#oc: arthur baker

[fatecanberewritten-writer]

Bewitched | Chapter Four: Magic

Stars Series | Bewitched

For some reason, what Narcissa took notice of in that situation was the fact that she could see her breath. It was like a cold, bitter goodbye to summer. A cold, bitter goodbye to a lot of things.

“What d’you mean, you know about magic already?”

She could also see the breath of the wandless woman standing before her. Her blue eyes still wide and fixed on Narcissa, the woman opened her mouth, but didn’t seem to know what to say. Narcissa gripped the wand held at her side more tightly.

The empty sound of rain was suddenly broken by loud voices approaching the alley. In her fright, Narcissa grabbed the woman, put her hand over her mouth in case she decided to make any noises, and Disapparated the two of them to a rooftop on the other side of the street.

Crouching behind the walled edge of the rooftop, she carefully peered down onto the street. She let out a breath of relief as she saw only the four rowdy men from Young Buck’s loudly walking through the rain. She felt herself relax, but then she felt how tense the woman she was holding was, and how fearful her eyes now looked as she met them. Slowly, she removed her hand from her mouth.

“Sorry,” Narcissa breathed. She figured she’d have to obliviate her now anyway, even if she had somehow known about magic.

Petunia Evans seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. “Please don’t obliviate me,” she pleaded. “I really do know about magic - my sister’s a witch.”

For a while, the two only stared at each other, neither having any clue of what to do next. Finally, Narcissa scrunched her eyes closed, let out a heavy sigh, and fell back, sitting with her back pressed against the walled edge of the roof next to Petunia. Petunia let out the breath she had been holding.

Eyes still closed, Narcissa swirled her wand, and Petunia watched in amazement as a clear, shimmering, force-field-like magic formed around the small space the two of them took up, shielding them from the rain. Curiously, she inched her fingertips towards it - daring to touch it, yet still afraid to. As she got closer and closer to it, the air seemed warmer, and the molecules around it seemed to hum. She brought her hand back quickly as she heard the blonde woman scoff.

“If you ‘know about magic already,’ why are you looking like this is the first time you’ve seen it?” Narcissa in a tired voice, though there was still a bit of harshness in it. 

Petunia’s eyes were doe-like when she looked at Narcissa. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen it,” she said. “My sister’s still in school, and she can’t use magic outside of it. Something about your laws - ”

Narcissa sighed, catching on. “Ah, yes, underage magic. I forgot how serious that can be if you’re around Muggles.” She took another deep breath, looking back down at the street momentarily before she finally turned back to the Muggle, giving her a haughty look. “So you’re a Mudblood’s sister?”

Petunia’s eyes narrowed a bit, recognizing the term. “I don’t think they like to be called that.”

Narcissa shrugged. “It’s what they are,” she said casually. “They’ve got dirty blood.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Petunia’s face was getting hot, “neither my sister nor I have ‘dirty blood.’”

“Magic is pure,” the witch cut in coldly. She spoke these words as if she was just stating facts. “Those without magic, or those who come from people without magic, are not pure. Now tell me, what would you consider to be the opposite of pure?”

“That’s rich, coming from somebody who’s apparently making her family the laughing stock of Pureblood society,” Petunia angrily snapped.

Narcissa’s face darkened, her eyes narrowing at the Muggle. “Eavesdropping on me, were you?” she hissed. “You’re not giving a very good representation of your kind.”

“Neither are you,” growled Petunia, glaring back. Her eyes widened again, her face paling, as she watched the woman swiftly take out her wand.

“You be careful now,” Narcissa warned, “I can do a lot worse than obliviating you.”

Petunia was silent as she stared at the end of the witch’s dark-wooded wand, a wand that was much more intricate, much more regal-looking than Lily’s. As she watched it, her fear slowly ebbed away, and she carefully looked back up at Narcissa with a daring gleam in her eye. “You’re not going to do anything,” she challenged.

Narcissa’s grip tightened on her wand. “Oh yeah?” she responded, trying to hide the shakiness of her voice. “What makes you so sure?”

“You would’ve done it already,” Petunia answered matter-of-factly, a small smirk across her lips. “A witch like you coming across a Muggle like me? You wouldn’t’ve brought me up here with you. You wouldn’t’ve even lowered your wand. If you were like the rest of them, you’d’ve obliviated me, or worse, right then and there. You’re not like them. You’re not a - ” she paused for a moment, trying to remember the term her sister had told her just this last summer - “you’re not a Death Eater.”

Narcissa was silent, utterly transfixed by this woman and her observations. She knew about magic, alright - a lot more than more than what she figured the sister of a Mudblood would. She was daring, a bit reckless, and definitely over-confident, but more than anything, she was brave. Somehow, this Muggle saw right through her, and Narcissa couldn’t deny the comforting feeling that came with her last musing. You’re not a Death Eater.

She didn’t know when she had put down her wand, but she quickly took notice of the cocky look on the Muggle’s face. She could practically hear her saying check mate. “Alright,” Narcissa gave in, “you’re right about that, I’m not a Death Eater - ” the smug look on the brunette’s face only grew - “but don’t think I won’t still obliviate you. Might just do it ‘cause you’re annoying me.”

Petunia’s face instantly fell, and Narcissa smirked victoriously. The witch chuckled a bit, though it wasn’t dark or unsettling to Petunia. It was almost playful. She started to smile.

With a sudden crack, the moment was ruined.

Both girls nearly yelped at the sound, but the yelp threatened to turn to a horrified scream as Petunia saw what had appeared before them. Narcissa was quick with her wand, silencing the girl before she drew them too much attention.

“Litzy,” Narcissa said calmly, addressing the small, frantic House Elf that had joined them on the roof.

“Mistress Narcissa must hurry!” squeaked the Elf. “My Master and Mistress have returned! My mother can only stall them for so long! Mistress Narcissa must return home immediately!”

“Shit,” Narcissa cursed. She thought she’d have more time. She looked from Litzy to the wide-eyed woman beside her and tried to think quickly. Almost reluctantly, she removed the silencing charm from the woman.

“What the hell - ”

“Hush!” she ordered Petunia, and out of shock, Petunia obeyed. Narcissa turned back to the Elf. “Litzy, I want you to take this woman back down to the street.”

“Now hang on just a - ” 

Narcissa ignored the Muggle as she tired to cut in. “This is a Muggle street, so you must stay out of sight. There is an alley halfway up the block - take her there.”

The Elf’s large, green eyes flickered over to the woman hesitantly. When she spoke next, it was reluctant, as if she feared punishment for it. “Is the woman a Muggle, Mistress?”

Swallowing, Narcissa looked at Petunia and said nothing.

“Would Mistress Narcissa like Litzy to modify the Muggle’s memory?”

“No!” shouted Petunia, and at the same time, with almost the same amount of fever -

“That won’t be necessary, Litzy.”

The young, nervous House Elf looked between the two women as they stared nervously at one another. She was reminded, very suddenly, of her disowned Mistress, the one she was forbidden to speak of, and the Mudblood that had ruined her.

As if knowing what Litzy was thinking, a wave of fear washed over Narcissa, and she sharply turned back to the Elf. “Litzy,” she started rabidly. “You are forbidden to speak of this to anyone. To anyone, do you understand?”

A fearful look in her eye, Litzy nodded.

“Now do as you’ve been ordered.”

Obediently, Litzy began to move towards Petunia, and Petunia cowered further against the wall, looking frantically at the witch. The magic protecting them from the rain disappeared. “Wait!” Petunia cried to Narcissa. She wasn’t just going to leave her with this thing, was she?

“It’s alright,” Narcissa soothed, placing a delicate hand on her shoulder. Petunia felt butterflies at her touch. “She has to do as I say,” she told her. “She’ll take care of you, but - but I have to go.”

Before Petunia got even the slightest chance to say anything more, Narcissa stood, and with no more than a crack, she was gone. The rain pouring down on her, Petunia stared at the spot the witch had last been, feeling her heart breaking as she realized she’d probably never see her again.

The Elf begrudgingly reached out to touch the girl, and with no warning at all, Petunia felt herself being pulled through the nothingness of space and landed roughly on the grimy, wet concrete of the alley. She felt sick, but whether it was from the alcohol, the magic, or the cold touch of the strangest creature she’d ever seen in her life, she wasn’t sure. She looked up into the glaring green eyes of the creatures called ‘Litzy’.

“Stay away from my Mistress,” growled the creature, and then she too, was gone.

[look-for-god-on-the-horizon]

Arthur how are you a baker’s son and still manage to burn bread? Come on now.

(I want to see the design but I also want to make fun of him, I’m sure he’s lovely.)

he just gets flustered i’m ngl

[justrainandcoffee]

Deal (Tommy Shelby vs. oc!Solomons) + (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) Part 1

“You're a lamb entering the territory of a hungry wolf.”

Masterlist

Summary: Why is Thomas Shelby in front of Mrs. Solomons? Just business. Tommy just needs information. But first he needs to deal with Rose Solomons who, unlike her husband, has no sympathy for the man sitting in her office. And yet, they know how to make a deal. "A soul for a soul, Mr. Shelby."

Warnings: Mentions of dead, killing. Allusions to sex. Mentions of physical violence. Misogyny.

Words: 4.5k. || Special thanks to @look-at-the-soul who helped me today 🙃♥️.

1924.

Yesterday

"The bastard is a fookin' ghost!" yelled Arthur.

The Garrison was empty except for those members of the Peaky Blinders, allowed to be there. There was a person that they couldn't find. An Irishman called Nicholas Baker, possible member of the IRA. Last time they saw him, it was he when he shot a blinder and left him to die in the streets. He escaped before Arthur or anyone else could catch him.

Since then, the brothers and the rest of the gang were looking for him no succeed. Not just because he killed a man they know, but also because they were sure he was a spy.

"Maybe he's dead," suggested Isaiah.

"No. He's alive and living in London." This time, Tommy Shelby's voice could be heard all over the place. "And Elias is not the only person he killed. And his real name is Sean Patrick O'Finn."

Tommy dropped a newspaper in front of his brother and Arthur read it out loud.

"His own sister! He fookin' killed his sister!"

"And tried to killed his wife as well, according to the neighbours. She escaped." Tommy sat in his usual place as he lit up a cigarette and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He looked at Arthur and the rest of his men.

"We have nothing, then! He can be in middle of fookin' Russia by now." Arthur was frustrated as usual.

"I don't think so. I think he's still there in London, and as we know, police is useless. London is a big city and they don't care. People are killed every day" Tommy lit another cigarette "but I'm going to find him. And I'm going to put a bullet in his head, too."

"You don't know where to start, Tommy!" Arthur furrowed brow and look at his brother.

"Yes, I do know where to start. I need to talk to his wife."

"But do you know where this woman is, Tom?"

"Yes."

.

The Solomons residence in London was quiet. Rose was working and Alfie just arrived there over an hour ago. He was about to rest his back in bed when their maid announced that he had a call.

"It's Mr. Shelby," the woman said. She saw him do a grimace, but he said nothing to her.

"Thanks, Doris."

Alfie entered his office and closed the door behind before picking up the phone. Every time Tommy called it meant problems, usually for him. But this time what Tommy said, took him by surprise.

"Are ya mad?"

"I just need her this time, Alfie."

"She will kill ya, mate."

"No, she won't. Your wife isn't a killer."

"Maybe. But the women around her are. Honestly, Tom, they're a pack of fuckin' bloody wolves claiming for men flesh. You're a little lamb entering the territory of a hungry wolf. Rosie is the leader of that pack, if she gives the order next time I'll see ya it'll be in your own fuckin' funeral... If I find your body." On the other side of the line, Tommy opened a drawer and picked up some papers and started to take some notes. Sometimes Alfie exaggerated, especially if he was talking about his wife. As far as Tommy knew, Rose Solomons just worked helping women in need and in the streets fighting for equal rights. The few times he saw her in Alfie's place she didn't seem to be a menace to anyone.

"They're just women, eh?"

"My Rosie isn't just a woman, Tommy. She's me wife." Alfie sighed "Rosie will decorate the fuckin' Christmas tree they put on her workplace with your balls."

"I'll take a risk, then. Just wanted to inform you."

"Fine. But I'm not going to tell her yet. I prefer she knows it on her own… good luck then, Tom."

1924.

Today. London.

It's only 7am and the Solomons were making love for the second time in the morning. Rose didn't know what her husband was thinking, or feeling, that he had waking up so passionated but she wasn't complaining either.

"Alfie… I can't… god…" her back arched and her toes curled once last time until she fell on the mattress, completely satisfied. She could feel Alfie finish as well.

The man stayed on top of her few minutes more, catching his breath, before rolling on his back, laying next to her. Alfie opened his arms and invited her to be against his chest.

"Are you fine?" she asked kissing his neck.

"Feelin' like a God now, luv. Why do ya ask? You're talking like we never fuck like this before."

