thank you for contributing to my paycheck.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“Enough about me. You said you’re a writer… What do you write about?”

The conversation and wine continued to flow as Namjoon heated up the grill and cooked the hamburgers. They were just the way you liked, with melted cheese dripping from the patty and freshly cut vegetables loaded on top of it. The trick was trying not to make a huge mess as you devoured the burger in front of your new-found crush. Eventually, you gave up and just dug in. If he couldn’t deal with the way you ate, he wasn’t the man for you anyway.

Namjoon’s thoughts were to the contrary, actually. He couldn’t get enough of you. The way you cared too much then not at all. The way you took risks by asking him question after question and laughed at his jokes. But especially the way your hand lingered on his arm as you giggled.

You talked until the sun went down before heading back inside. “Well this has been great,” you said. As much as you wanted this night to last, you knew you were tipsy, and you didn’t want to mess this up before it had even begun.

“Wait,” Namjoon said. “I made dessert.”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

You sighed. “Kim Namjoon, it’s official. You are the perfect man.”

He chuckled, a tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks. This was too good to be true. He had tried so hard for you, and now it was all paying off. He brought out a batch of homemade brownies covered with chocolate fudge frosting.

“I thought you said you couldn’t cook,” you said accusingly, leaning over the counter.

“This isn’t cooking,” Namjoon retorted with a grin. “It’s baking.”

You scoffed, but smiled nonetheless, taking a bite out of the brownie he’d cut for you. A bit of frosting got on your cheek, and he reached out to wipe it off before he could stop himself. The tenderness with which he touched you shocked you, but it also made you feel things you didn’t think you were prepared to feel. You looked up at him, into those dark eyes, and he looked down at you, still caressing your cheek. So slowly, you almost didn’t realize what was happening, Namjoon leaned down towards you, his gaze locked on your lips.

You suddenly stood upright. “Uh, hey, thanks for everything,” you said hurriedly. “But it’s getting kinda late, and I should probably be getting home.”

Wait, no. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. “I’ll walk you home,” Namjoon offered.

“No!” Wow, you said that way too quickly. “I mean, no thanks. It’s only next door, I’ll be fine. Thank you for the meal and a great evening… I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Erm, sure.”

You scrambled out the door, tossing him a smile before shutting it behind you. That was close. Too close. Another minute there and you might just have succumbed to your emotions. The problem was, everything was moving too fast. You only met him today, after all. You didn’t want to end up in his bed and become just another convenient fuck buddy like you did with… Ugh, you couldn’t even say his name. That jerk who broke your heart.

Still, as you entered your home and pressed your back to the inside of your door, you realized you felt bad. The look on his face when you up and left seemed… disappointed. Angry, even. He had just made you a full-out meal, after all. The least you could do was let him walk you home, even if it did result in a kiss or something more. You put a hand to your forehead, suddenly exasperated with yourself. Would you get another chance after blowing him off like that?

Just next door, Namjoon found himself slipping. What the fuck had he done wrong? Why didn’t you stay? Why did you practically bolt out the door, intent on getting the fuck out of there? It didn’t make sense. Namjoon paced around his kitchen, grabbing onto his hair and breathing hard. Had he messed up? Would he ever get to interact with you again? The unanswered questions were driving him crazy. Fed up, Namjoon suddenly lashed out and threw a fist at the wall, punching clean through the dry-wall. He barely felt the sting as his knuckles started to bleed.

It was then and there that Namjoon decided he’d do anything to get you back. Anything. He’d do whatever he needed to make it up to you, to make things right. After all, you were his. You were his and there was nothing you could do about it.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

*Plays organ* Dun, dun, DUUUUUUUNNNN!!! 😂 Enjoy Part Two.

[ceilingfrogs]

The God of Retribution

Sangchengmonth2020 (on ao3)

Day 18: Gods

Late one night, a man was kneeling on the cold, hard floor in front of Jiang Cheng’s shrine. More boy than man, really. He looked delicate, fragile even. His hands were clutching a fan so tightly his knuckles were white.

Jiang Cheng knew who he was by the intricate braids and the expensive grey fabric of his robes. Nie Huaisang. The newly appointed Leader of the Nie Sect. The boy whose brother died from one of the most abrupt and violent qi deviations ever witnessed.

Nie Mingjue had been well known in heaven, favoured by many gods; Nie Huaisang not so much.

Jiang Cheng could guess why he was here. Only the desperate went to a god’s temple in the middle of night while everyone else slept.

Nie Huaisang lit an incense stick and began to pray.

“I know it’s silly to ask the God of Storms for help with revenge, but no one else will listen to me.” Nie Huaisang’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, yet in the empty, dark temple it was clear and echoing.

“Even the martial gods won’t listen, and they loved Da-ge. After all the incense my brother burnt for them, they won’t even lift a finger to help, preferring to sit back, getting fat off others' offerings, and letting that treacherous snake live.”

“I don’t know what to do,” he went on, “I was never meant to be Sect Leader; Da-ge was the Sect Leader, not me. I’m not good at it. Da-ge was, though; he was incredible.” He smiled then, a painfully brittle smile that didn’t come close to reaching eyes.

His voice grew colder and sharper than a blade as he continued, “And then he got stabbed in the back by a person who had sworn brotherhood to him, a person he should have been able to trust.”

The fan in his hand snapped in two; he barely seemed to notice.

Jiang Cheng refused to stay silent any longer. He wouldn’t let Nie Huaisang think he was speaking to empty air like every single time beforehand. This was not the shrine of a neglectful god.

The smell of ozone grew thick in the air, and with the flash of lightning and the deafening crack of thunder, Jiang Cheng appeared. There were rules about gods showing themselves to mortals; Jiang Cheng let himself be seen anyway. It’s not like any of the other gods would dare question his actions.

Nie Huaisang looked up at him. What little surprise shown on his face was clouded by a thick layer of grief and anger.

“Are you the Immortal Sandu Shengshou?” He asked with only mild curiosity in his voice, as though all his energy was consumed by the inferno of rage swirling within him.

Jiang Cheng was all too familiar with that feeling.

“I am.” Jiang Cheng replied, stepping forward into the light of the candles.

Nie Huaisang looked worse up close; dishevelled robes and pale skin contrasted by dark shadows under the bloodshot eyes.

“I imagined you uglier.” Realising what he’d said, Nie Huaisang quickly added “Sorry.”

Jiang Cheng did not know how to react to those words, so he ignored them and quickly moved on before his cheeks had time to blush.

“You can stand up,”Jiang Cheng said.

Nie Huaisang got up from the unforgiving stone, his legs numb after so long kneeling.

“You’re wasting your time,” Jiang Cheng told him, “Even if I wanted to, I can’t do anything for you.” And he did want to. He understood Nie Huaisang’s plight far more than he liked. But there were some heavenly rules even Jiang Cheng couldn’t break.

Nie Huaisang didn’t seem surprised by Jiang Cheng’s words.

“I heard the stories about you, you know,” Nie Huaisang said, “The mortal who lost everything but who still managed to rise up from the ashes of his home to avenge his family, channeling the storms themselves as he tore his enemies apart, and then rebuilding his sect stronger than ever, growing so mighty that he became a god. It’s a nice story. Da-ge liked it.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” Jiang Cheng said, and he meant it. He was all too familiar with that burning need for revenge. He was also familiar with the loneliness that came with it.

“I’ll just have to do it myself then” Nie Huasiang turned away from Jiang Cheng, his back becoming as straight and as unbending as cold steel, determination shining through every cell of his being, all traces of exhaustion disappearing with every step he took.

Just before stepping out of the temple doors into the night, Nie Huasiang looked back at Jiang Cheng.

“Thank-you. At least you listened,” he said, and then he was gone.

Rain started falling from the black skies. Far off, Jiang Cheng felt a storm brewing, one that no one, not even himself, would be able to stop.

