#now this idea will be my main course in angst when thinking about this old cranky dude | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eff4freddie · 9 months ago

Text

Touch | Part Eight

You and Ellie grow closer in Joel's absence. Jackson holds its breath for the return of the second expedition.

Words: 6k

Warnings: descriptions of injuries, angst, no smut I'm sorry

A/N: So this is the last big chapter of Touch. I'm planning a smutty epilogue because these two need a proper send off, but the main storyline ends here. Just want to thank you all for your support of this story, which was my first foray into writing fics for a long time. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Part Seven | Series Masterlist | Epilogue

You and Ellie fell into a routine of sorts, occupying yourselves while waiting for news. In the morning Ellie would go down to the stables to ‘check the horses’, which you knew was code for her looking to see if Joel had slipped back into Jackson overnight, but he was her dad, and you didn’t begrudge it. You hated when she came back with her shoulders slumped.

Ellie had already decided she didn’t have to go to school given the circumstances, and you had no authority to fight her on it. Occasionally you would mention that Joel probably wouldn’t be pleased when he got back to discover she’d missed classes, and she had been so dismissive of the very idea that it took you right back to eighth grade, trying to hang out with the cool kids and being summarily ignored. You were basically her roommate. Roommates don’t nag each other to do their homework.

You were doing your own maths, anyway. If Marla had ridden through the night with Jacob strapped to her back it meant that the site of the ambush was a two-days ride away at a normal, non-life-threatening pace. It also meant it was a two-day ride back. If they encountered any nastiness on the way there or the way back that could waylay them for a few days, maybe more if there were injuries. And then, of course, there was the infinitely more complicated mathematics of how it would tally if they died. You weren’t sure what you would count, if that happened, if it wasn’t the days until they came back.

You wondered, if none of them made it back, where you would go. You would obviously have to leave Jackson, the destruction you, Ray and Marla wrought on the small community complete at that point. You just weren’t sure where, in which direction. Salt Lake sounded bad, and you were getting tired of the cold. You wondered if you would be able to make it down to the Gulf of Mexico, if you just headed south for as long as you could until you hit ocean. You knew it was unlikely you would be able to do it on your own, and you also knew that you would have to. That at the end of all this it was always going to be you, alone.

It didn’t hurt to think about. You were matter of fact about it. If they didn’t come back, you didn’t deserve to stay. You were pleased with the almost complete detachment you felt at the thought of it. At the freedom.

Maria and Robin dropped by while you were teaching Ellie the muscles of the back and neck, in the hope that she would have some kind of education upon Joel’s maybe-return. She was good at it, too, getting the hang of the Latin despite the language now being even more dead then when you leaned it. When they arrived, Ellie took Robin from Maria and cradled him in her arms, Maria showing her how to support the head while he dozed. For the first time since Ellie had arrived she was still, quiet, over-awed by the tiny, precious life in her arms. You took Maria into the kitchen and poured her some tea.

‘This takes me back,’ she said, and you grinned at her, offering to massage her feet. She demurred. ‘You don’t need to see what I’ve got going on under here,’ she said. ‘I mean, I haven’t seen it for months.’

You knew that Maria was checking on you, and you loved her for it and hated that she had to do it. Robin was only weeks old, barely a month, and yet she was nurturing you. You had barely seen her since the birth, since she had made you feel so necessary, so wanted, and your cheeks burned at the thought of it. The last two friends you had ended up dead or banished. You were just bad at it.

‘Hey,’ Maria said, like she could read your mind. She reached out and put her hand on yours, warm from the tea. ‘It must be weird…no, awful, to be the one left. I can’t imagine.’

You weren’t going to cry in your kitchen with Ellie in the other room holding Maria’s baby. That just wasn’t a thing that could happen. You swallowed hard, heard your jaw click under the strain.

‘I really like Ellie,’ you said, pain blooming from your temple into your eye socket. You consciously stretched your jaw, your hand over your mouth to try and cover it.

‘She’s a good kid, been through a lot,’ Maria agreed.

‘She’s a good distraction,’ you said, and Maria smiled at you.

‘I want you to know you have a place here,’ she said, and you wondered how she always knew the right thing to say, wondered if she could actually hear your thoughts. ‘Tommy…and me, well both of us, Tommy’s worried about you because…not just because of the expedition and the pharmacy and all of that going wrong, he’s worried that…’ Maria gathered herself for a second. ‘He’s worried that you only think of yourself in terms of what you can offer other people.’

You felt the sting of it, the little nerve Maria had unearthed, opened up to the chill of the air. You flinched away from it, but she was still holding your arm, and you realised you hadn’t noticed she hadn’t yet let you go. ‘Listen,’ she said, but kindly, and so you did. ‘When you came here, and we made you stand in front of the town council and basically said you could only stay if you contributed to the community…’

‘I understood that was how it works, of course it does,’ you said, and she raised her hand to shush you. You obeyed, again. She was growing into this mother thing.

‘I realised, we basically told you that all you’re worth to us is what you can do for us. Yes, its important everyone can contribute because that’s how we keep the place running. But I need you to know that’s not your value. I need you to know that.’

It was getting really hard not to cry. You could see her eyes misting over, her mouth in a grim line to bite back the tears. ‘I asked you to help me, to help with Robin, not because I wanted you to do something for me. It was just because…I just like you, is all.’

You didn’t even really think about it, you just grabbed her into your body and held her, and you felt her shaking a little, like she had been so terrified to tell you, and you didn’t want the Gulf of Mexico. You wanted her in your kitchen and Ellie in your loungeroom with Robin. You wanted Tommy chopping wood or storing coal or doing whatever the fuck manly shit needed doing around the place. You wanted Joel standing in his socks at the counter burning the toast and swearing under his breath about it. You wanted what you had always wanted, which was just to belong.

You pulled back from Maria, rubbing furiously at your eyes. She wiped the tears from hers.

‘I like you too,’ Ellie said, from the doorway, and you both startled, which made her jump a little, which jostled Robin, who delivered several pointed arguments about his thoughts on the experience.

‘Fuck, sorry,’ Ellie said, the panic written all over her face. ‘Oh fuck, I said fuck,’ she said, looking at you for help. You looked to Maria, who regarded you both with an amused expression on her face.

‘You two are as bad as each other,’ she said. She took Robin from her, and Ellie settled down at the table. For a second there was just the sound of Robin, grizzling in his mother’s arms.

‘Hey, Maria,’ Ellie said, lifting her hand to point to the muscle at the side of her neck under her ear. ‘Levator scap-yew-lay’ she said. You applauded her; genuinely, warmly, proudly.

You weren’t really ready to emerge from your cocoon, would have stayed hermitty and weird forever, except that Ellie wasn’t having it. For one she couldn’t sit still in the house for days on end, but she was still only fourteen and the idea that something might happen to her because you let her go out while you let yourself rot on the couch was even less palatable than having to be social.

The first time she took you to the mess hall you felt the anxiety at the bottom of your lungs, your sternum feeling like it had shrunk in your chest cavity. You were convinced people were staring, resentful of you and all that you brought with you. You didn’t want them to worry for Ellie, didn’t want them to wonder how you were going to corrupt her, end up with her dead or thrown out of the gates. You wanted to sit at one of the back tables, but Ellie was determined not to make any of it easy on you, and steered you over to the main table, the long one in the middle of the room, where a bunch of townsfolk were already chatting. You joined at the end of the row, feeling how you retracted into yourself, feeling your shoulders round over. Ellie sat opposite you and smiled at you, brightly. You realised she was treating you like some kind of project, a rehabilitate-the-crazy-lady experiment, maybe some kind of pet.

‘This is the soup they had the other week,’ Ellie said, gulping it down so fast you were worried she’d give herself indigestion. ‘The chicken one? Do you remember?’

You had no idea what she was talking about, and you stared at her.

‘I brought it round with half the loaf of bread. The kitchen ladies did not want me to have it. So, I swiped it while they were washing up.’

You felt something heavy roll in your stomach. ‘That was you? You brought the food?’ you asked, and you weren’t sure if – when you were finished being flawed – you were disappointed or relieved.

‘Yeah, didn’t you know?’ she asked, and you shook your head.

‘You didn’t leave a note or anything,’ you explained, feebly.

‘I guess not,’ she conceded.

‘I thought it might have been Tommy,’ you lied, unconvincingly, but Ellie wasn’t paying attention.

‘I mean, you were close. It was Joel’s idea,’ she said, and what you now realised was a full-sized boulder turned again in your gut.

‘It was?’ you squeaked, and she nodded into her nearly empty plate. You pushed your soup around, your mind trying too hard to digest this new information to turn itself to eating.

‘Did he say anything else?’ you asked, but you were interrupted by Tommy bursting into the mess hall, his eyes wide and scanning over the crowd.

‘They’re back!’ he called, and several people immediately rose, hustled for the door.

‘How many?’ someone yelled back, and Tommy nodded, but there was something wrong, something grim on his face that you didn’t want to acknowledge, didn’t want to even consider.

‘All of ‘em,’ he said, but then he faltered, and swallowed hard, and you knew, then, were already getting to your feet. ‘Some of them are in a bad way,’ he said, and he was looking at you and then looking at Ellie, and you were tucking her under your arm as you pulled her towards him at the door.

‘She shouldn’t see,’ he said to you, quietly, and you shook your head at him.

‘Try and fuckin’ stop me,’ she said, before you’d even had a chance to speak. He sighed, but you were past him then, your arm on the door pushing it open for her, shoving her through first.

The infirmary was only three rooms connected by a short corridor, and in times of serious outbreak or multiple injury it was woefully understaffed, under resourced.

There had already been some kind of make-shift triage for the returned residents, two of the men assigned to one room since they only needed looking over and could then be let go, but Dougie told you, pulled both you and Ellie aside to murmur in your ear, that Joel had his own room. The one next to the surgery.

‘Is he dead?’ Ellie asked, and if you didn’t know her as well as you now did you would have mistaken her bluntness for coldness, for desensitisation, but you knew instead that she was steeling herself, that if there was going to be pain she wanted it now, fast and hard, to rip into it with bared teeth.

Dougie shook his head, and you exhaled for maybe the first time, ever, in your life.

‘He’s not in a good way,’ Dougie said, but Ellie was already marching down the hall to see him, and you were already trailing behind her, your head over your shoulder to offer Dougie your whispered, harried thanks.

But you stopped when you got to his door, let Ellie slip through without you, suddenly considering that you could be intruding, that he had no interest in your being there, didn’t even know you’d been caring for his daughter while he was gone, or that she had been caring for you. You didn’t even really know him, weren’t sure how you felt about him, weren’t sure that you wanted to see him bleeding and broken, weren’t sure that you could handle not feeling his touch on yours again, his whispered encouragements as you came undone underneath him, the rise and fall of his chest under your ear as you both fought back sleep to stay awake together for just a little bit more increasingly precious time.

You’d marched down to the infirmary without even thinking about it, and now you were trapped in thinking too much about it, and what if he woke up and was angry at you again, found something else to throw in your face, and had you forgiven him for that or did that not even matter when he had nearly died, did arguments and anger and hurt just become nullified when the other person endangered themselves to protect you and the community you lived in, because that seemed like a dangerous precedent, and-

Ellie wrenched the door open and stared at you, paralysed, three steps away.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she said, reaching forward and pulling you in. ‘Get the fuck in here.’

It wasn’t like the movies. There wasn’t a beeping machine, a screen counting out his heart rate, his breaths. He had a little tube up his nose feeding him oxygen but he wasn’t in a white gown, wrapped up neat and tidy under a woven blanket. He was lying, still in his boots, crooked on an old, rusted gurney. Your eyes travelled over him, taking stock; the left eye swollen shut, the abrasion to the cheek suggesting a fractured orbital bone, the red and purple swelling across his brow and up to his temple. The blood under his fingernails, the makeshift splint trying and failing to straighten his obviously broken wrist. You stepped forward and opened his shirt, scanning for more injuries across his skin, found a deep gash in his side and countless bruises, something mottled and purple underneath his ribs. Like he’d been kicked while he was on the ground, while he was already down.

You felt a flash of anger, tears spilling over your cheeks. He was out cold, pale and shivering, and you raised your hands to his midsection, felt the wound there, deep and angry and so close to his spleen.

‘We checked him already, he’s not bit,’ Dougie said from the doorway, and you wiped at your face, set your mouth in a line, intended to turn and address him but couldn’t move from Joel. You felt Ellie standing at your shoulder, observing you as you checked him over. ‘He’s going to need half the supplies they brought back with them,’ Dougie said, laughing a little as if this was funny.

‘They got them?’ Ellie asked, and Dougie nodded to her.

‘Some are dangerously expired, but others are just…expired,’ he said. ‘I gave him some of the morphine, even though he was already out.’

‘He has a head injury,’ you pointed to his collar where dried blood was staining the pillow brown. ‘Are you sure that’s safe?’

‘I stitched him up,’ Dougie said, defensive.

‘What if there’s internal…’ and you stopped yourself then, because Ellie was in the room, and her eyes kept swivelling back to Joel, back to his body, back to the blood. ‘The mottling,’ you said, without further explanation, in the hope that Dougie had managed to find that part of the textbook.

‘We don’t have many options, if there is,’ he said, and you felt yourself get woozy.

‘What have you done so far?’ you asked, and Dougie just stared at you for a second, and you were going to throttle him, actually kill him in this place of healing, if he didn’t answer at least one question properly in the next twenty seconds.

‘We can give him a transfusion, keep his blood pressure up.’

‘Tommy,’ Ellie piped up. ‘They’d have the same blood right? They’re brothers.’

You nodded at her, and she ran from the room. In her absence, you turned to Dougie.

‘Tell me,’ you said, simply, and he sighed.

‘It’s a wait and see game,’ he said. ‘If there’s serious internal bleeding we’d need to operate but…’ you looked around the room, observed the notable absence of a sterile field.

‘I can’t,’ you said, and you weren’t totally sure what exactly you were referring to, but that didn’t make it any less true.

Joel stirred in his sleep, just enough for you to swivel around to him, plant yourself down on a chair and grab at his hand.

‘Joel,’ you said, not sure if he could hear you, hoping he could, hoping he wasn’t in any pain and knowing it was impossible that he wouldn’t be. ‘Joel, I have Ellie, and she’s doing so well,’ you said, murmuring into his unresponsive face. ‘I have her, Joel, so you just rest, OK? You just get better.’

You reached up and gently, carefully, put your hand in his hair, rested it over his right temple, seemingly more intact than the left.

‘We just need you to get better, Joel,’ you said. ‘We all do.’

You thought for a second you heard a grunt under the gentle rhythm of his breath. ‘Be OK, baby,’ you said, one hand in his hair and the other gripping his. ‘Just rest, and be OK.’

Tommy’s transfusion raised Joel’s blood pressure, which was good but also indicated that he had lost a lot of blood. Dougie showed you how to check his blood pressure manually with a cuff and a watch, and you kept an eye on it every hour. If it kept dropping, there was likely internal bleeding.

It remained stable through the night.

What had happened out there became clearer as the morning progressed, as the other riders were patched up. The group from Jackson had managed to find the pharmacy, had cleared it out and secured the perimeter, before turning back the way they came.

The remaining raiders, those who had managed to escape their pet clickers, had been tracking Marla’s path back to Jackson. They had seen how well-equipped Marla was, how strong Jacob had been, how well he had been able to muster up a defence. They’d figured that meant they were well fed, well stocked, that there would be somewhere worth pillaging if they could get to it.

They were young but they were clever, probably only just born on outbreak day, and they’d managed to circle the group before Joel had noticed them. He’d shot one of them point blank, rearing his horse back to try and get to the others before they could clock what was happening, but the younger men had been quicker. He’d fallen from his horse, or maybe shoved off, it wasn’t clear in the chaos, and they’d tried to drag him, pulled him by the arms away from the group, stomped on his ribs a few times. He’d fought them the whole way, scoring a couple of gashes to his chest and abdomen in the process. It was only when the dust had settled, when the three raiders were dead and Joel was struggling to mount his horse, seemingly unable to coordinate his limbs, that they noticed the blow to his head. He’d been woozy, then, stumbling over his words, but they’d managed to get him upright on the horse enough to limp back to Jackson. They’d almost made it back when Joel blacked out completely, falling forward into his horse’s neck and not sideways, this small stroke of luck possibly saving him from an even worse fate.