"I ask, because I know that sometimes you use sex to channel your frustrations and I just want to know you're fine."

"I'm perfect, Rosie. Gimme some time and we can repeat it."

She laughed. "No way you still have energy, Al. I can't, I've to work. Tonight, maybe."

In response, Alfie kissed her. That same night, probably she wants to kill him. He had talked to Tommy the day before and she didn't know. Alfie was just trying his best to calm her before the storm. Although spending time with her, it was always beautiful. The kiss continued until she pulled apart slowly. He caressed her cheek. Rose knew that Alfie definitely was hiding something from her, but she didn't know what. After one last brief kiss, she sat down in bed and then walked to the bathroom to take a shower.

Alfie stayed in bed, thinking about his friend going to his wife's place. In all those years, over a decade since it was founded, he visited her school just twice. Once when it was inaugurated, when they met each other again, and the other one after the war. They had an implicit deal: "You don't interfere with my business and I don't interfere with yours" even if they asked each other for some advice, suggestions or help. He was a bit worried about her, even when he knew that Tommy wasn't going to hurt her.

When Rose went out the bathroom, she found him sitting in bed, stretching his back, ready to have breakfast. She approached him and played gently with his hair.

"Thought you're going to join the shower."

Alfie put his hands on her hips and pushed her down on his knees. She was wrapped with a towel and when Alfie kissed her shoulder, he smelled the fresh soap on her skin.

"Ya didn't invited me."

"Since when you need invitation?" she chuckled and put her arms around him. Her hands were stroking the back of his neck. Rose was staring at him, "are you sure you're fine?"

"I am, Rosie."

"Okay," she didn't believe him, but she wasn't going to pressure him either. Instead, she kissed him and he reciprocate immediately. Her towel fell on the floor and she felt him ready to be with her once more.

Never two without three.

.

Arrow house

By the dawn of the next day, every Shelby knew where the leader was going. If they had any opinion about it, they didn't share it. A car was parked outside Arrow House with three men in it.

"I'm going now," announced Tommy. His black coat was over a chair and he took it. "Johnny Dogs and the Smiths are coming with me."

Arthur chuckled. "Johnny Dogs? And the Smith brothers? Ain't too much, Tom? Four men to visit just a bunch of pussies and tits? They're just chicks."

"Not according to Alfie."

"According to fookin' Alfie! The fookin' Alfie! Ya believe him?"

"Yes. Alfie will never allow me to be near his wife, if he didn't know now that she's safe. I know that. And if she's safe that means she's surrounded by an army."

"Are ya planning to kill them?"

"I don't kill women, Arthur. And I don't want problems with Alfie. It's just in case."

"So take me with ya!"

"Arthur, no offense but you don't know how to deal with a Solomons. Stay here and take care of the business, eh? I'll be back at night, probably or tomorrow."

"Tom! Tommy!" the eldest brother yelled but the other man already reached the door.

"Goodbye, Arthur. Tell Pol, that I left her a letter under the flowerpot."

.

Pebblebrock was Rose Solomons' former manor and prison hell at the same time. Now it was a beautiful school for girls and at the same time it served as a roof for some women who had run from their abusive homes.

As the owner, she was the one in charge even when she had several women in which she trusted working with her side by side. But the final decision on everything was always hers.

Alfie, and Tommy too, were right. The place and Rose, were surrounded by women specifically trained to kill. It wasn't uncommon for men to try to reach those who they already hurt. The rules were crystal clear MEN ARE NOT ALLOWED IN PEBBLEBROCK. The ones who didn't understand the warning were now resting eternally in a cemetery.

Men were only allowed if they were doctors or priests. The institution had nurses and two nuns who volunteered to help there. But sometimes a doctor was required, same with priests. Any other men should call for an appointment, only under that circumstances their entrance were allowed.

.

"Look at this fucking place."

From the road, Tommy, Johnny Dogs and the Smith brothers were watching the entire property. The gardens extended beyond their sight.

"Full of pussies, it's my fucking paradise. An all-you-can-eat-fucking restaurant" commented Gregory Smith. Except Tommy, the rest of them laughed.

.

Rose heard the crows. That was never a good signal.

"Now who?" she thought for herself. A lot of names crossed her mind, but none of them was the right answer.

Five minutes later a knock on her office's door brought the answer.

"Who?" she asked not believing her ears.

"Mr. Thomas Shelby, Mrs. Solomons" repeated the woman in front of her. "He says he needs you."

"The Thomas Shelby?"

But unaware of who he was the other woman didn't respond.

"Yeah, well. Tell him I'm coming."

"There are three other men with him, Mrs. Solomons."

Of course.

The day was beautiful. Cloudless sky and almost no wind. It'd be perfect if not for Tommy Shelby in her property.

"Didn't you read the sign?" she said greeting them "men are not allowed here."

"Good morning, Mrs. Solomons," said Tommy with deep voice.

"It is, Tommy. It is."

It always was intrigued him that a man like Alfie could be so devoted to a woman who barely reached his shoulders. His Rosie. Alfie Solomons could start a war against the king and the Pope if something happened to that woman.

Gregory Smith had another idea.

"We don't follow rules, sweetheart. We're the peaky fucking blinders."

"The Peaky who?" Rose looked at the man "Who the fuck are you?"

"The audacity of this bitch. It's a Solomons, eh?"

"Gregory…" warned Tommy.

"Yeah. I'm a Solomons. Proud of it. But I'm quite dumb, Gregory. So I need your help, I only know how to count to two. Like, one, two… what's next?"

"Three."

BANG.

A woman stading behind Rose was holding a gun.

The bullet impacted his head. The man was already dead when his body collapsed on the ground. Rose just looked her pocket watch and then clicked her tongue.

"Men are not allowed here," she repeated. "You understand the warnings now or you what to be the next?"

Tommy looked at the dead body.  The blonde woman behind Rose was staring at him and Tommy knew that she wasn't joking. One more step and it couldn't be any difference between a Gruyère cheese and him.

Tommy sent Johnny Dogs and the remaining man again to the car. He also gave his gun to his friend.

"Ya sure, Tom?"

"Just go, Johnny."

When Tommy turned around again, he saw the woman extending her arm, she moved her hand "gimme the fucking cap."

Again, Tommy did what she said. She gestured him to follow her.

The interior of her office was elegantly decorated. An expensive rug on the floor matched the wallpaper and the mahogany desk. Lots of books were perfectly ordered on the bookshelves. Rose Solomons invited him to take seat on one of her velvety armchairs. Tommy followed her with his eyes. Now his cap was over the head of a marble bust representing Aphrodite, just behind her, looking at him. The woman sat behind her desk and put her hands under her chin.

"We have a beautiful garden here. A greenhouse full of exotic flowers and plants. Was your man married? I'd like to send the widow some flowers."

"He wasn't."

"Better, then."

Her brown eyes never leave his blue ones and same as Alfie, he felt she was trying to anticipate his movements. But Tommy didn't express any emotion.

"So? What the hell is doing Thomas Michael Shelby here? My husband isn't here."

"Not looking for Alfie."

"That's fucking new considering the mutual obsession you have with each other."

Tommy curved his lips, barely smiling. "I'm here purely for business, Mrs. Solomons."

"I'm not the kind of person you do business with."

"You are."

Both of them remained in silence for several seconds. Probably she was unaware of it, but Tommy noticed some mannerisms in her that he had witnessed in Alfie before. She was thinking while playing with her fingers. Impossible to say who copied who.

"What kind of business? Illegality has no place here," she finally said.

"I need to know where a certain man is."

Before she could say something Tommy saw the door opening and a beautiful woman in her mid-forties, entered Mrs. Solomons' office. She greeted him with a movement of her head and then started to talk to Rose in French but she stopped her almost immediately.

"This isn't going to work now, Geraldine. The man knows french," she said pointing to him "same as Alfie he fought in France during years. Tell Edith to come. She speaks Hebrew."

Geraldine nodded before leaving again.

"You do that often? Speaking other language in front of strangers?" Tommy settled in the armchair.

"Don't you do the same? I'm sure that speaking Romani is very useful if you want to express something to a friend or relative but you don't want the other to know what are you saying. Don't judge me, Mr. Shelby."

Edith, Tommy asummed it was her, was barely in her 20s, probably she was still a teen. Young and with a cheerful face, the girl approached Mrs. Solomons and both of them started to talk in Hebrew, a language he couldn't understand. For a moment, Rose looked at him sideways.

"Thanks, Edith" she said and the girl left without looking at Tommy. "One of your men tried to sneak in my school. Or they're fucking dumbs or they're really ready to visit God."

"Fucking hell…" Tommy rolled his eyes before breathing deeply. He was sure it wasn't Johnny Dogs but the other Smith. "Listen, Mrs. Solomons, I didn't give the order. I didn't know."

"I know, he acted by his own. Good news is he's alive. Bad news is my girls are taking care of him. It depends on you what I'm going to do with him. Alfie knew you were coming, didn't he?"

"I called him yesterday."

Rose sighed "Yes, of course he knew. Of course he fucking knew," his actions that morning now it made sense to her. Not because it wasn't unsual for them to have sex in the morning, but because there was something in his eyes that his mouth wasn't saying. And after all those years together, Rose knew him very well. "Anyway… what do you want do with your man, Mr. Shelby?"

"Can I smoke?"

"If you go next to the window and put your hand with the cigarette out, I don't have any problem. But I don't want smoke here."

She saw how he stood up and walked towards the window. That one in particular faced one of the gardens where the rosebushes were. In spring and summer, the sweet smell of roses invaded her office and it was something that she really liked.

When that morning Arthur asked him why he took three men with him just to visiting a school and women's residence, Tommy  was exploring his chances. Better Gregory Smith than him. He trusted Johnny Dogs, he was a loyal, obedient man. But the Smiths…

"Kill him if you want," Tommy finally said "if my man can't follow my orders, then he should face the consequences. This is your place after all, Mrs. Solomons."

"Edith told me he was screaming that he wanted to avenge his brother."

"Yes. The one you kill it was his brother." Tommy glanced at her. A ghost of a smile was on his face.

"I never killed anyone, Mr. Shelby."

"You don't need to hold a gun and shoot to be a murderer. Most of the murderers just give the order behind their desks."

"Well, he'd be alive if he hadn't been an asshole. It's all about the rules, Mr. Shelby. The sign is there for a reason and if you ask me, you don't seem very concerned about your man's death."

"Rules, eh? Something tells me you're not very fond to follow them, either, Mrs. Solomons. How was the prison?" Tommy blew another puff of smoke out the window, but kept looking at her.

"Pretty cold. Full of cooties and rats. I named one in your honour, that's a tradition that we the Solomons have. Name a goat, name a rat… How's Arfah, by the way? Alfie misses him."

"Thanks for the honour, Mrs. Solomons. Arthur wanted to come. I told him he doesn't know how to deal with a Solomons."

"Oh," she grinned. "And you do?"

"I'm pretty confident about it. It worked in the past."

"I have no doubts about it. But I'm not my husband, Mr. Shelby. I don't fall for a pair of blue eyes and a chiseled face and most of all, I don't trust men."

Tommy threw the remaining of his cigarette in a basket that was there and walked again to the seat in front of her. He crossed his legs and rested his hands over his stomach.

"Do you want to fuck me, Mrs. Solomons?"

"Yes. Just bring me a bottle of cyanide to accompany the moment. And then I want to hug a black mamba. Your place or mine?"

Tommy chuckled. "Wherever you prefer, sweetheart."

Far away from being intimidated by the confidence he was exuding, Rose just scratched her chin.

"Alfie accepted? I mean, if this is the way you deal with a Solomons..."

"Never asked."

"Oh, you should have. The answer maybe could suprise you. But, let me tell you something, Tommy. Can I call you Tommy?" he nodded. Rose left her armchair and approached the man. He followed her with his eyes. Her face was now in front of his, their noses were touching. Both pair of eyes were staring at each other. Tommy felt her breath on his skin "I know who you are, Tommy. Reputation precedes you. I know how you do business with women. But here's the thing: I'm not them. And yes, I'm a Solomons, yes Alfie and I we have lot of similarities. But I'm not Alfie. I'm not interesting in you as a man and if your cock is the only thing you have to offer me, you're wasting your time here… sweetheart." Rose inhaled deeply "God! I never killed anyone, but I swear the devil keep tempting me. How about having your head as a trophy hunting hanging on this office? But…" Rose moved her head back again "as I said, I'm not a murderer."

"Alfie is a lucky man, Mrs. Solomons," Tommy said once she returned to her seat behind the desk.

"Is he?" She tilted her head.

"Believe me." Tommy straighted on his armchair "and I'm sure If something happens to him, I'm sure you're going to heard the devil that keeps telling you to kill someone."

"Be sure of that. If anything happens to my Alfie, the only one who can stop me is Alfie himself. I hope nothing happens to him, EVER. You know about it, don't you?. Your late wife, we knew what happened. I can't imagine the pain."