There was nothing Jiang Cheng could do but watch as the carnage unfolded. He watched as Nie Huaisang spent years working in the shadows, setting up his playing pieces, gaining all the necessary information to bring his enemies down. There was hardly a Jin Sect to speak of once Nie Huaisang was finished. He had been extremely thorough. The Jins hadn’t stood a chance.

By the end, all of Heaven knew of Nie Huaisang and what he was capable of.

It wasn’t surprising that, after all that, Nie Huaisang underwent his own heavenly calamity. All three realms trembled when Nie Huaisang ascended.

On that day, the God of Retribution was born.

The next time Jiang Cheng saw him face to face was when he was taking his first steps in Heaven.

Nie Huaisang walked past every single god in attendance, ignoring them just like they had ignored his prayers all those years ago. He stopped in front of Jiang Cheng.

“Hello again,” he said and smiled. It was not a happy smile; it was vicious and satisfied, and still so sad.

[eeveevie]

loose lips

Rosie just wants to have a quiet night of studying, but that changes when she learns Butch is causing a ruckus at Moriarty's Saloon. After collecting him and taking him home, he says a lot more than he intended while under the influence.

Unprompted, but I’ve been sitting on this idea for a long while. I make reference to this in a few of my other one-shots since I go back and forth between pre-relationship and developing-relationship fics for these two. 

Butch DeLoria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

3200 words | [read on Ao3]

Sitting upstairs in Craterside Supply, Rosie was immersed in her research, reading over the extensive notes she had taken after investigating the colony of mirelurks in the Anchorage Memorial. The work on the Wasteland Survival Guide was a welcome distraction, allowing her to keep her mind busy until the Brotherhood provided her with a solid lead on where to find a G.E.C.K. Moira had set up the private sanctuary in her shop a few months ago, more than happy to give the vault-dweller a quiet place to study. Even though Rosie had her own residence within Megaton, it was difficult to get any work done when she had Butch DeLoria as a housemate.

Ever since finding him in Rivet City, he’d been her constant companion—annoying and distracting at first, but gradually became someone she could rely on. He made an effort to be less of a jerk, owning up to the mistakes of his youth, and performing thoughtful gestures of kindness for her unprompted. Rosie wouldn’t admit it aloud, but it was nice having him around. The more she got to know him as her friend, the more she realized they had a lot in common. Unexpected from the boy who used to stick gum in her hair. Now, he watched her six with a loaded pistol and cooked her breakfast (sometimes—when he remembered to set an alarm, that is). She liked him—a lot more than she wanted to.

Rosie could hear Moira teasing her about the redness in her cheeks—little red potatoes—all dreamy-voiced as she expressed desires for the two to ‘circle up’ and have babies. Assuming by the order of things, it had to be Wasteland slang for marriage, which was horrifying for so many reasons. Maybe it was a bad idea to confide in her shopkeeper friend about her potential feelings for Butch. Now she’d never hear the end of it when all she wanted was peace and quiet.

Just as Rosie refocused on the lines in her journal, the metal door to the shop creaked open, disrupting her train of thought—descended from local crabs, I’d call them…

Moira’s chipper voice echoed downstairs. “You’re back so soon?”

Rosie glanced to her Pip-Boy to confirm it was past store hours. She grumbled to herself, wondering if Butch had gotten bored and decided to come collect her for a more fun activity—it wouldn’t be the first time. Distracting, she reminded herself, for completely different reasons than before. She didn’t want to parade around town with his arm slung around her shoulder—or did she?

“Ugh,” she groaned, hand sliding across her face and smudging her glasses. Rosie stood and leaned over the railing, prepared to reprimand her companion when she realized Butch wasn’t even the one standing in the doorway.

Mitch, Craterside Supply’s mercenary was disgruntled as ever, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. Moira paused from cleaning the countertop to look at him, giving him the full attention she gave anyone she talked to.

“It’s your night off, Mitch! Shouldn’t you be enjoying it instead of standing there like you always do?” she ended her sentence with an easy sounding laugh, something Rosie wished she could emulate.

The merc muttered something incoherently, lips set in a fine line when he regarded his employer. How the two got along was anybody’s guess. Rosie imagined it had something to do with the frequent exchange of caps—though, Moira’s glowing personality seemed to melt even the coldest of hearts.

“There’s a problem at Moriarty’s,” Mitch explained, briefly.

“Oh no!” the redhead exclaimed, more intensely than the mercenary expected. “Is everybody alright?”

Mitch let out a deep sigh and let his eyes roam to where Rosie was perched, silently eavesdropping on their conversation in clear view. She sheepishly backed away before stepping back, realizing it was a little late to pretend she hadn’t been listening. He gestured to her with a jutted-out thumb.

“It’s that other vault-kid you like so much,” he said, with just enough distain in his voice it verged on resentment. Rosie wanted to smile, thinking the mercenary was jealous of Moira’s affections towards the younger visitors. Her mind was preoccupied, however, when she realized he was talking about Butch. “That boy can’t hold his liquor. He’s no Jericho, but he’s still a rowdy drunk.”  

Rosie felt a rush of disappointment at the information. She had hoped that Butch would stop spending so much of his free time at the Megaton saloon, wasting his caps on alcohol. This behavior seemed like a step back in the wrong direction, backsliding into his old, rebellious ways. Maybe she was wrong to think that people could change—that Butch could change. Regardless of how tumultuous she felt at the moment, Rosie knew she couldn’t sit idly by. So much for staying in and studying.

“I’ll go,” she said as she descended the stairs. “Before something worse happens.”

Mitch smirked. “Moriarty already had him drink the moonshine, and we all know what’s in that.”

“Oh, my poor sweet potato,” Moira cooed, tilting her head to the side in a sympathetic gesture. Rosie pressed a hand to her mouth, trying not to retch at the thought—she’d heard the rumors—and sent a silent prayer, hoping they weren’t true on Butch’s behalf. Her shopkeeper friend looked at her. “Do you need any help?”

Rosie shook her head, doubting that either of them would be of any real assistance. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Moira. Thank you again.”

“You’re very welcome,” she replied with a bright grin. “Take care of widdle Butch, now, okay?”

Rosie could only nod and fled from the building before her friend could embarrass her with any suggestive comments or innuendo. The last thing she needed was for the mercenary to know about her unrequited crush.

Moriarty stood outside his establishment as Rosie approached, smoke in hand as he overlooked the night sky. He noticed her just as she made to slip by to the entrance, in no mood to want to speak to the surly man.

“Aye, if it isn’t Miss Sheridan,” he crooned, feigning pleasantries. “Here to collect yer loverboy?”  

She huffed, clenching her fingers into fists before relaxing. Better to kill him with kindness, she reminded herself. “I hope he hasn’t been too disruptive,” she said, forcing a smile.

“The boys’ entertaining, I’ll give ‘em that,” Moriarty replied. “See for yerself. May haf to hire ‘em for the bar—”

Rosie turned on her heel, tuning out his accented words as she pushed through the sturdy metal door to the bar. She rarely visited the saloon, and the stench of booze and nicotine overwhelmed her as soon as she crossed the threshold. Immediately she found who she was looking for, sitting at the bar with his back to her so all she could see was the Tunnel Snakes embroidery. Butch. He was hunched over the counter, empty beer bottles and glasses surrounding his frame. It had only been a few hours since she’d last seen him, but apparently he’d been busy.

“One—one mrr,” he slurred at Gob, who stared at him with a mix of pity and annoyance. “Jus one!”

The ghoul bartender sighed, shaking his head. “Kid, you ever hear of alcohol poisoning?”

“Wha-uh?”

Gob noticed Rosie standing in the entranceway and relaxed, though his expression became much more sympathetic. “Better sober up, unless you want to disappoint your best gal.”