You listened to all of it, this breathless retelling of actual and near death. You could hear, even through the exhaustion and the pain, the awe the second expedition party held for Joel. That he had seen the raiders, maybe heard them, maybe smelt them, that he was so fast on the draw, so accurate with his shot, so quietly deadly. That he had gone down swinging. That he had come back up.

These stories drifting down the hallway to you, to where Joel lay. Your eyes raked over his body, his wrist now properly splinted and bandaged, his wounds sewn up. He drifted in and out of consciousness, aided by the expired morphine, but he tended to come back to the world fighting. The first time he’d nearly knocked Ellie off the end of the bed, had ripped the breathing tube out of his nose so hard he’d permanently bent it, had been wild eyed and terrified and so lethal, so deadly, as you grabbed his face and turned it to yours, told him where he was, told him who he was, while Dougie injected more drugs under his skin. After he had slipped back under, you liked to imagine that before the drugs he had been relieved to see you, that you had eked out a measure of comfort for him, that he knew you were there, that he wanted you to be.

The second time you sent Ellie away. It was late and Joel was finding new and creative ways to swear the infirmary into the ground, and you could sense the worry in her. You reassured her you’d stay with him, that you didn’t need anything to eat, could sleep in the chair by the bed. That she shouldn’t have to see this, that she didn’t need to hurt herself just to keep him close. You would do that for her. You would reach into yourself and carve away a space for him. Keep yourself hollowed out and aching, should he decide to make a home between your ribs.

You had already decided that when he woke properly you would leave him there, go and get Ellie and Tommy. Not intrude on the family. Go and sit in your little kitchen and run your fingertips over the kitchen table, let the wood grain catch on your skin, scrape the cells from you where you had held his hand.

You didn’t expect to sleep, so you startled awake, confused and aching in places you didn’t know you had from the stupid fucking chair, when Joel stirred again. Judging by the darkness it could only have been 3 AM, maybe 4. You steeled yourself for whatever destruction Joel was about to bring down on his own sick bed, lifted his hand in yours to your cheek, rested your face in his palm, hoped the weight and the heat of it would settle him, would ground him. You heard him clear his throat. This time, however, he was just exhausted, just himself.

‘I can go,’ you offered, too quickly considering he was still orienting himself, and you cringed, started to backtrack. ‘You’re in the infirmary,’ you started again, collecting yourself, watching his face for any hint of fear, any hint of anger.

‘Ellie,’ he croaked, his voice dry.

‘She’s staying with me, she’s OK,’ you said, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder and then pausing, doubting, dropping it instead to the pillow.

‘Thirsty,’ he grunted.

‘Oh,’ you said, immediately snapping upwards and nearly knocking yourself out on the lamp over the bed. ‘Right, of course.’ Dougie had brought you water and a packet of dry ramen noodles approximately seventeen years past their use-by-date. You poured him a glass, cradling his neck to help him angle himself to drink it. You felt the heat of his skin on your arms as you lifted him. You didn’t think about it. Not at all.

‘Do you hurt anywhere?’ you asked, and he grunted at you. You knew it was a stupid question, and you tried again. ‘Do you want me to get Dou…the doctor, to get you some more drugs?’

‘Not yet,’ he whispered. You leant in close to him so that you could hear, and he fixed you then with a gaze sharper than anyone who had been unconscious for as long as he had should have been able to. ‘Makes me fuzzy and I want to…’ he trailed off, his eyes scanning your face.

‘I didn’t come to you about Marla because I think you’re a killer,’ you said, realised you had been waiting to say it to him, hoping he would wake up so you could finally set him straight. ‘I came to you because I knew you wouldn’t be cruel. I knew you’d do it well. Respect her.’

He lifted an arm as if he was going to cradle your jaw in his hands, but his face shifted into pain the moment he moved. You realised his ribs would be screaming in protest, and you grabbed his arm and forced it back to the mattress. ‘Don’t,’ you said, ‘it’s OK, I’m here.’

Joel turned his eyes to the ceiling, and you could tell that he was hurting. ‘I’m going to get you the drugs, you can’t just lie here like this…’ you said, standing up again. He grabbed your arm to stop you turning away from him, his grip strong, as he kept his eyes on the ceiling.

‘Ask me why,’ he grunted, through gritted teeth.

‘Why what?’ you asked, and saw the way he was bracing against the pain, felt a shot of frustration with yourself for prolonging it with your stupid fucking questions. ‘Why?’ you asked him.

‘Wanted to be a good man for once,’ he said. You sucked in a breath. ‘For Ellie,’ he went on, closing his eyes. ‘For you.’

You could feel something coming loose in you, a snapping of a hinge, the whine of a rusted and long-abandoned cellar door.

‘Joel,’ you said, because there wasn’t much else you could say in that moment, trying so hard to hold down the stirring turmoil in your chest. He held up his hand to stop you, almost waving you away, and you knew it was because it was hurting him to stay awake, hurting him to say it out loud, hurting him to hear you upset and not being able to soothe it for you. So much hurting in this bruised, bloodied body.

‘Let me…the drugs,’ you said, pulling yourself away from him, feeling his fingers grasp for you. ‘I’ll be here when you wake up,’ you reassured him, his eyes closed and his jaw tight. ‘I’ll be here,’ you said again, saw him nod, took the permission to finally, finally relieve him.

You weren’t there.

Couldn’t bring yourself to be, unnerved by the way his gaze snapped to yours, the way he had grasped for you, the way you felt the fracture of something vital, something that had kept you alive all these years. You sent Ellie in first thing in the morning, told her that he was calmer overnight and that you needed a proper sleep, set yourself up on the couch and tried not to think about it, tried to close your eyes and let sleep take you, felt it abandon you like you’d just done Joel.

You figured he wouldn’t remember it, what you had promised him, what he had said. The morphine would wash it away, would cleanse it from him. You would need to carry it, feel it sloshing around against your legs as you walked, but you were OK with that so long as it was only yours.

You busied yourself, cleaned up a little around the house because living with an un-housebroken teenager was a challenge in itself, went to the mess hall and bartered for a loaf of bread and a parcel of butter no bigger than a quarter, wrapped up in grease paper. That butter was going to cost you two massages but you knew Ellie preferred it, that without it there was so little flavour you could offer her.

You thought about going to Maria’s, thought about lifting Robin’s forehead to your lips and feeling his gentle, simple warmth thaw you out. But you worried Tommy would be there, that he would ask you why you weren’t with Joel, that he would ask you why had been, why you’d spent nearly three days at his bedside only to abandon him the second he was vaguely aware you were there.

You didn’t know how to explain. You couldn’t even get it straight in your own head. You wanted to cower from it, the strength of it, the weight. You took the back way back to your house, hoped you would slip out of everyone’s mind if you stayed out of sight.

Tommy was on your doorstep when you got there. Of course he was.

‘He’s askin’ for ya,’ he said, simply. You felt your shoulders drop, the defeat ripping up your spine, and you shrugged at him, your bottom lip wobbling.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ you said, simply, the six words that could kill you in an apocalypse. Tommy didn’t pretend not to understand. He took the packages from your arms, left you standing on the porch while he went inside and set them down. Came back out carrying a warm jacket for you and a cushion from the couch.

‘That damn ‘firmary chair is awful,’ he said, and you gave him a watery smile. ‘He’s askin’ for ya, so that’s what we’ll do,’ he said. You nodded at him. He took your elbow, led you down into the town.

‘It’ll be Spring soon,’ he said, making conversation, as you sniffed into the midday cold. ‘Jackson’s so beautiful in Spring, the wildflowers, the new leaves on the trees. You’ll love it.’

You nodded again, barely listening, wondering if you would ever be able to form actual sentences again. ‘S’new life,’ Tommy went on, ‘everything feels new. Like comin’ out of somethin’. Like a crack under the door where the light gets in.’

‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ you said.

‘Which part?’

‘All of it,’ you answered, sweeping your arms in front of you.

‘Well, you gotta do somethin’, so it might as well be this,’ Tommy said. It occurred to you that Maria’s ability to drop truth bombs at exactly the right moment was rubbing off on Tommy. You’d need to have a word to her about it.

Tommy led you into the infirmary, as if you didn’t have the place mapped like the back of your hand at that point, and down towards Joel’s room. He stopped at the door, and you realised he’d come as far as he was going to go. You looked at him, hoping for some final wisdom that might push you over the line.

‘What if he’s mad at me?’ you asked, feeble and weak.

‘He’s askin’ for ya,’ Tommy said, one last time, and you finally understood. You felt prickling heat at the back of your eyes, but Tommy had the good grace not to mention it, not to try to comfort or soothe, knew that it would make it worse somehow, bring it too close. With a shaky hand, you pushed open the door.

Joel was propped up, awake and gazing out the window at the street. He turned to you as you walked in, and your breath left you. The swelling around his eye had gone down, he was already looking less purple and bloodied than the night before, was more alert, was more him. You paused in the doorway, took him in as he waited for you.

‘Hi’, you said, barely above a whisper. You were gripping your hands in front of you, shivering in the doorway. You waited for him to yell, to thrash, to chew you out for leaving him to wake up alone and in pain.

You didn’t expect his eyes to mist over, for his bottom lip to tremble. For him to be soft, for him to need you.

‘C’mere,’ he said, lifting his good arm up to beckon you, and you fell into the four steps to him, launched yourself at his bed, gripped him by the waist and lay your head on his good shoulder, ignored his sharp intake of breath as you jostled him. You felt the tears spill over, your face tucked into his elbow while he ran his hands through your hair, and he held you as you sobbed into him.

This time, you knew it was for all of them. For the entire balance sheet, for the grand tally. For your parents, for Marla and for Ray, for Maria who so very much reminded you of your sister, for nearly losing Joel, for Ellie tucked up in your bed pretending she wasn’t counting the seconds until his return. For the love you held for all of them, your collection of losses and grief, for the realisation that all this time you hadn’t been feeling the absence of love but the presence of it, its full force, that it hadn’t gone anywhere, that so long as the love stayed so did they, in just enough of a way to sustain you.

‘M’sorry,’ you muttered after a while, trying to pull back. He held you firm to him, his chin on the top of your head.

‘Scared ya, I guess,’ he said, and you could only nod.

‘There’s so much that scares me,’ you whimpered, and he grunted his agreement.

‘M’scared too,’ he said. You raised your head to look at him, to understand, and he gazed down at you. ‘This is somethin’. Right?’ he asked, his voice giving out on the question.

‘Think so,’ you said. He smiled, warmly, down at you, lifted a hand to rub at his face.

‘We did it arse-backwards,’ he said, and you waited for him to explain. ‘Haven’t even dated ya, and here we are clingin’ to each other like…’ He trailed off, and you weren’t sure how you wanted him to finish that sentence, were sure you just wanted to continue to rest your head on his chest while he spoke, wanted to hear the timbre of it, feel the resonance.

‘Like it’s the end of the world?’ you finished for him, eventually. He chuckled.

The two of you fell into a silence, a warm one, a silence filled with all the words you were going to get to say to each other, when the time was right.

‘Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?’ you asked, after a long while.

‘Don’t need you to do anythin’ more than you already have. Just be patient with me, baby. S’been a long time since I felt this’ he said.

You reached over and took his hand from where it rested on his belly, turned his fingers over in the grey light from the window, examined the cracks, the swelling, the cuts. You lifted a knuckle to your lips, tasted the copper across your tongue, the tang of it, the life under his skin.

Gently, so gently, you held him there, felt his pulse against your skin, felt his body give, the tension in his muscles unspool. Heard his breathing slow, his other arm gripping tight around you. You let your eyes drift close, not having to see him to know that he was right there, in this moment with you. That he was with you, that this was the two of you.

That you had his touch. That he had yours.

Taglist:

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

@kathaaaaaaa

@anoverwhelmingdin

@pedropascalsbbg

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

123 notes · View notes

the-100-days-of-junkan · 3 months ago

Text

Day 50

Wow. fuck it’s weird to think we’re halfway there. 50 fucking days of Junkan . . . How’s everyone holding up?? I’m still writing these in advance so I have no idea if Future Jem is holding it together having to wait day by day for these, especially as we enter the period of the project where a lot of our favorite pieces come in.

So anyway “No Regrets” There’s the fic again for if you haven’t read it and are interested.

There is a LOT to talk about with this one. So much that I’ll likely put this in a read under once again. I’ve got history, fun facts, scrapped(?) ideas, and memes.

Let’s start with my history with writing in general. Because the biggest thing that comes to mind with this fic is that it was the first time in Four Years that I had ever written something.

When I was, say, around 15 or 16, I entered the Death Battle Community on Deviantart (I swear to god this is relevant and I won’t take too long). It did a lot of things for me, it gave me a source of income when I was confident enough to open commissions, it helped me make a small amount of close friends (eventually leading to even closer friends), is the community that introduced me to Danganronpa in the first place, and it’s where I first started writing.

Now obviously, what I was writing were fights between fictional characters, most often to the death. With some attempt at a logical outcome for the match. And the account is so old and untouched that it still has he/him pronouns baked into it. I still have a lot of pride in some of the work I did on that account despite the equal amounts of dumb bullshit, grammar issues, and a severe lack of proofreading.

But shock of all shocks, Rocky Balboa fighting an Anime Character (yes that’s really the last thing I published online, it was like 40,000 fucking words and it made someone cry allegedly), is a far cry from a fic about Junko Enoshima really wanting to swap spit with Mikan Tsumiki.

Suffice to say, I was very, very nervous about writing again. However I’m a woman with too many ideas, and not every idea can be done through just drawings alone. Especially with how I was doing things at this point. This wasn’t the first time I had desired to try writing fanfic, I still have a RWBY x Kamen Rider W fanfic haunting my brain to this day. But it was the first time I had felt so tempted. However as you might have gleamed over time whether through these posts, or talking to me personally, I have a severe lack of self esteem, ESPECIALLY when it comes to writing. And it was even worse at the time of this fic. This was the biggest roadblock for the it.

However, Junkan broke me once, causing me to draw Angst shipping art for the first time. So it only makes sense that it would break me a second time, making me write a god damn fanfic. And I made plenty of memes about this too, which i’ll post in order of creation.

As you can tell by that last one I was fucking nervous as hell making this, which is understandable since it’s completely new territory for me in a medium i hadn’t touched in years. However, enough friends who also liked DR seem to be into it, so I was able to post it.

My AO3 account was of course originally a secret because at the time of this fic being made I was still deeply paranoid over anyone knowing I shipped Junkan. Now granted CJ is kind of an obvious alias given y’know, it’s just the initials of my fuckin main account. However it does require that someone on AO3 also have a Tumblr account and also be aware of a chick named “Carbonated-Jem” who at the time was drawing a suspicious amount of separate Junko and Mikan art.

Last thing before I talk about the actual fic. This was posted February 4th. Which fucks with me because I’m pretty certain that means that the first 50 Days of this project (reminder that most of the colored ones were after the fact) were made before that date. Half of this project was done in One Month at most. How the fuck did I do that????

Okay. So the fic.

The idea was simple at first, what if Mikan saved Junko from dying at the end of DR1. And then it spiraled from there.

This is not something I plan to talk about on this blog or anywhere but the privacy of my friend groups very often. But I am not a big fan of Danganronpa 3, I have very little nice to say about it, but my biggest issue with that Anime is it’s handling of Mikan. I do not like that Mikan was boiled down to just being whatever that was in the anime, since while I’ll never say that it was definitely a perfect relationship even with what we had teased in DR2, I think there’s a lot of nuance to the way Junko and Mikan described their relationship (moreso Mikan since last I remember at most Junko just made heavy implications that she broke each class member one by one with unknown methods). So seeing it be . . . that in the anime, just never sat right with me. If it were not for events that will be discussed later in the project, I would have been fully adverse to this ship as a result.