"No, you can't imagine. But I'm getting over it." Tommy cleared his throat "Mrs. Solomons, I need information."

"In exchange of…"

"Mutual respect."

Rose snorted. "Yes, sure. Alfie could be delighted when I tell him. Information means business, Mr. Shelby. And whiskey is for business, innit?"

She opened a cabinet in her desk and put a bottle of whiskey with the Solomons logo on it. Behind her, were two glasses that she grabbed. A rose was engraved on them.

"I didn't know you drink," he said.

"Only in very few occasions. I prefer just tea for the rest of the day. So? You tell me."

Tommy drank a sip of whiskey before talking again. In his mind the image of Elias dead on the streets of Small Heath appeared again. Contrary to Gregory Smith, Elias was a good man. Her widow was pregnant and a payroll wasn't enough for the woman to compensate her for her husband's death. Yet, it was the only thing that Tommy could do.

"I'm looking for Mrs. Baker."

"There are several, Tommy. It's a very common name. Any details?

"It's an Irishwoman. I don't know her appearance but her husband killed her sister-in-law. It means his own sister."

"Sonia," mumbled her, "but the last name isn't Baker. It's O'Finn. Although she said that prefers her own surname. I'm going to keep that information to me until you tell me what the hell is going on."

From the murdered committed in Birmingham to the one in London's underground. Tommy told her about his suspicions that O'Finn was a member of the IRA and how he, Tommy, was now a target of them. Again.

"If that's true," she replied "then no matter what, your head already had a price and it's not going to be me the one hanging it on my office, but them. Nowadays it's very easy to send a message to the other side of the map. A telegram or a phone call… I don't understand why do you want to talk to this woman if he already communicated with his people."

"Because I don't think he did that. He's hiding. He's a fucking rat."

"Ok. Well, there's a lot of problems first. Mrs. O'Finn, she's not in conditions to talk. Even if she can, you're not allowed to be near her and this is not negotiable. These women are under my wing. Not you, not fucking Churchill can be near them. I don't give a fuck if you bring an order from the fucking president of I-don't-know-where. Understood? I have women specialized in talk to women with the kind of trauma that Sonia has, so, think about twice before suggesting another way to do this."

"The less people know about it, the better, Rose."

She pointed to the door, silently. Tommy sighed. "Fine. But I prefer that you can be present. And me too. Or at least I want to hear everything by myself."

"Agree. We have a place we can use. I need to tell you, or better say, reminder you that Sonia is highly traumatized. Yes, she's alive but the price she paid…" Rose stood up again but this time she walked to one of her bookshelves and picked up a carpet, although to do it she had to climb a ladder. "Tommy, I don't have this rule of "men aren't allowed" just because I'm fucking misandristic bitch, I'm not. I believe in equal rights. I fight for equality. I have that sign because people here, women, kids… are afraid of your kind. I have a register for every single woman that lived here since 1911 when I inaugurated this place. Open the folder."

Tommy obeyed and his first reaction was exactly what Rose hoped to get "Shit…"

The first page was the document of a woman who lived there in 1914 before volunteering as nurse in France, Rose never saw her again. Her name was Rita Brown, 20 years old. She escaped from her house because her father was an abuser. He ended up cutting her face marking a cross on her.

"I don't allow men, because we don't know what kind of bastard will cross that gate. Your man, that Gregory, he's not the first. Dozens before him, I'm genuinely surprised that if you talked to Alfie yesterday he didn't mention my women."

"He did."

"So you knew."

Tommy nodded and Rose studying his face laughed . Suddenly she understood. "You bring this bastard on purpose! You fucking did! You wanted him dead. Fucking hell, Tommy. I heard things a lot of things about you and I'm still impressed. The brother, too? You wanted me to rid off the other guy, too?"

"Why not?"

"Fine. I don't give a shit. One less." She returned to her seat and rang a bell. The same young girl called Edith appeared. Both of them talked in Hebrew again and Edith went out again once they finished. "We have an agreement, it seems. Now my payment."

Tommy opened his coat and placed two payrolls on her desk.

"I appreciate the effort," she said no looking at the money. "But I'm not interested it in cash, although if you don't want it. I can use it to buy something for the school like a new piano for the girls and some violins. A donation."

"I don't want it," he confirmed "then what's your price, Mrs. Solomons?"

"A soul for a soul, Mr. Shelby. I want a man dead."

"Who?"

"Churchill's right hand man."

Next part.

...so? 👀

[anxious-copper-wp]

Current marauders fancast for the Spider-Man Au (so technically it’s set in their 4-6th year, so I chose actors that where either minors or had been child actors)

Aryan simhadri as James potter

Malachi Barton as Sirius black

Toby Donovan as Peter pettigrew

Walker Scobell as Remus lupin

With the help of @genderless-moth it was a very quick and easy decision! I’m currently trying to work a way in for Remus to still be a werewolf (because u really don’t want to take that away) but considering it’s not entirely a magical world…besides Spider-Man- I’m not sure how yet.

Sadie sink as Lily evans

Zackary Arthur as regulus black

Malia baker as Mary McDonald

Danielle Jalade as Dorcas meadows

Elle fanning as pandora rosier

IM HAVING SO MUCH TROUBLE I KNOW I WANT LEAH SAVA JEFFRIES TO BE IN THE CAST, I DONT KNOW AS WHO, MAYBE AN OC. BUT ANYWAYS, PLEASE PLEASE PLEEEAAASSSEEE GIVE SUGGESTIONS, IM OPEN TO ALL (AS LONG AS THEYRE HAVE SCENES FROM WHEN THEY WERE YOUNGER BECAUSE I REALLY TRY TO KEEP IT AGE ACCURATE)

DISCLAIMER; ANY POSSIBLE SHIPPING GOING ACTISS THE CHARACTERS IS NOT SHIPPING THE ACTORS, THAT WOULD BE EXTREMELY WEIRD CONSIDERING QUITE A FEW OF THESE ARE MINORS.

Thank you (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 10: Equality vs Justice

Later that night we hold dinner for two hours before I finally decide to stop waiting for the Shelby brothers to return. Finn left to help about an hour ago and it’s just been Polly and me preparing Shepherd’s pies. When I tell her about Ada’s behavior she gets a funny look in her eye.

“I’ve got some suspicions. For now I’ll wait for Ada to come to me but my patience is wearing thin. She’s been avoiding me.”

A few more minutes go by and I check the clock. “Do you always wait for them to come back this late? If I were to stay out unaccompanied like this my mother would personally kill me.”

Polly laughs as she stirs the filling. “With those boys nothing is ever normal. Between John worrying about his family, Arthur wanting to be smarter than he is, and Thomas thinking he knows everything, I sometimes wonder how they can even function.”

“And Finn?”

She sighs heavily. “I hope he’ll turn out straight. He tries so hard to be like his brothers that sometimes we forget he’s still just a kid. How’s his lessons been going?”

I wipe my flower-covered hands on a towel. “No complaints at all, ma’am. Finn’s a prime student. He definitely has potential and dedication, though I’m glad to say he does not share his brother’s lack of resilience. Finn always has an open mind, which I think is inspired by his sister.”

We hear the front door open and all four Shelby brothers crowd into the room, all taking their places at the kitchen table. I can tell they’ve been drinking due to the smell of liquor but they seem to be level-headed enough. I just hope Finn hasn’t drank too much.

“How was the bonfire?” I ask lightly as I pass out a tray of slightly-cold pies.

“Affective.” 

Thomas is the only one to reply as they all dig into the simple meal. No doubt they’re tired. Finn is the only one that still shows any hint of ignorance. In these insane times a touch of ignorance might not be so bad.

“I got to leave early,” John says after he swallows. “Kids’ll be wanting their dad to tuck ‘em in.”

“Ever considered a sitter?” I ask.

Arthur slurs a laugh. “Ha! Yeah, so we can pay you double? Watch his tykes and teach Finn, ey?”

I shake my head and try to defend his accusation but John waves it off.

“‘S alright, Steenstra. I don’t expect you to. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is. I need a more stable solution.”

Thomas speaks up. “You need a wife, John.” He gets up and comes over to search through the cupboard. “Polly, where are those biscuits-?”

“In the refrigerator,” John says. “Though there may not be many left. Verena’s a damn good baker.”

“All the more reason why my decision to hire her has paid off well,” Polly comments. “Which is why you lot should treat her as the proper Peaky Blinders employee she is, Arthur.” She points a warning finger at the eldest Shelby brother, who just rolls his eyes.

“Respect is earned,” I reply. “Since my position is temporary I don’t expect to gain anything before-”

“Before you go back,” Finn grunts. “You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

Thomas ruffles his brother’s hair. “Hear that, Verena? Someone’s gonna miss you.”

Finn swats his hand away. “I will not!”

“I will,” John says as he chews another cookie. “Without her there’s no biscuits.”

The brothers go on chatting about other Blinders business and I take the chance to finish cleaning part of the kitchen before slipping off to bed. It’s already midnight and my eyes are starting to droop. I don’t even bother thinking about reading as I dim the lights and slip under the covers…

“Clocking out early?” Thomas’ voice stirs me from my thoughts. He’s standing in the doorway.

“It’s midnight, Mr. Shelby. If I did have an established work schedule my shift would have ended hours ago.”

The man simply nods his head and walks over to look out my window. “Dinner was nice. And I know John’s exaggerated this already but your biscuits are to die for.”

In the dark I stand up to face him better. “Trying to butter me up with a compliment before delivering unpleasant news?”

Thomas’ reaction is covered by the shadows. “Only giving a compliment, Ms. Steenstra. I must say I’m surprised at how much you’ve changed around here.”

I tilt my head. “I haven’t changed much in the house besides my cooking-”

“I mean us,” Thomas gestures towards the kitchen. “You might not see it but you do more than what you think, Verena. And Finn will miss you, by the way.” He pauses. “Most all of us will miss you.”

“Most?”

“Well… Arthur’s still undecided about me hiring you.”

I nod respectfully. “I’m still grateful for your trust. In my family it’s a high honor for younger members to be part of something this big.”

Something I say doesn’t sit well with Thomas. His laid-back expression shifts to one of curiosity.

“Members? What kind of family are you part of, Steenstra?”

I slipped up. He suspects my involvement with the mob. 

“Like I said before. I’m half Dutch, half Irish. My father runs a chain of breweries.”

“And are there any business deals made under the table away from federal eyes?” Thomas inquires.

I keep a steady expression. “Do not accuse my father of bootlegging, Mr. Shelby. All his transactions are thoroughly legal.”

It’s not a lie. Father’s refused several proposals from Uncle Colon about selling his products to the Irish mobs. Thankfully my answer persuades Thomas to drop the subject.

“Your father seems like a good man. He raised a bright and resourceful daughter.” Thomas steps closer and I can smell the mint cologne and ash on him. “Good night, Ms. Steenstra.”

“Good night, Thomas. Prayers be with you.”

The gangster nods and exits the room, taking the chill of the conversation with him. That was close. At this point I’ve gone too far to confess to my family connections. The Shelbys trust me as myself, not as a mob asset. As I lay down once again to catch some sleep I can’t help but wonder if my family’s noticed I’m missing…

I open my eyes to a brand-new day and quickly get dressed. Now that I have my own clothing with English fashion I don’t feel like an oddball. It’s already 10:00. Much later than I wanted to start but there’s no use crying about it. I walk into the kitchen and am not surprised to find out that Thomas and his brothers have already left.

“Morning, love,” Polly greets from the table. “Finn’s running an errand and then you can do a lesson. He seemed eager to get back so you should expect him soon. The only other one who’s here is Ada.”

As if on cue, the Shelby sister walks into the room and slumps into the chair next to Polly.

“Good of you to join us.” Polly remarks as Ada pours some tea. “Where have you been all day?”

“In bed,” the brunette replies, sharing knowing glances with me. Sure. ‘Bed.’ “Couldn’t sleep. Then I couldn’t wake up.”

She goes on to ramble about dreams while Polly chats about recent bad news. It’s not until I hear Polly abruptly say “stand up” that I look up from the novel I’m reading. Ada does as she’s told and Polly walks around examining her, then suddenly feels up her chest.

“Polly what are you doing?” Ada shouts.

“Ada. How late are you?”

Her words take a moment to drift in the air, then it clicks in my head. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes. It was only a matter of time before Ada’s affair would catch up with her. She’s pregnant.

“One week- 5 weeks- seven weeks, but it must be a lack of iron…” Ada desperately tries to patch up an excuse.

But Polly won’t have it. “I’m taking you to the doctor.” She gives Ada a stern look to quiet her then glances over at me. “Verena, love, it’s best you not tell a soul if you know what’s good for you. You can wait here for Finn while I take her.”

