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keelt9 · 2 months

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Chapter 12 (Final)

Masterlist

A/N: Finally! This is the end. I hope you enjoy this as much as me. I want to thank you for keeping reading until the end. I’m sorry for the delay, but believe me, I want to give you something I love and you could love in every single word.

A long one but really worthy.

Thank you so much. 💜

Like we said arrow shot, arrow forgotten or something like that.

Carol greeted me with a I-just-came-back from vacation smile. “Happy New Year!”

I giggle as I put my credentials in the optical reader. “Happy New Year Carol. Did you enjoy the vacation?”

She nods effusively as follow me with her eyes. “The rumors about the hats are true, huh?”

I laughed as I touched the Christmas hat that these 3 weeks we wore a different color for each one of us, to keep the spirit all the time.

“Nice touch, huh?” Carol laughs. “They are in…”

“Third field, all are already there.” She completed my phrase.

“Thanks Carol.”

I walked but today the cold breeze started to make me shiver.

“Morning.” Olivia greeted me as she saw me walking to the entrance. “Please tell me…”

I pulled out containers from my bag. “Nanny send you these.” And I saw Charlotte about to complain. “For each one of you.”

Nanny woke up early and made french toast for each one of the team including the coaches, while they were melting at each bite I sent a small video to her.

“Ok, we definitely enjoyed this breakfast but, wash your hands and get back so we can start.” Robert announced after finishing all their breakfast.

I’m for sure, more precise in each one of my shots, now I rarely hit the 8, my shoulder is stronger, I'm definitely in my moment.

“That's… So damn close.” I thigh my fist after seeing my arrow was so close to the small black dot in the small yellow circle.

“Bows down little kids.” Marie Anne shouted looking at Robert's notebook.

“Come closer please.” Robert has that mischievous face, as we walk to the tent and sit. “All right, we will have a fantastic year, I know losing time with your family must be hard, however we prepare something special for you.”

Liam gave us one by one a small box or paper bag. As we opened each one of us found a full day of spa, all including and the reservation for our favorite restaurant.

“I mean I don't want to sound ungrateful but I don't have the reservation.” I turn my box upside down.

“You, girl, have a full day in physiotherapy.” Marie Anne winks at me.

“Golden girl at maintenance.” Matt jokes. “Don't worry I'll drive you there.”

Sunday morning as he said I found Matt having breakfast at my house before me.

“I thought Nanny was here.” Matt complains, taking a sip of his juice.

I muttered sitting next to Mia. “Oh, hello.”

Mia has calmed down these weeks, I don't think she understands my decision but respect it and put things aside.

“I thought you were a morning person but this guy.” She pointed at him with her fork. “Arrive at 6 am, 6!”

Matt smiles at Mia and stands for putting more honey in her pancakes. “I love you too Mia.”

Mia saw me looking at the small table in the entrance.“Nothing yet.”

Everyday I receive a peony of different color and small note, but suddenly, it stops on New Year's Eve, it could be a sign.

“I wasn't looking for that.” Mia nodded clearly, she didn't believe me.

After I eat my breakfast, Matt and I drive to the clinic or at least that's what I thought until he takes a different driveway.

“You take the wrong one.” I say my eyes on my phone.

Days passed but people were gossiping about why I didn't attend the ceremony where Max got his World Wide Champion trophy. The day of the ceremony Matt posted a story where you can see us practice, turning down the rumors for I keep focus.

We avoided talking about if we broke up or not with other people and we confused them with the mixing signs; the account of Red Bull Racing published photos of the race, in one slide, me and Max hugging each other, but also the federation published photos of us training that had Max like in each one of them, however people questioned if he’s already in postseason, why he didn't post something with me.

“Matt?” He has a smile. “Where are we going?” We drove out of the city.

He clears his throat. “You remember the camping site where we used to go as teenagers.”

I nod. “The best 3 hours of bus of the day. Although I should be in the clinic.” Matt raises his finger.

“No, I said I will take you but I didn't specify when. You can sleep, I'll drive us safe and sound.”

I laugh, closing my eyes and enjoying the now 1 and half hour drive.

I woke up because of the silent notice that we were already there and Matt went ahead leaving a note in the car.

I stretched my arms before going to the lake which was hidden between big trees, in winter just branches and big trunks hidden it. In our 15's we used to come on frequently just to enjoy the sounds and playing with rocks, keeping us far away from the stress of training.

I notice how some places didn’t change at all, like the time stops. I saw him, hands in his pockets watching the lake.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep hard as rock.” I put my right hand in his left pocket trying to warm, but immediately noticed something wrong.

“Yeah, Olivia drove Matt back like 30 minutes ago.” I try to take my hand out but he closes his around mine.

“Max.” He giggles and tingles our finger inside of his pocket. “What are you doing here?”

“Do me a favor. See that box.” I leaned my head to our right. “Could you open it?”

I narrow my eyes but he scoffs. “Please.” I can’t with those eyes.

“I need my hand for that.” I try to pull out useless, he walks with me, only I take out until I have to pick up the box.

Is a small one still a little bit heavier for its size. I open and he holds the lid. The first thing I found was the cap he got for the first place in Silverstone, the second is 3 sets of tapes with different colors, my favorite ones.

“For your fingers.”

I laugh, the set was composed of 3 packages of tapes. “Max I don’t use a full package in a day, one lasts me at least three months.” He shrugged his shoulders, a smile on his face.

In the bottom a small black box, my recklessness made Max take the box leaving me only with the black one, I scoff but slowly I opened the box. A gold and delicate necklace with a pendant, “1” and the initials of my name.

“I tried to protect you.” Max has that regretting expression in his face, utterly strange for me to see that. I let him speak grabbing the necklace. “I didn’t want to realize the fact I hid things from you; it was hurting you more. Isn’t an excuse, but you were going through a hard time and I don’t want to be another hard moment in your life. I put you aside, and I’m so sorry.”

He scoffed sadly. “When we begun this I told you I don’t want to keep you hide and I just did that, I hide things from you, fuck.”

Max grips the box tight for the way his knuckles turn white, I spoke first. “I feel unpeaceful these weeks.” He instantly raised his eyes from the box. “I mean, look at me I’m shaking just having you here in front of me, in a good way.”

I raise my hand for he can see the slight tremble in my hand.

He grabs my hand and kisses my forehead. “I can’t change the past, but I really want to build a future with you. I want to be someone you lend to all the time. Could you…could…” He shutter, I can’t help it, I kiss his cheek so close to his lips.

“Could you give me a second chance? Please.”

I bit my lip. I sincerely want to give him that second chance but I need to keep my feelings on the right path, especially this year.

“Max, I have an important qualifier this year, I need to be focused on what I’m doing and being distracted about if you would come or if you are with me, it’s the last thing I need.” Max nods but Checo was right, he didn't give up.

I grab the box of his hands. “Could you give me time to think about it?” An unexpected smile forms on his face and he nods effusively.

“All you need.” He kissed my cheek.

“Do you mind giving me a ride to my house?” Max giggles but we start to walk.

“You are dead meat!” Matt mocks my voice as he sits in the airport waiting for our call. “And I get this!”

He has a bruise on his right cheek, already deep purple.

“Such a baby! It was with the kids' equipment.” I sat next to Olivia who was in the middle of us.

When I found him the next day in the federation I ran after him but he’s faster than me so I grabbed a bow and arrow that kids used in their first months of practice, any sharp point just a type of sticker to remain stuck to the target.

Matt scoffs and looks at me. “Am I the one who disappears on the weekend?”

Max stayed all weekend in town, he even met my parents, in an almost lethal encounter with my dad who I swear I never looked at anyone with those eyes. As the day passed and they talked, forcefully at the beginning of mom, dad said goodbye to Max not like Mr. Verstappen, just Max.

“Enough! Please enough.” Charlotte giggles and puts a cookie in our mouths for we shut up. “We have a long flight, two weeks far from home and qualification in the way, let’s relax and let the reprimand for when we come back.”

Olvia stands and hugs Charlotte. “Thank you.”

We’re not mad just messing with each other, the truth is being with Max that weekend was the best still doesn't change my decision. I know it was an unusual day, that’s not our daily life.

The first days were really calm, a few interviews, training and normal talks with other teams.