As you can see now I’m not only all for the ship, I’m dangerously brainrotted over it dsljfhsdlaf. How things changed.

Point is, regardless of whether you like DR3 and how it handled this dynamic (In which case, more power to you despite my lack of understanding), I had less than fond thoughts toward it. So you can kind of see this fic as also like, a way of me trying to do something more productive with that negativity rather than just wallowing on it.

I’m gonna be real until Mikan jumps in to save Junko I don’t feel very strongly about the intro. You can very much tell this was my first time writing in 4 years, and not just that but it was me writing Junko for the first time rather than drawing her, and to take it EVEN FURTHER this was at the time the closest I had ever gotten to depicting the canon versions of the characters rather than Non-Despair takes on the characters like I was for every pic before and after this. Which yeah spoiler, beyond I think 2 instances later (there MIGHT be more) everything in this project is non-despair in nature.

You can probably still look at a lot of the art as like, just them dating Pre-Tragedy I suppose? But that’s up to you and your suspension of Disbelief.

Tangent, sorry. Back to it where was I.

Oh yeah, so I don’t know when the hell the idea for the Neo-World Program being implemented came in. But when it did that’s when I had like a solid vision for where I was going.

I think originally Junko wasn’t going to enter the program alongside everyone else? But the more I thought about it, it was like the only sure way that she could get what she wanted in the end. Since if Mikan came back reformed, whether with partial memories or nothing at all it’s a hard sell to think Mikan would be willing to go back to Junko outside of the specific circumstances that brought them together in the first place (that said i can’t say the idea of Junko trying to win her back isn’t interesting). I’d find it more likely for a full reformed Mikan in this context to like, get with Hajime or Ibuki.

So I threw Junko into the program as well, despite my concernsI did actually have a lot of fun writing the interactions. Not just Mikan (we’ll get to her in a sec) but also with Makoto.

Writing Junko’s first moments in the program was my favorite part though, from what I remember at least. Especially once she starts giving Mikan her full attention. And that’s where we finally get to the art piece.

So here is the singular fun fact about the art. Junko had the bear clips originally, but I realized after the fact since the Neo-World program put the cast in their outfits prior to becoming Remnants, it’d make more sense to give her the bunny and bow clips instead. So I edited the art at some point to make that more clear.

Anyway here’s the interesting part. There was in fact a time where this was going to be a series.

The original intention was always a Oneshot, but you know how the mind tends to wander, it was inevitable that I’d be tempted to think about what else could happen in this timeline.

It would have mostly been a Slice of Life series, more rom-com elements. Focused on the developing relationship between Junko and Mikan, essentially kind of recreating how they first met and fell in love, albeit with less of the evil girlfriends stuff.

Another part of it is that because Junko’s plans are on a hard hiatus till she gets off the Island, and more specifically because of Mikan’s influence on her in these very specific circumstances, the NWP actually does start reforming Junko on some level. I’ve always loved the idea that Mikan could have the potential to help Junko become a better person, whether it’s a Non-Despair AU where that means she just stops being a bitch to everyone (or at least mostly stops), or in Canon where she ponders that maybe starting the apocalypse isn’t the best course of action.

I did plan to try and write the rest of the DR2 cast, which admittedly was a roadblock because I had no idea what the fuck I was gonna do for characters like Nekomaru for example. I’ve only really latched onto a small handful of the overall cast of DR, so i’m severely lacking in my ability to write most of them. I did plan for Junko and Chiaki to become besties though, I feel like under a normal context Junko would just think Chiaki was really funny.

So it would have mostly been romance and shenanigans, one way I thought of to just give random little plotlines for Mikan and Junko was the MonoMono machine. Have Junko just get a bunch of coins and gamble away at the thing getting random items. And then said items just make the plot for the chapter.

That idea is what made me think of the other half of this fics equation.

So you know how there’s a fucking painting of Junko made during the Tragedy??

First off, missed opportunity to have that be a “Love” item for Mikan, would have been great foreshadowing.

Second off, actual point. I was like “how the fuck is junko gonna react if she sees this??” So I realized that while I wanted to have this overall fic have a lot of fluff and shenanigans and Junko kissing Mikan. There is in fact the elephant in the room of what’s outside of the program.

So, why not have Junko by some means start remembering reality, and realizing everything she’s been responsible for. Most importantly, killing her sister and killing Chiaki (yeah I would have kept Chiaki being a real person and not just an AI, partially just cause I think that’d hurt Junko more), and then having to cope with all of that because by that point Mikan would have unintentionally helped to make Junko a less apocalypse hungry person.

And beyond that I don’t think I had any plans to show like, the aftermath of the program working. Partially because I feel like that’s reaching a level of writing I’m not mentally strong enough to pull off properly, partially because I think keeping it vague similar to how DR2 did it would have worked.

Now all that said, on some level I would try to like writing that story. There’s just a lot of hurdles I’d have to get past first. Not just my normal ��Writing makes me want to slam my head into the wall” issue, but also stuff like-

How do I write the other characters when I have very little experience with them?

I actually have to make a plan for this one, I can’t just wing it like I did for the Vampire AU.

I have to write the Canon version of Junko for a big stretch of it and as I already established I barely grasp how the fuck to do that.

I just have other things I want to do which includes other writing.

So if you’ve made it this far into my inane ramblings, would YOU dear audience like to see this fic? I can’t say for sure how soon it would be assuming the response is positive, but I wouldn’t be opposed to making the attempt if there’s even mild interest for it.

Anyway, thankyou for your time! Hopefully will be awhile before I yap this long again.

As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~

#danganronpa #junkan #junko enoshima #mikan tsumiki #enomiki #junkomikan #junko x mikan #enoshima junko #tsumiki mikan #shipping #fanfic #fanfiction #AU

28 notes · View notes

macfrog · 1 year ago

Text

all three dogs

Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love. andrew kane, how to be a dog

inspired by this gorgeous post (good idea to read it before you read this), and this gorgeous ask (thank you @iknowisoundcrazy). also shoutout to @mrsmando for being the queen of character study. i am not sure what this is, exactly? is it about joel miller, or is it about some dogs? i do not know. but it was fucking cathartic, so here, i guess. here's how i see joel at his worst.

summary: "dog metaphors are all about devotion, devotion to a person, a concept, a place etc, to be a dog is to be devoted."

warnings: little graphic i guess? blood and guts. violent joel. sarah dies and joel shoots up a hospital to save ellie. angst. i think that's it

word count: 1.3k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets with notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤

he loves you, sarah says, fork digging into egg.

he’s dependent on me, joel quips, not the same.

i think it’s the same.

when the first dog is born, he gives his heavy head a shake, and his ears flick to life. his fur is still damp from the blood and fluid of his mother’s body. he still smells like her – looks like her, too. he is still connected in some way to where he has been; the umbilical cord coiled and dripping.

she licks and licks and licks until he is clean. watches contently as he pads off into some distant future, where he will lose that boisterous gleam in his eye, the gentle wag of his tail. but for now –

for now, he is brown-haired. brown-eyed to match. he has a daughter. he is bright, and alive, and he makes jokes when they bubble up to his tongue. he is good. he knows love like a first language, as if each swipe of his mother’s tongue on his coat melded it into his makeup.

he does not know the warmth of another man’s blood on his hands. he has not drawn the screams and howls of pain from another’s throat.

she is the sun – his daughter – the most radiant part of his life. his life, which spins on its axis around her. always looking for her, to her, at her. vitamin c, she tells him, and he accepts the glass of orange juice. she tells him to swear and he says, on my life. she tells him he’s lame and he says, i know.

he trots faithful and pliant at her heels. circles her legs and passes over her shadow, waiting to be told different. waiting to be shooed away.

only – when he is told, he doesn’t listen. he can’t. what is a planet with no sun to orbit? what becomes of day, when its light begins to drain?

she digs her nails into his skin. pushes and scratches and begs him with shallow gasps to take his hands off her stomach. to let her go. to go away.

i know, baby, i know i know i know i know –

he tells her she’s going to be okay. because what the fuck else does he know? he’s just a dog. he’s just her dog. all he knows is her.

the sun is being eclipsed. the world begins to darken.

i’m just gonna get her killed, joel weeps, i know it. i have to leave her.

when the second dog is pulled from his mother, he wails in a collapsed heap on the cold tile floor. the world is dim, colorless. the sun is gone. he does not know how he ended up here.

love is akin to violence. it speaks the same language, inflection and cadence blurring between words. he is only as strong as his fists are able to break bone. he has run out of road – a panting, ragged, old dog, tongue hanging lopsided and jumping. ears dented with the pieces of him lost to fighting.

something quakes within his chest, a deep, unstable movement. a shifting of the tectonic plates that make up his bones. he shakes violently, feeling for the thrash of his heart against his chest wall. something in the darkness commands him to act – to move, though it never reveals where to or what from. just fucking move.

and then – the eruption of his temper. like waves on rocks, breaching in violent and unpredictable bursts. spray of black ocean on the jagged cliff edge. i made this decision for your own good, he reasons, stood in the pink-papered bedroom. the snow flutters silently outside. his hackles slowly furl. she scoffs. she knows as well as he does: he’s as good a liar as he was a pet.

but for all his anger, for all the fear he misdiagnoses as weakness – there is a glimmer somewhere on his back. a pale light catching in the broken face of his watch; lighting the kinks of his dark coat. it begins to push him; to stir him like the tide.

something is controlling him again. pulling on his collar. someone is lighting the way.

where is she?

fuck you.

it takes as little time for the dog’s ears to prick as it did for his lungs to suck in a breath. his upper lip twists, canine glinting in the trembling fluorescent light. shining with saliva and the rusted tinge of blood. joel thinks it over less than once. his eyes flood black.

i don’t have time for this.

when the third dog rips his way into the world, he tears everything around him to shreds, too. his teeth are already bared; his claws are already swiping. his eyes are black as ink; he cannot remember that soft-footed pup he once was.

there is nothing left to hide. not anymore. he has existed in the darkness too long to try. his shirt and skin are stained with dirt and sweat and blood. his fur is matted; his fangs are brown and rotten. if she saw him, if her light cast its golden spill onto his bloodshot eyes and mottled coat – she would never know who he is. she would not recognize her own father.

but he was always this way, it seems: he has always loved catastrophically.

everything is red. saturated in threat; a screaming, nauseating red. it turns his stomach just to look, to peer down the chamber of his gun. the blinking of the alarm light. the maroon stains on his hands. the metallic smell seeping from the slumped vests. the thick pools he steps through, the footprints following him around every corner. they will catch up to him eventually. they always do.

his paws hurt. pads skinned raw from all the running. his lungs ache, now, too. his throat lurches for breath, closes in on itself and then sticks, choking him. he cannot remember the heat of the sun on his arms. he does not know when he last said her name.

he doesn’t remember when he last said anything. he speaks in growls and barks and bites. when his mouth opens, his lips curl by instinct. he swallows his drawl and replaces it with something sharper. something poisonous. there’s foam lining his gums.

all he has – of this he is sure – is his brute force and the quick snap of his bite. the shattering of bone, the mauling of flesh. the brawn and breadth of his body; the squeeze of a trigger with one thoughtless pull. all he knows how to do is swing.

and so, one heavy boot steps in front of the other. crunching over broken glass and scuffing over bullet shells. whereisshewhereisshewhereisshe. it loops through his head like it used to when he could see color and feel the wind in his ears. like chasing his tail. catchitcatchitcatchit.

where did she go – the moon? which cloud is she hiding behind? how many men do his maws have to tear apart to find her?

and what will she think when she sees him again? his collar missing and his claws dripping crimson. when she feels the rips in his ears, sees the scar on the side of his head. what will she do, when she runs her hand down his dirty coat, and in place of a loving lick or nuzzle of the nose, he sinks his teeth straight into her wrist?

swear to me. swear to me that everything you said about the fireflies is true.

the dog lowers his head obediently. his ears fall flat. tail curls between his back legs. the wind pushes hard against joel’s chest, threatening to take him with it. i swear, he says.

ellie’s gaze falls. she nods once. tightens her fist around the dog’s leash.

okay.

lots of inspo drawn from:

how to be a dog by andrew kane

grit by silas denver melvin

monster theory: reading culture by jeffrey jerome cohen [seven theses]

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #the last of us #tlou #i’m not sure what this is #i just wanted to write it #this one goes out to all the dog motif posts i see on the daily about roman roy #ouch

167 notes · View notes

vampiriccreature · 1 year ago

Text

I think about Dadgil au’s ALL the time, as sad as it is that Vergil never got to raise Nero it now gives me so many ideas for “what if” situations so here are some of my favs:

- Classic Vergil raising Nero as a baby, total teen dad that is emotionally unstable having to be there for a kid. Vergil abandoning his search for power due to the sense of responsibility he had for raising a kid. Vergil would by no means be an amazing father but I think he’d try.

- Vergil discovers Nero when Neros already a bit grown but not an adult. Like Vergil gets out of hell or whatnot and runs into a 10-15 year old Nero at the orphanage and raises him from then on. Just a lot of Nero teen angst and “You’re not my father,” and “You weren’t there when I was younger so you have to earn my respect,” type shit.

- Vergil raising Nero as a baby but disappearing when he’s older. Similar to the first where he steps up as a a dad and abandons his search for power and the such but when Neros older something happens to Vergil like he gets trapped in hell or demons kill/kidnap him and Neros still a child but of course remembers his father. I think if he knows/thinks Vergil was killed he’d become so deadset on revenge it would destroy any chance he had at teenhood. Meanwhile if it’s just a “Vergil disappears mysteriously” situation then Nero would be so conflicted on if his Dad abandoned him or not. I like this idea a lot since it’s similar to what happened to Vergil with him thinking his mother abandoned him but she didn’t and it wasn’t her fault.

Those are the main versions of Dadgil that cross my mind of course but if you have any other ideas or wanna add onto mine pleaseee do, these guys infect my mind.

#dmc #dmc headcannon #dadgil #vergil #vergil headcannon #dmc vergil #devil may cry #nero #dmc nero #baby nero #dadgil aus are better then any other au idgaf #i wanna see a mess of a teen dad Vergil trying his best despite everything #i didnt mean to have this child but by god I will make sure he’s not a abandoned like i was #also dont even get me started on dadgil with trans nero ohhh my gos

130 notes · View notes

yarrystyleeza · 1 year ago

Text

𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐚'𝐬 𝟐𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫!

Well, as the title suggests, I am turning 22 on January 30th (yes I can't believe it either), and it's a very very special number to me, I was obsessed with it since I was a kid—because of Taylor Swift's 22 of course (you have no idea how happy my inner child is now!).

However, I thought I should celebrate this very important event with you by hosting my second sleepover! (honestly I was planning to make this a double sleepover if I hit 300 followers before my birthday, but since I didn't, I really had to host a sleepover)

As usual, my sleepover will host games, questions, asks, and definitely, requests!!! <3

The sleepover will be a week long, from January 30th till February 6th, where you can submit asks and requests!

Note on prohibited things that I won't be doing or answering:

No nsfw/dirty asks, writing requests or questions, it's uncomfortable for me sometimes, and this is an all-ages-friendly celebration. No further elaboration, please respect this. <3

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬:

Here's a list of the games we can play:

Kiss/Marry/Kill: you give me three characters and I will sort each one in one of these categories! (make it hard for me)

Would you rather: you give me two things/characters and I get to choose one that suits me better! (for example: night owl or early bird?)

Make an assumption: you literally make an assumption about me and I either prove it or deny it!

Never have I ever: you ask me about things I did or didn't do!

Exchanged Ships: basically, you give me a character that you find as my significant other, and I will give you a character in exchange and why I think it's the perfect character for you!