Hiding my face behind my book cover, I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

Polly nods and drags Ada out of the room. Ada gives me one last panicked look before the pair walks through the front door. Don’t expect sympathy from me. You know what you were getting yourself into. I sit quietly at the table and continue reading until the door opens again and Finn walks in.

“Where’s Aunt Polly?”

Not a word about Ada. “She had something come up. Didn’t say when she’d be back.” I try to reroute the conversation. “What do you want to learn about today?”

Finn joins me at the table and sets down a new book. “I found this at the library. Before you say anything-” He points a finger at me. “No, I don’t agree with Tommy about using public resources. I like the library.” He holds the book up for me to see. “I found this today and was hoping you might know about it?”

The book is one I’ve never heard of before but the topic looks enticing. “You want to learn about equality and justice?”

“Yeah. We deal with social concepts like them all the time in the family business.”

“That you do, Finn. If only others would share your willingness to learn.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Thomas’ voice asks from behind.

Of course he’s here. I turn around to find the blue-eyed gangster leaning against the counter with an amused smirk.

“Good morning, Thomas. Care to join us?”

“Depends. Will I like what I hear?” 

I raise a brow. “Depends. Does talk of justice bother you? You Shelbys seem to admire it.”

Thomas doesn’t answer verbally. Instead he slowly walks over to sit next to Finn. I take that as my cue to begin.

“Equality is the state of being equal, regardless of background or social status.”

“So socialism, then,” Thomas says.

“Please hold all comments for after the lesson, Mr. Shelby. As I was saying, justice is the concept of what is fair. What is right and what is deserved.”

“That sounds like the same thing as equality,” Finn says, confused.

“Think of it like this, Finn. Imagine two people watching a horse race from behind a fence. They’re each too short to see over the top. In a scenario when equality is involved, each person is given a crate to stand on. However one person is still too short to see over. In a scenario with justice, the fence would be removed to allow both people to see.”

Both Shelbys take in my words with consideration. However our lesson is interrupted when Arthur bursts through the door.

“Tommy, where’ve you been? Been looking for you in the Bull Ring and you’re here being lectured by the American?”

I suppress the urge to argue. Thankfully I don’t have to because Thomas does the work for me.

“She’s got a name, Arthur. Verena’s a Peaky Blinders employee so she’ll be treated as such. We were just finishing a lesson with Finn.”

The oldest Shelby brother takes little notice to apologize and motions for Thomas to follow him. Probably more urgent business than a lecture.

“That’s enough for today, Finn.”

He gives a disappointed sigh. “Thanks, Verena.”

The rest of the day ticks by and I do my best to make the time pass faster while I wait for Ada and Polly to return. The sound of the door opening alerts me to look up from my book and see the two sit down on the couch across from me, both holding cigarettes.

“You’re pregnant, and you’re smoking?! What is wrong with you?”

“Quiet!” Polly hisses. “I’ll talk to Tommy about it later but for now no one knows. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nods. “Good. How was Finn today?”

How can she expect me to ignore this blessing? “Ambitious as usual. Is the baby healthy?”

“So far so good,” Ada assures me. “Have you been stuck inside all day? You should get some fresh air.”

Come to think of it, I am getting a little antsy. Some time outdoors would do me some good. Polly and Ada probably need to discuss the situation more thoroughly with privacy.

“Good idea, Ada. I think I’ll step out back and take a stroll in the alley. I won’t stray far.”

After picking out a hat to block out what little sun there is I see Polly approach me with a pistol.

“For protection.”

I take it graciously and slip it into my skirt pocket. “How did you know I know how to shoot one?”

She gives me a subtle wink. “Intuition.”

The moment I open the back door I’m welcomed by a gust of ash and dirt. Today’s much windier than normal and is not in my favor. But beggars can’t be choosers. I should stretch my legs before I develop cabin fever. The pistol's weight pressing against my leg serves as a reminder that I can defend against any unwanted violence.

Just as I step into the alley and wander into the nearby street the sound of hooves signals for me to peek around the corner. Thomas is back, and he’s riding his new white horse. The horse almost looks out of place here, with the whole ‘gloom and doom’ atmosphere. Thomas halts the horse and dismounts, gently stroking the animal’s nose.

“Seems to me like you treat horses like people and people like snakes.”

Thomas rolls his eyes but takes the comment all in good fun. “Yeah, yeah. The humanity in me is dead.” He pats the horse and ties him to a nearby hitching post. “On another note, I just talked with Grace. I’m taking her to the races later this week.”

My thoughts come to an abrupt stop, like a freight train tumbling off a twisted track. Why? Why do I feel so… disappointed? It only makes sense that Thomas would ask her out. Grace is pretty and kind. He’ll only ever think of me as an employee, so at least he trusts me enough with his family’s business.

“Oh. That sounds fun,” I try to sound encouraging. “Are the races here exciting?”

“They never disappoint, love. Ever been to one?”

I shake my head and stroke the horse’s mane. “My father never lets me go to the races. Says it’s not ladylike.” Another thought surfaces. “What did you think of today’s lesson?”

The gangster scoffs and takes off his cap to run a hand through his hair. “I think part of that lecture was directed at me.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. You want me to reconsider my mindset of establishing justice, eh?”

Honestly I didn’t plan for the topic to hint at Thomas’ mindset but he makes a good point. “You have heart, Thomas. But you can’t act as life’s judge, jury, and executioner. It’s not always about what people deserve. It can be about what they need. No, they may not always want what they need. But God’s plans aren’t spelled out for everyone.”

Thomas looks over at me with a happy smile. “Keep that hope alive, Verena. We all need it.”

His praise causes me to smile too. Besides being a teacher I’m also on the good side of one of the fiercest gangsters in England all because I speak my mind.

But the moment is gone when Thomas reaches for a cigarette and I see something fall out of his pocket. I bend down to pick it up and dust off the ash to reveal a gleaming silver and bronze bullet with the markings Tommy etched into it.

“Thomas, what is this?”

My boss takes a puff of his cigarette. “Oh. That. ‘S just a gift from the Lee family.”

This is no gift, this is a threat! I’ve heard of threats like this from Uncle Colon and they are no light matter. How is he so calm?

“They’ve signed your death warrant, Thomas. The bullet literally has your name on it!”

But Thomas doesn’t share my worry. Instead he chuckles and puts both hands on my shoulders. “No need to worry, love. I’ll handle it.’S not the first time I’ve gotten a death threat. Now,” he rubs his hands together and starts walking towards the Shelby house. “Where’s Polly? I’ve got a few questions for her.”

Oh. Right. And he doesn’t know about Ada yet.

“Last I saw she was in the living room.” Lord, I do not want to hear this!

I follow him inside and briskly walk back to hide in the kitchen, where Finn has settled to do some reading. He is also smoking a cigarette!

“Finn! Not you too!” I throw my arms up in defeat. ��Am I the only one who thinks smoking is a death wish?”

He just shrugs and continues reading. I don’t hear a reaction from the other room but after a few minutes Polly walks in with a determined look.

“I just told Tommy.”

“About Ada?” I ask softly.

“Yes.”

“What’d he say?”

Polly sets out the kettle and begins brewing tea. “Nothing. He just stormed out to find her. The instant Ada spills his name, he’s a dead man. Thomas won’t stand for it.”

I don’t blame him. If I were to ever try something like that my brothers would kill any man who looks at me in cold blood. All I can hope is that Thomas goes easy on the poor bloke.

[satanicsanity]

Hello my Darlings!! I've come with more Baker-wally au content, because I'm unable to record and got struck with sudden art motivation!-

Furthermore... Remember The-Entity that Baker is loyal to? (tw: Blood, death, sacrificial stuff, etc)

They've now got an official design!!

The-Entity Is 19'4 ft tall, they/them he/him pronouns! (Update on the height!)

Wholesome(ish) facts: Baker sometimes accidentally calls the entity 'dad' (not as in the entity reminds baker of baker's actual father, like.. In the wholesome 'you're my dad' way.) Baker immediately regrets his entire life decisions, but the entity finds it incredibly endearing.

The entity doesn't have a name, so baker calls them "My lord" or "My divinity" (or anything along that line!)

If anyone were to hurt baker to near-death, Entity would pull them APART, and make sure they never see the light of day again. (as markiplier once said-)

New information:

Entity's voice claim

Entity's outside affairs & relations, apart from the bakery & wally:

Entity isn't exactly bound to baker's realm, he's an entity afterall so he is free to move from au to au, or dimension to dimension, as he pleases. (usually to get more loyal followers)

So in going about as he pleases, they've met a lovely Deity/God... Gossamer! (gossamer's character and art both belong to @motherarts)

All in all summary, Entity has a romantic relationship with gossamer!

Information on gossamer, given to me by motherarts: Gossamer is a God of Truth and Promises, Punisher of Oath Breakers. (Again gossamer and the art of them, belongs to @motherarts)

(update he's got two more partners and they've got a poly now! Entity, Gossamer, Silas, And Luma! Silas and Luma belong to my friend @/lyric-abaddon!

Another update!! Two more! Para, made by my good friend anu, and Arthur! Made by me! They're the mother and father of Angel! Along with Rue who belongs to Motherarts!

They got a poly of.. 7!!)

Also please keep in mind that Entity is my oc! Not everything with Entity has to do with my Welcome-home au as he's his own character! While I made him part of the story to my own au, he isn't owned by it if that makes sense!

[morning-star-joy]

WIP Wednesday Thursday

thank you for the tag @sp00kymulderr I love your fics sm <3

Step one: post snippets of the fics you're working on (can be a summary if there's no snippet)

Step two: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on

Step three: every vote is one minute you put on a timer to work on that fic (ex. 15 votes = 15 minutes of writing)

the killer doesn't understand pt 6 (Post-Outbreak Neighbors)

It took every fiber of his being to attempt to keep you at arms length, and it still wasn’t enough to keep you away. He could bite and you’d still be back, still offering him scraps of food from the palm of your hand, trying to feed a feral wolf in a stray dog’s skin. It’s his fault. It’s always his fault. 

daydreams pt 2 (Touch-Starved!Joel x F!Reader)

The heat that rushes towards his face and warms his tired bones when he walks through the front doors of the bakery is welcome, as startling as the comforting smell of freshly baked bread and other sweet delights always is. Being in the small store along one of Jackson’s main streets is always an odd, forbidden sort of time travel to a bygone era of early morning coffee runs and frustrating traffic to get there that no longer existed. It’s a place he wouldn’t have frequented just months before. A place where he now greeted the smiling, albeit sleepy faces of the bakers by name and a nod of appreciation for their hard work. They had made a comment only once, a kind little joke about how much he liked the scones he picked up every Tuesday morning like clockwork. He was ready to snatch them up as soon as they had cooled down enough from the oven for the fresh orange glaze to be layered on top.

tarnished but so grand (Regency!Joel x F!Reader)

“You’ll despise it there,” Joel told the determined Miss Williams for the tenth time as she shoved another piece of luggage into the back of the carriage. “You would be much happier staying here with Miss Servopoulos.” Ellie sent a glance back towards the ranch’s beloved protection, cross-legged on the porch’s rocking chair with a shotgun across her lap. The woman was armed to the teeth as always, her hat resting over her face as her ears stayed alert to what was happening, no doubt hearing as Ellie sighed. “She’ll do just fine without me,” the young woman said simply before she turned back to give Joel an unimpressed glance over. “But you? They’re going to eat you alive ‘cross the water, old man.”

bloodshed, crimson clover pt 2 (Jackson Joel x Doctor F!Reader)

He may as well be a ghost, the way he haunts you. Sometimes you really do think that’s all Joel Miller was—a spectral force, maybe more divine than man in his fury. You certainly clung onto his visage like a prayer, replaying every moment where he danced just out of your grasp. Trying to remember the way the smog-addled QZ sun filtered through the dingy windows of your clinic to reflect in his eyes. Hazel, you have to remind yourself sometimes, ten years later. Not just brown, or even green, but a beautiful combination of the two, a swirling of two colors that spoke much of the dual nature within him, the conflict that raged inside a body honed to kill, even with the glimpses you had caught of him being so much more.

men like you chapter 4 (Arthur Morgan x F!OC)

Arthur knew that Miss Taylor was a beautiful woman. He’d thought it when she had been caked with dried blood upon their first meeting, wild hair and wilder eyes, ready to kill him in a moment if he moved wrong. He still thought it when she glared at him, face scrunched up in contempt at the mere insult of his very presence. Her tenacity, her fire, were things of true beauty that he hoped their way of life would never stamp out, even if they perplexed and frustrated him to no end. He thought it even more now, with the display of her vulnerability that he had never seen. Even if it was just an unintended consequence to their unfortunate situation of being in such forced close proximity to each other.

some violent, exquisite happenstance (Arthur Morgan x Ex-Outlaw F!Reader)

Arthur huffs, annoyance bleeding into his good intentions even as his own hand twitches by his own killer instinct just from the sight of you so ready to draw in case he dared to move wrong. “Now, ya really think I’m gonna shoot you after all that?” He gestures towards the fixed carriage, all your belongings back in place, and you have the infuriating gall to just shrug at his exasperation. “Stranger things have happened.”

np tags: @cavillscurls @5oh5 @sweetercalypso @joelsdagger @punkshort @honeyedmiller @eupheme (sorry if you've done it already, goldfish memory)

[borrowedtimeandspace]

Meet the OCs - Brothers Apart AU

A summary of original characters that are featured in and originated from AU I've cowritten with @brothersapart's @nightmares06. The original Brothers Apart is a Supernatural g/t AU, and my contributions add in characters from the BBC's Sherlock.