Butch perked up, swiveling around in the barstool so fast that he nearly toppled out of the seat altogether. She rushed to steady him, wincing at how much heavier he seemed—maybe it was all the beer and whiskey. With one arm wrapped around his torso, she held him upright against the bar.

“Stitches!” he greeted, awkwardly slinging an arm around her shoulder and dragging her close for a sideways hug. “Here!”

She nodded, choosing to ignore him for the moment and glanced to Gob who was studying their exchange. “Did he drink all these?” she asked, pointing to the display bottles.

“Sure did,” Gob answered. “Would not stop talking about growing up in the vault, and then leaving the vault. Talked a lot about you, actually.”

Rosie blinked, her heartrate steadily increasing. “What?”

The bartender gave a dismissive shrug. “But then he started singing, which soured the mood.”

Despite herself, Rosie smiled, amused by the thought. Plus, he’d been talking about her—she didn’t know what about, and he’d been drinking—but that certainly made her emotions aflutter.

“You’re cute when you smile, Stitches,” Butch mumbled, head titled to the side as he stared up at her with a sideways, dreamy smile.

Rosie instantly felt her face flood with heat. Gob smirked at the two and all she desperately wanted was to get out of sight from him and Butch. Speechless, she fumbled through her skirt pockets for a handful of caps, placing them on the counter, implying it was for the mess and for any unpaid drinks. She tightened her hold around Butch’s waist, holding onto the arm wrapped around her shoulder as counter-balance as she hoisted him from the barstool.

Gob watched the two. “Got him?”

“Ssshe’s got me!” Butch answered for the both of them with a beaming grin.

Rosie clenched her teeth, sucking in a breath as she adjusted him again, nudging at his feet so he’d support the weight of his own legs. It was a futile effort, but she’d helped carry heavier people with her father down in the vault. She could help an inebriated Butch walk back to her house across town…maybe. Gob still moved from behind the bar to push open the front door to make her exit easier. Caught up in the moment, she offered him a passing remark.

“If you hear a loud crash, we’ve fallen from the rafters. Please send our bodies to Moira,” she instructed sardonically. “For science.” 

x ------- x

Butch was of no help in the journey across town. Rosie would’ve guessed he had fallen asleep if it weren’t for the occasional drag of his feet and giggle, followed by an incoherent stream of words. All the while, she couldn’t help but wonder what had led to his sorry state—why’d he chosen to drink so much in the first place. Rosie knew he had the penchant for it—a bad habit learned from his mother—she was naïve to think the pattern would drop now that he was on the surface. Thinking back to her medical training and knowledge on addictive personalities, it wasn’t always so easy. The best thing she could do was to be there for him—he had done the same for her when she went through the paces of the emotional trauma of her father’s death—maybe the Wasteland was finally getting to him. Regardless, she could be a supportive friend. Friends—that’s what they wanted to be, right?

What if she wanted more?

“Ugh.”

“Huh?”

Rosie ignored Butch’s confusion and pushed open the front door, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process.

“Good evening, Miss Sheridan,” Wadsworth greeted as soon as they entered her Megaton home. “Oh, and Mr. DeLoria, he appears to be incapacitated. Do you require assistance?”

Rosie nodded as she continued dragging his body along side hers towards the stairs. The robot-butler instantly floated over, gently sliding a metal appendage under his other arm to assist in carrying him up to the second floor.

“Do you need the bathroom?” Rosie asked him, repeating the question when Butch shook his head too quickly. “Are you sure?”

“I ain’t gonna hurl,” he assured, a whine in his voice.

She was more worried about him pissing his pants but wasn’t about to embarrass him (or herself) by stating the fact out loud. Wadsworth continued to help carry him to the smaller bedroom, depositing him on the edge of the mattress where he promptly flopped backwards, arms flung to the side.

“I shall fetch you some water!” the Mister Handy exclaimed, whizzing away to perform his task.

Rosie exhaled like she had been holding her breath since leaving Moriarty’s, wondering if her pulse would ever settle. She glanced over her shoulder to find Butch sprawled out on his bed, legs dangling off the edge and boots twitching against the metal flooring. It would’ve been an amusing sight, if he weren’t so intoxicated. With another sigh she approached, quietly sitting down next to him.

“I’m taking your boots off,” she explained, looking up at his face to see his eyes were closed.

He hummed in response. “Oh-kay.”

One, two clunky black combat boots fell to the floor with a clang, and Wadsworth returned with a bottle of purified water. After another whirl of his robotic arms, he left the room, leaving the two alone. Rosie tapped Butch on the knee with the bottle.

“Sit up,” she instructed, shaking him harder when he didn’t move. “You need to drink some water.”

Slowly, he lifted himself onto his elbows, head rolling like it contained bricks instead of a squishy brain—she wondered sometimes if that were actually the case. He pushed himself up and swayed close, lips quirked up in a smirk.

“He-llo.”

Rosie bit her tongue at the foul stench emanating from his mouth, wishing Wadsworth had brought bubblegum as well. Oh well—Butch could worry about his hygiene in the morning—no doubt his hair would be a mess too. She pushed the purified water into his hand and guided it to his mouth, sliding away only when he started to drink on his own. When it was empty and sitting on the nightstand, he began wriggling out of his leather jacket, only to get the sleeve stuck on his Pip-Boy, as expected. Rosie shifted around to help him, half-standing, half-kneeling on the bed as he almost resisted her help, until he noticed their compromising position. As soon as his Tunnel Snakes jacket and Pip-Boy laid discarded on the foot of the bed, he wrapped an arm around her waist, nearly knocking their heads together.

“If ya’ wanna get closer to me, that’s all you gotta say, girl,” he muttered, sending sparks across her skin.  

Impulsively, she pushed away, standing upright, almost falling backwards from how dizzy she felt. Butch looked up at her, steely eyes glazed over in mild confusion. She needed to set the situation straight immediately, before boundaries were crossed and feelings were hurt. Her feelings.

“That’s not what’s happening right now,” she spoke quickly, waving her hands.

He followed the movement of her fingers, and she wasn’t sure if he understood. The silence stretched on for too long, Butch staring at her with doe-eyes, the softest hint of a smile. Why wasn’t he saying anything? And why couldn’t she say anything back? Rosie thought about forfeiting and leaving him as he was when there was the most subtle change to his expression, brows furrowing as his eyes flickered across her face.

“I—I don’t feel so good,” he mumbled before falling backwards.

Rosie jumped into action, shifting his body so he was laying properly along the bed, repeatedly checking his vital signs to ensure he was only passing out from exhaustion and not acute liver poisoning. Eventually, she moved his jacket and Pip-Boy aside, pulling the blanket over his body so she could better tuck him in—if he got chills during the night, he’d appreciate the warmth. Just as she was pushing herself off the bed, Butch’s finger’s tightened around her wrist.

“Hey, don’t,” he murmured into the pillow, one eye peeked open. “Stay?”

Rosie was about to protest when he smiled, and her chest tightened with a kind of yearning she was only recently familiar with. She didn’t want to leave him, not now, not ever. Through the good, the bad and the drunkenly. Even if he didn’t feel the same way about her, romantically—she’d find a way to get over it—just as she’d done before in the vault. Without offering him an answer, she scooted towards the headboard, leaning her back against it and stretching her legs along the sheets next to his body. Butch eyed her, but he surprisingly didn’t make a snarky remark about her choosing not to snuggle up close. Instead, he lifted his head and plopped it right into her lap, hooking his arm loose around her legs.

More silence fell over them, more quiet that Rosie didn’t know what to do with. She didn’t know where to put her hands, wringing them awkwardly by her chest as she studied Butch’s profile. His eyes were closed, usually coifed hair now a wavy mess hanging down his forehead. Hesitantly, she rested her fingers there, pushing back the black strands, studying the faint constellation of freckles she’d never noticed before dotted across his skin. When she noticed his smile increase she repeated her movements, steadily combing her fingers through his hair and across his scalp in a calming motion that reminded her of being cradled as a toddler in her father’s arms. This was far more intimate, however.