Random Q&A: you can ask me about anything, whether it's my favorite food or even what fabrics do I prefer to wear, ask whatever you want!

Girly Talks: just talk to me about any girly topic you want and we'll establish a good conversation! Let's talk about books or authors, favorite poetry pieces, maybe movies we loved in our childhood, or even your favorite outfits back when you were a 10 year old! Literally anything!

Rate My Music Taste: give me a song/artist and I will rate it from 1 (absolute flop) to 10 (total banger)! — (this is absolutely done just for fun).

I Wanna Write You A Song: start with a phrase and we will make a totally original song together in the reblogs!

Doodles: give me something simple to draw!

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬:

As for writing requests, I will be taking fluff/angst/violence (blood and gore—due to the nature of the characters I write for) x female!reader requests only. But of course you can request the prompt you desire. <3

As for the characters, here's a list of the fictional men that I would be writing for:

Matt Murdock/Daredevil

Foggy Nelson

Tristan Thorn

Michael Kinsella

Henry (from Eat Locals)

Daryl Dixon

(might consider writing for other Charlie Cox/Norman Reedus characters. example: Ian Hamilton, Owen Sleater, Scud, Murphy MacManus, etc.)

You can ask for prompt included in this list or ones you come up with yourself:

intimate moments / gestures that make me feel love / romantic rainy day prompts / gentle things that make me fall harder in love / fluffy comforting/sick dialogue prompts / lighthearted first kiss prompts / sparring prompts / forced proximity prompts / date prompts masterpost /

Note that I will be tagging the fic requests with #yuna's 22 birthday sleepover so they're easy to find, but they will be sorted in my main masterlist as regular requests! <3

tagging my moots to spread the word sorry for being a little too annoying hehe (and I tried to tag as much as possible but my memory is messing around with me I'm sorry if I forgot anyone): @v4leoftears @remonemo @fizanotfeeza @bunmurdock @bellaxgiornata @kal-0n @1988-fiend @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @floral-charlie-cat @farfromstrange @babygirlmurdock @mattmurdocksscars @itwasthereaminuteago @c-mrdck @xxeycisxx @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mindidjarin @little-miss-dilf-lover @shiorimakibawrites @tongueofcat @marytheweefrenchie @chvoswxtch @devilsmurdock @galaxies-and-moons-and-cox @acharliecoxedfan @folkloreandfall @murdocklorian @munsonownsmyass @abbyhaslongshorts @murc0ck @lazyxsquirrel @theradioactivespidergwen @xxdrixx @saintmurd0ck @softasawhisper @she-likesorchids @peterman-spideyparker @mattmurdocksstarlight @amberlynnmurdock @courtforshort15 @saltedlays @importantnightwerewolf @lene-loki

That's basically everything I have for my birthday sleepover, feel free to submit requests and games! Thank you for coming to my sleepover tonight! <3

68 notes · View notes

voidbeau · 28 days ago

Text

Thinking about the New Twomp Ep You know what's so funny?

A little while ago- and some may remember this post but it's gone now cause this post was on an old account but, I had that one long Argos ramble, one of many I guess, that included the headcannon that I could see Argos keeping a big black book filled with all of his previous kills. A macabre photo album.

They were either little memorials to lives lost in moments of weakness or they were trophy kills and you'd never know which was which unless you managed to get Argos to talk about it but that was usually hard for one reason or another. The main big reason being, Argos keeps it buried away in his Void somewhere in secret.

I had a whole thing but it was really long.

That was the gist of it tho.

But the fact that Mr. Plant canonically keeps photos of past kills- or at least some is great to me.

He fuckin went to the effort to get pictures of those motherfuckers and I have to wonder like, WHY lmaooo. Did he just think, "oh this will be a fun memory!" Or "Ah, my first kill. What a momentous occasion! Let me just grab a snap shot of that."

I've always personally thought of Mr. Plant being mostly indifferent about how he felt when he'd take someone's life. Like, being driven to murder is just another thing that happened in his day and he never gives it much thought past whatever he was thinking in the moment.

He's always very casual about it unless it affects someone he cares about in some way- Argos usually. Like the Tomato Soup or Birthday episodes. Those were the only times I can think of off the top of my head where he was second guessing the action or was remorseful in some way.

Maybe there were other moments I forgot so pardon me if so.

There's the angst and drama loving part of me that wants to think that this wasn't always the case for Mr. Plant and that maybe his first few kills weren't intentional. Just heat of the moment events that went too far and he just had to deal with the consequences of it.

Guilt ridden traumatic moments in his past, so of course he forgot about it! Tried to forget about it.

And then there's the part of me that loves the idea that Mr. Plant just never fully understood or cared about the weight of a life. Not fully.

He has the capacity to but it's not often someone meets the requirements for him to care. I like thinking that sometimes he just gets experimental with it even, how much can an individual handle before they expire?

If the moment strikes him or someone is making him feel particularly inspired to get curious about it, he'll just kind of latch onto that person until it's a good time to strike. Follow them and corner them or lure them in and take them out.

I feel like either way, Mr. Plant has loose morals he follows. Not because he personally believes in them but maybe because of outside influence from a rare pool of people he's come to care about.

Regardless, every new kill is just like the last. Sometimes something interesting happens but for the most part, he forgets names and faces very easily.

Or never even knew them to begin with and never cared to learn. A name wouldn't matter if they weren't gonna need it in the next few moments anymore anyway. (':

A healthy mix of both takes on Mr. Plant is of course also fun!

I have so so many AUs exploring these different ideas and different backgrounds that may have affected Mr. Plant in some way lmaooo.

#twomp #the world of mr plant #mr plant twomp #vbeau sillies #vbeau headcannons #im just rambling again #this plant man is so silly #i wonder if he ever felt compelled to frame any of his trophy pics #lmfaoooo #now im imagining argos and mr plant comparing photos and memories #like old family pictures lmaooo #ashur gharavi

10 notes · View notes

shadowjax · 5 months ago

Text

The Dragon’s Blade

That Beach Episode A03

Natasha Romanoff x reader/oc Oneshot

Warnings: little angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

A/N: This has to be one of my longest fics haha.

*Shares are appreciated* 5k Words

“Pack your things, guys, I just got out of a meeting with Fury and persuaded him into giving us the day off.” Tony paraded into the lounge, Morgan following right behind, dressed like they were ready to go to a tropical island. With the clap of his hands, a video of the beach played on the TV.

“Hey.” Morgan shot Tony an annoyed look and crossed her arms.

“Ok. Ok. This little rascal did all the work with her puppy eyes.”

“Tony it’s almost noon, any place remotely tropical is hours away. Even by jet.” Bruce was seated on the couch, now annoyed his show had been turned off. He and Vison were in the middle of watching an old sitcom that Wanda had recommended.

“Which is why we’re staying overnight at a condo I just so happen to have bought years ago.”

“Love the idea but who will take care of the city while we are gone,” Steve commented, who was in the middle of a card game with Vision, Sam, and Bucky.

“None other than our junior counterparts, of course. C’mon, guys get packing, the jet leaves in two hours.” After scooping his child onto his shoulders, Tony exited the room, their laughter echoing throughout the hallway. Recently the tower had become a bit more crowded with all the newest recruits like Kate, Cassie, and Kamala.

“Ohhhhh, I love building sandcastles. Now that I think about it, you’ve never been to the beach have you.” Wanda stood beside you while the two of you cleaned up from making the group breakfast.

“No, I haven’t, it’s on my list of places to take Nat though so this works out. I hope it's too crowded with tourists but knowing Tony we’ll be on our own private sector...”

After temporarily scarring the newest recruits during your first encounter, you realized it was time to find a solution to heal the scars across your face. The main problem was that while the serum in your veins could heal new wounds, it couldn’t fix the scars from injuries you had before it was injected. Over the past several months, you have undergone a series of procedures with Dr. Lee to improve the appearance of the scars on your face. Although certain scars may still be visible, the once vivid pink marks have now blended more effectively with your natural skin tone. This has significantly reduced their prominence, resulting in a much less noticeable appearance overall.

“I’m glad to see the scars are healing, the doc sure knows what she’s doing. Speaking of beaches, in my opinion, they are a great place to propose to someone. Say a particular redhead.” Wanda’s eyebrows danced momentarily, causing you almost to drop a plate. “I know you’ve been thinking about it, I can see the pictures playing in your head. You practically project them!”

“Wanda I know you mean the best, but please. It’s only a thought.” When you were younger, there were numerous things you never imagined yourself doing. Reflecting on those times now, an uncomfortable pit seems to form in your stomach when you think back on the past.

“A thought you have entertained for 3 months and many hours throughout the day.” You glanced at the ring Vision had given Wanda when he proposed. It was well crafted and clearly, Vison spent a lot of time working on the perfect design for her. A while back, you had a conversation with him about how he chose the design and gem for the ring, knowing he was the only one capable of keeping such a secret.

Dr. Lee placed an arm around both you and Wanda’s shoulders, gently stepping in to join the conversation. “Believe me when I tell you, kid, there is nothing better than knowing you share a special bond with the one you love the most. Knowing only the two of you share this bond, to spend the rest of your lives as equals. Heck, I never thought I’d survive being a war nurse but here I am. Ring and all, with a beautiful woman I call wife.”

“I think both of you need a new murder show to binge rather than prodding into my life.” Your comment led to a smack on the back of your head from Lee. “Well, when the world isn’t inanimate danger, what does a married woman in her late thirties do with her time, especially when she has a stable, well-paying job?" The conversation quickly ended, knowing neither of them had a good comeback, leaving you last in the dining room though packing wasn’t a tedious task for you.

~~~~

“You’re already packed, for the both of us?” You walked into Nat’s room to find a small suitcase packed, a part of you wondered if she already had this packed because she was planning something as well. “I can’t tell if you already had a getaway planned, not that I am against it.”

“Well someone had to place the thought in Morgan’s head and I knew Fury would cave. Who can say no to her.” She was dressed in mid-thigh denim shorts paired with a white and light blue striped shirt, which had a turn-down collar and was tucked in at the front. The top was left slightly unbuttoned, revealing a hint of a black two-piece bathing suit underneath.

“My eyes are up here,” she teased with a playful smile. “You’re staring again—everything okay?” She took a seat on her bed, facing you as she gathered her hair and secured it into a half-ponytail.

“Nothing to worry about, I’m just admiring you.” You gently placed your hand in hers to guide her into a spin, then wrapped your arms around her from behind. Resting your head on her shoulder, you took in the pleasant scent of strawberries that surrounded her.

“Are you sure, you’re behaving clingy?” She placed her hands over yours and squeezed them.

“Do you think Clint and his family will be joining us?” Ever since the battle and his family returned, he immediately retired which was understandable. Never wanting to be away from them again. He and his family will make an appearance for any holiday events the team hosts together. When Kate first moved in to the Tower, Clint was there to help her adjust and train.

“No, he’s busy with the new livestock on the farm. Last I called he was talking about getting a couple of horses.” She squeezed your hands, “As much as I don’t want to move, we should get on the jet so we can get good seating.”

~~~

On the jet, you tried to catch up on some reading but ended up thinking about what Wanda and Lee said earlier. You could feel Wanda’s stare burning through your soul, knowing full well you were mentally projecting images aloud to her.

“I just realized something, you’ve never been to the beach right?” Nat leaned her head on your shoulder while pointing to the ocean below.

“Oi heads up kid.” Maria threw something that hit you in the head. Upon further investigation, it was a pair of blue shorts with sharks wearing sunglasses.

“They’re meant for the ocean so you won’t ruin your clothes,” Nat said in between her laughter.

“Ooo I almost forgot.” Maria tossed a matching 2 piece outfit on Nat’s lap. Wanda and Dr.Lee tried to hide their laughter while Nat threatened the three.

The jet landed near a giant condo located just a few miles away from the local tourist spot. It didn’t take long for people to start setting up and diving into the water. Thankfully, you had packed an extra black tank top, although you still felt somewhat exposed with so much of your skin exposed to the blazing sun. You hadn’t realized how pale you were until now. You weren't the biggest fan of sand, it made walking uncomfortable. It made your skin dry and got everywhere. Bits of water sprayed in the air after the waves crashed against the shore, the water was a clear blue.

You and Nat set up your area close to where the girls had settled, while the guys were already making a splash in the water. Some of them were sporting some matching flamingo floaties around their waists, reflecting one Pepper had Morgan wear when she went into the swimming. You applied a layer of sunscreen, the liquid was cold to the touch.

“Hey, once you’re done, be a dear and put some sunscreen on my back.” Nat removed her regular clothes, revealing a simple black two-piece swimsuit she was wearing underneath.

You tried not to stare too much, unable to handle your teammate's teasing about how “head over heels you were”. One of the guys had called you a “simp” before and still to this day you have no idea what it meant, whenever you asked they’d simply laugh in your face. Even the women laughed at your naivete. In all honestly she was beautiful no matter what time of the day, your heart felt like it would leap out of its chest.

“You’re gonna burn up easily with such pale skin. Let me help you with that.” Bruce transformed into the Hulk moments ago, his hand was big enough to wrap around your entire body and tossed you straight into the ocean. To say your friendship with him was strained would be an understatement. Ever since you and Nat started dating he had become distant, not that you two were ever close to begin with. Neither of you have common interests and with your pitiful social skills, neither of you talk.

“What-”

Your protest was cut short as you fell face-first into the water. Fortunately, he hadn’t thrown you too far into the deep end, and just as you found your footing, a massive wave crashed over you, sweeping you back toward the shore. You could hear the others laugh while you were recovering from the wave knocking you down. Before you were able to regroup with the others on the shore Morgan dragged you into whatever game she was playing with the others and as much as you wanted to kick Bruce’s ass, but were too distracted by whatever game you were being dragged into.

When the sun began to set, Morgan finally set you free. Thor had set up a small bonfire for everyone to gather around. He assisted Pepper in cooking hotdogs and hamburgers over the fire accompanied with some mead that Thor had brought. Maria and Dr.Lee passed around this coconut drink for those who couldn’t handle mead. You sat next to Nat who moved her seat a bit further away from the rest of the group.

“You’ve fought off some of Earth’s greatest enemies, yet are tiered out by a child.” She failed to hide her laughter. She stopped laughing when she turned to look at your condition. You were covered in sand, your hair was very disheveled, and there were dark lines underneath your eyes.

“Would you mind if we headed back to the house?”

Before sitting down you had begun to feel nauseous and the moment you sat down you felt a wave of exhaustion hit you. Maybe it was the spiked coconut drink mixed with the hours of sun, the stress of a proposal, or the sand when you were ready to go to bed. You held onto Nat for balance as the two of you left the beach. Some of your teammates are throwing a mischievous smile your way. You concluded that you hated sand. It makes your skin and hair dry, as well as rubbing in the wrong places under your beach attire. Thankfully Nat helped you out of your outfit while you waited for the bath water to warm. You noticed a difference between the skin that was hidden under your clothes. Once the bath salts dissolved the room began to smell like lilac. Your body melted the moment you were submerged in the water.

Nat sat on the side of the bath and started to wash your hair. You started to fall asleep while her fingers scrubbed the shampoo in your hair, causing you to lean more towards the side.

“I may need to get checked by the doctor eventually. I shouldn’t be this wiped out.” The serum in your body usually does a good job of keeping you healthy at all times.