“Morning Y/N.” One of the girls in the competition greeted me with an unusual smile.

“I’m so jealous of you!” Her friends said. “In a good way, of course.”

I don’t have any chance to answer because they keep walking, giggling as I walk confused to the table where the team is eating.

“Why is everybody looking at me as if I had a bug or something?” I sit in front of Charlotte who rolls her eyes and puts her cellphone in front of me.

At that moment, Olvia put her hand with her phone down, unable to answer to whatever is on the screen, putting my tray with my breakfast.

“Charlotte first things first, we’re in the middle of a competition.” Charlotte smiles at me in an apologetic way, I shake my head as I take a drink of my juice. It’s for the best to keep me focused.

The day for team qualifications arrived in calm, I stayed focused all day, my shoulder feels great, I have my mind concentrated, it's time to put it to work together.

The match is aggressive and all the teams know that if you want to “rest” a little bit before the Olympics you must secure your place in the first competitions.

To have all the things under control we agreed I’ll go in second place, Charlotte who has the better match lately, go first and Oliva with her experience will close the sets. By the finish of the second set things we’re equal, if we have 3 last good shots this is ours.

Charlotte hits with ease, hits the 10, puts in us as leaders.

“Good shot.” Olvia keeps cheering us up, before I stand in the shot line, Robert who is with us gives me the last indications.

“Strong, and steady.” I heard Charlotte as I take a deep breath, I don’t shutter and release in 6 seconds, <9>

“Great, great.” We bump our fist and Oliva just had to secure the qualification with all above 8.

With her experience and showing why she is the team leader, easily hitting the <10>

Charlotte and I scream and hug each other carefully without hitting with the bow, as Rober hugs Olivia before joining us. We hear the scream and shouts from the terraces where we can easily distinguish our family and the male team.

By the end of all the matches we have a few minutes to go with our families before going back to the hotel.

“There you are!” My mom hugs me tightly, giving a kiss in my head. “Mrs. Olympic.”

“Mom.” I whined with a side to side smile before my dad lifted me and kissed my cheek.

“So proud of you, so proud!” Mia jumps over me with a huge smile and her classic neon pink cardboard.

“I hope to jump on you next month.” Mia’s qualification will take place next month and like her coach said, <Only a hurricane could take her out.>

“Nanny will come to tomorrow's qualification, they lost the flight, huge drama.” Dad said and I nod giggled because probably they lost the flight for confusing the hours.

“I’m sorry for cutting the celebration but…” Robert appears winning hugs from my family. “We have to go, the next time you will have her for a longer time.”

Mia grips my arm. “Can you wait a little bit, just a couple of minutes?” I hug her but with a competition in the next few days makes our times tight.

“Sorry Mia, not today.” Robert smiles and grabs my bag. “Tomorrow you can have her a little bit more.”

Mia looks at our mother who shrugged her shoulders. “Please.” But her answer came with the staff calling for us.

I kiss Mia before Robert and I go, happy for the good qualification.

With an early competition trying to avoid the hot sun of the noon, I woke up early, I only answered the call from my family and left my phone with Liam, avoiding distractions. All the team came with me until the entrance of the arena where we split up.

One by one wish me and let me know I will have success, but all see with Matt, we take our time.

Matt hugs me tight and holds me there for a couple of minutes. “You got this, alright? Hey, you come pretty far in less than a year, believe it, this will be the cherry on top.”

Liam calls me and high five with Matt.

“Take care of her coach.” Liam laughs ironically.

“Don’t even say it.”

The first set was a total domination of my opponent, the wind increased and I felt unsure to shoot the arrow every time; in the small break, I took a deep breath and heard Liam.

“Remember, your shoulder is perfectly fine, now believe in you.” He pointed to the bow. “Adjust a little, it’s ok, you already shot in the worst conditions.”

I scoff and hear the beep for the next set. Apparently benefiting me, because my opponent starts to miss her aim, even shooting for a 6 that gives an open window to win this one.

Liam praised me and I took my time for a quick look to the terrace. The pink cardboard came out easily, even an odd one I was able to see quickly.

I shake my head and take a deep breath. “One more, one more.”

The set was tight, the first shot was almost equal but by the last one, the wind was awfully increasing. I heard the gasp before the last arrow of the other girl, and I saw the score, 7, that gives a small window, all above 9 is a win.

I take my position but at the second I low the bow, a strong wind moves it, so I put it down and Liam starts the countdown, at 10. I barely reach my position with the bow and make the release.

I close my eyes right away after I feel the arrow come out of it.

The cheer and screams of my name make me open and the score is 10, the set is mine along with the qualification.

Tears ran down my face. I get my head down as Liam covers me with a soft hug repeating the same words over and over again. “So proud of you.”

I sniff and wipe my tears and hugs him with my free hand after calm a little bit I congratulate my opponent and put the bow down, as I see all the people I love there, the girls jumping and waving her hands; my parents crying and Mia screaming to the top of her lungs; Matt clapping and raising his hands making the people scream more.

But I took my time and saw in detail the last cardboard, a foraging language surrendered by hearts.

The staff indicated to me that it's time to go because they set everything for the award ceremony.

I wave my hand to the people before grabbing my bow and follow Liam back. Reporters asked me a couple of questions and even mentioned how I feel with the absence of Maxx one more time but with an event of Red Bull today, he couldn’t split in two. I answered like I've been doing all the time.

“We know our times are difficult to match, Max is with me in different forms.”

I held my tears almost all the ceremony until after giving our medals, I received the golden ticket, making official my qualification to the Olympics. In that moment one more time started to cry of happiness surrounded by shouts, whistles and claps for all there.

As soon as I can I run to meet my family where everyone hugs me and congratulates me.

“What a match! One more arrow and I could faint.” Anton, who arrives just in time for my competition, hugs me. “Congratulations!”

“Who said Charles couldn’t keep his eyes open in that last arrow?” Alexa hugs me, mocking Charles.

“Am I the one who closes the eyes of each shot of the other girl?” He won’t let her go easily. “Unbelievable. Totally deserved.”

“Are you free to go?” I never heard those words coming out from my father's mouth.

Liam scoff shaking his head. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Didn't even a single night?” I pat my father's arms, he smiles. “Sorry, excited for you, I want to celebrate you properly.”

We know we have a special dinner at the beginning of a hard year. The next morning we are all free to go, usually we go back home in the same flight but it seems my dad won't let this happen.

I should feel tired at the end of the dinner, but I’m full of energy, so I keep walking around the garden of the hotel.

“Finding it hard to sleep?” Olivia makes me jump, she is clearly sleepy.

I nod and giggle. “Two years ago I was stuck in a hospital room praying that I could raise my shoulder, now look at me.” I raised my arms. “I'm going to the Olympic Games.”

Olivia laughs. “Go, we cover you.”

I looked from one side to the other, but no one was around. “Olivia.”

Charlotte enters running with my cap on hands.

“Go, go, go.” Charlotte pushed me to the main door. “I call a cab, it will take you there, and wait for you for 30 minutes.”

Years ago after every successful competition I used to go back to the field where people kindly let me shoot a couple of arrows, and came back to the hotel.

“Robert will write my name.” I whispered but Olivia opened the door.

“Robert probably is sleeping or taking the last notes in the evil notebook.” Charlotte said with a smile pushing me, putting her hand on the top of my head for I don't bump into the car, even my bag is already there.

“Go!”

The driver kept silent all the time, when I arrived the security guard smiled at me and opened the door.

He turned on the lights as we walked to the field. “I already knew you were coming, I changed the target I hope is correctly set.”

I shake my hands. “I don't want to give you trouble, it'll be a couple of arrows and I'll leave.”

“Take your time.” He passes next to me as I sit on the ground and start to open my bag.

Wait, how does he know?

I was about to put out all my things when I noticed a box on the top of it, with a small note with Matt handwriting. “Special occasion.” I giggle, if it's some kind of prank…

I didn’t have time to concrete my idea because another wood box was inside, this clearly more expensive, tie in the front a small key that clearly opens the tiny lock. Inside a lot of polaroids and small red envelope.

I took as I smile forms on my face, photos of me and Max in different moments, different occasions, each one with a different meaning for us with small notes from Max at the back; but what I call for my attention are the last ones.