“Love you Rosie,” he mumbled into the fabric of her skirt.

She froze immediately, staring at his face wide-eyed and frantic. What? What? Her heart seized to beat for a second before fluttering to life so rapidly, it felt like she was going to have a stroke. He had to be drunk still, or she had to be dreaming. Or both. Maybe she was inebriated. As the thoughts swirled in her head, sending her into a panic, Butch continued, unaware of her stunned reaction.

“You’re my best friend.”

Oh.

Rosie swallowed the lump in her throat, but only found herself conflicted. So it wasn’t romantic love, but…platonic? That was still one hell of a confession, coming from Butch, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t letdown. Even with all the sudden fear that settled over her, it didn’t compare to the disappointment she felt now. Though, it wasn’t the first time she’d had unrequited feelings, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. That didn’t mean she was about to throw away a friendship forged from a rocky past.

Butch hugged her knees a little tighter. “You’re all I got left, ya’ know? The only one who’d take care of a sad sack like me.”

Rosie smiled, brushing her thumb across his forehead in an affectionate sweep. Completely unsure of what to say, or how to respond, she hoped it was enough. She was sure that he would’ve never said these things to her sober, anyways. If she said anything now, he wouldn’t remember, so it was better to enjoy the moment while it lasted. As soon as he was asleep, she would sneak away and decompress in her own room, try to sort through the emotional weight of it all. She decided that if he didn’t recall tonight in the morning, she’d not bother with bringing it up to him again—no need to embarrass him—even if she’d remember it forever. Rosie thought about what he said, realizing it was true. Butch was all she had.

Maybe one day, she’d tell him too.  

[gii-heylittleangel]

SPN Coda - 15x09 - “The Trap”

So, how are you all holding up after this ep? I gotta say, not my favourite by far. I am incredibly happy Dean prayed to Cas and that they’re headed towards some kind of relationship again, but the rest of it? Not so much. I won’t fill your ears about it ( @babybluecas​ already handles it enough, poor thing haha) but I hope you enjoyed it. 

Hope you enjoy the coda as well cause it’s not as angsty as I thought it would be.

Read it on AO3 or keep reading it here!

After Chuck disappeared, Dean didn’t even want to move; he felt exhausted and they had just lost their chance to finally fix things. It wasn’t even worth to do anything anymore. But, as he saw the looks in the others’ faces, he knew he had to; one of them had to be strong enough to get everyone out of there. He walked to Sam, stretching a hand to help him stand up. Dean put an arm around Sam’s waist when his brother’s knees almost gave out and Cas helped Eileen up, asking if she was okay. Cas helped her just as Dean was doing with Sam, and, together, they all walked out of the cassino.

Sam and Eileen were in the backseat and Cas and Dean in front. Dean pretended not to see the weirdness between his brother and Eileen or the way they kept a distance between them, neither looking at the other. He saw Cas stare at him with a confused look and Dean just shrugged; he didn’t really have anything to say about them and he didn’t know what had happened before he and Cas got there. 

The silence was only broken halfway through their drive back when Sam spoke, “I really couldn’t do it, guys. I’m sorry.”

Dean looked at him through the mirror. “What did he do to you to change your mind?”

Sam sighed, eyes staring down at his hands. “He… he showed me the future. What would happen if we trapped him.”

“And you believed him? Sam, all Chuck does is lie.”

“I know that but… I couldn’t risk it, Dean. Like it or not, Chuck is omniscient and he can see the future. I don’t think he was lying when he showed me that.”

“Sam,” Cas turned to him. “What did he show you?”

Sam was quiet for a few seconds, not seeming to know what to say, until Eileen placed a hand on his arm. He raised his eyes to look at her before nodding. “If we trapped him, the monsters would win. Little by little, everyone we know would die until Dean and I died too. Two years from now.”

Dean’s fingers tightened around the wheel, clenching his jaw as he stared at the road. “Who?” he forced out through his teeth.

“First Claire, then,” Sam gulped down and Dean saw him looking at Eileen, “then Eileen and Cas.”

Dean’s eyes went immediately to Cas, who seem unphased as he said, “Because of the Mark.”

Sam nodded with his eyes low. “Dean had to lock you in the Ma’lak box.”

Thank fuck Sam didn’t smash the ball, Dean knew it was a horrible thing to think but he couldn’t help himself; having to lock Cas away inside that box? Dean doubted he would ever be able to do it. He would lock himself up anytime it was needed but he could never do that to someone he loved. More possible than not, he would probably do the same Cas would’ve when the situation was reversed: he would stand by Cas’s side as he watched him murder the world.

Cas, on the other hand, didn’t seem surprised at all. He only nodded at Sam as he turned back, staring at the road with a blank expression. Dean knew him well enough to know he wasn’t faking it; Cas already knew what would happen if he took on the Mark and he still would do it, the freaking altruist. The car fell into silence after that again and Dean did his best to keep his attention solely on the road. He didn’t even have the radio to distract his mind with and it didn’t seem like the right time to turn it on.

So they drove the rest of the way in complete silence, the tension inside the car think enough to be cut with a knife. Sam seemed to have regretted telling them about what Chuck had shown him and Eileen seemed even worse than before; she hardly looked away from the window, the start of a bruise forming on her right cheek, and she seemed as exhausted as Dean felt. He could imagine how worse it was to her; being manipulated and controlled by a high power always sucked, especially when that high power was God himself. Dean understood the feeling.

When they finally got to the bunker, Sam was the first one to disappear. Cas followed him and Dean stayed behind to help Eileen. She waved him off but Dean stayed by her side as they walked up the stairs. They walked in silence and Dean accompanied her until they got to her room. He held her arm softly before she opened the door.

“Eileen, listen,” Dean hesitated, looking for the right words. “I don’t know what exactly happened there but I know how much sucks to be controlled like that, believe me. And I’ll totally understand if you wanna stay away or take some time away for you. Just… you know you’ll always have a home here, right? No matter what, you’ll always be welcomed here.”

Her eyes filled with a few tears and she threw her arms around him. Dean held her tightly, running his hand up and down her back until she let go of him. She sniffled and cleaned the tears from her face.

“Thank you.”

He smiled at her, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. “I’m serious. If you need me to kick Sam out of the bunker for a few hours or just want to do anything to take your mind off of it, you let me know.”

She smiled back before nodding and opening the door to her room. Dean waited until she closed the door to walk away, making his way to the kitchen. He sighs and rolls his neck, hissing when the bone pops; he’s definitely way too old to keep doing this. 

He finds Cas with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the table in front of him when he gets to the kitchen. Dean’s about to turn to walk away but he stops himself; Cas had already heard his prayer and they couldn’t be tiptoeing around the subject forever; ten years was more than enough. So he walked to sit by Cas’s left side, accepting the glass Cas handed to him. As Dean studied Cas’s face, he noticed the dark bags under his eyes, the tired and sad expression he had, the way his shoulders were slumped as Cas rested his arms on the table. He seemed incredibly… human.

Cas had said something about how he was losing his powers day by day and Dean was starting to think it was graver than he thought it was. It wouldn’t be long before Cas was entirely human again and now that Dean actually let himself think about it, the thought terrified him. He gulped down the whole glass of whiskey in one go, trying to let the burn sensation pull his mind away from that thought.

Seeming to sense something was wrong, Cas turned to him with an arched brow. “You know, I still can feel your distress, Dean.”

“It’s nothing.”

That didn’t seem to do the trick but Cas didn’t say anything, keeping his gaze in Dean. Dean was unable to break his stare and he let himself look at Castiel too. He felt like he needed to address the elephant in the room but he didn’t know how. Talking about his feeling was never something Dean did and actually doing it was harder than killing a Leviathan. 