Supernatural belongs to the CW, Sherlock to the BBC, adapted from Arthur Conan Doyle's stories, The Borrowers to Mary Norton, and these OCs to me!

Stan Baker - The Unexpected Good Boi

art by the wonderful @quackghost

Stan is playful, selfless, and protective. He cares deeply for others, especially his loved ones and those who cannot easily defend themselves. His combat experience and low-key paranoia give him excellent reflexes, and he's honestly a bit of a g/t nerd who doesn't have the context for that (def one of the most self-insert aspects of him). At the end of the day, he's just a big softie, in the 'looks like a cinnamon roll and is one but will kill you if necessary' way.

Though he wasn't the first OC of mine introduced in the Brothers Consulted story, "A Burglary at Baker Street", Stan stole my heart the second he hit the page. He was meant to be a plot device, never to be seen again, and he decided he deserves to be an actual character. Who was I to argue? I mean, lookit him! Complete and total charmer.

Unlike Zepheera, who is always my emotional support borrower, I can play around with Stan's Situations™️ a lot more freely. Oftentimes he's a human, like in Brothers Consulted. In AU like Brothers Chosen, he's a born and bred borrower. I've even got a size-shifter AU for him!

Mark and Anita Bend - Power Twins

art by quackghost

Mark and Anita are twins, and victims of terrible circumstance in Brothers Consulted. Mark is the heart of the pair, trusting and friendly and happy to make friends. His problem is he's not the most tactful, which is where his sister comes in; the self-established more thoughtful and responsible one. Anita is the brains, thinking everything through before acting.

The one thing they share perfectly is a strong devotion to and protectiveness for one another. They would do absolutely anything to keep the other out of danger. A fact that is easily exploited, unfortunately. They're all they've got in a world set against them.

Nathan Sullivan - Stan's Partner

Pride photo by the lovely @abookishweasel

Nate is the yang to Stan's yin. He keeps his excitable partner grounded, and rolls with all the incredible things that happen in their lives. Whether he's a teacher as a human or a curious drifter as a borrower, Nathan always has a deep love of learning and will do what he can to be in an environment where he can keep discovering new things. He's also a passionate home cook, and keeps Stan and their German shepherd Juno very happy at home.

Where there is Stan, there must also be a Nate. Like Stan, I love to play around with Nate's size and background from story to story. So far he's appeared as a human, though I've written one short with him as a borrower, in which he and a young Stan met as kiddos.

Stan's Brothers

Stan Baker is the youngest of five brothers, who basically raised him. They have yet to show up in proper BAU, but they've shown up more often in the size-shifter AU as they help their baby bro in distress.

The oldest, Simon, stepped up to lead the household when their parents were no longer in the picture. He worked hard to make sure his brothers could live the best lives possible, and couldn't be more proud of them all. He's incredibly chill and approaches everything with a calm and clear head. If Simon freaks out, you know it's all gone pear-shaped.

Dylan, the second oldest, holds the most fight in him apart from Stan. His scholastic track leaned towards the athletic, and he has the bigger temper of the bunch, especially when it comes to his loved ones being messed with. He taught his younger brothers how to hold their own in a fight when they were kids, and very nearly joined the British army as an adult before changing his mind.

Seamus Baker is the know-it-all middle child. He mellows out of them with age, but certainly had pedantic tendencies as a kid. Studies were a major aspect of his youth, as well as making sure his brothers were all keeping in some kind of order. He seems humorless compared to his boisterous brothers, but his funny bone is just harder to tickle.

And Levi is the one just older than Stan, a sweetheart who only wants everyone to get along. He's on the chill side of the spectrum, like Simon, but he's got too much energy to keep it up all the time. He's also the most creative of the brothers, and is most likely to end up with a career in the arts.

Adult Simon (left) and kid Levi (right) by the lovely @rainyday-deer

Young Simon with shrunk Stan by quackghost

[casthecorpse]

My oc Amory Willows!

He was adopted by a Baker couple when he was around 15/16, helped out at the bakery until he was hired as a castle guard. He also used to date Prince Mordred before he 'died' fighting King Arthur.

He's extremely everything to me right now!

[represseddilfs]

𝚃𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜

Indie role play blog featuring mainly older male OCs. Smut based. Dark and triggering content will be present and not tagged. Exploration of older, typically repressed married men. OC and canon friendly. Semi-selective, low to medium activity. Dash only. Written by Murdock, 29+ NB.

Use the links below for more information. Mobile friendly list of muses below the cut.

Muses

Rules

Kinks

Wanted opposites

Wishlist

Starters

Arthur Dawson: Mechanic, 53, dominant (JR Bourne)

Richard Winston: Bar owner, 55, dominant (Jeffrey Dean Morgan)

Santiago Mendez: Detective, 48, switch (Pedro Pascal)

Forest Martin: Rancher, 46, dominant (Ian Bohen)

Alexei Volkov: Arms dealer, 43, dominant (Charlie Hunnam)

Marshall Teller: Personal trainer, 40, switch (Alan Ritchson)

Brandon Harris: Crooked cop, 45, switch (Tom Hardy)

Dominic Ricci: Surgeon, 56, dominant (Joe Manganiello)

Thomas Grant: Motorcycle street racer, 42, dominant (Ryan Gosling)

Nicolas Pederson: Band manager, 42, dominant (Chris Pine)

Carlos Alvarez: Professor, 49, switch (Danny Pino)

Cameron Davis: Baker, 42, switch (Chris Evans)

Dante Branson: Stock broker, 50, dominant (Anson Mount)

Jason Parker: Retired boxer, 54, dominant, (Hugh Jackman)

Elias Hoffman: Soldier, 43, switch (Luke MacFarlane)

Liam Abrams: Retired porn star, 55, dominant (Frank Grillo)

Rowan Montgomery: Gym owner, 45, dominant (Jon Bernthal)

Sebastian Richards: Author, 47, dominant (Liam O'Brien)

Ryan Cho: Theatre actor, 54, dominant (Daniel Dae Kim)

Dylan Cromwell: Tailor, 52, switch (Ewan McGregor)

Joshua Conelly: Stay at home dad, 40, switch (Henry Cavill)

Lance Priest: Construction site manager, 47, dominant (David Harbour)

Andrew Weeks: Lawyer, 45, dominant (Pablo Schreiber)

Oliver Velasco: Musician, 44, switch (Oscar Isaac)

Silas Perez: Outlaw biker, 45, dominant (Santiago Cabrera)

William Reichheld: Bounty hunter, 55, dominant (Tim Olyphant)

Joel Beckerman: Firefighter, 40, dominant (Sebastian Stan)

Bartholomew Walsh: Distiller, 47, switch (Cillian Murphy)

Nathaniel King: Security specialist, 54, doominant (Josh Brolin)

Dimitri Volkov: Arms dealer, 43, dominant (Joel Kinnaman)

Augustine Nelson: Casino owner, 58, switch (Keanu Reeves)

Caspian Fitzgerald: Hippotherapist, 42, dominant (Jake Gyllenhaal)

Max Berry: Contractor/house flipper, 53, dominant (Skeet Ulrich)

Zane Weisman: Wrestling coach, 33, dominant (Aaron Taylor-Johnson)

Deacon Abbott: Assassin, 52, dominant (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau)

Wyatt McNabb: Repossession specialist, 34, switch (Ryan Corr)

[maramcna]

This is gonna be a long post and probably gonna have weird spelling things cause my phone keyboard hates me?

From easiest to hardest, how easy is it to write with my muses

Jack- easily the most easy to write with cause time traveler he can go anywhere

Lucalia- similar to Jack as time lords have time travel technology, baby girl <3

Rosie- popstar love of my life, she's just a girl tbh & can fit nearly anywhere + does have a sw verse

everyone else under the cut cause L O N G

Barbie- enough said, is not the barbie movie vibes. More like the barbie in the animated films & as such fits EVERYWHERE. mermaid? Fairy? Princess? Baker girl cursed to be a swan?

Zahra, Arthur, May, Nikki, & Nikolai- so very just a person vibes (you know, aside from Arthur being the husband of a princess lmao) nikki is from a canon that is weird, but she was just a normal girl before finding herself in Miraland

All of my greek mythology muses- with all of them being immortal, they can go just abt anywhere. Orpheus is the sandman vibes

Katsa & Bitterblue- historical & fantasy vibes here. Can kinda be made to fit almost anywhere with those same vibes & Bitterblue kinda has a sw verse

Qin Yi- like Nikki, is from a weird canon; however I will fit him in anything. He is an actor

Lyra- AU version of her. Mostly hdm but also sw and pjo and Normal world. I love my daughter

Seth- BABY BOY, is a werewolf but just a guy & my oc now

Rowan- i need to write bios for my ocs, they are from just normal earth but has warlock vibes, super easy if you've got dnd verses

Lucienne- they're just available when your muse is either visiting the Dreaming in general or is dreaming tbh

Hassian- can both be like dnd vibes but also alien vibes

Hephaestion- not easy unless you write like a time traveler, someone from the same time as him, or a god. He is here to bring joy to me and Elliot

Strawberry Shortcake- listen, I love her but I know nobody is really gonna write with her lmao

[fatecanberewritten-writer]

Bewitched | Chapter Three: Shandy

Stars Series | Bewitched

By her third glass of cheap wine, she was about ready to burn the letter. 

Only the buzzing light in the kitchen lit the single-room flat. Petunia Evans sat on the floor, leaning against the mattress the room had come with, listening to the growing storm outside, swirling the last bit of wine in her plastic wine glass, and staring spitefully at her sister’s letter. Her lighter was in her other hand.

Though she hadn’t read many of her sister’s letters as of late, she had never before burned one, and though they had parted this summer on bad terms, Petunia wasn’t sure if she was ready to burn that bridge. She felt numb as she sat her wine glass down, picked up the unopened letter, and brought the lighter to the bottom corner of it.

Her thumb hovered over the sparkwheel, but her eyes were focused on the scrawl on the envelope. All that was on it was her name. No address, no stamp, no return address (why would they need any of that? Somehow, owls just knew.) Her name was written in perfect cursive - of course it was. Everything about Lily Evans was perfect.

Her sister was a witch born into a non-magical family, but somehow she made Petunia look like the defective one. Of course, she never did that consciously - no, because Lily Evans was perfect. Such a kind, innocent girl with high morals. Their parents’ favorite. Her father always said he didn’t have a favorite child, but her mother had no shame in admitting it. Why can’t you be more like your sister?

At this thought, she pressed her thumb against the sparkwheel, a low growl coming from deep within her throat, but in a single moment, a clear thought worked its way past her rage, and she flung the lighter across the room. She couldn’t do it. Despite it all - despite her mother constantly degrading her, despite her sorrowful wonderings of why it hadn’t been her - Petunia cared deeply about her sister. She wasn’t about to throw it all away in a moment of drunken rage.

But she couldn’t bring herself to open the letter, either. She stood, put the new letter with the others in her bedside drawer, grabbed her coat and an umbrella, and left.

She opened her umbrella, stepped out into the street and just walked. She had no idea where she would go - she only ever seemed to be at her job or her apartment - but she had to put distance between her and that letter before she did something rash. So, Petunia hastened out to the main street and walked along it for several blocks. Eventually, the rain and wind had gotten bad enough that she felt puddles in her shoes, so she decided she’d better find some shelter. That shelter came in the form of an average-looking pub on a corner called Young Buck’s.

Laughter erupted as she entered the pub and she paused in the midst of closing her umbrella, looking contentiously around her. The group of men that had rowdily laughed seemed to have taken no notice of her at all. The four of them sat at a table to the right of the bar, and it looked as though one of them had spilled beer on his shirt. She let out a breath of relief as she realized they had not laughed at her at all - it had all just been bad timing.

A man in his mid twenties with light brown hair and kind eyes came out from behind the bar, giving the men a towel before his eyes set on Petunia. “Evenin’,” he greeted brightly. Petunia had never seen a bartender who seemed to love his job as much as this one. He moved back to the bar. “There’s an umbrella stand on the other side of the coat rack, you’re welcome to use both.”