Photos of the open practice we had 4 days ago, the competition for teams, and photos of today, and he holding the cardboard. Impossible.

I quickly take out the red envelope which has written. <A special bonus from Charles ft Checo.>

Again more polaroid but this time Max in each one in different parts of the paddock, in the garage, the interviews all with cellphone in his hand; Charles clarify what he’s seeing, me. Each one of my competitions and the reactions before I did a good shot, his fist tight and raising a little bit.

“That was an infiltration.” I raise my head and Max is there rubbing his hands in his tights. “I hope you heard me at that perfect shot because my throat feels pretty sore.”

I try to control the shaking of my hands, unable to stand up, keeping the distance between us. “You've been here for…?”

Max presses his lips together thinking in his answer. “Thursday from the past week? Oh, Wednesday.” He smiles. “I was dying to see you in your best moment, show you that I’m here, I support you in every goal, every challenge and every fall. I want to be part of your life. I don’t want to be a question in your life, I want to be next to you, just be with you.”

I clear my throat and search for the photo of him holding the cardboard. “I don’t speak Dutch, so wha…”

“I love you. Ik houd van jou.” Max stole my words. “I love you, that’s what has been on my mind every time I see you, every time I hear you and every tim..”

I stood and ran to him holding him by his neck and put my legs around his waist, Max quickly put one of his arms around my waist and the other holding my head.

“Fuck. I missed this.” He whispered in my ear. “I’m so sorry, I promise…”

I shake my head holding him tight. “I love you.” He takes out all the air he’s containing after he hears the same words from me. “I really do, but I was afraid, I’m sorry.”

He didn't let me go, just split so he could see my face and smile. “I know, and have faith in this is.” He gives a peck on my lips. “I already proved to you I don’t give up.” I giggle and kiss him.

“I love having you here but…” He whispers at my lips with our foreheads one next to the other. “I’m dying to kiss you properly.”

I stand on my feets, pull him with my arm around his neck. I swear feeling his smile on my lips is the best sensation in the world.

Max covers both sides of my face with his hands and keeps me closer, until the lack of hair makes us split, he looks straight into my eyes and puts his arms around my waist.

“Look up.” He whispers at me, I choke my head making him giggle and raise his eyes.

The lights of paper lanterns started to appear like stars in the sky, I covered my mouth and he let me go just for hugging me at my back.

“I didn’t know about those restrictions after the competition.” That’s why the insistence of my father and Mia. “This is supposed to be seen in a special place but no one warned me about the rules.”

I turn around to see him. “I love you.” I grab his face and kiss him. “I really really love you.” He put his arm around my neck and kissed me one more time.

“But how?” I turn around one more time seeing the last lantern keep coming; Max giggles and kisses the top of my head.

“We have good friends and family.” He takes a deep breath, I can feel a smile forming in his face.

“What?” I tingle our fingers, he sees me with my favorite smile from him.

His smile covers his eyes. “I have what? 4 months until the Olympics ” I giggle and give him a peck on his cheek. “I guess I need to study a little bit more.”

Both of us laugh as we keep kissing, when we split he finally saw the necklace. The initial of my name is remplace for the <M>

He opened his eyes and I smiled. “A small correction.”

The silence doesn’t feel uncomfortable, he’s like being at home. We tried even though it's hard to put into words.

“I love you.”

Still, I didn’t know who said it first, but I’m pretty sure this time, I was faster than him.

#fic #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x female reader #max verstappen imagine

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herundone-prince · 2 months

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@beabeebeee @fayrie24

The stars were silent in the north as a piercing scream tore through them. It was an almost human girl, crying and shaking as she struggled to reach the body of the body that lay on the ground in front of her, an arrow through his heart.

The same girl with the blonde pink tinted locks, the same one that screamed and cried and shook like nothing else, she was the one that held the bow. A not quite human man, with blue eyes and blonde hair held her back as a woman with pink locks tried to soothe her.

It was no help.

The Ballad of the Archer and the Fox would continue on for as long as a person that carried it lived.

The girl had killed her love, and no amount of crying would bring him back.

Even the stars wept, as they had done the first time.

I tucked my final lock of blonde hair into my updo, looking at myself in the mirror. Pale grey eyes stared back at me, still showing the pain that I could never actually keep hidden.

My hair still constantly had that pink tint to it, raising a few looks, but it didn’t bother me. Mum gets them too, much more often. I had on my favourite top and bottoms, a silk top and black bottoms.

I looked astonishing.

My foots creaked against the wood floors of the hollow, my home. I ignored my bags on my bed, not wanting to think about it. I didn’t want to think about the fact that I was leaving. I had no choice, but that played no part in that.

A glance to a clock showed it said 9:30. Mum would be up then. Dad and Lyric would not. The clock also said ‘Orange Juice and French Toast’. Mum must have bribed the hollow.

It was my favourite meals, one of the less common occurrences to appear on the clock. My hand runs down the cracked staircase that leads downstairs, the glossed handrails a texture so familiar.

A head peeks out from the open doorway that leads to the kitchen, Rose gold hair shining through accompanied by one of my favourite smiles.

“Angela!” She said happily, walking out to greet me. “How did you sleep?” She asked.

I smiled back at her, my pale freckled skin creasing.

“Morning Mum. It was fine. Did Lyric wake you up again?” I asked. Lyric was my love. He was my younger brother, and I would die for him.

His nightmares never ceased.

Mum did not reply, letting out a low hum as I stared at the eye bags under her eyes. It wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t have stopped it.

I knew it. I knew it wasn’t my fault but I was sure there could be something I could do to help. Maybe if i win this.

I took a step past my mother, away from her and the book she had been hiding. She didn’t want me to see it, that I knew. A book on psychology, ptsd and nightmares. Me and Lyric combined in one. Splendid.

The wooden chairs, hand painted, foxes and stories carved into them slid out for me as I approached. I slid into the seat, picking up the envelope on the table.

I knew what it was, of course I knew. Didn’t make it anymore fun to open.

“Dear Miss Prince,

Below you will find enclosed the ticket for your entrance to Caraval, in celebration of the Crown Princess’ 18th birthday and search for a partner. We hope to see you there.

And remember,

It’s only a game.”

That was all the letter contained, save for a slip of paper that was my entrance ticket. I knew practically nothing about the Crown Princess of the Meridian Empire, only that her uncle was Legend himself.

Dad had soured up whenever I asked, and Mum knew no more about Legend than I did. She was telling the truth when she said she had met with Princess Donatella and Empress Dragna-Santos, but I doubt she had ever had the chance to meet their husbands.

That was a long time ago, regardless. She said she had not spoken with them since she came to live in the North.

She didn’t speak much of her time before Dad, before the North except for stories of my grandparents, who I was partially named after.

Mum leaned on the back of my chair, peering over, looking at the letter and ticket.

She didn’t say I was lucky, didn’t spout any nonsense that the one girl from the town had done when she found out I was going.

She knew just as much as I did that I was going to find a way to break my curse, to stop Lyric from inheriting it further, not for fun.

“I’ll miss you.” She said instead.

She turned away from me, grabbing two cups of orange juice as I placed the letter down, taking one from her.

“I’ll miss you too.” I replied.

She smiled again, though it never really faded. I rarely saw her have a reason not to smile.

I moved my arm, reaching across the table for some of the French toast as two small arms grabbed my leg, holding on tight.

My mum smiled again, knowing it was Lyric without looking, reaching to grab the French toast herself.

“Hey Lyric!” I picked him up gently, placing him on my leg. His blue eyes were rimmed with bags larger than my mothers, his pink hair ruffled.

My smile dampened.

“Another bad dream?”

He nodded. For an 8 year old, he didn’t speak much. He never really has. He just nodded and hugged. That's alright. We can speak enough for him.

“Are you leaving today?” He said, his voice very quiet.

Mum placed a plate on the seat next to me, food for lyric.

“Yes..” I trailed off, a large frown appearing on his face. “I’ll be back soon okay? You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

He didn’t say anything more. He crawled off my lap and sat in the seat next to me, grabbing a fork to start eating.

My smile fell as I stared at my mother. How was I the cause of so many issues in the family?

‘It’s not your fault.’ The voice of my father echoed in my mind. I turned around, seeing him leaning against the wood where my mother had said hello to me earlier.