“I think you just need a good night's sleep.” You started to doze off and the last thing you remember you were being dried off and being tucked into bed. You pleaded with her to return the gesture and help her relax before bed and she reassured you she would be alright. Once you were under the sheets you immediately fell asleep. Nat eventually joined you in bed, wrapping her arms tightly around you.

~~~

You awoke to a gentle light illuminating the room, turning your head to see the clock read 6 am. Vacation or not you knew people would be waking up soon. Luckily Nat was a heavy sleeper so slipping out of bed was easy. You tried to make breakfast, t r i e d. Your mind was a bit preoccupied with the lingering thoughts of marriage. Two nearly burned eggs, untoasted bread, and a few burn marks later you heard footsteps approaching. A bush of embarrassment began to trace your face.

“Soooooo, how’s my favorite birdie doing…making the future wife breakfast in bed I see.” Tony walked right past the mess and started to brew coffee.

“Not you too.” You searched the cabarets for utensils and a tray to carry everything on.

“Aaaa you’re having a wedding!” Morgan gasped and quickly ran over to you.

“Calm down sweetie, let the grownups wake up first.” Pepper followed suit and started searching the cabinets for plates as well.

You knelt to Morgan’s height, “I haven’t asked your aunt Nat anything yet so please keep this to yourself. You wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise now.” Pepper handed her daughter some plates and utensils to help set the table.

“I’m glad to see my baby bird leave the nest.” Tony turned you around to meet his level, even though he was the taller one.

“Since when was I ever in the nest?” You could feel your mind becoming more distracted by bird facts instead of the more important topic on hand. “I think I understand what you are trying to say.”

“First a social life, then a girlfriend, now a possible fiancé. It feels like yesterday we rescued you from HYDRA.” Pepper smacked him upside the head with a towel for the last comment.

“I’m sorry, possible.” You gesture with air quotes. Another worry to add to the pile.

“Hey hey, I see those gears turning. I’ll just take my coffee and go work on something.” Tony made a quick exit, leaving you with Pepper and Morgan.

“It’s alright to feel nervous, it’s a big step forward. I’m sure she’ll say yes. Also, you don’t need any grand gestures, it’s best to be honest and speak from the heart.” It wasn’t like you were planning on anything big anyway.

“You make Aunty Natty very happy, I know she’ll say yes.”

“I appreciate it guys. Now if you don’t mind. I need to go patch up my hands and…” you looked at the pathetic attempt at food you made, “get this upstairs.”

Feeling nervous means behind all that doubt, a strong part of you wants it. Right?

—

You quietly entered the shared room and found Nat stretching in bed. “Morning. I’m sorry the breakfast is not up to standards. I didn’t know how to use the toaster so I used the burner then my hands…” You set the tray aside on the bedside table and revealed your injured hands to her. A few blisters were beginning to form.

“And no one was in the kitchen to witness this?” The two of you made your way to the bathroom, Nat placed some clear gel on your blisters and warped a bandage over them. You sat on the countertop while she patched you up.

“Tony, Pepper, and Morgan walked in after the whole thing. She offered to help but I didn’t want to embarrass myself any further.” You were staring a bit too long, her tangled hair and loose pajamas caused your heart to race. Ever since the battle with Thanos, she’s been more relaxed now that there’s been a new team of heroes to take care of the world as well.

She appears much happier and healthier now. The stress from those five years had affected her both mentally and physically. Her hair is now fuller and more noticeable than ever, and she has chosen to keep it just below her shoulders. Maintaining proper sleep and a balanced diet was challenging at first, but over time, she came to understand their importance.

“You’re staring again.” You tried to turn your blushing face away but before you could she stopped you by placing a hand over your cheek. She gently rubbed over the scars by your mouth, your head nestling on her. “What’s been on your mind, I’ve noticed you have been spacing out more than usual.”

“The change in scenery has got me thinking. When I was still with HYDRA, I never thought I’d see the sun. Let alone find people who want me around for more than my skills. I thought I’d be alone until the day I die, like…” Your sobs cut off before you mentioned your sister's name, and guilt washed over. “I’m sorry. Does the guilt ever… go away?” Looking in the mirror became easier but every once in a while, you’d feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. Especially since you’ve let your hair grow out, you were sort of glad the scars would never completely fade.

“Take a deep breath with me.” The two of you closed your eyes and began the breathing technique Dr.Lee walked through with you. Your right hand fell onto hers which was still placed over your cheek and the other traced the marble countertop underneath you. Nat leaned in, her head resting on your chest and her shampoo filling your scent. Her hair was soft beneath your chin. She wrapped her free arm around your waist, pulling you in tightly while you calmed down. “You’ve escaped. You are no longer in that place.” she quietly repeated.

“Thanks.” was all you could say, your head resting on top of hers. After you both calmed down, you suggested finding a place for breakfast, admitting that she deserved better than your sad attempt at cooking earlier.

~~~~

You both spent the rest of the day exploring the local town and enjoying some more satisfying food. She was dressed in an adorable strawberry-red summer dress, featuring a pleated neckline that fell gracefully just above mid-thigh. Today, she had let her hair fall naturally, adding to the effortless charm of her outfit. You opted for a more understated look, wearing a simple navy button-up shirt adorned with sailboats, tucked neatly into a pair of black shorts.

You felt anxious about being in a public space, but thankfully, Nat was there to keep you steady. keep you grounded. As you ventured out, a few derogatory comments were hurled in Nat’s direction. You tried to brush them off and act like they didn’t affect you, even though inside you were seething. You wanted nothing more than to retaliate, to drive your sword into the spine of the man who had practically called you ugly. The insecurity gnawed at you, making you question if you were truly good enough for Nat. The idea of marrying her now feels like a cruel joke, something that could never actually come to pass. The emptiness in your stomach returned with a vengeance, an unsettling reminder of your self-doubt. Thankfully the situation took a turn for the better once Steve and Bucky approached you guys. You weren't able to ignore this lingering, snide remark about how Nat was with one of your friends instead of you, coming off as if they had gotten things wrong. Despite their departure, the sting of their words remained, casting a shadow over your day.

The two pulled you off to the side for a moment. “So Wanda and the doc filled us in on everything.” They both trapped you between them, an arm wrapped around each shoulder. “So for the wedding, can we be the flower guys?”

“Bucky, that isn’t why we pulled them aside.”

“Listen, Stevie, Tony didn’t include us, neither did Wanda nor Maria.”

“Ok is that all you guys wanted to talk about? Because I don’t know if that’s up to me.”

“No that’s not the reason, Buck. We just wanted to say we’re proud of you. I know we had a rough start but you have impressed me these last few years. On a related note, there’s this jewelry store down the block where you both can make custom rings together. Wanda mentioned you were having trouble picking one out.” The two left, off to do who knows what.

There was still an emptiness in your gut, when Nat placed a hand on your shoulder you ignored that feeling and focused all attention on her. The two of you continued to walk the streets hand in hand. A few hours of shopping later you gained enough courage to ask Nat to check out the jewelry store the guys recommended. The shop was run by a nice elderly couple who were more than happy to help you create a set of rings. You both explored a range of metals and finishes before making your choices, opting to engrave the date of your first date inside both rings. Nat decided on a delicate, thin circular band in rose gold with a polished finish, which beautifully highlighted its elegant simplicity. In contrast, you selected a slightly thicker tungsten band with a satin finish, giving it a more understated yet durable appeal.

Nat chatted away with the couple while you sat silently, which wasn’t uncommon. You were horrible at making small talk, as much as you like to think you have improved over the past few years. The normal topic about how the two of you met came up and from then on Nat told them an abridged version. She left out the part about the two of you working as “superheroes” and the fact that your job has nearly killed both of you. Instead of listening to the conversation, you found yourself watching Nat. Speaking so openly and freely about something she felt so deeply about, she was mesmerizing.

“And that’s how we ended up here, it’s sort of a spur-in-the-moment vacation. Although I am glad we were able to take a break, sometimes planning can be so time-consuming especially when our schedules keep us very busy.”

“You two seem like such a lovely pair, I’m so happy to have shared this moment with you two. Alright, the polish has been set, try them on.”

Both of you were given the other's rings, you slid the newly crafted rose gold band around Nat’s finger. Markings of old blisters, cuts, and burns scattered all over her hands from her years of battle. Her nails and the skin around her finally healed after the stress she was under during the 5-year blip. Her breath paused for a moment when you slid the band on her finger as if she was holding back a wave of emotion.

After setting the ring you placed a gentle kiss on her hand, your thumb running over the smooth ring. You weren’t sure how either of you kept your composure, she repeated your actions after placing your ring on. The moment was broken the moment another customer walked in, the bell knocking you out of your trance and back to reality. That worrying pit surfacing again.

“Natasha, won’t you be a dear and help an old woman out with this order?” The elderly woman led Nat to the back.

“I can see the gears turning.” The older man leaned on the counter, standing just a few feet away from your face. “The more you overthink, the more you are prolonging the question. I will not charge you anything if you pop the question tonight.”

“I…” His request felt so sudden, was it really that obvious? If so then there is no way Nat has no idea what is going on in your mind. If so then why hasn’t she brought it up?