While she turned sheepishly to discard her umbrella and coat, Petunia felt oddly comfortable in this pub, which was strange because Petunia didn’t exactly feel comfortable anywhere. She’d always been an anxious person, and she wondered what it was about this place that put her at ease. She remembered the wine she’d had before she had left her flat.

Keeping her distance from the group of men, Petunia made her way up to the bar, sitting in the middle of it. The bartender, drying a glass, gave her another friendly smile, which she returned. “What can I get you, miss?”

“I - um - ” Petunia started, looking flustered. At eighteen, this was the first time she’d ever come to a bar alone, and she suddenly couldn’t think of a single drink. “Could I get - ” she could feel her face reddening - “could I get a beer mixed with lemonade?”

The bartender chuckled. “A shandy? ‘Course.”

Petunia kicked herself when she heard the name of the drink. It had been on the tip of her tongue, and she felt stupid now, not having known it.

“New to the bar scene?” the bartender continued as he began to make her drink.

“Is it that obvious?” Petunia grimaced.

He shrugged, laughing lightheartedly. “Nothing to be ashamed of. And it’s better to start with a shandy than something harder. Let me take a stab at it - you nicked some of your parents’ beer when you were young, didn’t like the taste, so you added lemonade?”

At his words, Petunia could almost feel the rooftop beneath her. She had been the older one at sixteen, but it had been Lily, only fourteen, who had gotten ahold of their parent’s alcohol. She could still see the look on her face as she extended the bottle out to her like an olive branch. “I don’t want that if you used magic to get it,” Petunia had said sharply.

“Oh, come on Tuney, you know I can’t use magic outside of school,” Lily had responded with a laugh. To this day, Petunia still had a clear image of her sister that night, the sunset seeming to set her auburn hair ablaze, her kind face so full of life. She’d always been jealous of her sister’s looks.

Petunia had been reluctant to take the beer from her sister, but eventually she did, and Lily sat beside her on their roof, shoulder to shoulder. She had wanted to snap at her, asking her why she wasn’t with that Spinner’s End boy, but something about the moment had stopped her. All animosities were at a standstill, and even if it was just for that one moment, they were just sisters.

They had opened the beers simultaneously, bringing the bottles to their lips together, and nearly spat it out at the same time, their scrunched faces more similar than they ever had been. 

“Oh, that’s awful.”

“Why do people drink this stuff?”

“It needs something. Something to hide the taste.”

“Lemonade?”

“Ah, the discovery of shandy,” the bartender mused, sliding eighteen-year-old Petunia her drink. Shaking off the memory, she gave him a shy smile and took a small sip of her drink.

Petunia tried not to think of much at all as she drank her shandy. That memory had snuck up on her and left her feeling unsteady - she didn’t want to think about her sister at all, not in a good light nor a bad one. That was why she had come to London in the first place, to distance herself from all of that, to finally focus on herself instead of her conflicted feelings towards her family. She took no notice of a couple that entered the pub, but, with her glass nearly empty, she was pulled out of her thoughts as a woman came in.

“Gin and tonic, please,” she told the bartender, leaning against the bar not far from Petunia. She couldn’t help herself from gawking at the woman - the very air around her seemed different than everyone else in the pub. She looked like a noblewoman to Petunia, like a duchess wearing a disguise so she could see how the lower class lived. Her soft brown hair was hardly even wet, though the rain was still thundering down. She obviously hadn’t been outside long. 

Slowly the woman turned towards Petunia, and the second her wide brown eyes met her own, Petunia looked back down at her glass, embarrassed. 

“Should I open a tab for you, miss?” the bartender asked the woman, handing her her gin and tonic. Petunia thought that her drink fit the woman well, both seeming very aristocratic to Petunia, who could hardly afford the shandy.

“No, but the person I’ll be meeting will take a shandy when she gets here,” she answered.

For a brief moment, Petunia stopped fiddling with her glass, looking up just in time to see the look the bartender shot her way. She smiled nervously at him, then turned her head just slightly to watch the woman walk away from the bar, settling herself into a secluded booth in the back.

Petunia spent the next few minutes trying to understand why the woman was so intriguing to her. She was beautiful, there was no denying that, but that’s not quite what drew her attention to her. There was something about her, something mystical.

Her stomach dropped as the thought occurred to her. Was it possible that the woman was like her sister? But it couldn’t be - from what she’d heard from Lily, most high society witches, which this woman undoubtedly would be, wouldn’t go near a place as Muggle as this.

“Al!”

Petunia had been too immersed in her thoughts to have heard the bell on the door chime, but the booming male voice behind her definitely caught her attention. She sat up straighter and looked around at the man approaching the bar. The first thing she noticed was his receding hairline.

“Will!” the bartender happily responded, moving closer to greet the man. Only a stool stood between her and this Will, who was radiating heat despite the freezing rain outside. Petunia awkwardly shifted in her seat.

Petunia tried her hardest not to eavesdrop on this conversation, but with how close they were to her and how loudly they were speaking, she was forced to hear every word of the bartender and Will’s conversation. They were apparently brothers-in-law, Will married to the bartender’s sister, who was eight months pregnant.

“Have you thought of any names yet?” the bartender, Al, asked.

“Haven’t narrowed it down, but we’re thinking something starting with an ‘O’,” answered Will. He seemed to be very excited to become a father, but Al seemed even more excited to become an uncle. “Something like Oscar.”

“What about Olen? That was our grandfather’s name.”

With the sound of the bell chiming on the door, Petunia didn’t get to hear Will’s opinion on the name Olen. The entire pub went silent, everyone’s attention keenly focused on the figure in the doorway.

As Petunia turned to the doorway, her breath caught in her throat. If the woman who ordered the gin and tonic was beautiful, then there were absolutely no words Petunia could use to describe this new woman. She was angelic. As her blonde hair fell out of her jacket as she pulled her hood off, Petunia thought that she was the sun itself. A shining light in the darkness.

The woman’s blue eyes flickered over the room, and though it was only a split second, her gaze met Petunia’s, and she felt a wave of nerves wash over her. The moment passed very quickly, her eyes settling on the woman in the secluded booth. She rushed past Petunia to her.

“Got another shandy drinker,” Al said offhandedly to Petunia, catching her off guard. Noticing this, Al smirked as he finished making the blonde woman’s drink. He smiled smugly at Petunia before he made his way over to the pub’s newest arrival.

Though the two women looked very serious, Petunia caught sight of the woman’s smile as she thanked Al for the drink, and she felt absolutely bewitched. 

“Some might call it fate.” The bartender had spoken this so softly as he passed Petunia again that she almost didn’t catch it. She looked up at him abruptly, but he was already back to his casual conversation with his brother-in-law. The pub’s atmosphere went back to normal.

Petunia was trying desperately to listen into the women’s conversation, though with Al and Will talking loudly, the group of men getting rowdier by the minute, and an argument breaking out between the couple sitting by the window, Petunia was having a difficult time hearing them. It didn’t help that they were talking in very hushed voices. 

She watched them from the corner of her eye. She couldn’t quite place their relationship to one another - they sat closely and had hugged when they had seen each other, but that could be so many things. They looked similar enough to be related, so Petunia settled her mind, calling them sisters. This was confirmed when Petunia picked up the word ‘Mum’.

But it was another word that nearly caused her heart to stop. Pureblood. Petunia tried to convince herself that she had misheard them, that maybe they had said ‘purebred’ or something like that, maybe talking about dogs, but she knew it wasn’t that. The blonde woman had said the word ‘Pureblood,’ a word Petunia had only ever heard Lily and that Snape boy use. Her assumption about the brunette woman had been correct, she was - they both were - witches.

The arguing couple left, making it a little easier for Petunia to overhear the witches.

“An infertile, a Blood Traitor and a lesbian?” she heard the blonde woman saying. “They’d be the laughing stock of Pureblood society. The damage is done with the two of you, so they’re focusing their attention on me.”

A silence ensued between the two of them, the brunette looking shocked, the blonde looking angry. Petunia watched in amazement as the blonde picked up her full drink, raised it in the air, then downed the entire thing in one go. She had to keep her mouth from falling open.

Her mind fuzzy, Petunia got Al’s attention and ordered another drink.

She was sufficiently intoxicated by the time the women stood from their booth and made their way towards the door. She pulled out her wallet, quickly counting out the money she owed for the drinks.

“Leaving so soon?” Al questioned with raised eyebrows, his eyes flicking to the door as the witches left. 

Petunia gave him a look, tilting her chin down. “Yes,” she answered him firmly.

Al innocently raised his hands. “Alright,” he said in a playful manner. “Your life, your decisions.”

As Petunia watched him, her scowled morphed into a smile. She wanted to tell him that she’d be back, but he seemed to already know. Petunia hopped off her stool, her balance a bit off, but she quickly regained it, grabbing her coat and stepping back out into the rain.

“You forgot your - ” Al tried to call after her, but she was already gone.

“So what do they do? What do they do when someone like me sees magic?”

“Nothing. You know about magic because of me, so they wouldn’t do anything.”

The words were echoing through her head as she stumbled through the rain after the witches. This sudden memory was just as unwanted as the last one, but Petunia couldn’t find the willpower to push it out of her mind.

“You know what I mean. Say I didn’t have a witch for a sister and someone did magic in front of me. What would they do to keep their secret?”

She could almost see the uneasy look that had overtaken her sister’s face after she had said this. In the darkness and rain, she nearly missed it as the witches turned sharply into an alley. Petunia walked slowly to the opening, stopping just short of it, trying her hardest to listen to them.

“They would obliviate you.”

Petunia heard a loud crack and, thinking she missed them, stepped into the alley.

Hands raised, Petunia stood frozen before the blonde woman, her wand drawn and only inches from Petunia’s nose.

“No, please,” she started desperately. “You don’t need to obliviate me. I know all about magic already.”

Narcissa was silent, but slowly, she lowered her wand.

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie Chapter 10

Chapter 11 of my Arthur Morgan x OC Fem Character Fic.

Slow burn romance, fluff and smut between Arthur Morgan and OC Savigne Ricci.

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/141919960

She lied on her bedroll, staring at the ceiling. There was somber chatter nearby as they had moved her tent temporarily closer to the others for safety, but she hardly heard it. She thought about the bullet whizzing by her head and her eyes instinctively found the hole in the tent fabric where light was beaming through from the campfire. She thought about that man's arm encircling her neck, chocking her and her hand cradled her neck. Then she thought of swimming up to consciousness as she was dragged off a horse, thrown over a shoulder and her hand glided down to her stomach as she remembered how it hurt to be hoisted like that. Then about Arthur kicking in the door and standing there, the light behind him almost giving him a halo, and her hand went down further before she flinched and retrieved it and turned to lie sideways. 

"What am I doing?" she mumbled with a tinge of frustration. 

The camp was dangerous. The peace and security she had here was breached and it was getting worse. There was danger from within and there was danger from without. Within weeks she had been assaulted  twice now - that was twice more than she had been assaulted in her entire life. 

Now that their hideout had been discovered by O’Driscolls, the gang had decided to move in the morning but that was small consolation for her as fundamentally little would change. Micah would still be here and O’Driscolls would still be out there. 

Maybe finally her self confidence had led her to a place she wasn’t equipped to handle. The more she thought about it, the more insane it seemed that she had drifted this far from her comfort zone, mingling with criminals.

Savigne knew that she had a habit of getting carried away when she had her eyes on a prize, of dismissing the cons and highlighting the pros. How else could she explain why she had bypassed a dozen other, saner options to end up here of all places - an outlaw camp? She had known some fellow orphans who got into a life of crime but it had been simple stuff. Prostitution, swiping jewelry, scamming folks, cheating in gambling and the like. These people were in a league of their own. They were rough and dangerous. They robbed trains, engaged in gunfights, killed without hesitation. There were some among them who were known to have done much worse. 

Her ambition to own her own home, the eternal dream of every orphan, had obviously clouded her mind. Was it time to cut her losses, swallow her pride and move on?

But then….

His hands roaming her body with confidence, carrying her, folding her, bending her, parting her; his mouth swallowing her moans, that hunger in his eyes, that sigh of her name in her ear…

Stop it! Think straight for once, Christ on a cross...

She shuffled to lie on her other side. 

He's just a man. There are millions of them in the world and only one of you. Think!

He wasn’t just a man, though. He was a man who had put his own life in danger for her. How many of those were there in the world?

Apart from a father she could barely remember, none that she could think of. The risk he took for her was so foreign, so novel of a concept, she simply couldn’t look away from it, fascinated by it. Maybe Arthur was the kind of man who would have done it for anyone, maybe it came natural and easy to him, maybe for him it was all in a day’s work and she was reading way too much into it. 

But for Savigne it was an extremely unique incident, something she simply had nothing else in her life to compare to. She had met some very generous people throughout the years who had helped her for no other reason than kindness. The sisters at the orphanage. Her old flame Llewyn who had helped her get that apprenticeship at the baker’s shop, even after things had ended between them. The baker himself, Mr. Stone, who had treated her like his own daughter and taught her everything he knew about the art of baking. Many more who evaded her memory at the moment. 