He yawned, not having bothered to change out of what he slept in, making his way towards Mum.

“Morning Little Fox. Morning, my angels.” He ran his hands through mum’s hair, sitting down next to her. He didn’t reach for any food, just the letter.

He read it briefly, then simply flipped it over in his fingers. Over and Over, like a child plays with a pen. I’d imagine he would ask if I had to go, if I could stay, but he knows better than anyone else that I must.

He knows that there’s only one way to break this curse. That the one person left capable of curing it, of wishing it away was Legend.

“Are you all ready to leave?” My mother spoke, asking quietly. She sounded cheery, but she was no happier than the rest of us.

“Of course.” I paused for a brief moment, debating whether or not I should say it. It wasn’t a terrible question, but it would tiptoe around a sore subject for dad. He felt guilty enough as is. It wasn’t even his fault. It was mine.

“How long did the last Caraval take?” I asked. It wasn’t loud, nor was it quiet. Just there. I could have expected my mother to freeze, the hollow to go quiet had my life been a work of fiction, but it didn’t.

Lyric continued scraping at his food, Dad continued playing with the letter pitifully, and Mum couldn’t decide whether to look at me or Dad sadly.

“It lasts a week, regularly.”

That wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t excellent, but it wasn’t terrible. I could survive 2 weeks without my family. This was for my family.

“Havelock will be here at 11 to pick you up Angie.” My mother said. It wasn’t an add on to what dad said, but it was there. She knew he didn’t like talking about it.

“Thanks.” I did my best to smile. I really, really, really didn’t want to leave. I ran my hand through Lyric’s hair, combing it over best I could.

I wasn’t in the mood to eat much, regardless of what food it was.

The chime running through my ears indicated it was 10.

I stood up, and walked out. I didn’t bother putting my dish away. There was no need, since the hollow was here. Would I have to do that in Caraval? Where would I eat in caraval? Did they provide food?

I needed to breathe.

“Is it alright if I go out into the garden?” I asked. Dad didn’t look up, flipping the card over and over.

“Of course.”

I felt shaky, for no reason at all. I smiled again, despite not wanting to. My feet needed to go faster.

The door to the back garden creak a bit as I opened it, unused for a bit. My footsteps sped up, quickening with the pace of my heartbeat.

#evajacks #ouabh #jacks the prince of hearts #acftl #tbona #Angela Fox-Prince #Juliet Dragna-Santos #Wlw #fanfic

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ween-kitchens · 2 months

Text

you’re not as brave as you were at the start

7159 words

because now he’s gotten over the initial shock of having what he’d consider to be his arch nemesis at his front door, joel finally notices the worryingly large wounds littering stella’s body. some of them appear to be done by a knife, one or two still have an arrow embedded in his skin, and one has to have been done by talons. all of which look intentional, and none of them self inflicted. stella stumbles a little and joel catches him automatically. “what the fuck happened- why come to me?” stella gives an ironic laugh that soon turns into a hacking cough. it takes a moment for him to recover, and when he does, his voice is ragged and weak. “sorry for this, I just- i had nowhere else to go.”

cw: injuries, mentions of attempted murder

when I tell you this has taken me MONTHS to complete oml. i've only written something this long once and it has been lost to the void

this is for an au that icl I made up so I could have a 'I didn’t know where else to go' moment with joel and scott HKFHD so if you notice any inconsistencies no you don’t

joel watches the last rays of sunlight vanish over the horizon from where he’s trying his best not to burn his toast. before you say anything, no he’s not bad at cooking—in fact, he’s the best at cooking—but since his last toaster got shot by that stupid ice prick, he had to buy a new one. the new one is bullshit. how on earth is he meant to make toast if the first setting barely makes the bread warm and the next one practically reduces it to charcoal? he’s honestly tempted to try and sue the stupid watchers to get a new toaster. it might work, if he pretends he’s a civilian—though, he reckons stella only shot his window because he knew it was joel’s.

the toaster pops up and joel gives an embarrassingly loud shriek of surprise, accidentally setting the rug on fire. he stamps out the flames, before hurrying over to check if his toast is at least somewhat edible—which it isn’t. he huffs, wondering if he ought to take the toaster back or just cut his losses and buy one that costs more than five quid. he’s heard argos do toasters for thirteen pounds, though he has no clue if they’re any good.

by the time joel has his phone out and is searching for the best toaster brand, there’s a knock at the door that startles him so much, he sets the rug on fire again.

cursing whoever happens to be outside his flat, joel extinguishes it once again and notes, disgruntled, that he’s gonna need a new rug before walking to the door. he can’t imagine who it’d be at this time of night; maybe someone trying to sell him a random newspaper he couldn’t care less about, or telling him why he should support the local gardening community—which he has never heard of before or since, even after some extensive discussions with some of his neighbours. he thinks someone was trying to scam him.

but when he opens the door, joel doesn’t find someone handing out newsletters about their tulips, or someone asking for the last owner of the house. if the toaster and the knock at the door weren’t startling enough, joel has somehow found himself standing face to face with stella.

there’s a pause in which joel tries to process stella’s existence on his doorstep, becoming progressively more angry and confused as he takes in the surroundings. nothing is on fire or under attack outside, so why the fuck is stella at his flat?

“you- what the hell are you doing here?” joel hisses, tempted to shove him. “you broke my toaster and now you- you-“

stella stumbles a little and joel catches him automatically. “what the fuck happened- why come to me?”

stella gives an ironic laugh that soon turns into a hacking cough. it takes a moment for him to recover, and when he does, his voice is ragged and weak. “sorry for this, I just- i had nowhere else to go.”

joel stares at him for a moment. he could kick him out, he could tell him to find somewhere else to lick his wounds and never have to think about it again. after all, stella has been a thorn in his side since day one of his vigilante career, and it’d be the ultimate revenge for joel to turn him away at this moment of need.

.. but. there’s no way he can actually bring himself to do it. even the thought of telling stella to get lost when he’s so desperate, he’s come to joel for help, makes him want to throw something smashable against the nearest wall. it’s stupid and ridiculous because stella is his enemy and once upon a time, he’d have taken this opportunity to slam the door in his face and laugh about it for a very long time. and yet-

“well, are you gonna just stand there or are you gonna get inside before someone sees?” joel snaps, and he doesn’t miss the look of desperate relief that flickers across stella’s face as joel helps him across the room and onto the sofa, kicking the door shut behind him.

joel hurries into the kitchen to find his medical supplies, something beginning to gnaw at his chest as he does so.

“why- I mean, why out of all places would you come here?” he asks from across the room. “you literally just broke my toaster. we’re enemies and shit.”

“if- if you hadn’t already noticed,” stella gets out, and even as he sounds like every word he speaks is agony, he still manages to sound exasperated. “I am not in the best- the best situation right now.”

“well yeah, but you hate me.” joel says. crouching down by stella in order to check the injuries for any signs of infection. they all look pretty recent—worryingly so—but there’s no infection that seems to be present at least. “and you know I hate you. how would you know I wouldn’t just kick you out?”

something akin to fear passes over stella’s face, gone as soon as it came. “I- I didn’t. I told you, didn’t I?” he grunts in what sounds like a suppressed gasp of pain as he shifts a little. “nowhere else I could go.”

joel looks at him for a long moment. “well. you’re lucky i’m such a good person.” he lands on, taking out an antiseptic fluid and soaking the cloth in it. “now, this is gonna hurt, and it’s gonna be funny.” he preempts.