Wetting his lips, Dean started, “Cas—”

“Dean,” Cas cut him. “You don’t have to.”

“I know but I want to. I need to. I truly am sorry, Cas. I’m sorry I didn’t say it before but I… it was easier to push you away than admit I was wrong. To you and to myself.”

Cas placed a hand on top of Dean’s, a warm and comfortable weight. “I know you are, Dean. I am too.”

They smiled softly at each other and Dean turned his hand to intertwine their fingers together. He nursed another glass of whiskey and they stayed in silence. Dean hadn’t even realized how much he missed those moments with Cas; just the two of them without having to actually fill in the silence. It was nice and the closest Dean got to normal in months. 

Sam appeared in the kitchen a while later and Dean raised his eyes to see the devasted expression in his face. “Did she leave?”

He only nodded as he walked closer to the table, sinking into the chair by Cas’s other side. Dean slid a glass to him, knowing there was nothing else he could do to help. He knew damn well how it was to have to watch someone you love leave like that and he knew nothing would help make it better. Dean squeezed Cas’s hand, just to remind himself that he was actually there, and Cas squeezed it back. At that moment, there wasn’t much any of them could do; they had no way to stop Chuck, they had just been crushed, and had no upper hand whatsoever. So, for Dean, the only thing left was to drink as much as they could for the night. They could look for something in the morning.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Roguish Women Part 5

Summary: Kate Rosseau is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 5: Kate crashes a Shelby family occasion. 

Happy new year! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in this fic!

            Johnny Dogs met them half a mile from the Lee’s campsite. He carried a pole with a white scarf tied to the top. “I got you ten minutes with her.” He clarified.

            Kate stepped out and gave Tommy a concerned look. “Are you walking me into a war zone, Mr. Shelby?”

            “They respect the white flag.” He responded, neither confirming nor denying.

            She sighed and shut the car door. “Well, at least I’m never bored when I’m with you, Tommy Shelby.”

            He pulled out a cigarette, shrugged and began walking.

           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

            Once the camp came into view, Kate said a prayer under her breath. Rumors told her that the Lees were not to be messed with. But it seemed that’s exactly what Tommy was doing.

            People eyed them as they wove their way through vardos and fires. Kate couldn’t help but notice some of the men holding guns or clubs. Their menacing stares followed them but they didn’t advance. Maybe Tommy was right about the white flag. It kept them at bay.

            Eventually, they stopped at an intricately painted vardo. Johnny knocked on the door with the end of the pole while another man opened the door for them.

            “Stay out here,” Tommy spoke quietly to Kate.

            She raised an eyebrow. “You brought me all the way out here to stand around while you conduct business behind closed doors?” She hissed in disbelief. “Could’ve been doing a million other things right now.”

            Instead of explaining his reasoning, Tommy stepped up into the wagon and shut the door behind him.

            “Unbelievable,” Kate muttered under her breath and took a seat on the steps.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            After negotiating with Zilpha regarding Billy Kimber and a betrothal, Tommy reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

            “What about the girl?” Zilpha asked in their native tongue.

            “Which girl?” Tommy asked as he struck a match.

            The matriarch nodded toward the door. “The American.”

            “She’s one of the clever minds I’ve collected.” He replied. “She’s my in with the American market. Should our alliance go well, I’ll share the wealth.”

            Zilpha just laughed a bit sarcastically. “You’re biting off more than you can chew, chavi. What happens when this all catches up to you? How long do you think you can run from the devil before he catches you?”

            “I’ll worry about that when he catches me.” Tommy stood and stepped back outside.

            Kate lifted her head when the door opened. “Oh, thank God, these men will not stop staring at me.” She glanced over at some of the Lee men who had kept a steely eye on her and Johnny. They hardly flinched, staying almost as still as soldiers, their hands never leaving their rifles. “I was afraid they were going to start using me as target practice.”

            Tommy offered a hand to help her stand up from the steps. “All’s well now.” He assured her and began walking back toward the car with Johnny.

            “Well, I was never meant to be involved in this. I told you the information I would give you and you’ve been yanking me ‘round trying to do other little odd jobs.”

            Tommy looked a tad amused. “Don’t think I would want to see you try to break in a horse.” He replied.

            Baffled, Kate stopped in her tracks. “What on Earth is that supposed to mean?” She threw her hands up.

            Johnny and Tommy just shared a chuckle.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

            Kate let Tommy drive on the way back. They were quiet for a bit until she grew restless and curious. “So, you were raised somewhere like there? In a camp like that?” She asked.  

            “On and off.” He replied curtly. His childhood wasn’t the burning subject on his mind. He was trying to conjure up the perfect plan to kill Billy Kimber. It was not a time for reminiscing on his shitty childhood.

            “You lived in Small Heath sometimes too?”

            “Yes.”

            Kate studied his face, the way his blue eyes stared straight ahead at the road. A hardened expression giving her indications that he wasn’t keen on talking about it. And yet, she continued on. “What was it like?”

            “We were poor. I was born on a fucking boat. I learned to ride and shoot a gun before I even attended school.” He listed off with a tone of finality. “What matters is right now. Can’t keep looking back.”

            “Sometimes if we forget where we came from, we lose the path ahead of us.”

            “That another philosophy from your Bohemians?” Tommy looked for a way to steer the conversation away from himself.

            “No, it’s something I’ve learned over the years.” She glanced out the window watching the outskirts of Birmingham pass by. The empty fields and stone walls lining the road. “Our past will always be a part of us whether we like it or not. It’s something we can’t escape.”

            “What can’t you escape?”

            Kate smiled and glanced over at him. “So many things, Nature Boy. Just like you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

            After saving her from certain assault, Kate got closer to Grace. It was nice having someone to talk to who wasn’t overly suspicious all the time. Grace was at the right enough distance from the Shelby family to make acquaintance with Kate. Not in too deep but not too far away either.

            Tommy was still busy with his own work that he neglected the leads Kate had given him. So, she found herself bored more often than not. To pass the time, she went to the Garrison to chat with Grace and help her around the pub.

            While they weren’t sharing their deepest secrets with one another, they did get along. Kate found the soft-spoken barmaid pleasant to spend time with. The blonde was certainly unlike the women she spent time with at the Moulin Rouge. She smiled more and sang often. Clear signs that the light in her eyes hadn’t been snuffed out.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            One evening, Kate was nursing a gin at the bar. Grace was sweeping up as they talked idly. For some reason or another, Kate suddenly noticed the sun had begun to set. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the Garrison empty past noon.

            “Where is everyone?” She asked.

            “Tommy said there’s a family occasion,” Grace replied, walking back over to the bar.

            “Family occasion?”

            “He told me not to ask questions.” She shrugged and rearrange a few bottles on the shelves. “It’s in my contract.”

            “That’s why I never sign anything. Don’t need some fucker holding my own signature over my head for leverage.” Kate grumbled. “What a lousy asshole for not inviting us. At least you, you know him better than I do. I see the way he looks at you.”

            Grace’s cheeks flushed pink and she hid an embarrassed smile. “But I’m not family.”

            “Fuck that.” Kate finished her gin and stood up. “Let’s go crash this occasion of theirs.”

            The other woman chuckled but shook her head. “I have to mind the bar.” She reminded her. “And I don’t think Tommy would appreciate if we did that.”

            “Well, I’m bored and fuck what Tommy says. Sure you don’t want to come?” Kate went to retrieve her coat.

            Grace’s brow wrinkled with concern. She could only imagine the anger on Tommy’s face if Kate showed up unannounced. “Why don’t you just stay with me here? You can keep me company.”