“She’s waiting for you, just open up to her and be honest. You’ll feel much better in the end.” His words lingered in your mind far longer than you wished.

~~~

Sometime while the sun was setting on the ocean the two of you were walking along the shoreline. The two of you hadn’t spoken since leaving the jewelry shop an hour ago. While some might find it unusual that you could spend an entire date with so little conversation, it spoke volumes about the deep connection you shared. It was a testament to the comfort and understanding between you, where words weren’t always necessary to feel close. One you had never experienced with another except for…

“So are you finally going to tell me what’s been on your mind the past few weeks? This isn’t your normal silence.” Both of you stopped walking and you turned to face Nat. There was no way you’d be able to hide from her any longer. You had grown tired of patience and dodging the question wasn’t helping you.

“I-” You were cut off by her phone ringing.

“Who is bothering me right now…” She took her phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen. Before she was able to decline or answer you snatched the phone from her hand. Not bothering to look at who was calling, and declined the call, she didn’t even look fazed by the action. Her eyes widened in surprise while suppressing the urge to laugh at the annoyed look on your face.

“There has been something else on my mind.” you took both her hands in yours, squeezing them. “It’s something Wanda and the doc have been pestering me about.” Your eyes fell to the ground, a wave sinking the two of you into the sand. All of a sudden you became irritated just standing still, your hands began to shake and your legs began to twitch. Nat opened her mouth to say something but let you continue. You found yourself using your thumbs to trace the back of her hands. “Umm. Marriage. So is that something- Would you like that- Umm.” What are you saying?! You quickly dropped your hands and took a step back from her, nervously tugging at the hair at the nape of your neck. “Marry me? Ahh, wait umm. Would you..” before you could dig a bigger hole for yourself Nat threw her arms around you, almost tackling you to the ground.

Once she gained her footing she pulled you in for a kiss, your hands resting on her waist while hers rested on your face. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me.” She cut you off before you could ask. “I’m a spy, there’s nothing you can hide from me. Plus Wanda isn’t the best at keeping secrets, she isn’t the quietest whisperer. And of course, I’ll marry you, detka.” Your foreheads resting on top of one another.

The tears in your eyes finally began to fall, in happiness of course. For each one that fell she kissed it away.

“I never thought I’d get here. After all the accomplishments and hardships. All of the sacrifices we made to get here.” You balled your right hand into a fist and made a circle gesture around your heart. “There is no one I’d rather walk forward with.” You took your hand and placed it over your beating heart.

“Do we really need to return to the condo tonight, I’d rather just stay here with you.”

“Speaking of the others, you know Steve and Bucky want to be flower pals right.” the two of you started to laugh at the thought of the guys throwing flowers down the aisle.

“As much as I want to see that, I think I’d prefer we do something small and leave the reception for all of our friends.” She kissed you again and you weren't complaining. “Don’t think you need to make yourself uncomfortable with a big ceremony just because I want one. Besides, I’m sure there is a place to get married right here if you want” She whispered that last part in your ear.

“Oh, thank the gods! I was so focused on the ring and asking you that I completely forgot there was a ceremony. And for the wedding, I’ll make sure to present you with a more traditional ring.”

“Hmmm. I don’t need a flashy ring, this one is so unique.” Your face was definitely flushed from all the kisses she showered on you.

“Yes, but I have the past three months researching, hand mining, and polishing many jewels, as well as burning my hands trying to bend metal. Plus I know you’d love nothing more than to flaunt a shiny new wedding ring to all the other women and men in the tower. Speaking of flaunting…” You craned your head to the side and shouted, “You guys can come out!” to the group who hid poorly behind a lifeguard stand.

Nat knelt down to scoop an energized Morgan into her arms, “I’m so excited for you, Aunty Natty can I see the ring?” The two of you showed the team the rings you two crafted just a few hours ago.

“Quite the craftsmanship, I’m impressed,” Thor commented. “The boy is finally becoming a man, or in your case… Bruce help me out here.”

“I’m happy for you guys. Really. I know things have been a bit awkward but the two of you make a great pair.” It was nice to see Bruce not act so cold towards you.

“You're going to look so gorgeous, I can give you the address of the store I went to!”

“So did you ask her about it?” Bucky didn’t finish his sentence because Steve pulled him away.

“A shame I missed out on all the fun.” Tony held his phone to Nat, Clint and his family were on the other line.

The crowd began to overwhelm you, causing your mind to drift. Thankfully, Nat noticed and announced that the two of you were calling it a night. The sense of emptiness you once felt was now filled with love, not only from Nat but from your entire team as well. You found yourself awake long after Nat had fallen asleep, nestled comfortably against your chest. As you lay there, listening to the gentle crash of the waves on the shore and breathing in the calming scent of strawberries, a deep sense of happiness washed over you.

Taglist: @rosea-reginae

#natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff fic #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha x you

16 notes · View notes

uarmymoonlight · 1 year ago

Text

“Thus with a kiss, I die.” - William Shakespeare (pt. 2)

pairing: vampire hunter!jk X vampire!reader

genre: fantasy!au, historical!au, forbidden/secret relationship!au, angst, smut

warnings: mentions of murder/death, mentions of lashing

summary: as the Easter Sunday’s festivities begin, jungkook can no longer delay the inevitable. with his parents’ deaths weighing his heart down and the locket you gave him weighing on his neck, he’s about to find out if blood really is thicker than water.

author’s note: hi, sorry for the delay, i know it takes me very long to come out with all the parts. so i decided to make them shorter so i can post them earlier. i definitely have a 3rd part fully planned and maybe, depending on how the fic is received, a 4rth part - that now is just a vague idea in my mind. comments are always appreciated!

words: +2.7k

taglist: @luaspersona @cuntessaiii @kookpeas

part 1 || main masterlist

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

When he was 8 years old, since he was too young to properly hunt for food, Jungkook was only taught how to make an animal trap. Despite his best efforts, he could never make it right. Jungkook failed.

When he was 12, both Jimin and Namjoon tried to teach him how to use a bow and an arrow. But even after months of practicing, his aim was terrible. He couldn’t do it. Jungkook failed.

At 15, Jungkook was tasked with putting down his injured horse. And, even though he knew the animal would die anyway, he walked away from it and begged Namjoon to do the mercy-kill instead. Jungkook failed.

Four years later, at what would’ve been his first mission - an ambush for a raucous vampire - Jungkook got so anxious about it that he threw up for hours. Namjoon took Jungkook out of the mission. He failed again.

Now, he has another fail to add to his life, because no matter how many times he hears your explanation, he simply cannot skip a damned rock. The awful thing only sinks with a loud splash.

“I told you to flick your wrist, Jungkook”, you say laughing at him.

“But I did! I flicked it!” His defense is met with more laughter from you.

Unsurprisingly, Jungkook’s managed to convince you to go on a little escapade with him again. This time he took advantage of the fact you were already out with your maid at a trade fair near the city limits. All he had to do was take your hand and tell you to run. You were very cooperative. In no time, you two got lost in the crowd, leaving your poor, frantic maid behind.

Jungkook lead you out of the city, down the river and towards the forest. You stopped when you finally reached your usual place: an area where the river is larger and calmer, forming a small lake. Although not exactly a secret place, as anyone who followed the river could reach it, the fact that the next closest and bigger city was in the opposite direction allowed this little area to remain almost forgotten. Except, of course, for those looking for a little privacy. And privacy is exactly what Jungkook needs if he’s going to get any information out of you.

“There’s a difference between flicking and turning, darling”, you tell him.

And he knows he shouldn’t think so, but you look absolutely stunning right now. Your once pretty dress is now ruined with mud all over the hem and some on your sleeves too. But what’s really killing him is how the wet light fabric clings to your skin, letting him see your curves very clearly. A few drops of water drip down your face past your beautiful lips, down your collarbones and dip into your cleavage. It’s really a test for him to not keep following that drop of water with his eyes. With his lips.

God, he needs you to be as far away from him as possible.

“Maybe I need more attentive lessons, my lady. It’s very hard to properly understand the movement with you so far away.”

Damn. He tried.

You come to his side, smiling just as bright as the sun above your heads. Your giggles blending with the lively sounds of the forest.

“More attentive lessons, you say?”

You position yourself behind him and Jungkook feels you pressing yourself against his back. Your left arm hugging his waist while your right hand caresses him from his upper arm down to his hand, where you place another flat rock. With your chin on his shoulder, lips brushing his ear you tell him:

“Shall we try again?”

Jungkook lets out a breath, he feels shivers down his spine and almost rolls his eyes out of pleasure. You really are going to kill him.

He lets out a breathy “yes” and you begin pulling his arm back, putting a little bit of pressure on his wrist. Jungkook follows along and lets you move his body. When you swing his arm forward, you flick your wrist and he lets go of the rock. It skips twice before sinking in the water.

“Huh”, Jungkook smiles a little.

“See? You did it!”

“You did it, love.”

Jungkook turns around to face you, but makes no further effort to pull away your two bodies or remove your arm from his waist.

“We did it, then”, you say firmly and he relents. Because he always does it with you. Especially when you are like this, chest to chest and noses brushing against each others’ in a slow caress. He could almost swear he even feels your own breath tickling his mouth, despite him knowing it’s probably only his own or maybe the wind. Jungkook tries not to think about it too much, but he knows it must be a weakness of his that he simply doesn’t care to figure out if it really is the wind he’s feeling. Not now. But, well, that’s his mission, isn’t it? Getting close to you, getting you to trust him. He can’t do that properly if he’s interrogating you if you’re breathing or not.

Yes, Jungkook tells himself, it’s not a weakness. It’s focusing on what needs to be done. Besides, hadn’t Namjoon told him exactly that? Hunters focus on the mission, they focus on what’s in front of them. Right now, you are in front of him, batting your beautiful eyes. “It was a joint effort, both of us, together.”

“It was”, Jungkook holds your waist “You know, my lady, seeing how successful this endeavor was, perhaps we should look for more activities to do together.” You give him a bright smile and Jungkook sees your eyes twinkle with mischievousness.

“I believe we should. But, oh, poor me, I can’t seem to think of any act other than skipping rocks that would have us joined as we are now.”

Your coyness rips a laugh from him.

“Hm, I suppose such acts aren’t part of your proper upper class lessons, huh?”

“They aren’t. Would you be kind enough to show me these kinds of acts, sir?”

Jungkook nearly moans. He loves it when you talk like that, loves the way you’re always so ready to give him whatever he asks of you. You lift your chin slightly, lips pouting and your batting eyes glimpse at his mouth, he leans towards you and gives you a sweet kiss, tasting the berries the two of you shared earlier on your lips. When he slightly pulls away, you let out a whiny moan that has Jungkook smirking.

In response, he holds your face in his hands and angles your head, giving him a better position to kiss you more deeply. The hand you still have on his waist slides down and squeezes his ass, and Jungkook’s hip presses against your body, resulting in a moan from both of you.

More. Jungkook wants more. No, he needs more. He unceremoniously entangles his hand into your silky soft hair, he pulls strands of it out of your careful updo until he has a fistful of hair. When Jungkook yanks it back, your head goes backwards with it and you let out a lustful hiss that goes straight to his hardening dick and sends shivers down his spine.

In his eyes, you’re always beautiful, but Jungkook thinks you look even more so like this - head thrown back, unfocused eyes heavy with desire, messy hair, and, most of all, that mouth of yours open just begging to be shut up by his own.

“Jungkook”, you moan.

Oh, he loves that too, your breathy moanings of his name. That might be his favorite thing of it all, in fact.

“Proper ladies should always speak clearly if they want to have their desires heard”, he teases.

After swallowing hard, you gather yourself together enough to bite back. “Proper gentlemen should never point out a lady’s lack of etiquette.” Jungkook smiles “They should never deny a lady of what her heart desires most either.”

“Then tell me, my lady, what is it that your heart desires most at the moment?”

You bite your lower lip for a second, before looking behind him. Your lips form a deliciously wicked smile and your hands grab the hem of his shirt.

“Do you know how to swim?”

One quick lustful glance at you and Jungkook doesn’t even bother vocalizing an answer. He reaches for the back of your dress, eager and ready to rip this cage off your beautiful body when a sound of ruffling leaves and heavy feet break through. On instinct, Jungkook pushes himself away from you, who lets out a surprised gasp. The silver dagger Jungkook keeps hidden on his back appears in his hand as he positions his body between you and the sound, assuming a defensive stance. His mind is now far gone from the lewd acts you’d implied and, instead, countless hours of Namjoon’s teachings go through it in a rapid sequence.

A big gray wolf jumps over a fallen trunk, landing mere feet away from you and Jungkook curses himself. Had he not been so…preoccupied with you, he would’ve heard and seen the wolf from further away, keeping it from getting so close.

The beast stands still, looking at the both of you. After a moment, it quietly begins to walk around you keeping its distance.

Jungkook means to move towards the wolf, dagger in hand.

“No”, you put your hand over his.

“Y/N, it’s a wolf.”

“It’s not doing anything.”

True. The beast makes no move to come closer. It doesn’t even assume an aggressive stance. Seems more like it’s analyzing what’s in front of it, and Jungkook thinks it’s not very different from what he himself is doing. Both thinking of the risks between attacking first or letting your opponent choose for you. Strike first, strike hard, strike true. Namjoon’s words ring in his mind. Still, Jungkook doesn't move. And he can’t help but feel like he’s at the edge of another failure.

“It’s a wolf” he repeats “It could kill us tomorrow or as soon as we turn our backs.”

“Then you can defend yourself tomorrow or when we turn our backs.” You force his hand to lower the dagger. And he has half a mind to note that, had you been any other girl, his hand wouldn’t budge. Any other girl wouldn’t be strong enough.

The lowered dagger seems to be enough of a sign to the wolf that neither of you will do it harm. The beast grunts at something still behind the trees and a baby cub emerges to join at its side. Wolf and cub pass you and begin swimming across the lake.

You leave your position behind Jungkook to tell him “Even predators have families.”

When he looks at you, he doesn’t really know how to act. He’s seen you look at him with happiness, michievousness, coyness - fake and real -, but this look…he doesn’t know what to make of it, only that he doesn’t like it. He glances again at the lake, and Jungkook knows that whatever thoughts either of you had concerning that lake are long gone now.

Silence falls between you while Jungkook makes a point to not look your way. From his peripheral vision, he sees you opening your mouth. Whatever it was you were going to say, he’ll never know. Because before you can say it, another voice breaks through the woods. And it’s not lost on Jungkook that that would be the second time today he doesn’t notice something approaching because he’s too stuck thinking of you.

“You cannot imagine my relief to see I am not an unwilling witness of an improper act.”

You two turn to see a man standing among the trees, clearly coming from the town. The man is beautiful, his fair skin being gently touched by sun beams, his raven hair framing his ethereal face like a curtain of shadows. Clad in fine black garments decorated with gold and wearing recently-greased black boots. The appearance of a man who has never worked the land, and never will. His feline eyes righ with a weight that only comes with age, age far greater than what he appears to be. The man exudes grace and refinement, an alluring aura coming off him that Jungkook’s only experienced once before. With you. He needs no more information to deduce who this man is. Your family.

“Yoongi”, you say.

Yoongi. Ah, Jungkook knows this name. He recalls the information he’s gathered about him. A musical prodigy whose rumors tell was orphaned when he was a teenager. Since then, he’s been living with your family and all of you have been profiting off his gifts. You’ve been to several cities, going to wherever Yoongi’s most recent and generous patrons comission him to go.

“I believe Seokjin will be equally happy to find that out”, he steps closer to you “Though, if that happiness will quench his desperation to learn from your maid that you had been, seemingly, kidnapped “ Jungkook sees you shrink with the scolding “remains to be seen.”

Seokjin. One more name. Your older brother, head of your family. A sharp mind that has managed to triplicate whatever money Yoongi got for his talent.

Yoongi continues “If it’s any of your concern, Mina was frantic. The poor girl nearly threw up. She seemed to think she’d be lashed for allowing her lady to disappear while in her care, as it was custom in some of these parts.”

At that, your eyes widen “Yoongi, we didn’t mean to…”

“Please, we’re well aware there’s no need to waste my time…or your breath, cousin, with your explanations. Not when I’m not the one you need to convince.”

A tense silence settles between you all.

“So, she wasn't, then?” It’s Jungkook who first breaks it. Yoongi turns to him with the same expressionless face he’s been keeping the whole interaction. “Lashed, I mean. The maid.”

The man’s face betrays no emotion. “I suppose you’ll see for yourself.” Jungkook can only frown as Yoongi continues “My cousin, Lord Kim, has the pleasure to host you for a lovely feast tonight at his estate. Follow me.” The last phrase an order, not a request. Just as the invitation for dinner was an order, too.

Dinner. At your house. With your family. Your vampire family. Jungkook decides not to ask about the menu. As Yoongi said, he’ll see for himself.

#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #jungkook you #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook vampire #bts x reader #bts fic #bts vampire au #thus with a kiss #my writing #bts #twakid #thus with a kiss i die

76 notes · View notes

andydrysdalerogers · 1 year ago

Text

Yours Submissively ~ Devious

Steve Rogers X OFC Isabella Davis

Summary: Five Years after the events of Civil War, Steve Rogers has moved on from avenging and has started his own business, Grant Inc. He has a secret that would turn his world upside down. And he's good at keep that secret. Until he meets the woman with violet eyes that could bring him to his knees. Now his mission is to make her, his. But she is the key that could bring the world into balance... or chaos.

And she has no idea.

Series Warnings: slow burn at the beginning, smut, angst, sexual themes of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, kidnapping, loss of virginity, (and a bunch of others that will come up)

A/N: the taglist is open! Only six episodes left!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Banners by me!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Incinta

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Ring!

“Hello?”

“Hi Sharon, its Steve.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah, sorry to call. I just needed someone to talk to.”

“Oh, is there a problem?”

Steve sighed. “Belle left. She found out I was lying to her and she left.”

“What about Bucky?”

“He left as well. Something about being on her side. Haven’t heard from him.”

“I’m so sorry Steve. What can I do?”

“Can we meet? I just need a friend.”

“Of course. The club? Ten PM?”

“I’ll be there Sharon. And thank you. I know we left it on bad terms.”

“Its ok. I know it wasn’t you. See you in a few hours.”

“Bye Sharon.”

“Bye Steve.” Sharon hung up and turned to a sobbing and gagged Belle. “I knew he would come back to me. He always does.” She does a little dance and spin.