“what a good person you are.” stella deadpans. joel can’t pretend he doesn’t feel a small sense of vindication as stella winces when he dabs the cloth around the biggest slash wound on his leg.

the two fall into silence, broken only by the occasional hiss of pain from stella as joel works on his leg. luckily, as joel is able to spot now he’s closer, most of the wounds are fairly shallow and will be a lot faster to heal than he’d initially thought. in all honesty, he didn’t expect the advanced first aid course to be nearly as helpful as it ended up being; joel is very glad jimmy pressured him into taking it with him.

as he works, joel finds himself noting the size of each gash, the length of the talon marks, the colour of the arrows still embedded in stella’s flesh with a growing sense of unease. he recognises the pattern on the arrows as the watchers’ own terra, notes the length of the talons as stupid sol’s, the shallow gashes undoubtedly from luna’s sword. something sours in joel’s stomach at the thought of terra attacking stella, despite his loathing for the latter.

of course, he’d always been suspicious of the watchers—after all, jimmy had found his way to the vigilantes after being rejected from the watchers for being ‘too soft’, whatever that meant—but he’d never expected them to do something like this to one of their own. either stella fucked up bad, or they simply outgrew him and decided to get rid of him.

joel wants to ask what stella did, why they’d get rid of their most perfect hero, why they’d tried to eliminate him entirely. when he looks up to do just that, stella’s face is a blend of far too many emotions for a single person to be feeling, and it strikes joel that he feels at least some kind of way for stella (other than loathing, anyway) because he instead mutters,

“I don’t like that you know where I live.”

stella gives a pained scoff of a laugh. “what, you thought I wouldn’t- wouldn’t keep track?”

joel resists the urge to glare at stella (see, he is such a nice person) as he sets the cloth on the floor next to him and grabs the roll of bandages. “you shot my toaster.”

there’s a moment of confused silence. “I- what?” stella says.

“you shot my stupid toaster.” joel huffs, beginning to bandage the gash and suppressing a smirk as stella lets out a hiss of pain. “and then I had to get another one but it’s shit ‘cause it was only, like, eight quid.”

stella scoffs, exasperated even through his pain. what a dick. “get a better toaster then, why should I care?”

joel does glare at him now, thoroughly done with this stupid hero. “not all of us earn millions a year, stella. you broke my window last week, so I had to get that fixed, so I can’t get a better toaster right now.” he tries to sound as pissed off as he feels, but the end of that last sentence dips into something sadder than joel ever wants to sound in front of stella. “you’re lucky the window was open that time or I would have kicked you out immediately.”

there’s another pause, and joel assumes it’s just stella being confused at the concept of money before he says in a softer voice, “I didn’t- i’m sorry. I didn’t.. think.”

“too right you didn’t.” joel says, but his frustration gives way to confusion and he looks up. “but you’re thinking now. which is out of character for you.”

stella glares at him, but it’s not angry enough for joel’s liking. “why did you let me in, pyro?”

joel rolls his eyes. “same reason you came to me.” he huffs a little at the absurdity of it all as he ties the bandage around stella’s leg and begins to clean the smaller gash. “what else was I gonna do?”

“slam the door in my face.” stella says. “tell- tell me to fuck off, or just- demand I pay you for it.” he tries to shrug, apparently forgetting the whole ‘almost mauled to death’ thing he has going on, and gives a sharp gasp of pain. “i’d- I wouldn’t just let you in.”

it takes a moment for joel to answer. after all, he has to think of a valid reason first. “I just- you looked terrible. you still look terrible.” joel glances up briefly and sees stella looking back at him with an entirely confused expression. “you never- you don’t let people see you. if you let me see you like this, you had to be desperate.”

stella is audibly frowning when he says, “I still don’t understand.”

joel hesitates. “you were turned on by the people you considered family. they were told to kill you, and so they tried.” he cuts another piece of bandage for the small gash as he speaks. “I wasn’t gonna be the last straw.”

there’s a longer stretch of silence than what seems appropriate for that sentence, and joel looks up. stella is staring at him like he’s just said his full name and address. “how- I never said-“

joel shrugs. “easy.” he nods at the arrows, as briefly as he can. “those are terra’s.” joel gestures to the now-bandaged talon marks. “that’s from sol.” he’s careful not to touch the wound when he points out the gashes. “those are from luna’s sickles. right?”

stella just nods, looking less startled and more defeated now. “I didn’t- I thought you might not notice.” he says quietly.

joel raises an eyebrow. “i’m not an idiot.”

“I hoped you were.” stella admits. he scoffs a laugh, which dissolves into a cough. “you- it’d be easier to dislike you if you actually were a dick, you know.”

halfway through deliberating what the best method for removing the arrows would be, joel gives stella a withering look. “i’ll make a note of that.” he says sarcastically. “right, so, i’m gonna have to pull these out.” he points at the arrows.

“that’s how you do it.” stella mutters. “sure- fine. just- do it fast.”

joel stands up, wincing as his knees crack, and braces one leg on the sofa. he pointedly ignores the look of fear on stella’s face and thinks instead of the fact that he’s going to enjoy lording it over stella that he saved his life that one time.

joel grips the first arrow and glances at stella. “do you want, like, a countdown or-“

“just do it.” stella snaps. joel is electing not to take that personally—he’d probably also be a bit pissy if he were in stella’s situation.

“right- yeah.” joel yanks the arrow out, thanking whatever potential deities there might be for how smooth that was- and realises that his sofa is frozen. but stella’s leg is bleeding again, and joel decides to figure out the sofa after he’s prevented infection. ice melts anyway.

stella is breathing heavily, tears in his eyes and teeth clenched. joel can’t find it in himself to make fun of him—which is a little concerning. he might have to go to the doctor. “sorry.” he manages.

joel blinks, entirely bewildered. “for what?”

“your- your sofa.” stella says, beginning to relax a little as joel finishes wiping the arrow wound and starts bandaging it. “I can’t- I don’t know how to undo it.”

“I can’t express how much I don’t give a shit.” joel deadpans. “you’ve probably stopped me from setting this on fire next time one of my enemies comes knocking on the door at nearly midnight.”

there’s a lengthy pause as joel ties the bandage. “I did wonder about your rug.” stella mumbles.

for another fifteen-ish minutes, joel works on stella’s wounds, occasionally making fun of him as random things begin to frost over whenever joel scrubs a bit too hard with the cloth. stella has threatened to turn joel into an ice statue too many times to count, but the threat loses any value it had when joel leans against the frozen sofa and his touch alone melts half of the ice away. joel doesn’t miss the relief on stella’s face as he realises joel is iceproof. huh.

it’s deeply strange how much he and stella seem to be getting on with each other—considering that they were mortal enemies about forty-five minutes ago. of course, they are threatening each other, but stella doesn’t seem to be actually pissed off, and joel isn’t either, so he considers that a win.

once joel is done, he isn’t quite sure what to do. instead of hovering awkwardly around stella, he elects to tidy the bandages and cloth up, melting the rest of the sofa as he does.

“do you want something to eat?” joel calls from the kitchen as he shoves the kit away again, dumping the cloth in the washing basket. “I- do you eat? or is it like, some injection of steroids you all get every night?”

there’s a pause before, “you- that’s from a spy film.” comes from the living room. “of course I eat.”

“okay, well, i was gonna make myself dinner before you came here, so i’ll make some for you too.” joel says, dumping the burnt toast into the bin and moving to the fridge. “what do you want?”

another long pause. “I- what?”

joel notes the suspicion in stella’s tone with a slight sense of concern, which- lets be clear, he is nothappy about this new development. since when is joel worried about stella?

but- well. stella’s suspicion at joel’s offer to make him food, coupled with him being attacked and nearly killed by his fellow ‘heroes’ and coming to joel of all people for help.. it’s not looking great. not to mention how panicked he seemed about all the frost before joel reminded him that he has fire powersand that he can get rid of it in a matter of seconds if he cared that much.

“i’m not- I don’t know what they did to you in the hero place,” joel starts to say before he can realise how awful of an idea it is. “but I didn’t fix you up just so I could kill you another way. I mean- that’d be a huge waste of bandages, and you were pretty easy pickings, so it’s not like I couldn’t.”

stella is silent from across the room, and joel glances over to see the hardwood beginning to ice over. he hopes that’s not gonna ruin the price of this apartment any more than his constant.. incidentsalready have.

“so, y’know. don’t be any more of an idiot than you already are and tell me what you want for dinner.” joel says. he can’t help the slight grin that makes its way onto his face as stella gives a quiet snort.

“i’d- okay. fair.” stella says. “i’m- if you don’t mind- can i have soup?” the tentative way he asks is so bizarre—especially when considering how sure of himself he seems to be in combat. joel doesn’t like how.. worried it is.

“soup it is.” joel says, grabbing an armful of vegetables from the fridge, shutting the door with his shoulder. “I hope you like mushroom, ‘cause that’s what you’re getting.”

“i’ll survive.” stella says dramatically, and joel snorts.