            “I’ll be back later once Tommy kicks me out,” Kate smirked and left before Grace could stop her.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

            It wasn’t hard finding the wedding reception. Mostly because there were fireworks being lit up. Kate found her way to the Lees camp again where the party was in full swing. She had enough alcohol in her system not to really care what people thought. If Tommy wanted to trust her then he would need to give her chances. Keeping her at bay at all times would prove nothing.

            Besides, Kate had decided that it was her new course of action. Tommy wasn’t the only one planning to profit off of their relationship.

            The wedding guests were all substantially drunk. Music was being played and people were dancing up a storm. Lanterns and torches lit up the affair and allowed enough light for Kate to find her way through the crowd.

            Unfortunately, Tommy found her first. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward a makeshift table. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

            “Grace said there was a family occasion and I wanted to offer my well wishes.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Who got married?”

            “For fuck’s sake.” Tommy ran a hand over his face. Luckily for Kate, he wasn’t really in the mood to make a fuss about her intrusion. He sat down at the table and pointed to where people were dancing. “John did.”

            Surprised, Kate glanced over her shoulder to see the younger Shelby brother with a pretty brunette by his side. “I didn’t know he was engaged.”

            “Yeah, neither did he,” Tommy muttered and took a long drag of his cigarette.

            Polly walked over with a worried expression. “You should tell Ada to slow down.” She looked at Kate in acknowledgment but apparently there were more pressing matters at hand.

            Tommy just snorted a bitter laugh, looking out to where his heavily pregnant sister was spinning about like a madwoman. “Think she’ll listen to me?”   

            “Your sister?” Kate had yet to meet Ada due to circumstances with Freddie Thorne. But she had heard the name swirling around. Mostly agitated whispers and grumbles of betrayal.

            “She’s been drinking, oh Christ, Tommy please.” Polly urged him. Looking worn out, Tommy stood up and went to approach his sister.

            Zilpha Lee smiled a bit curiously at Kate. “You’re the American girl Tommy brought along the other day.”

            “Oh, yes.” Kate nodded.

            The older woman stubbed out her cigarette and nodded. “He’s got plans for you, chavi.” Her tone was playful there was a hint of warning laced underneath.

            Kate didn’t have the chance to reply. The dancing was suddenly interrupted by Ada Shelby shouting drunkenly at Tommy. “And he tries to kill his own brother-in-law!”

            The rest of the Shelby family went to step in and even Kate walked over just in case things broke out in a fight. But the mood changed just as suddenly as the argument had broken out. Ada let out a pained groan and began breathing heavily.

            Polly exclaimed in shock. “Holy shit, water.”

            Tommy immediately stepped into action, placing his coat over his sister’s shoulders and starting to move her away from the party. But he paused for a second. “Kate, come along.”

            Startled and not about to argue with the family in a crisis, she ran after them.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Kate wasn’t sure what she was getting herself into as she was hurried into a car with John, Arthur, and Esme. But she felt she wasn’t in any position to step away. She’d crashed the wedding and now she was really paying for it.

            Once they arrived at the flat, Kate got out of the car looking at Tommy in disbelief. “What am I doing here?”

            “Me sister’s giving birth, she’ll need all the help she can get.” He replied, not looking too concerned over the situation now that the women were apparently in charge.

            Her eyes widened at him. “You think just because I’m a woman I’ve got experience with children? Oh yeah, sure I’ve delivered plenty of babies, hundreds even!” She smacked him with her purse. “I worked at a fucking brothel, pregnancies were cut short. I don’t know the first thing ‘bout childbirth.”

            “I’m sure you give great moral support though.” Tommy placed his hands on her shoulders and steered her toward the door where Esme and Polly had gone through. “Breaking in a horse, Kate.”

            “I still don’t know what that means!”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The room was chaotic with Ada’s screams and Polly and Esme trying to get the baby out safely. Kate was in a state of shock and could only hold Ada’s hand as she wailed in pain. The Shelby sister’s grip was like an iron and Kate was afraid she was going to break a few fingers in the process.

            “We need to move her to all fours,” Esme said and Polly agreed. The two women helped Ada forward and Kate was pushed back a bit. Unfortunately, that gave Kate a good view of the birth in progress. The sight was too much for Kate. Her eyes rolled back and she fainting, dropping to the floor like a dead weight.

Permanent tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​

Masterlist

[buckthegrump]

Creatures of the Forest - (2/2)

Summary: If only you had listened to your mother when she told you not to make a deal with the fae.

Pairing: Prince Bucky x F!Reader

Word Count: 4389

Warnings: Angst, like a little bit of fluff but don’t get your hopes up, mentions of death,

A/n: thank you so much for the love I got on the first part it was really amazing, clearly i should just stick to writing royalty aus this is the second part for @propertyofpoeandbucky ‘s challenge

The warlock dropped to the ground turning to dust. You looked at Bucky who gripped your shoulder before he fell. You caught him before he hit the ground you sank to the floor with him still in your arms.

“Why did you do that?” You sobbed. 

Bucky’s head was in your lap and he looked up at you, blood staining the inside of his lips every breath he took was a battle.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.” There was the faintest smile on his lips.

“Your people need you, James,” you croaked. 

“And your people need you.” He was clearly struggling to keep his eyes open.

“They don’t, I’m no one important.” Tears fell from your eyes onto his cheeks. If you were an older fae you’d have the ability to heal others. But you didn’t, you couldn’t save the one person you would walk to the ends of the earth to save.

“Yes you are, you’ve saved me before. I wanted to be the one to save you this time.”

“The Wakwak was nothing,” you said tearfully.

His breath shuttered. “That is not the time I’m referring to.”

/

15 years ago

You were sitting in your mother’s chambers at the castle, normally you’d be at your uncle cottage, but you claimed that the neighbors were loud yesterday and you wanted a quiet place to read.

Both your mother and your uncle saw right through your lie, they knew that you just wanted even the chance to see Bucky. Sure, the two of you would play together when you were younger but now that Bucky was coming up on his 18th year, and you were still nothing more than a commoner, he needed to focus on learning from his father all the duties of being king.

So, you sat in one of the two chairs and read your book next to the window. As interesting as the book was you had been reading the same sentence for a while now. Then a small pebble landed in your lap.

You looked out the open window to find the Prince himself standing on the ground. You were on the second floor but you could still see the smirk he wore on his face.

“That could have hit me in the head you know,” you said looking back to your book casually.

“It wouldn’t have, I’m a much better shot than you give me credit for!” He called up.

“Either way, your highness, it is rude to throw rocks at people.” You turned the page in your book

“Come outside!” 

You glared down at him. “Don’t you have prince lessons to attend?”

“I snuck away, now as your prince, I’m ordering you to come down here.” You could practically hear the grin in his voice.

“Oh, you're ordering me?”

“Y/n.”

You closed the window and put down your book before rushing down the stairs.

“Careful, child!” One of the servants that worked in the kitchen yelled as you almost ran into them.

“Sorry!” You said over your shoulder but continued running until you were outside. You slowed to a leisurely walk before Bucky came into view. “My Prince, it’s not proper for royalty to be seen with a servant’s daughter.”

He spun around to see you. He had a wide grin on his face. “You’re not just a servant’s daughter Y/n, you're my closest friend.”

“Oh well in that case,” you teased and launched yourself into his arms.

“When you closed the window I thought you weren’t going to come down,” he admitted when you pulled away.

“Why would I not have come down?”

He turned and walked with you to the edge of the field towards the tree line, near your tree.

“I don’t know, maybe you didn’t want to see me. I haven’t been able to get away as much as I used to be and I thought maybe you were no longer interested in me. That and I thought you might be really mad at me for tossing that pebble at you.”

“I understand why you cannot spend as much time with me as you once did, though it makes me sad, I realize where your duty lies. Besides, sometime in the near future, you will be too busy being a king to make time for me at all so I will just have to get used to it.”

You got to the tree line and Bucky placed his hands on your shoulders turning you to face him.