But never had anyone put themselves in danger, especially mortal danger, for her. Never had anyone killed for her. 

Especially given their history. A history that had started off acrimonious, leveled off to something like gruff comradery for a hot minute, and then had descended back to bitterness. She could think of a dozen reasons why Arthur Morgan could have declined to come after her today and not a single one why he actually did. It was perplexing, bizarre, outrageous, intriguing all rolled into one and she was mesmerized by it. 

Mesmerized by the rest of it, too. How she had wanted him at that moment. No, that was a lie. How she had been wanting him for far longer than that. Fantasizing about him in the safety of her tent, telling herself that it was nothing but harmless daydreaming. Why, she couldn’t fathom. How it happened, she didn’t know. It was madness, it shouldn’t be, but here she was. And here he was - saving her again. Fucking her again. She had asked for it but he hadn’t refused. Then again, what man would? She was back to square one, trying to understand why he had done what he had done and why she had done what she had done. Endlessly running in circles.

She left the next day earlier than usual because she was eager to get out of camp. They were packing the carts and preparing the horses. Her tent was small and easy to fold and she didn't have a lot of possessions. It was ready in minutes. They placed it into one of the carts and then she just stood around, not knowing what to do next. She saw Arthur looking at her several times but didn’t trust herself to interact with him. She had never been a good liar and was afraid to give away something if she spoke to him around others.

She rode to Saint Denis more apprehensive than she had been in years, her eyes scanning the hills for O'Driscolls. But nothing happened along the way and soon work did that wonderful thing work does: it took her mind off things. Of course, discounting the long report she had to give to Luther. 

"The hell kinda life ya livin’? Every week it’s somethin’ new with ya."

"I know," she groaned, refilling the sugar pots from the large container. "It's like I have crosshairs on my back."

"That ain't it," he mumbled around his cigarette. "It's because youse livin' with outlaws."

"Well yeah," Savigne admitted. "That too."

"No," he retorted. "Not that, too. Just that."

"I've saved a lot of money," she said defensively. 

"Worthless if you die.”

"I just need a little more. And then I can buy a place and..."

"So lemme see if I understand this," he interrupted, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and waving it at her, "Ya live with outlaws until you save money cause it's dangerous out there on yer own. Then you'll buy a place and live on yer own cause that's less dangerous than livin’ with them outlaws."

Savinge blinked. 

A few moments later: "I mean obviously I have to be able to defend myself..."

He gave her a long side-eye. 

"I would like to remind you that I'm taking shooting lessons," she added with a huff.

"Uh huh...How did that pan out when ya was kidnapped?"

"That's not fair, I didn't get a chance to use my gun!"

"Cause it got slapped out’o’ yer hand, ya mean."

She mumbled some incomprehensible things in return.

"Ya ask me, yer better off findin' a husband who can shoot than them lessons."

Savigne banged the container's lid shut a bit too forcefully. 

"I don't need a husband. I can do everything myself, thank you very much. Been doing it since I was a child."

 He rolled his eyes and returned to his station. 

"Maybe you'll marry this Arthur. He seem to know what he doin’. That's twice he saved yer hide."

She was placing the sugar container back into a lower shelf and got up so fast that she banged her head on a hanging pan. He turned around slowly, eyeing her with renewed interest. Savigne busied herself with cleaning the counter. 

"Somethin’ goin’ on there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Woman, don' play coy with me."

"Listen you dirty old man, nothing's going on. Also, your steak is burning."

"They ask for well done," he said smoothly, not even looking to check. "And yer a terrible liar."

She huffed in annoyance and wiped harder. 

“Ya sweet on this guy or somethin?”

Her laughter felt forced even to her own ears. “The only guy I’m sweet on is you,” she said with an exaggerated smile and batted her lashes at him. 

“My my…”Luther drawled and grinned as he turned his back to her again. “Somethin goin' on alright. Somethin’ definitely goin' on.”

She ended her shift tired but happy that she was tired. Working kept her head above the water. She changed her clothes and took off her double cap and made sure her hair didn't smell like food, she hated smelling like food. Then she walked out of the backdoor and was startled to find Arthur across the street, leaning against the building with one knee bent, foot planted against the wall, smoking a cigarette and looking absolutely stunning. Her legs went weak for a moment. She forced herself to walk up to him and couldn't help the smile on her face.

"Hey. What are you doing here?"

"Waitin’ for you." His eyes were more green than blue today but as magnetic as ever. Nobody had ever looked at her as fiercely as Arthur did and it made her heart quiver every time.   

"How did you know where I work?" she asked, a bit flustered.

"Hosea knew."

She nodded and looked away, still smiling.  

"Where's Cricket?"

She chuckled despite herself. Arthur had never called him anything but "the horse" before. "He's in that stable around the corner."

He crushed his cigarette under his heel. “Let’s go. I'll take ya to the new camp." 

He walked her to the stable to pick up Cricket and waited patiently as she petted him and saddled him. The horse was already washed and brushed and looked pristine. She climbed up the saddle and joined him as they rode out of Saint Denis, towards Rhodes. She disliked this region overall, the new location felt like a downgrade to her. But it was closer to Saint Denis, so there was that. 

“So I actually read about a new dish today,” she said after a while, feeling awkward in the silence. Arthur grunted to imply he was listening. “It’s called ‘canard a la rouennaise’”. She said it with flair (and probably wrong). 

“The hell is that?”

“It’s duck but you kind of use a press to extract the essential juices from roasted duck and then you make this sauce with Bordeaux wine and shallots, but it has to be Bordeaux because otherwise the flavor won’t be right and also never onions, it has to be shallots you know, shallots have this distinctive taste…” 

She counted the ingredients with her fingers and described the details of the dish but got sidetracked on how port and cognac are NOT interchangeable because of the properties of port and so on and so forth as they rode on, the sun waning on the horizon. 

Arthur just interjected with “That so?” or “How come?” which spurred her on to talk even more, jumping from one subject to another as was her usual way of talking – especially when she was nervous or excited. She told herself that she should shut up, that Arthur wasn’t probably very interested in the different varieties of mustard but then she thought that mustard rhymed with custard and decided to tell him all the different custards she could whip up and how they were totally not the same even though some kind of tasted pretty much the same. 

This went on for a good while until he veered off the road into the dimmer forest and she followed, trying to memorize the point of departure from the main road. But then he stopped abruptly, stuffed his hat into his saddle, jumped off and came around to grab her waist and pull her down. She trailed off from whatever she had been babbling about, looking around to spot the camp when his lips found hers in a hungry kiss. She froze with surprise for a moment as he walked into her, pushing her against a tree without breaking the kiss then immediately started down her neck, fumbling with the buttons of her blouse when her back hit the bark. 

"Missed ya," he whispered between kisses, his hands roaming all over her body. It had hardly been a day since their last encounter so this was a bit overzealous, but who was she to tell someone that it hadn’t been long enough to miss her? Savigne's eyes fluttered close as he suckled her earlobe and his hand reached into her blouse to palm a breast. 

"I…missed you…too," she managed, startled by how quickly she was aroused. It was electrifying, to be wanted, to be needed by someone like this. His lust was palpable, flammable and it made her knees weak to know that she was the reason for it. She had been desired by others, but that desire had been tame and gentle compared to this - his desire was searing, scorching, fuel to her own flame. 

He found her mouth again and she moaned into him as he pulled her blouse apart, his large hands cupping her breasts over her thin chemise, his thumbs drawing circles around her nipples. The same hands that had been soft and tender in touch when she had been fearful and apprehensive that first night, today eager and unapologetic. Moments later one of them dropped down to pull up her skirt and reach under her bloomers. 

"Could think of nothin’ else all day," was the hot whisper against her ear as his fingers brushed against her folds and she jumped with a gasp, feeling herself get wet already. 

She remembered how he had responded with discomfort when she, a stranger at the time, had grabbed his arm in Valentine. A reserved man around others, Arthur was a different beast altogether in private: direct, daring, feral. His boldness was magnetic; his hunger simple, honest and unabashed. He wasn't interested in pretending or playing coy games; he wanted her and he asserted his demand with remarkable confidence, and her body responded to this demand with a primal need of her own.

"But what if someone sees-" she heard herself saying, stunned by the force of her own thrill.

"Don' care." 

He captured her lips again, his tongue forceful and possessive. She unbuttoned his shirt halfway and ran her hand against his warm chest, his heartbeat like a drum against her palm. She moaned with surprise when he inserted a finger in her, moving it teasingly slow, his other hand kneading her buttocks as he pressed her against himself. She gave up on the rest of his shirt buttons and hastily unbuckled his gun belt instead. He curled his finger with deadly precision and she cried into his mouth, dizzy with need. The hard outline of his cock bloomed against her stomach. 

"Woman, ya make them sounds, I won't last," was his low chuckle, but he curled his finger again and her head thudded against the tree as she let out a long, deep moan. His hand cupped her as he continued pushing his finger slowly in and out. His other hand settled on her cheek to turn her face up to him as he kissed her breathless. 

He locked eyes with her, his blue gaze assertive as he brushed his lips against hers. “Unbutton me, little bird,” he mumbled against her lips. She shuddered at the casual command in his tone. Her face turned away in his palm, she reached blindly with shaking fingers. He suckled and licked her lips, watching her with hooded eyes. When her fingers touched the rough cotton of his shirt, suddenly his thumb slid over her wet clit and her hand momentarily fisted the garment as a wave of pleasure jolted through her. She gasped and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pushing in his tongue to glide over hers before retreating again, back to suckling her lips. Her glare of irritation only amused him, curling the corner of his lips and crinkling his eyes. 

Savigne pressed her lips flat to deny him as her hand drifted lower over the buttons of his shirt, like a trail of little pepples leading her to the waistband of his trousers. His finger kept moving, coated with the wetness of her own desire now, the pace just slow enough to make her tremble with the friction. She felt the hard buttons of his trousers when he inserted a second finger and continued his rhytmic pumping. She exhaled with the increased pressure and bit back a whimper. Her fingers grasped the buttons and she fumbled to undo them singlehanded. He curled his fingers and brushed his thumb against her bud, forcing a moan from her and making her hand pause again. He was expecting it and pounced on her mouth, kissing her deeper, smugly pleased with himself.

Then the hand on her cheek turned her face away and his lips traveled to her neck, kissing and licking the sensitive skin under her ear. She sighed with relief when she finally managed to undo the buttons. His erection was hard against his trousers, tenting the fabric. His lips like circles of fire on her neck while he was seemingly occupied with kissing his way to her shoulder. But when she tried to reach in to touch him, he immediately curled his fingers in warning that she was overstepping what he had asked of her and she cried out from the pleasure, fisting his waistband in frustration. 

“Well done,” he whispered into her ear, playfully nibbling her earlobe. A part of her disgustingly rejoiced at the compliment. Another, more rebellious part of her wanted to fight him, to resist him. Her fingers curled around him over his pants and his breath stuttered as his hips involuntarily twitched against her hand. The next moment he curled his fingers just so, executing a slow and long slide against a spot inside her that made her eyes roll back and her hand reflexively left his cock and flew to grip his forearm. She panted, trying to come down from that sharp, unexpected cut of pleasure that he had managed to inflict on her, stunned by how well he already knew her body. He hummed in approval as if to remind her that he was in charge today and didn’t feel like sharing his power.

A moment later he stepped back and slid down her bloomers, crouching down in front of her to help her step out of the fabric pooled at her feet. His hands slowly came up her calves, then glided over her thighs, pulling up her skirt in their wake. She swallowed, her fingers combing his hair as his lips kissed a trail on her inner thigh while he rose back up slowly, kneading her legs before he palmed her buttocks to lift her weightlessly against the tree, then to lower her back on himself.  

They gasped in unison as he slid in all the way, throbbing inside her like another heart. She coiled her arms around his neck as he kissed along her collarbone and started to thrust into her, slow and steady. The rough tree bark scraped the back of her blouse as she brushed against it, but she barely noticed. The forest was silent around them, the only sounds their moaning, panting and grunting. 

In the distant part of her mind, bewilderment at her state - allowing herself to be fucked against a tree again. Moreover, by the very same man. He had claimed her that night as if it had been his god given right, and he was doing the same now. And just like that night, she couldn’t refuse or resist. It was one of those “How did I end up here?” moments in life - a forced arrangement that she had hated, or at least believed she had hated, turning into a willing tryst within mere months. 

She didn’t get to ruminate on it for too long because the heat of her pleasure was building like a sunrise - bright, inescapable, imminent. She panted into his neck, feeling powerless in her current position, completely at the mercy of his pleasure and his stupendous strength, holding her up as if she weighed nothing. Arthur angled her to go deeper yet and she cried into his ear which only seemed to drive him wilder, spurring his pace. 