—-

there is absolutely nothing in this world that could ever be stranger than eating soup with your enemy of several months—made even stranger by the fact that the enemy in question is annoyingly good at cooking. scott had always assumed that pyro was the kind of guy who could maybe make beans on toast and not much else, but apparently he was wrong about that too. not that he’s about to complain about getting a warm, homemade meal that he knows for certain isn’t poisoned on a day like this one.

it’s just- it’s so ridiculously domestic in a way that scott hasn’t felt since.. well, since ever, to sit on a rapidly defrosting sofa, eating soup and watching some home makeover programme with pyro of all people. although, based on pyro’s response to- well, everything that’s happened, he also finds it completely bizarre.

“what?”

scott blinks, only now realising that he was zoned out. pyro is looking at him like he’s doing something out of the ordinary, and scott instinctively frowns at him. “what?”

pyro nods at him. “you’re sat weird.“ is all he says, and scott is about to say something snarky before he notices that- yeah, okay, fair. he is sat weird.

“I didn’t wanna freeze your sofa again, what’s wrong with that?” scott huffs, not moving from where he’s scrunched up against the side of the sofa arm.

“all you’re gonna do sat like that is hurt yourself.” pyro says. “and- y’know, normally I wouldn’t care, but it’d just be a waste of bandages.”

scott gives pyro a withering look, but allows himself to spread out a little more across the sofa. annoyingly, the strain against his wounds lessen as he does so, and scott finds himself relaxing a little.

“why’re you so worried about freezing my stuff anyway?” pyro says, not even looking at him. “my whole thing is literally just fire.”

“I- because it’s dangerous.” scott says, shocked that pyro wouldn’t even know. “I can’t-“ he hesitates as pyro looks back at him with something akin to worry in his eyes. “it’s- it’s dangerous, okay.”

“why’s it dangerous?” pyro says, and there’s something in his tone that makes scott a little nervous. “‘cause, like- I can’t control my powers all that well, and i can guarantee that fire is gonna kill you a lot faster than ice is.”

scott huffs. “maybe you’re just foolish.”

pyro looks him in a way that makes scott feel like he’s being somehow psychoanalysed. can pyro read minds? did someone forget to tell him that pyro can read minds or something, because it’s certainly looking that way right now. “you’re scared of yourself.”

scott stares at him. “i’m- you don’t-“

“you are.” pyro raises an eyebrow, as if he’d only been guessing before.

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.” scott snaps. “i’m not- I know my own strength, i’m not scared—i’m careful. unlike you.”

pyro scoffs, amused. scott knew there was a reason he didn’t like him. “is that what they told you?”

scott rolls his eyes. “oh sure, i’ve been told that i’m some- fucked up monster or something. the watchers aren’t evil godparents, y’know.”

“stella, i’m not sure if you’re aware of the situation right now,” pyro is saying, somehow both exasperated and deadpan. “but you are literally at your enemy’s house because the watchers turned on you because- well, I don’t even know why, but clearly it wasn’t that big-“

“I compromised the facilities.” scott interrupts. he didn’t exactly want to tell pyro this, but if it’ll make him stop going on about him being cinderella’d, then it’s worth it. “I could have hurt someone badly. it was right for them to-“

“to try and kill you?” pyro looks less exasperated and a lot more concerned and- scott does not like the idea that pyro is worried about him. “do not tell me that’s okay.”

scott huffs. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. they didn’t want to, it was necessary to protect-“

“oh, and that makes it all better?” pyro says, voice dripping with sarcasm. scott is tempted to hit him. “you seriously don’t realise how fucked up that is? what did you do- specifically, what did you do?”

“I- well, I.” scott finds himself hesitating, needing a moment to remember. “I froze a cctv camera, accidentally.” pyro looks like he’s about to lose his shit, and scott cuts him off with, “someone could have gotten in- I could have endangered the whole association.”

pyro is staring at him. “you froze a camera. so they tried to murder you.”

“they didn’t- it wasn’t murder-“ scott defends, but pyro isn’t listening.

“jimmy wanted to join.” he’s muttering to himself. “fucking hell- no fucking wonder you hate yourself.” pyro says to scott, who feels like he’s several chapters behind.

“hate myself? what are you-“

“you- stella, you are justifying someone trying to murder you because you froze a fucking camera.” pyro’s voice is getting louder, and scott finds himself shrinking away unconsciously. it’s ridiculous. pyro, the dick, seems to notice, and softens his voice. “you can’t- you have to recognise how fucked that is.”

scott stares straight ahead for a long moment. it’s- it all makes complete sense, of course—to kill someone because they temporarily disabled a singular cctv camera by accident is ludicrous. if it’d happened to anyone else, scott would be questioning everything by now. but since it happened to him.. he keeps thinking- what if he deserved it? he didn’t, but he might have. no one else would have deserved it. what if he deserved it?

“are you sure?” scott asks, and his voice is quiet and vulnerable and everything he never wanted to be, ever, because- well, because the watchers told them it was wrong.

“I- dude.” pyro sounds sad, and scott doesn’t think he’s ever heard pyro sound like that in his life. “i’m sure. i’m one-hundred-percent sure about this.”

scott hesitates. “how do you know?”

pyro gives a slight scoff. “well, ‘cause i’m not an idiot. no one deserves to die if they fuck up. if that was the case, humanity would be wiped out, like- a thousand years ago.”

“am I- have I been a massive dick this whole time?” scott turns to pyro.

“you-“ pyro blinks, apparently taken aback. “well, you broke my toaster. and my window. so- I mean, you’ve been a bit of a dick.”

“I will pay you for those.” scott says, slightly sheepish, and pyro grins at him. “I am sorry for that- and any more grief i’ve caused you.”

pyro looks both amused and pleasantly surprised. “don’t worry about it.” he says, before he apparently realises what he just said and pretends to gag at himself. “fucking hell- that was weird to say. even weirder to mean.”

“I said worse shit to you.” scott says competitively.

“well, there’s nothing bad about my life, so it's not like I could say that to you.” pyro brags, and scott has to doubt that, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “unless you count having a million friends and the best wife and-“

“wh- you have a wife?” and- okay, scott didn’t mean to sound that surprised, but- well, it’s a surprising fact! he expected pyro to be single or dating the canary, in all honesty. unless he calls the canary his wife-

“you- yes, I have a wife!” pyro exclaims, offended. yeah, no- that’s fair enough; scott was kind of rude about it. “you think I couldn‘t be in a relationship?”

“i’m- no, i’m just surprised.” scott says, allowing a slight smirk to play at his lips. “I thought you were with the canary.”

pyro snorts, apparently entirely accidentally, based on the way he covers his mouth a second later. “you- you thought I was dating jimmy?”

“alright- it’s not impossible.” scott defends as pyro continues to cackle at him. “you two are inseparable. it was always very annoying.”

“yeah, he’s my best friend.” pyro grins. “he was my best man- besides, he’s already with tango.” scott must be looking as blank as he feels because pyro adds. “oh- you’d know him as tek." he gives a huff of laughter, apparently remembering an inside joke as he then mutters, "tango of the tek variety.”

scott tries his best to keep his expression neutral. “so- the canary and tek are together?”

“yeah, i’m surprised you didn’t notice, they’re-“ pyro stops mid-sentence, a shit-eating grin on his face. “wait- you like one of them, don’t you?”

“wh- no!” scott says, hoping he sounds offended. “that would be- it’d be unprofessional, and-“

“you do!” pyro crows, looking mischievously delighted. scott isn’t sure he wants to find out what happens after this point. “c’mon, who?”

scott gives what he hopes is a convincingly exasperated huff. “neither, I don’t know what you’re talkingabout. besides, we were talking about your wife, not my hypothetical love life.”

something in pyro’s eyes light up on the word ‘wife’, and scott has to admit that it’s pretty sweet. “you’d know her as the sculk.” he says, fondness coating every word. it almost makes scott overlook the actual sentence.

“you- your wife is the sculk?” scott practically squawks in surprise (and a little fear).