Belle thrashed in her chair, screaming against the gag. She couldn’t believe what she heard. Her Steve wouldn’t leave her like this. The tears streamed down her face.

“We’re ready for her to be examined.” Beck came in to see Belle a mess of tears. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing, just had a call she didn’t like,” Sharon smirked.

“Oh,” Beck feigned interest, “from who?” The couple cackled at Belle’s sobs. “Get over it sweetheart,” Beck snarled. “We have some test to conduct to make sure you are at top notch condition. I’m gonna make sure that you make as many heirs as possible for HYDRA.” He lowered his face to look her straight in the eye. “I’ve always wanted a big family,” he whispered to her. Belle thrashed as two goons came to carry her out to the exam room.

“I need to meet with Steve in a couple of hours. You good here?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Beck turned away from her.

“What is up your ass?”

“The fact that you just want to move on from me to Rogers.”

“Listen baby, the only way this plan works is if I get close enough to Steve that we can slip him the poison. We get the Avengers focused on saving his life, then we can do with Belle whatever we want. Baby, you know I’m yours.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. He grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her harder, shoving his tongue in her mouth.

“Got it,” Bucky smirked as Steve hung up. “They are utterly moronic. They are in an old HYDRA base, 20 miles north. I know it well.”

“Ok then we go,” Steve stood up.

“We have to think about this,” Sam says.

“NO! We are talking about my family. My wife, my baby!”

“We get that Steve,” Nat says rubbing his arms. “We are going to get them back. But if we just barrel in there, they could kill us or worse, her. Let’s just plan it out.”

Bucky pulled the blueprints up. “The base only has one level above ground. When HYDRA fell, it had been abandoned, I checked. However, I just checked local police and there have been reports of activity on the property. When checked, nothing is there, which tells me that they are working strictly underground.”

“If they are underground then how was I able to connect to Sharon?” Steve asked.

“That tells me that they are only one level down, which is good for us.” Bucky tapped the screen. “There is a secondary entrance that does directly to the second level of the bunker. Right below where they would be. That’s where I suggest we enter. Should be fairly easy to infiltrate and extract.”

“The tests they are going to want to run for fertility take three hours to run once it hits the machine,” Bruce explained. “That’s our time frame.”

“What if they do a standard pregnancy test?” Natasha asked.

“Let’s hope they are stupid enough to skip it,” Tony grimaced.

Steve looked at his team, his family. “Three minutes, get what you need.”

Belle kept trying to move her arm to stop the doctor from drawing blood. He could see Beck’s jaw tick with frustration. “Stop moving, you brat!” He reached over and slapped her. He grabbed her chin. “This is going to happen so unless you want the needle to go straight through your arm, stop moving.”

Belle cried as they held her arm down to take what felt like two pints of blood. “It should take a few hours Dr. Beck.”

“Good, once we have the results, then the seduction can begin,” he commented.

As the team headed to the jet, Steve stopped. “Shit, what about Sharon?”

“I will take care of it, Captain,” Vision said. He transformed his body into Steve’s.

“Ok, that’s weird,” Sam said.

Steve stared at himself. “Uh, ok. The club is in Manhattan, corner of 3rd and 73rd. House number is 373. The password to get in is Gemini.” Vision nodded and made his way out. “Vision, you understand that…”

“I must be rude about Miss Belle, yes I know. Please know that while I am not comfortable with lying, I will do this to protect your family. If you listen on comms, it is merely a ruse.”

“Thank you, Vision.” Steve watched the android fly out of the tower. He looked at the team. “This is gonna work right?”

Tony looked at him with concern. “Of course,” without sounding confident.

“Great.”

Quinten Beck couldn’t believe the luck he was having. He found the HYDRA heir, putting into place a decade worth of research and longing to create a new Hydra. He had an hour to go before the results would be completed. All he wanted was to avenge his family. The battle of New York took everything from him. His whole family had been visiting the city when the aliens descended. He survived by luck alone. He had been in the store, buying something for his sister when a piece of building landed outside. It took days to recover the bodies of his parents, sister and fiancé.

At first, Beck threw himself into work, trying to find ways to control incoming threats. But Stark refused, saying that Stark Industries no longer created weapons. Beck didn’t make a weapon but a way to stop incoming threats. He was fired, throwing him into a tailspin. He did research on the side as he worked menial jobs to keep afloat. Until he was able to create a false identity and get in with AIM.

Beck snorted to himself at the thought. Aldridge Killian was an arrogant piece of shit, but his work led Beck to finish his work. Now, if he held all the cards, the heirs of HYDRA, he could be unchallenged. He could control the world.

He walked down to the cell holding the princess of HYDRA, the beautiful Isabella. She was huddled in the corner, tear tracks down her cheeks, her violet eyes ringed in red. When Beck entered, she curled up more, trying to protect herself. He kneeled next to her. “You know princess, your husband is the main reason you are here. I would have been found but it just makes it sweeter to take what’s his.”

“Don’t call me princess,” Belle whispered.

“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want. You know maybe I want a taste of what I have stolen.” He licked his lips. “See why the Captain chose you.” He pushed her down on the bed and lifted the gown to expose her to him. His fingers dipped below her panties and swiped roughly at her slit. Belle screamed at the touch, so foreign to her. Beck brought his fingers to his lips, rolling his eyes and moaning. “So delicious. I’ll be back princess.”

The team landed half a mile from the bunker to avoid alerting anyone of their approach. Steve placed the shield on his back but kept his helmet off. He wanted Beck to see him when he tore him apart. How dare this man put his hands on his wife, his baby. He clenched his fist as Bucky took over to assign the teams.

“Sam, you and Nat go to the front. Make sure no one escapes that way. Tony, Wanda, you will be back up to us. Steve, you, me, Peter and Clint will go in together and split up to sweep. After the entrance, it splits two ways. Peter Clint, take the right and we’ll go right. Then we can head up the stairs to the level where Belle is at. Once we clear the second, Tony, Wanda, head on it.”

“Take down anyone you meet,” Steve instructed. “Except for Beck.”

“Cap, maybe…” Sam started.

“He’s mine,” Steve continued, ignoring Sam. “If you find Belle, get her out, no matter what.”

Bucky nodded. “Let’s move out.” He let Steve walk out and stopped Sam. “I’ll watch him. I won’t let him lose himself.” Sam nodded as he followed his wife.

The team enter with precision, sweeping the second floor, confirming it was empty as Bucky had predicted. “Cap, I’m sensing someone coming down the stairs,” Peter said over the comms.

“Ok, Peter, Clint, hang back and have cover. Buck, right side,” Steve whispered into the comms. They took positions just as they heard footsteps on the stairs. Two HYDRA agents rounded the corner, chatting. Bucky grabbed on into a choke hold while Steve slammed his shield into another, knocking both out. Peter webbed them to a pole and the team moved up the stairs.

Bucky flipped on his infrared on his rifle. “I see three on the first room on the right, two on the left. There are only five rooms on this floor.”

“Ok, Stark, Wanda, have you entered?”

“Just entering the second floor now,” Tony responded.

“Ok, we wait for backup,” Steve says. He knows. He knows he needs help to get to his wife no matter how anxious he is to get to her. They needed to get to her alive and unharmed and charging into this battle would be detrimental to her safety. As he waits for backup his mind drifted to a conversation he had with her when they were getting to know each other so long ago.

“The world is safe again. They don’t need Captain America. So, I moved to business. I was good in school with numbers. And people.” “Would you?” “Would I what?” “Pick up the shield again?” “Only if I needed to.” “Like?” “To save someone I love.” Belle chewed on her pita to contemplate that. “So not to save the world?” “Is my loved one there?” “I guess so.” “Then I guess I would save the world. Again.”

He lifted the shield and placed it back on his back. He would do anything to save her, and it meant saving the world. Tony and Wanda appeared behind them and the six of them looked into the hallway. “One team, one door,” Steve instructed.

They cleared four rooms quickly, when Steve heard a blood-curling scream from the last door. It took Clint, Tony and Bucky to hold Steve back from rushing into the room. “Wanda,” Bucky said, “form a shield. Tony, Clint, if you get a clean shot, fire. Peter, be ready to web up any escaping enemy. Steve, look at me.” Steve turned his face to his best friend. “Our priority is to get to Belle. This is the biggest room. She’ll probably be in the back. Ready?”

Steve nodded and put his shield in front of them. “Bucky?”

“We have this punk. We are going to get them back.”

Them.

His wife and his baby.

Wanda put her shield up and used her magic to open the door. Shots began to hit the shield as Tony flew in and fired at the HYDRA agents. A couple stumbled out as Clint disarmed them. After a minute, the shooting stopped and Steve entered, Bucky right behind. As an agent appeared, they were taken down. As smoke cleared, Steve saw her. Her violet eyes red rimmed, a hand on her throat. She gasped when she saw him, but the hand tightened, making her whimper.

“God, I love that sound,” Beck taunted. “Does she make that noise for you Captain? Bet I can make her do them louder and more often.”

Steve clenched his fist and jaw. “Let her go.”

“See, I can’t do that,” Beck shook his head. “I need her to build the HYDRA empire. Just needed 15 more minutes for all the results. I guess now, either you can watch her die or she can watch while I torture and kill you.”

“Would you really injure a woman who is pregnant?” Steve asked. He watched as Belle’s eyes widen. She thought back to her visit with Bruce. She thought it was just a bug, but Bruce wanted to make sure it wasn’t any side effects from her attempted kidnapping. She didn’t dream that she would be pregnant.

Beck’s eyes flamed with rage. “No, Sharon would have told me if you… the test will confirm…”

“You did a blood test but not a urine test,” Belle whispered. Beck grabbed her throat tighter, and Steve took a small step forward.

“Watch what you do Captain. I have no problem tearing her throat out. Sharon said you were waiting to have a family.” Beck snorted. “Knew I should have killed that bitch. She said you told her you were waiting for a family.”

It was Steve’s turn to snort. “I knew she had been spying. Glad all that false information she got from Devon was worth it.” Steve looked at his girl and smiled. “I knew she was up to something, my love.”

“God, I’m going to throw up,” Beck sneered. He drew his weapon and pressed the barrel against Belle’s temple. “You have two options Captain. Walk away, let me raise your baby to be the head of HYDRA or I kill your girl, your child and then you two.” He cocked the gun. “What do you say?”

“Neither of those things are going to happen,” Bucky growled. “Sweetheart, quando te lo dico, fai la cosa.”

Steve looked confused until he saw the resolve on Belle’s face. “Everything is going to be ok, sweet pea. I’m going to take you home, ok?”

“I love you, amore mio.”

“I love you, sweet pea.”

“Now!”

Belle rammed her elbow into Beck, causing him to loosen his hold on her and dropping the gun, setting it off. She pushed away from him and towards Steve as Steve threw his shield. He caught her just as the shield hit Beck in the chest. He doubled over and landed on his knees. Bucky aimed his rifle to his head. “Move and die.”

Belle sobbed as Steve held her to his chest. He couldn’t look away from Beck as he whispered words of comfort to his love. “I’ve got you baby. I’ll always come for you.” He looked at Bucky. Bucky nodded and Steve backed himself and Belle out of the room. He scoped her up in his arms, she threw her arms around his neck as the rest of the team flanked them. He covered her ears just in time. The shot echoed around them.

The HYDRA revolution had been neutralized.

“Steve?”

He looked down at Belle to see the blood billowing on her shirt. “No! NO!”

Belle felt the tears in her eyes pour over. She hadn’t felt the shot, but it seared through her body. “I’m sorry Steve. I’m sorry for running.”

“No, you’re gonna be fine.” He was running towards the jet, as Tony flew forward to get it started. “You and our little peanut are gonna be just fine.”

Belle wanted to believe him, but her eyes clouded. “I love you, Steve.”

“I love you but this is not goodbye. Belle? Keep your eyes open!”

“So tired, Stevie.” Her eyes slowly closed.

“Belle!”

“Isabella!”

“NO!”

Is this a bad time to mention that I am taking a few days off?

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@sunnyhummingbee

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@peaceinourtime82

@kmc1989

@lokislady82

@saucy-sassy-sparkly

#andy's hea #andy's shenanigans #yours submissively #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers au #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers x OFC #Bucky barnes #chris evans #mcu fanfiction #Steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #chris evans au #avengers au #cliffhanger queen

36 notes · View notes

writtenonreceipts · 1 year ago

Text

Rowaelin Month Day Three: Rowaelin as Teens @rowaelinscourt

This is a prologue of sorts, the rest of the fic will come closer to the holidays, hopefully—unfortunately my fic writing will be slowing down massively here in the next little bit. But, I’ve had this idea on the brain for a year now, so here we are! I’m hoping this’ll only be 3 parts total, depending on how part two goes…

Rowaelin Month Masterlist Main Masterlist

Warnings: mild (teenage) angst, references to parental death.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Like Best Friends Do—Part One

It was December eighteenth and the first snowfall had finally come to Terrasen.

Usually, the snow was a perpetual problem for the city beginning in late October and not slowing down until mid-April, at least. This year was different. And Rowan didn’t know how he felt about that.

He’d never been one for change if he were being honest with himself. Even at eighteen years old (his birthday only occurring a few weeks ago) Rowan had learned that change incited problems. Problems led to conflict. And conflict made way for misery. He knew the path quite well and was not welcome to any sort of change. Ever.

Which was why he sat in his beat-up Honda just outside of his best-friend’s house. Tradition demanded it.

He wasn’t waiting long when a shape dashed across the sidewalk toward him. With far too much energy and fervor, Aelin Galathynius threw open the passenger door.

“Sorry, sorry!” she said as she tossed a grocery bag across the console at him. “I know I’m late.”

Rowan caught the bag easily and shook his head. He couldn’t be mad, not at her.

Aelin stuck her head in the car and scowled. She wore a ridiculous winter hat with ear flaps, her blonde hair in a wild mess of waves beneath it. “I couldn’t find any marshmallows because I live with a bunch of heathens apparently.”

She then eased into the car taking care to balance two steaming thermoses in her hands. With her blonde hair flying about her face and the pink tint to her nose and cheeks, she looked far more angelic than he knew she felt. Though, Rowan wouldn’t say anything of course. He couldn’t.

As Aelin settled the thermoses between her legs, she closed the car door and buckled up. Then she grinned at him with that reckless abandon he was so accustomed to seeing.

“I am ready.”

For as long as Rowan could remember, he and Aelin had spent their Christmases looking at the lights. At first, their parents would make a carpool even of it. Holiday music blaring from the stereo, hot cocoa freshly made, and windows rolled down for the best view. For the young, impressionable kid in the prime of childhood: it was magic.

Then of course, Rowan’s dad died. That had taken some magic out of things. He’d been twelve and an only child. His mother, brilliant woman that she was, persevered. She ran the small family farm with grace and dignity, never once thinking about letting it go. She always insisted that change was just an opportunity to grow and she would grow right where she was, thank-you very much.

Still, Rowan had always hated change.

But even as Rowan struggled with grief over his dad—some things remained the same.

Ever since he’d gotten his license at the tick of his sixteenth birthday, he and Aelin often escaped on adventures of their own. During the holidays it meant it was just him and Aelin going around to look at the lights. It was always at her insistence and Rowan found it impossible to say no to her. The music and cocoa remained even when their parents no longer took them out themselves.

“What is all this?” Rowan asked. He poked at the plastic bag and sighed. Sitting on top was a giant bag of chocolate. Below he could see a baggie of baby carrots. Just for him. “Seriously?”

“Snacks!”

“I don’t like food in my car!” He knew it was a weak argument, the weakest of all arguments that could possibly be made.

She blinked at him with her big blue eyes and pouted. The streetlamps filtered through the windows creating a halo around her. It was impossible that one person could be so beautiful.

“Please? It’s Christmas!”

And Rowan, being in love with his best friend, sighed. “You’re insufferable.”

Aelin beamed at him and leaned across the center console to smack a kiss to his cheek. “I won’t make a mess, I promise.”

It was a lie and they both knew it. Aelin wasn’t the best at remaining organized even when she did try her best. To be honest, that combination was one of her most endearing attributes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rowan said, though he couldn’t help the small smile that escaped him.

He pulled the car out onto the road and headed down the street to the first neighborhood.

They were seniors in high school and had spent the last two weeks busy with finals and essays. This was going to be a fun, easy way for them to relax before Christmas. And Rowan, knowing Aelin was also stressed out over basketball, wanted to make this the best round of Christmas lights possible.

He’d already done some scouting earlier in the week. He didn’t care as much about the lights himself, but there was something about watching the joy and wonder on Aelin’s face that sent flutters to his gut and brought a smile to his lips.

She always found joy in everything. She was someone who wanted to see good, to be good. He’d admired it about her for ages now and was on the list of reasons why he loved his best friend.

Not that he actually wrote anything on that list down. He wasn’t an idiot, anyone could come across it. But he kept a mental tally of all the things.

“How’s your mom?” Aelin asked as they drove. She sipped her cocoa and hummed happily. “Is she making it through alright?”

“Yeah,” Rowan sighed. “Summer was a good season, so we’ve got hoards of lavender and honey stored up to sell, so she’s happy about that.”

The farm had a few acres of lavender plants and three beehives which kept them busy during the summer months. Winter, however, was where the Whitethorn homestead made its money. Starting in mid-November the farm turned into a certified Christmas Wonderland. For the last fifty years it had been dedicated to growing Christmas trees. Something Rowan did not understand, but his mother loved it. Tradition. And Rowan was not one to step on tradition.

“You know, it’s kinda funny that you hate Christmas as much as you do,” Aelin mused.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “I don’t hate Christmas. I hate snow.”

“Which is even more funny, you were born on the coldest day of November, Buzzard, you should be thriving in this weather,” Aelin reminded him, as she so loved to do.

There was no arguing with her so Rowan only rolled his eyes and kept driving. His phone lit up with a text message but he ignored it. For just a little bit, he wanted to remain in this moment with his best friend. And maybe then it would imprint upon his mind for years to come.

“Oh, I love this song,” Aelin said suddenly. She turned the volume on high as Michael Buble began singing one of his famous Christmas songs.

“You say that about all the songs,” Rowan pointed out.

Aelin grinned at him. “Because it’s true. All the songs are the best.”

Rowan couldn’t help but return the smile.

As Aelin hummed along to the music, Rowan turned into the first neighborhood he’d found the other night.

Immediately, they were flooded with bright lights and inflatable machines. Aelin squealed and rolled down her window so she could lean out and get closer. She pointed everything out to Rowan as though he couldn’t already see it himself.

But he didn’t care. Not as she was singing along and laughing as she was.

They continued for over an hour going to as many different neighborhoods as they could. As it crept closer to ten and some houses began shutting off their lights, Rowan pulled them off in front of Aelin’s house, knowing that her dad would be watching for them. Best friends or not, the man had firm rules of where his daughter was and who she was with.