“I will always make time for you, my lady.” He dropped his hands down your arms and grabbed your hands.

You felt a bashful smile creep onto your face. “I am not a lady.”

“You may not have a title, Y/n, but you will always be my lady.” His stare is so intense and there is an emotion in his eyes you cannot place. You have to look away, in fear that you might confess something you should not.

“Either way, you will be too busy being a king to see me.” You looked back to him and he made a face. “I think my uncle is trying to talk my mother into agreeing to let me marry the baker’s son.”

“Peter Quill?” Bucky grimaced.

“He is not that bad, James.”

The two of you start walking into the forest. Something you did more often than you should but no one would follow you into it.

“He’s very conceited and thinks about himself more than he thinks of others.”

“Well, not everyone can be as selfless as you. And it’s not like he harms people,” you pointed out.

“So, if I were to tell you that I was going to marry a princess that was a terrible gossip and cared more about filling her castle with things than the wellbeing of her subjects you wouldn’t try to talk me out of it?” He challenged.

“First of all, you are a terrible gossip, James. Second of all, you would never marry someone like that, you're smarter than you give yourself credit for. Not to mention some of us do not live in a castle nor have the luxury of being picky when it comes to who we will marry. I have no prospects. The fact that someone is ok with me marrying their sun is a miracle.”

The two of you were standing by the creek just out of sight of the treeline when you stopped.

“Anyone would be lucky to call you their wife,” he said softly.

Your heart swelled in your chest making it almost hard to breathe, it wasn’t a bad feeling though. Actually, it felt kind of nice. 

“Y/n.” You turned to Bucky and he put his hands on your cheeks gingerly. He opened his mouth to say something but he gasped in pain.

“No!” You cried as he collapsed into your arms. There was an arrow sticking out of his chest. You broke off the tip and pulled the rest out of his back before laying him on the ground. “Bucky -”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“You don’t get to die, your people need you.”

His eyes fluttered closed and you let out a heart-wrenching sob.

“Please,” you sobbed over and over like a prayer.

“What would you do?” A voice you couldn’t place asked and you looked up to find a woman with fiery red hair stood before you.

“What?”

“If I could save him for you, what would you do?”

You looked down at the boy you loved then back at the women, who, if you had to guess, you would say was fae.

“Anything.” And you meant it.

“Why should I save him? Your people come into this forest and torment my people.”

“He’s kind, and he’s next in line for the throne,” you knew none of these were good enough reasons but it’s all you could think of, “he’ll lead our people, help them be better kinder. He’s good at that. Making people believe they can be kinder.”

You were no longer looking at the woman but instead looking at Bucky who was still barely breathing as you brushed his hair off his forehead.

“Would you make a deal?” She asked.

“What kind of deal?”

“The kind where your prince gets to live.” You looked at her again and she continued. “He will live a long and happy life, live to be king and long after.”

“What’s in it for you?”

She paused before saying, “you’d come with me.”

“You promise he’ll live?”

“Longer than you can imagine.” Her words made little sense to you but you were focused on Bucky and his fading heartbeat.

“Ok,” you agreed without any hesitation. “Please save him.”

/

“I didn’t think you knew about that,” you whispered to him. 

The similarities in the situation was almost enough to make you laugh.

“I didn’t until I saw you again, even then it felt like a dream until today.” He coughed and more blood came out of his mouth. “Y/n, I -”

He exhaled one last time. You didn’t register the scream of agony that came from behind you, nor did you register the curse lifting. Your sole focus was the man you loved had died in your arms.

“Y/n.” You looked up to find Natasha, the same fae you’d made a deal with all those years ago, the same fae who took you in and changed you. She had become a friend over the years.

“You promised,” you wailed.

Her eyes bore into yours before she placed a hand over his wound. “I will uphold my end of the bargain.”

Magic swirled around Natasha’s hand and Bucky before he gasped, his eyes still closed. The Queen was next to her son and you let her take him from your grasp.

Natasha rested her hand on your shoulder and whispered in your ear, “we should go before people see us.”

“We need to stop off at my uncle’s cottage first,” you said but did not fight her on leaving.

/

Six months after Rumlow’s defeat.

You sat in your cottage in the fae village. The door was open along with all the windows. 

The sound of children laughing and playing could be heard as they ran around your house. They liked it when you told them stories about the world outside your little section of the forest. Their favorite story is the one of how you defeated the warlock Rumlow, you took creative liberties with the story to make it more exciting as well as left out a few details.

You were expecting for them to come ask for a story but Natasha walked into your home instead.

You stood at the sight of her. “Sorry for the mess.”

Natasha looked around then laughed. “It’s spotless in here, what mess could you possibly be referring to?”

You shrugged at her and she walked over to your couch and sat.

“Is something wrong?” You asked sitting next to her.

She hesitated before opening her mouth to answer. “Years ago you asked me why I changed you into fae and I told you I had my reasons.”

“Yes I remember, after a few more years I was convinced that you did not have a reason that sounded good,” you teased but she did not laugh as she normally would have. “Natasha, what’s wrong?”

“Our people have not recognized a true leader in generations. When I found you and changed you I assumed you were royalty because you were with the prince and the search parties they sent out for you only enforced that thought.”

“How angry were you when you realized I was nothing but a peasant.”

Natasha chuckled. “Quite relieved actually.”

You gave her a look and she continued,

“I was out that day on my way to your lands to speak with the King. More and more of our people were turning up dead or not turning up at all, at first I thought it was your people but now I know it was Rumlow, but I wanted to speak to the King about an alliance or merging our lands so fae and mortals could live together in peace.”

“Then you came across me and Bucky,” you said.

“Yes, when he was hit with that arrow and you had that look on your face I knew that I could not just let him die. Then you were willing to make a deal. So I made you fae because I had hoped that someday you could convince the boy to my idea when he became king.” She smiled at the thought.

“Why did you send me after Rumlow?”

“I needed to know if you were ready,” she said plainly.

“Ready for what?” Now you were even more confused than before.

“To lead.”

Natasha had a wicked smile on her face.

The next few days were filled with meetings with you, Natasha, and the people of your village. To your surprise people were ok with you leading them, you didn’t think that someone who was born into nothing would make a good leader. They thought that it would make you the perfect leader.

One of the things on the list of all that needed to be discussed was what title to give to you. Everyone thought you should be crowned queen but you fought that. That debate went on for hours.

“Fine if you don’t want to be our queen, what if we just call your our empress,” Shuri said straight-faced, but you knew she was joking. You hoped.

“Shuri if you are only going to make ridiculous suggestions,” Gamora spoke, “you can leave.”

“She is just as much a part of this village as you are, Gamora,” her brother T’challa spoke.

“It was a joke,” Shuri muttered.

As far as you knew, he’d been offered the mantle of king at one point but he turned it down because his wife did not want to be queen.

“Why do I need a title?” You asked.

Everyone at the table stopped talking and all eyes turned to you. Everyone looked a little shocked, except Natasha who had a prideful smile on her face.

“What?” Gamora asked.

“You all have known me for years, me being your leader will not change that. And I doubt we could ever get Shuri to refer to me by my title seriously so why try? I will just be Y/n.” You waited for someone to say something but they didn’t so you continued to ramble. “It’s not like I’m going to live in a castle or anything and it would make me feel weird if people started bowing to me every time I went to the market. Or to have people do my bidding for me.”

“Well, no one mentioned that there would be servants and less work for our queen,” Shuri said, “I will do it.”

But everyone ignored it.

“So it’s decided, Y/n will lead us but she will bear no title,” Natasha said as she stood.

So you became their leader. It was more of a title than anything else not much changed. Only now if there was a decision that no one could come to an agreement on, it was up to you to solve it.

A week later you were finally home at a decent time. The letter your mother had written you sat on your bedside table. You took a deep breath and opened the letter.