“yeah. has been for.. jeez, it must be nearly five years now.” pyro gives a little huff of laughter. “y’know when we met, she was trying to kill me. she almost did.” he grins, like that’s meant to be a meet-cute. “she thought I was trying to kill her, because she’d startled me and i’d accidentally set her hat on fire, so- fair enough.”

scott blinks at him. “you’re making me feel better about my love life.” he says without thinking, and regrets it the second pyro smirks at him. “i’m not telling you anything.”

pyro rolls his eyes and turns back to the tv, which is playing some house renovation programme. “you will. eventually.”

scott snorts. “if that’s what helps you sleep at night.”

over the span of the next few hours, scott finds himself making- well, it can’t be called pleasantconversation exactly, but it isn’t unpleasant, which he decides to call a success. pyro really does have some ludicrous stories to tell about his experiences in the vigilante career—which somehow manage to be even more bizarre than scott’s; he’s not quite sure how he missed a time loop, but it sounds unbelievable all the same.

it’s kind of strange how quickly he and pyro seem to be getting on—considering how they were at each other’s throats for the better part of a year. scott wonders if they were always capable of this kind of- friendship? friendliness, if nothing else. it’s.. oddly comforting.

“-and jimmy somehow managed to-“ pyro stops in the middle of a story about the canary and tek (both of whom scott is determinedly not thinking too much about) almost destroyed half of manchester one time, and gives scott a weird look. “I- dude, do you wanna sleep? you look exhausted.”

scott had begun to nod off about two minutes ago, but he wasn’t quite sure how he was meant to ask to go to bed—partially because he wasn’t sure where he was meant to sleep. “i’m- well, yes, but I don’t know where I would go?”

“oh, you can sleep in my bed, i’ll take the sofa.” pyro says simply, gesturing for scott to pass him his now-empty soup bowl. he must have noticed the shock on scott’s face, as he adds, “i can change the sheets if you want.”

“that’s not the- I can’t ask you to sleep on the sofa for my sake.” scott insists. “I can manage perfectly fine-“

“you’re not asking me though, i’m telling you.” pyro grins. “besides, you almost died; you take bed priority.” he goes to take the bowls into the kitchen and pauses. “I don’t suppose you took pyjamas with you.”

scott gives him a withering look. “oh of course. because whilst the watchers were trying to kill me, my top priority was my pyjamas.”

“you could have just said no.”

in all honesty, when scott came to pyro’s house in a last ditch attempt at a safe place to reside, he absolutely did not expect that the cause of most of the conflict would be the sleeping situation. pyro was entirely set on scott sleeping in the bed, but scott drew the line once pyro was about to try buy some pyjamas at eleven at night—as if any clothing shops would be open anyway. luckily, pyro seems to value comedically baggy pyjamas, and so scott was able to fit into a spare pair with relative ease. amusingly, they’re still a little big on him.

the second scott’s head hit the pillow, he was entirely dead to the world—awkward situations be damned. weirdly enough, however, he was woken up by- something about five minutes ago, and scott knows neither what woke him up or why it did so when he was sleeping so deeply. he must have slept for a while too, because the time on the alarm clock next to the bed is saying 3:28am, and he knows he couldn’t have fallen asleep later than twelve. it doesn’t make sense for him to have been woken up at this time unless there was something that had disturbed him, and right now, he can see or hear nothing.

after about ten more minutes of trying to go back to sleep (in vain) scott gets out of bed to investigate the something that woke him up, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. he wonders blearily whether the watchers have somehow found him, and that if they have, he’ll have to complain about the time of night they deem appropriate for their break-ins. perhaps it’s a burglar who does not yet know that they’ve chosen the worst house to attempt to rob, but who will soon find out. does pyro have a cat that he forgot to mention earlier that knocked something off a shelf?

when scott pushes the door out of the bedroom open and peers into the living area, he finds that the disturbance was none of the above. it is, in fact, a very anxious looking pyro, sat awake on the sofa in way-too-big pyjamas. there’s a small puddle of water next to the end table, covered haphazardly with a tea towel. next to the puddle lies an shattered mug. scott supposes that’s what must have woken him.

pyro’s eyes focus on scott, and something akin to fear flickers across his face for a second before that familiar look of smug indifference takes over once again. “i’m surprised you’re awake, after everything.”

“you dropped your cup.” scott says, gesturing to the mess. “it woke me up.”

“oh- sorry.” something about pyro’s manner changes as he picks up the remaining pieces of the cup and puts them on the table. it’s far too guilty for such a small matter, and distinctly anxious.

“it’s alright.” scott gives pyro a curious look. “why are you up? it’s very late.”

“couldn’t sleep.” pyro shrugs. scott doesn’t believe that easy nonchalance for a second, but he can’t quite decipher what it’s veneering. he gives a grin that scott refuses to accept at face value. “it gets very boring when you can’t sleep, I have to say.”

“i’ll stay with you. if- that is, if you’re okay with that?” scott says. he watches as something behind pyro’s eyes lights up in poorly concealed joy. interesting.

“that’s- yeah, that’s fine. i’ll take all the entertainment as I can get.” pyro snorts to himself as scott sits beside him.

scott watches pyro for a moment, taking in the way he shifts so he’s sitting a little straighter, the slight redness to his eyes, the way his smile wavers once he turns away from scott. “are you okay?”

for a split second, pyro looks a little like a cornered animal. “i’m- yeah, of course i’m okay. why wouldn’t I be?” pyro’s whole ‘i’m so much smarter and better than you’ thing doesn’t work too well when his voice is shaking. he clears his throat.

there's a stretch of silence as scott tries to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound completely ludicrous. unfortunately, every single thing he can think to say is utterly ridiculous—which is honestly unsurprising, considering the attempt on his life yesterday and the fact that it is three in the morning right now. maybe he should just go with the least odd option he can think of.

"can I hug you?" oh wow, yeah okay that sounds even weirder out loud. on the bright side, confusion often helps ground people—maybe that might help right now? who knows.

pyro practically freezes, looking at scott with the most bamboozled expression he has ever seen. "you- huh?"

"I mean, say no if you don't want to." scott says, watching the way pyro's expression shifts as he seems to consider if this is a genuine proposition, and if so, whether he wants to accept or not. "it- you don’t have to." he adds, suddenly realising how embarrassed he is about what he just asked. "that was weird, I-"

scott stops abruptly as pyro shifts a little closer and leans against scott's shoulder—he probably should have expected it, but- man, pyro is warm. if scott thought he couldn't get any more embarrassed, he was wrong, because it occurs to him just how much he wanted this as his chest begins to ache gently. it takes a moment for scott to build up the confidence to put his arm around pyro's shoulders, but when he does, pyro sinks into him. there's a lump in scott's throat, and he swallows aggressively. he is notabout to cry because he’s hugging pyro; he'd never hear the end of it. probably.

"this isn’t- i’m doing this because you wanted it." pyro says suddenly, and scott looks at him.

"I appreciate it." scott says, trying to keep his voice as level as possible, but it breaks in the middle and he clears his throat, looking away.

there's a pause. "i’d- we're kind of fucked up, huh?"

the bluntness of it startles a snort out of scott, and he looks over to see pyro giving him a weak grin. "that's not quite the way I would have put it, but- you’re not wrong." he rubs a thumb idly against pyro's shoulder and pyro closes his eyes, flicking his tail in what appears to be contentment. scott might cry again.

"I- thank you." pyro mumbles, barely audible, and scott is pretty sure that's the most open pyro has been all night. "i’m- it's usually-" pyro gives a huff. "thank you."

"'course." scott says, voice coming out far softer than he meant it to. "I mean, you saved my life. giving you a hug is the least I could do." he smiles to himself.

pyro gives a scoff of laughter. "yeah, well. your debt is repaid, or whatever." he shifts a little closer, and scott wonders how long he must have been without this kind of affection for it to make him want to cry right now. in a good way.

there's a pause, in which scott finds himself almost drifting off again (he can't decide if that's embarrassing or not) before pyro says, "what are you gonna do now?"

"I don't really know." scott admits. he racks his brain for some kind of solution that isn't illogical or impossible, and comes up blank. he has no friends, no family, no source of income anymore. he has enough saved up, hypothetically, to find somewhere else to live, but that's only assuming that the watchers haven't withdrawn it all already. "I- I don’t know."

"you- well, you can- the vigilantes have an open spot." pyro says, almost nervous. "that's- if you want to."