“What happens next year?” Aelin asked as a Nat King Cole song came on. She turned the volume down so it was a low rumble in the background.

“Next year?” Rowan frowned. Why would next year be any different?

“I’m going to Adarlan, you're going to Doranelle,” she reminded him.

Rowan sighed. He’d forgotten that. Different colleges practically at opposite ends of the continent.

“We’ll figure something out,” he said with a shrug.

Aelin sighed and hunkered down in her seat. She held onto her thermos, though Rowan was certain she’d finished her cocoa ten minutes into their drive.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I don’t like it when things change so much.”

Rowan reached over and took her hand, twining their fingers together. “I know.”

“You’re my best friend, Rowan,” she said looking up at him. There was panic in her eyes, Rowan could see. It was strange seeing something so out of control in a gaze that was usually so calm and confident. “And I don’t want to lose you.”

Rowan’s chest gave a painful tug. “Aelin--”

He cut himself off before he could say what he wanted. Because really, he knew that he’d never be able to tell her how he really felt about her. Though, maybe that was for the best. After all, if it came to having Aelin in his life versus not--he’d always chose the first.

His phone went off then with an incoming call before he had a chance to debate his inner thoughts further. Before Rowan could reach for it, Aelin snatched the phone up. They always shared their phones that it shouldn’t have been an issue. But Rowan knew who was calling him.

“Cairn?” Aelin asked, looking up. Her face was illuminated by the pale glow of the screen as the call continued to ring through and the dim green and red that bounced off from the lights on her house. “Why would he be calling you?”

Rowan turned away, out toward the street where snow was beginning to accumulate. The truth burned like acid in the back of his throat.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, “he needs help in history.”

“Finals ended last week.” Aelin practically threw his phone at him. He could hear the displeasure dripping from her voice. “Seriously, Rowan? He’s an asshole. You can’t be friends with him.”

“We’re not!” Rowan dropped his hands from the car wheel and slouched in his seat. “C’mon Aelin, you know I don’t like the guy.”

“Then why’s he calling you? You know what he and Erawan said about Elide, what Cairn tried with her.” Aelin leaned back in her seat, simply staring at him.

“Which is why we’re not friends,” Rowan insisted.

The only reason Cairn was trying to call him was for something stupid, Rowan knew. They played basketball together which supposedly curated comradery between them. But Cairn wasn’t a nice kid. They way he talked about the girls in their class and they had tried to spike Elide’s drink at a party a few weeks ago. If Chaol Westfell hadn’t been the only sober one that night no one would have known…

But then Rowan had helped Cairn cheat on an exam so he could pass. If he’d flunked, he wouldn’t have been able to play in the state finals…and…well. Rowan never said he was a good person.

“Aelin,” he began.

But she was already throwing open the door, grabbing the empty thermoses and stuffing them into the now empty grocery bag.

“I gotta go, Rowan,” she said, not bothering to look at him.

“Aelin!” he yelled after her. She slammed the door and trudged back up to her house.

Rowan could only watch. He waited until she was inside and he saw the shadow of her silhouette pass the front window, followed by the outline of Rhoe rising from the living couch.

Only then did he start up his car and drive away.

It wasn’t thirty seconds later when Cairn called him again.

“What do you want?” Rowan growled.

“Easy Whitethorn,” Cairn said on the other end. He chuckled lowly and Rowan felt his hackles rise. “I just need a favor.”

“No.”

Another laugh followed by a shout from another person in the background. Probably Erawan.

“What else are you doing tonight, Whitethorn?” Cairn asked. “Damn, boy. You just wanna sit at home with your mama?”

The voice in the background spoke up louder. “Punkassbitch!”

Definitely Erawan. Another, cruder, stream of expletives trailed after.

“It’s almost Christmas, man,” Rowan said. He pulled his car over again, not wanting to drive and have this conversation. His ma would kill him if he got into an accident. “So, yeah, I wanna be at home.”

“I’ll bring you a blankie to practice,” Cairn said. Something clinked in the background; metal against metal that grated just a bit. “You owe me.”

Rowan cursed to himself. He wanted nothing more than to go back to Aelin’s, to pound on her door and beg her to let him in.

“Mr. Clark don’t like cheaters very much,” Cairn continued, “be a shame if someone told him what happened.”

“You’d be in as much trouble as me,” Rowan said. He shut off the radio as his skin grew hot and panic began to swirl in his stomach.

“You wanna bet?”

It took too much effort for Rowan to ease his breathing. Too much effort for him to calm down. Hell.

“What do you want, Cairn?”

…

The warehouse seemed familiar to Rowan but he couldn’t quite place it. They were in the cheaper side of the city, the side where everything was in disrepair and the video cameras were just for show. The cops didn’t care what happened and the citizens knew their voices wouldn’t actually be heard.

Only recently a few local politicians had been making an effort of improving the area. A few businesses had even tried moving in to give the lonely streets new life.

Hence the warehouse.

Why was it so familiar?

“Let’s go!” Cairn hissed. He prodded Rowan sharply in the back.

They snuck down a shadowed alleyway around the back of the warehouse. There was only one singular lamppost in the distance, but it kept flickering as though it would die at any moment. Snow fell from the sky in lazy flurries, barely coating the ground. The one time he would have actually been grateful for a snow storm. Maybe that would have driven Cairn and Erawan back home.

Rowan gripped a flashlight in one hand and a pair of heavy bolt cutters in the others. This was not going to end well. He already knew it. A chill swept through him in a mix of the actual cold weather and trepidation.

Erawan led the way to a chain link fence, cutting along one of the poles and yanking the metal back. Cairn ducked through the opening first, his own flashlight bobbing along. The two had come prepared for this. They’d planned it well too given how they moved. Rowan was just a random extra body. Someone to potentially blame this on if it all went sideways.

Erawan shoved him through the fence hole when he hesitated.

“Get off me,” Rowan hissed.

“Then move!” Erawan snapped. The stench of cigarettes and stale coffee wafted off of him.

Knowing better than to ignore the order, Rowan took off after Cairn.

“What’re we even doing? You can’t think breaking into a warehouse is a good idea.” Rowan tightened his grip on his flashlight and wondered how much trouble he’d actually get in if he decided to whack Cairn over the head with the bolt cutters. He was pretty sure he could out run Erawan if it came down to it.

Cairn didn’t answer, only led them to the side of the warehouse. When Erawan reached them, he dropped the bag he was holding, it rattled with a messy noise of battered abuse.

“Just having fun.”

Which was how Rowan found himself gang tagging the side of a warehouse at one in the morning. He shouldn’t have come, he knew. The reality of the situation was beating relentlessly against the side of his skull with each pass he made of the green spray paint. He should have told his mom what happened. Should have gone to Coach Brullo who trusted him. Should have—should have—

Erawan muttered under his breath as he spelled out a curse word in red paint, the c-u bleeding against the wall like a wound. Cairn was practicing his anatomy skills and doing a terrible job. And Rowan…Rowan just made splashes and slashes where he could. That didn’t seem to offend the others, just as long as he did something.

“We should go,” he said after nearly half an hour. A car drove by on the streets, slow and deliberate. In the darkness he couldn’t tell the make or model and it only added to his panic.

While this side of the city was sketchy at best—people still talked and eventually the cops would show up.

Cairn scoffed and was about to say something—likely a mockery of Rowan’s want to get the hell out of there—when a burst of red and blue lights erupted across the street.

Rowan dropped the spray paint he was holding. His mother was going to kill him. He looked around, desperate for an escape while Cairn and Erawan were already halfway across the abandoned lot. They didn’t get much further when a few uniformed officers flashed lights and their guns yelling for them to stop.

“On your knees!” One officer shouted. It took Rowan a moment to realize the order was directed at him. Coming up on his left was an officer, perfectly poised to take any necessary action.

Falling to his knees, Rowan’s mind blanked out. He did everything he was told to do, barely registering anything other than a muffled curse and an exclamation from one of the officers.

“They’re just kids.”

“Damn. Just get ‘um cuffed.”

It wasn’t until Rowan was hauled to his feet that he managed to catch a look at the messy display of vandalism they’d created. Only…Rowan finally latched onto the logo he’d noticed etched onto the metal door of the warehouse bay and his heart froze before his entire body seized up. He knew that logo and he knew the name attached to it.

Galacorp.

Aelin’s father’s company. That he’d just helped to vandalize.

“Let’s go kid,” the officer next to him said, guiding Rowan to his feet as he began to recite Rowan’s rights.

Rowan hardly listened. Couldn’t. Because in just the span of an hour his entire life turned over on its head. He let the officer guide him to the police cruiser only tripping up when he caught sight of a familiar black SUV with tinted windows and sleek specially ordered rims.

Rhoe Galathynius leaned casually against the back of the car, arms crossed over his wool coat. He watched Rowan closely with an unreadable expression. And Rowan knew that nothing would ever be the same after this.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

will reblog with tags. Please consider reblogging so others see it! <3

thanks for reading.

#rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin month #throne of glass #tog

50 notes · View notes

anonymooseforever007 · 2 years ago

Text

His Aunt's Stories

(Platonic Arthur Shelby x Female reader)

Summary: In which we learn about the irony in a friendship Arthur made during the war, and why he came back with so many unheard of stories. But are they really that unheard of....

A/N: Hi, y’all! Warnings for Fluff and Angst! So this is literally just a repost of the old version except it's edited and I had to repost it because tumblr was being evil and turned off the replies with out telling me and it won't let me turn it back on. But yeah! I think this is still one of my favourite things I've written just because of the idea behind it! I hope y'all enjoy it! ❤️

WC-1.8k Main Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Arthur Shelby met a nurse during the war and they became great friends.

-And only friends because she was married, but even still, somehow Arthur never learned her last name, only the nickname given to her by the people around camp.

-They all called her Angel, because that’s what everyone who she fixed up saw her as, an Angel sent to come to make them better. And so they were never more than great friends but they still grew close enough to the point of writing to their families about each other.

-She would write to her husband about the great Arthur Shelby, who could draw well and made her laugh, reminding her of her brother in law. She also wrote to her husband about how Arthur would always make sure she was safe from the more “needy” patients. The ones who didn’t care about the ring she wore around her neck to keep it from getting dirty. One “friendly reminder” from him and she was treated with respect from any man who dared cross that boundary. Angel always told Arthur that her husband was grateful for that bit, for keeping his beloved safe while he was fighting somewhere else.

-And in turn, Arthur would write about her to his family, about the nurse who reminded him of Ada and had a spark in her eye that he hadn’t seen since his mother was alive. The nurse with the husband who Arthur never met (as he himself was fighting far away) but who Arthur admired for catching such a woman. A man who he never caught the last name of, and was only referred to by the nurse as, “My husband” or “My Ally”

-Arthur would also write to his family of the stories that the Angel nurse would tell him. Stories of her own making, fantastical tales that she apparently told her own nephew before the war.

-Now why would a grown woman be telling a grown man children’s stories? Because a story was a story of course, and during a time when the world surrounding seemed to be full of violence and chaos, it was nice to have something a little childish to hold on to.

-And so for months this went on, nearly a full year with the two friends growing closer and the nurse often telling Arthur new stories and helping him write them out, so his Aunt Polly could read then to his little brother.

-In fact, His littlest brother (in age not height) still had these stories today, as Finn kept all the letters his brothers sent to him during the war, even if he couldn’t read them. Because during the war, for a young boy who hadn’t seen his brothers in years, holding the letters were the closest he could get to hugging the men themselves when he was sacred during the time they were gone. And many years later, for one of Finn’s brothers, holding the the letters would be the closest he could get to being with his brother ever again. But that’s a story for another time.

-So time went by as Arthur and the nurse became great friends who enjoyed spending time together and comforting each other after a hard day (or one that was harder than most during a war as they were all hard now). And it was likely with the way things were going, the two would be friends even after the war was over, as the bond they built was deeper than the trenches they often took cover in.…

-At least until the day the smoke drowned the moon in the crest of the night.

-It was an enemy attack which none had anticipated, and fewer were ready for. Bombs had been set off by the camp, leading the enemy to enter the boundaries in the cover of grey air and choking smoke.

-But many thought Lady Luck must have been generous that night, as even though they were unprepared and outnumbered, Arthur’s Unit managed to fend off the attack with little injury to their own men. They called it a miracle…

-It wasn’t until later when he saw the hands of his beloved nurse friend (sister), covered in blood. Which wouldn’t have been unusual, except for the fact the blood didn’t belong to another person this time. She wasn’t lying on the ground because she was trying to stitch up a wounded man…

-The blood was her own.

-And while Arthur never truly learned what happened that night, with so sudden the chaos of the attack, he always knew it was never directly his fault.

-But there would always be a little piece of him in the back of his mind, telling him it was his fault it ended this way, it was his fault no one was there to protect her.

-Even if she quietly told him otherwise, as he kneeled down beside her, his blood now mixing with her own,as he desperately tried to slow the flow coming out a woman he considered another sister. Even if she was weakly smiling at him trying to make a joke about what her husband would do to Arthur if he saw where the man’s hands laid now. Even if the gentle way she was barely squeezing his hand, as she told him he’d have to finish the newest story for his brother on his own, told otherwise.

-And sometimes even years later after the war ended, Arthur would close his eyes at night and be greeted by the same spark he watched fade so long ago.

-Because nurses were sent to the front to patch those who were dying. But when the nurse is the one that’s dying, who does the patching…

-After the war Arthur was a different man, far different than who he was before, but that didn’t stop some things from being the same. He still smoked and drank and slept around. And he still did “business” as Shelby family grew its reach, often finding his hands covered in blood and who knows what else. He still loved his family to the ends of the earth, and because of his ability to do fun voices he was still always the first his many nieces and nephews would come to for a story.

-And maybe now after the war he had some new stories, ones nobody had heard before because they were original stories, that came from an author long since lost.

-Stories that the kids loved to hear over and over as the imaginative tales brought dreams to their head that would make anyone smile. And so it was because of the joys the tales brought to the children that Arthur kept telling them too.

-Because he knew how happy their creator would be to know her stories still helped children smile. That was her favorite part of making her stories. Using them to makes others forget their troubles and smile… even if Arthur often wanted to cry after telling them these days.

-Though that part, the children never knew… for Arthur telling the stories was a way for his head to retell her story. The one of the friendship the between them. The story of a woman who many thought deserved the whole world. Who deserved the life she would have had…. if it weren’t cut short. The story of a woman who was one of the kindest Arthur had ever met and even now he considered one of his closest friends.

-And as close as they were Arthur rarely liked being reminded of her story together, because he never liked the ending… not one bit.

Bonus (maybe): (I.e. me trying to to back the original idea)

So for years Arthur would tell the stories that the Angel told him, sometimes with Finn chiming in to help too. Finn knew the stories by heart, having made Polly read them over and over in the time it took between his brothers letters for a new one to arrive while they were far away. Finn didn’t know how the nurse’s story ended either, and so to him they really were just stories his brother Arthur learned during the war.

And a few times, when Arthur was gone Finn would be the one to tell the tales to his brothers’ children, even dragging Bonnie and Isaiah into to help him act the words out to better distract the kids from the business occurring in the next room.

One time when the Shelby’s were on more friendly terms with the Solomons, the boys even tried to drag Goliath into the stories while the older men talked in the other room.

They had noticed the giant standing close by, as he heard them speak with a frown on his face, one that didn’t quite show anger, but rather confusion as if he was remembering something he had heard long ago. He didn’t join of course, but he still stood there, listening as Finn and the others sat by the children telling the old stories.

He stood listening, even as he prayed his uncle didn’t in fact hear the stories, as Goliath didn’t know how he’d react. Goliath wasn’t sure where Finn learned the stories, but he knew how his uncle felt about them. Goliath knew how his uncle felt about her, even all these years later. He knew how his uncle felt about what happened to her, and even suspected it played into his feeling towards a certain eldest Shelby, but never brought it up. No,…bringing it up would reveal to many cards, too many weaknesses.

But still, Goliath listened to the stories now told by Finn, praying his uncle wouldn’t hear them. Stories, Goliath himself actually knew already the ending of, even if he hadn’t heard a Shelby tell them before.

He knew how these stories ended, even if he wasn’t sure how the one about the author herself ended. He had heard them when he was young, her stories, made just for him, as he sat on the lap of a woman he hadn’t seen since before the war. A woman who he never saw after the war. A woman whose story only one man truly knew the ending of.

Because as far as anyone was knew, no one was there when she got hurt. No one was there for her in the midst of the fighting, on the night the smoke drowned out the moon….But one man was there only a few minutes after.

One man was a few minutes too late…

One man was there trying to stop the blood from flowing, with tears in his eyes as she made a joke about where he was putting his hands. One man was there, kneeling in a growing puddle of blood, his mixing with her own, as she gently squeezed his hand and told him it wasn’t his fault. One man was there as she weakly smiled up at him, encouraging him to finish the newest story for his brother by himself. She knew he could do it, he just had to believe he could do it too.

One man was there…

Only one. And it was not the one who wished he was there the most…

Goliath knew how the stories themselves ended but he wasn’t exactly sure how the one about their author did.

In the end, only one man was there the night the breath left her chest and the blood left her heart. On the night when the Angel became an Angel, only one man was there, holding his friend close. Only one man was certain how her story ended. That was the night the spark finally faded in the eyes of Goliath’s late aunt.

A/N: Ok that’s it… :) I was thinking one night and decided that I really liked the idea of Arthur making friends with a nurse who loved stories and died during the war (and he couldn’t save her), not realizing (until possibly later) that the nurse was in fact Alfie’s late wife and that’s kinda why Alfie dislikes Arthur more than the others…but I didn’t know how to write the full story and here we are!

#Arthur Shelby x reader #Peaky Blinders x reader #arthur shelby headcanon #arthur shelby imagine #alfie Solomons x reader #Arthur shelby #alfie Solomons #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders headcannon

124 notes · View notes