My dearest daughter,

With each day that passes, it seems more and more likely that you will not return before I pass. Although maybe it is for the best that you do not return, there is a strange magic that has taken over the land.

I want you to know I’m proud of you, and that I love you more than you could possibly know. I know I told you to never make a deal with a fae, but you did. But I don’t blame you, how could I when I would’ve done the same thing if it was to save someone’s life.

Bucky came to see me the other day, I moved into your uncle’s cottage. Bucky expressed his sincerest apologies. He believes it’s his fault that you are gone. He thinks that if you and he hadn’t gone into the forest that day, you would still be here. Maybe he’s right but he still should not blame himself.

Everyone thinks that you’re dead, Bucky and Normand try to make me believe that they believe me when I say you’re still alive.

He loves you, you know. Bucky. I saw it the older the two of you got. Sure you loved each other as children but that was a different kind of love. I’m sure that if you had a title or even a little more wealth, he would not hesitate to make you his bride.

You love him too, that’s why you made that deal, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that instead of having a chance at true love you were my daughter, the daughter of a servant with no prospects. I’m sorry that you will have to watch him marry someone else if you ever come back.

You are meant for great things and I hope that you always remember to be kind.

I love you always, your mother

With tears in your eyes, you folded up the letter putting it back in the envelope and blow out the candle.

/

One year after Rumlow’s defeat.

You saw why Bucky was always trying to get out of his kingly duties. You were currently holding a court where people brought their problems to you so you could help solve them.

The biggest issue was that because you knew these people personally, they kept bringing you jokes, they would pretend to have issues with each other just to waste your time. Not that you much else to do anyway.

Gamora and her sister, Nebula, were in the seats that flanked you. You had no idea why they insisted on being at every single one of these, they claimed it was a safety precaution but nothing even remotely dangerous ever happened at these things. And they both just looked bored the entire time.

Shuri burst through the doors and the sister perked up. Shuri ran up to you.

 “The mortal king is here to speak to you,” Shuri whispered and you were rendered speechless, “He’s on his way in with Natasha.”

You nodded and Shuri skirted off to the side of the room moments before Natasha made her entrance with an entourage of knights.

“His Majesty, the King,” Natasha said and you could tell she was trying to be as neutral as possible to keep from laughing.

She walked to the side of the room and the knights parted to reveal Bucky. He was dressed much like a knight but he had different symbols lining his suit of armor. You stood from your place but couldn’t bring yourself to take a step towards him. 

He approached you and stopped a few feet from you.

“Your Majesty?” You half greeted half asked. “Your father?”

“Is well,” he answered. “He just thought it was time I leave my days of sleeping in taverns behind.”

His eyes twinkled mischievously and you knew he was recalling the time you shared in his room, was it just a year ago? It felt like a lifetime.

“Why are you here?” You asked shifting under his unwavering gaze.

“I came to thank you,” he smiled, “Because of your bravery, my lands have never been better. My people thrive and live with little to no strife. Our crops are seemingly never-ending.”

“So you are no longer cursed,” you returned his smile.

“More than that, they seemed to be blessed,” he said almost accusatory. Natasha gave you a look, and you may have had something to do with it but you’d never tell her that.

“I do not see why you feel the need to thank me for that, I merely helped you get your kingdom back.”

“H’mm,” he shook his head slightly. “My lady -”

“I am not a lady, James,” you said out of habit, forgetting that he was surrounded by knights who did not know your relationship with him.

“Show him some respect,” one the knights barked. His outcry caused you and Shuri to jump. Natasha, Gamora, and Nebula took a step towards him ready to pounce. “You did not even bow before him. If you are no lady he is your superior.”

“Quiet, Jackson,” Bucky ordered over his shoulder before he turned back to you. “My apologies, My Lady.”

“Apologies?” Shuri scoffed and it took everything in you to no roll your eyes at her. “You come into our land with an army of knights, demand to speak to our leader, and when you are presented to her you fail to not only bow to our queen but you offer her no gift?”

You glared at her from the side of your eye but she’s smiling brighter than the sun.

“He is a king,” Jackson spoke again. “He bows before no one.”

“And you expect other people’s Kings and Queens to bow before yours?” Natasha joined in on Shuri’s fun.

Bucky hadn’t broken his eye contact with you while the conversation went on around you. The continued to argue meaninglessly as Bucky took a tentative step towards you.

“I did bring a gift,” he said just loud enough for only you to hear.

“You really didn’t have to. Knowing you and your lands are thriving is more than enough for me.” You matched his volume.

“I really did though,” he whispered, you only heard it because of your enhanced hearing.

“I already told you, girl,” Jackson told Shuri, “He bends the knee for no one.”

Bucky’s lips turned up slightly giving you the smallest smile as he slowly sank to one knee.

“King James,” you warned breathlessly.

“Your Majesty,” one of the other knights gasped.

The knights watched in shocked mixed with a little bit of horror before following their king’s lead.

Bucky then bowed his head to you.

“Please stand,” you whispered but everyone heard you. Not one of the knights moved to get up because their king was still on his knee before you. “James.”

He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a ring. “It is not in good fashion to propose while standing,” he searched your face for an answer but you were at a loss for words so he continued, “Y/n, My Lady, my love, I have known for a long time that I would never feel for anyone else the way I feel for you. Then I lost you for years before I found you -”

“I found you first,” you reflexively corrected him and he gave you a look before you closed your mouth.

“- Then you were gone again,” he continued, “I do not think I could possibly survive if I lost you again. You tell me that you have no title, that you’re nothing more than a servant’s daughter, no offense my love, but you’re wrong. You have always been and will always be so much more than you give yourself credit for. I once told you that you would always be my lady, I lied, or at least I hope I did. Y/n, I will not order you to do anything you do not want to do, say the word and you will never hear of these feelings again, but I implore you; Marry me? Become more than my lady, become My Queen.”

You were trying to wrap your head around this. You stayed quiet unsure if this was a dream or not. You must’ve been silent for longer than you thought because Bucky’s eyes became fearful before you finally found your voice.

“Yes!” You blurted. “My answer is yes.”

He let out a sigh of relief before standing and pulling you in to kiss you. For half a second it was just you and him in that room before Shuri, you think, cleared their throat and Bucky pulled away from the kiss. He did not let you go as he gazed into your eyes.

“Do I get the ring?” You whispered and he laughed before placing his grandmother's ring on your finger. “Your mother let you have it?”

“She only let me have it because I said I was going to give it to you.”

You ducked your head and Bucky placed a kiss to your hairline.

/

Two years after Rumlow’s defeat.

You were standing on the balcony outside your chambers. You looked down at your new kingdom where mortals and fae lived in harmony. Yes, there were still creatures of the forest to be feared, but the number of them didn’t seem as overwhelming anymore.

Bucky walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist and placed a kiss to your neck.

“Bucky,” you greeted.

“My queen, Natasha mentioned something to me earlier that I did not know was possible,” he murmured into your skin.

“Which was?”

“That you are now fae,” he leaned away watching for your reaction, “I did not know that you could change morals to humans.”

“I cannot. That is not part of my powers. Natasha can though, but she does it very rarely and that is not normally information she shares with people. Why did she share it with you?” You wondered out loud.

“Because apparently, the second time she saved me, she turned me,” he kissed your neck again as you froze, “She then told me to tell you, it was an engagement present which I find odd because we were not engaged until a year later.”

“Yes well, that just means she also owes us a wedding present,” you joked.

“I thought you did not desire presents from other people,” he turned you to face him.

“I will always accept a present from Natasha.”

“Oh, you will?” He teased.

“Yes, and you.”

“Well, in that case” he backed away from you and dropped your hand, “I have a present that you can unwrap right now.”

“Which is?”

“Me,” he smirked as he sauntered back into the room. You were quick to follow him.