"God…I'm close," she whined, shocked by her already approaching peak. She felt like she was on fire as his fingers painfully dented her buttocks while his hips bucked into her with increasing force. 

"I..." she stammered, bewildered, "I..."

"Come for me," he drawled casually into her chest as he closed his mouth on her nipple over her chemise and just like that, her back arched, her shoulders pressed against the rough bark, her hands clawed into his shoulders and she came at his bidding, crying her release. She felt herself clenching around him and that was his undoing as he followed her with a shudder and a long groan while she was still riding out her orgasm. Moments later her head fell on his shoulder as she panted, her inner walls fluttering against him. 

“I…” she gasped, dazed and confused by the power he had over her, by how quickly he had aroused her and how smoothly he had steered her and how she had obeyed his command without the slightest resistance. He kissed the corner of her lips and suckled gently on her neck. “That was…” she tried again when his lips interrupted her, now more languid and gentle as he lowered her to stand, pressing her against him with a palm between her shoulder blades. 

She leaned against him, breathless and somewhat stunned by what had transpired. It was a steep deviation from her former relationships where more often than not she had been the initiating party, the one who had held the reins of control, the one who had allowed herself to be touched and loved. She had been the one who had convinced her shy partners that she wouldn’t break, she had encouraged the timid ones to kiss her, she had urged the hesitant ones to undress her. She had reveled in their adorable veneration and she had praised them after, even if most of the time the sex had been disappointing.

Now here she was, spellbound by a man she hardly knew, undone with a word or a touch. A crack formed on her coveted sense of independence. What else would she do if he merely asked?  

She pushed these thoughts out of her head to pick on later as they dressed back up and climbed their horses. A comfortable, slack silence settled between them as he guided her back to the road. Twilight fell around them and they rode on for another quarter hour before his knuckles briefly brushed against her thigh as he passed her on the last bend. The trees fell away and suddenly the camp was there, in the open, surrounded by forest on one side and water on the other. It was actually quite beautiful. She would miss the view of the first one but she liked being on the water. The stars sparkled over the wide expanse of the lake. 

“I like it,” she said, over her shoulder as she heard him dismount. He grunted his agreement. She fished out two apples from her basket and fed one to Cricket, the other to Frost. They stood like that, close but not touching, petting Frost on opposite sides. She glanced up at him and noticed the ghost of a smile on his lips and the serenity in his eyes. 

Although she had seen his softer side once or twice, usually in passing when she had caught an interaction between him and Jack, the Arthur she had been living next to in camp for months had been cold, distant and hard. Mean, even. She remembered conversations between the ladies, chiding him (never to his face, always carefully behind his back when he was out of earshot) for getting drunk and harassing folks needlessly again. Conversations that she had barely listened to with an absent ear because she hadn’t been interested. Now it was obvious to her that he was one of those men who ran hot and heavy, building up steam until he found an outlet by punching or shooting someone. Or fucking someone, she thought to herself. In the aftermath there was a tranquility about him, a certain peace and contentment that she had begun to recognize. She gave him a small smile, grabbed her basket and walked off to find her tent and Arthur headed to his but didn’t quite make it before Dutch called out to him. 

“Everything went well?”

“Fine.”

“Seen any O’Driscolls?”

“No.”

“Son…” Dutch walked out of his tent and strolled closer as the phonograph behind him sang out an opera, “…are we good?”

“Sure.”

Dutch stood before him, looking into his eyes, then grasped the younger man’s shoulder. “You know I only want what’s best for you.”

“What’s this 'bout, Dutch?” Arthur sighed.

“Nothing!” Dutch threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Just making sure you know I mean the best for you.”

“Sure,” was the response again.

“You know I would have sent you after Savigne eventually that day.” 

Arthur waved it off as if to say it didn’t matter, it was in the past. 

“I’m just saying, I only wanted to check on our people first.”

“She is our people, ain’t she?” Arthur said drily before he met Dutch’s eyes. 

“Well I mean in a way she is, of course!” Dutch said before he took another drag from his cigar. “But then again, she pays to be here.”

“We all pay to be here.” 

“Not quite the same, don’t you think?”

“Sounds exactly the same t’me.”

Dutch watched him for a long moment and Arthur looked back, inscrutable. Something was different about Arthur and he did not like to see it. This man had been an unquestioning right hand since he was 14; whatever this was, felt new and out of place. It was almost like a late - very late - teenage rebellion. As if he had breezed by that phase unaffected when he was younger, but now suddenly was at the point where he was questioning his elders and drawing his own red lines. Dutch felt his influence on him slipping and every time he tried to regain it, Arthur seemed to drift further away. 

If his suspicions were correct, right into Savigne’s arms. He wasn't sure if this was simply just a phase he was going through and Savigne just happened to be there at the right time and the right place, or if she was at the root of it, but he resented it all the same. 

He was insulted by how blindsided he felt, by how quickly it had happened. She had been in camp for months and these two had moved around each other like planets in different orbits. Then suddenly something had shifted just enough for there to be a massive gravitational pull between them and he had failed to predict it. Dutch prided himself as a cunning observer and a good judge of people, but he had failed to foresee something so bizarre happening right under his nose.   

And now, for the first time since they had met, Arthur was drifting out of his sphere of influence. Now, when he needed him the most. His resentment about Savigne flared up again but he was careful not to show it. He tried a different approach:

“We never really talked about it…what you did to Micah,” he began and watched Arthur’s eyes sharpen, “It was…necessary, I understand that. But maybe we can agree that it was a little…overdone.”

“No,” Arthur said, his tone even as he held Dutch’s gaze. “We ain’t agreed on that.” This coldness, this open disagreement was baffling to Dutch and he struggled to keep his temper in check.  

“Son…”

“Listen Dutch,” Arthur said a tad impatient, and took half a step towards him. “I wasn’ joking. You keep that animal away from her or I’ll do what needs doin’ and put him down. Should have done it that day, ya ask me. He shouldn’ be here, he ain’t our sort.”

The hands came up again in placation. “He is a bit rough, I admit…”

“That ain’t it,” Arthur hissed, making Dutch look up in surprise. “He ain’t ‘rough’. He’s wrong and that’s plain to everyone but you.”

“You’ll come around,” Dutch mused after a long moment, pointing the tip of his cigar at Arthur. “You came around on Savigne, you’ll come around on Micah.”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”  

“I mean you didn’t like her for a long time…” he watched Arthur’s eyes drift off again and knew he had hit a mark, “but now…it’s like you’re two peas in a pod!”

After the Micah incident he had suspected that something was going on between them, but it had been Arthur’s reaction to her kidnapping that had convinced him. That dismissive brushing off of his hand, that hostile, icy gaze when he tried to reason with him. They kept their distance within the confines of the camp and the fact that they were attempting to hide it was somewhat encouraging – at the very least it meant that it wasn’t as serious as it could be and he took solace in that.

Unfortunately Arthur didn’t rise to the bait. That too was new. Arthur had always been a simple man - easy to anger and easy to placate. But now he seemed more calculating, more careful around Dutch. It was as unmooring as watching a leal dog suddenly pick a new master. He felt jealous of the shift in devotion and resentful because he felt jealous, because he liked to think himself above such petty things.   

“Anyhow!” Dutch’s voice lilted up to imply that he was ready to move on. “I have a job for you. Could take a couple of days. I want you to go as soon as possible – tonight, if you can. Talk to John about it, will you?”

Arthur shook his head and turned to go back to his tent, displeased. Seemed like every time he had a few days to rest, Dutch grew an itch to give him work. He went through his flap and threw his hat on the table, then proceeded to sit on his cot and angrily take off his boots.  He tossed them away and lied down, one arm bent under his head. 

He thought about the incidents of the last few weeks and a picture started to emerge in his head. An uncomfortable picture he’d rather not see, but one he increasingly couldn't look away from. 

What would have happened if he hadn’t been here that night? Micah would have walked off scot free because Dutch would have backed his lies. “To keep the peace” he would have said later in private. His knuckles itched at the memory. “Should have finished the job right there,” he muttered to himself. 

And what would have happened if he hadn’t been here when O’Driscolls came? His gut told him that Dutch would not have sent anyone after Savigne. Hell, he might have even stood in the way of anyone who wanted to go, just like he had done with him.

It dawned on him then that he was reluctant to leave the camp now because he wasn’t so sure that she was safe here without him. 

Which led him to a curious notion: somewhere along the way his interest in Savigne, up until recently easily explainable as mere sexual attraction, had evolved into something else. He ruminated on this for a few minutes, puzzled and intrigued by it, but soon dismissed it because unlike Savigne, Arthur wasn’t a man who was prone to relentless self-introspection. There had been a time when he was uneasy and restless by how much space she took up in his head, but now that the desire was mutual, the conflict and tension had evaporated. 

He retrieved his arm from under his head and draped it over his face. He was tired but it was a good tiredness, the kind of fatigue a man felt after gratifying sex and he knew he would sleep well tonight.

[corallapis]

Easter, 1904. Left to right, front: Elizabeth Asquith (later Princess Bibesco), Margot Asquith (née Tennant, later Countess of Oxford and Asquith), Katharine Horner (later Asquith), Cyril ‘Cys’ Asquith (later Baron Asquith of Bishopstone), Edward Horner, and Raymond Asquith. Back: H. H. Asquith (later Earl of Oxford and Asquith), Olive MacLeod (later Temple), Violet Asquith (later Bonham Carter), Arthur ‘Oc’ Asquith, and Harold ‘Bluetooth’ Baker. From Lantern Slides: The Diaries and Letters of Violet Bonham Carter, 1904-1914. 

[ambrosykim]

my oc index

listed by how much they're on my mind, with some exceptions. bolded ones are especially dear to me.

mind blind

oc: alex wiseman (alex x rosy) (art) oc: evelyn wiseman (evelyn x noh) oc: frankie baker (frankie x nick)

the exile

oc: alva kalesko (alva x vethna, alva x syfyn) oc: zora hanak (zora x vethna, zora x vethna x nikke)

body count, infamous 

oc: angel andrews (angel x vinh, angel x august) (art) oc: noah nelson (noah x charlie, noah x seven)

a tale of crowns

oc: jêla teyran (jêla x delal) oc: niyan goran (nîyan x azad, nîyan x xelara)

the wayhaven chronicles

oc: charlie reyes (charlie x adam, charlie & felix) oc: lauren greene (lauren x mason) oc: del newman (del x farah) oc: simone moore (simone x nate) oc: kiki mori (kiki x ava)

dragon age

oc: ysolt cousland (ysolt x alistair) oc: alden hawke (alden x varric) oc: helle lavellan (helle x solas) oc: iola lavellan (iola x cullen)

thicker than

oc: day arthur (day x marcel) oc: aimee young (aimee x tracy)

baldur’s gate 3

oc: saffron carnavon (saffron x astarion) oc: zia lhalabar (zia x minthara) oc: sindri silversong (sindri x rolan) oc: nahza sunsvalor (nahza x shadowheart)

other ocs

oc: con silva (con x nightowl) (blooming panic) oc: noa sano (noa x sergi, noa x marco) (blood moon) oc: day arthur (thicker than) oc: mia kovacs (mia x blane, mia x kai) (the midnight hours) oc: ben anderson (ben x bautista x nazeri) (greenwarden) oc: jade foster (jade x oliver) (scout: an apocalypse story) oc: orion wright (speaker)  oc: thom dawson (the golden harp)

[marzthealien]

Sketch book tour! (mainly the drawings I'm proud of)

First off, we have this one of my OC, Charlotte! Not really much to say about this one.

Me when my girlfriend turns into a marketable plushie:

Dis guy! I don't really have a name for them yet, but I might as well show them.

(Gasp!) Is that a batim/batdr OC! Yes. Yes it is. Meet Sammy’s little sister, Sunny Lawrence!

ANOTHER BATIM/BATDR OC!?!?!?! That is correct. Meet Arthur Baker!

Here's some Maxwell x Charlotte content!

Another guy! Here's Edwin! He hates his existence!

Hey! :D

Hello waiter, I would like the mini Clover please!

Aw! Who wouldn't give their eyes to her?!

Maxwell does an interview! Traumatized interviewer! (I love this one!!!!)

What's this!? Maxwell lore!?

Now we have Clover lore/also vent art!? (Don't worry, I feel better now:) )

Now let's get away from the trauma and focus on the real issue here. WE CANNOT LET THE BEEF BASTERD ROAM FREE!

Lol

Do NOT mess with this nerd!

"I have your I.P.! Your home address too! Your government files say a lot about you!" - Oliver (The nerd)

Clover's family photo! I know it's unfinished, but it's too cute not to show!

Left - Nathan (Dad)

Middle - Clover

Right - Charlie (Sister/my friend's OC)

And finally, possibly Madoka Magica OC!