"would-" scott says suddenly, anxiety rising in his chest, along with a kind of hope that he isn't ready to feel just yet. "is that something that's- feasible? until- like, five hours ago, I was- y’know."

"I can't imagine people would be too upset." pyro says, confidence back in his tone. "not- I mean, especially now."

scott hesitates. "would you be upset? if- if I were to join."

"why would I be?" pyro asks, and apparently realises how honest that sounded, because he adds, "that- I just mean- I asked you. I wouldn't- it'd be dumb if I asked and didn't want you to join."

"what would.. what do you think would happen, if I did join?" scott says.

pyro frowns, apparently considering it. he seems to be considering it far more in depth than scott initially meant him to, because it takes a long moment until he says anything again. "I think lizzie would be suspicious until you do something to prove yourself. tango would be suspicious for, like, five minutes, and then he'd warm up to you." pyro snorts fondly. "jimmy would be suspicious but he wouldn’t do anything about it. mumbo would probably just be nervous about everything, but as long as you don't- like, kill someone, you'll be fine."

scott blinks, somewhat reassured—surprisingly enough. "I- thanks. anything else?"

"uh," pyro cocks his head to the side. "skizz will probably give you a dumb nickname. gem might ask to fight you, but that just means she likes you." he smiles at that, and scott wonders how many of pyro's scars were from spars, rather than the huge battles he assumed they must be from. "impulse will be more intimidating than you think he should be. bigb- he might just confuse you, honestly, but that's just what he does." he thinks for a second, before adding on, quieter, "ren will probably ask you how mars is."

"oh." something twists in scott's chest as he remembers that look on mars' face as he stood back and watched as-

scott blinks, something dawning on him. "it- mars, god- he didn't-"

it takes a moment, but pyro seems to realise too. "he- oh- do you think- was that intentional?"

"it- there was no way it couldn't have been." scott's chest is tight. "they- I couldn’t-" he takes a breath. "there was no way he could have missed me."

"were you two close?" pyro says, half zoned out, as if he’s trying to come up with some sort of plan.

embarrassingly, scott's face flushes, and he wills himself to act normally. "I- well, we- he. he meant a lot. to me, anyway."

pyro glances at scott, and upon processing his expression, gives a grin. it's- somehow, scott doesn’t think it's teasing. "I guess you meant a lot too."

a knot of anxiety seems to loosen in scott's chest, just a little, and he relaxes against pyro's side. his wounds are aching and his limbs are heavy but he can't find it in him to get up and go back to bed. "maybe it's not hopeless."

pyro stretches in a way that reminds scott of a cat, what with the quiet grunt he gives. "it's not hopeless, but it's gonna be really annoying." he says, resting his head on scott's shoulder again.

"yeah." scott says, half distracted. "I- you’re really warm." oh- okay, that's probably gonna come back to haunt him later.

pyro gives a scoff of laughter, and he almost sounds embarrassed. "yeah- I get that a lot."

scott smiles to himself as he spots pyro flicking his tail contentedly out the corner of his eye. "it's nice."

"thanks." pyro is definitely embarrassed by now, and scott can't pretend like he doesn't find it funny. "I- just- if you do want to join us, would you still be stella?"

scott pauses, still slightly distracted by pyro's warmth. "I don't think so." he manages. "I- y’know, they named us. I don’t know what the significance was, but they got pretty heated about it after luna."

pyro huffs. "creepy." scott isn't facing him, but he can hear the way pyro's lip curls as he says it. "what do I call you now then?"

"it- uh." something akin to anxiety bubbles up his throat, and he swallows. "you can call me scott."

there's a little pause, in which scott can practically hear the cogs turning in pyro's mind. "oh." he finally ends up with. "well- in that case, you can call me joel."

scott looks at him. "really?"

a grin tugs at py- joel's lips—no doubt at whatever silly expression scott is wearing right now. "no, i’m jeremy, but joel sounds better." he says sarcastically.

scott is smiling before he even registers the action, settling down against joel again. it- god, it feels weird to call him joel. "you have a boring name."

"wh- okay, scott." joel scoffs, and scott cackles at how indignant he sounds, releasing far more tension than he knew he was holding along with it. "like that's an exciting name."

scott elbows him, and joel grins. "I meant in comparison to 'pyro'." he pauses, leaning his head on joel's shoulder. "though I suppose 'stella' isn’t much better, when compared to scott."

joel gives a soft huff. "yeah, it's not." he says, suddenly quiet. he stretches a little, akin to a cat, and settles back down. "I- thanks. this helped."

"no problem." scott smiles to himself. "thanks for saving my life."

joel scoffs a laugh. "yeah, well. you’re welcome."

#wren writes #scott smajor #smajor1995 #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #trafficblr #injury #murder

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epiclamer · 1 year

Note

Please just domestic fluff between a married hero and villain? Hero reminds villain that thanks to them they learned to hug? Im so sorry if the request is straight ass weird i just want comfort and fluff.

For my girl @save-the-villainous-cat (Happy International Girlfriend (wife) day!!!!!!!!)

An Embrace

Long days were normal for the two of them, neither were really set on a schedule and for the most part when they did get time off, the other was busy working. Villain was more of their own boss, while the hero had their superior breathing down their neck every other second.

But both jobs were busy and risky. Both of them knew that.

Yet they had overlooked it when cupid’s arrow struck and love at first fight happened.

The hero was the first to cave, but the villain was often making the first moves. The criminal liked to think of their lover like a puppy, always needing guidance, attention and reassurance. However, the hero found the exact opposite analysis of their lover, concluding that the villain was like a cat; sly, introverted but still cuddly.

It was the perfect balance of opposites attract. Unfortunately, they couldn’t balance their work-life scale just as easily.

And the villain knew this, they knew the struggle and they knew it took a toll on their marriage as well, so when they had caught news that their spouse had taken a day off, Villain didn’t hesitate to wrap up early and head home. Greeting their partner with a skip in their step as they entered through the door way.

“Sweetie, are you up yet?”

There was only a groan in response from the other side of the bedroom door. Perfect.

The villain hummed as they made their way in, finding their hero wrapped halfheartedly in blankets, hair a mess, with their limbs bending in positions that could only be comfortable to someone completely limp. They smiled, heading over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I took the rest of today off so we could spend some time together, love. I know we haven’t had time to ourselves lately, and I want to change that.”

There was that winning smile, every time the criminal saw it it was like falling in love all over again. Even exhausted the hero still managed to express their excitement—something the villain loved about them.

“How does breakfast sound? Scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, just how you like it? Might be able to fry up some hash browns while I’m at it too~”

The hero hummed something unintelligible, eyes still sleepily shut before reaching out their arms and grasping onto their lover’s pants. Giving only a second of thought then pulling the villain in and on top of them in bed. Sinking into the warmth of their significant other with glee, if they could be greedy today they most definitely would.

Their first instinct was to pull away, but Villain blamed that on their criminal habits and trust issues. Once their brain registered no sign of threat they managed to relax, as much as they were crushing the other, they knew Hero loved it and they couldn’t will themselves to destroy the moment. So they laid patiently, rubbing one of the hero’s strewn calves as they chuckled softly into the blanket.

“Miss me much?”

“Mmmm…” The hero shifted and slowly maneuvered the villain and themselves into a more comfortable position, face to face, arms wrapped around one another. “D’you remember how to hug?”

The villain smiled, pressing an innocent kiss atop of the hero’s lips. “Haven’t been able to forget since the day you became mine.”

That managed to coax a small giggle from the exhausted crime-stopped, as well as another soft kiss shared between the two. “‘S not what I meant…”

“Mmm, I know, honey.” Behind the hero’s back they intertwined their own fingers, pulling the other even closer—if at all possible. “Lock your fingers.��

Sleepily but surely the other repeated after them, slurring words as they messily tied their fingers together.

“Elbows in.”

Hero’s grin only stretched as the steps went on, the pair pushing their elbows into the other’s ribcage for maximized closeness. They loved hearing it, they knew it by heart, but it was the hero’s number one reassurance when it came to love; the steps of a hug.

“And pull tight.”

They squealed as the villain crunched them in their arms, noses brushing and hearts beating against one another’s. It was perfect.

Love was perfect.

And in their heart they knew it always would be as long as the villain was by their side.

“And kiss!!” That part was optional for anyone except the two of them. A kiss was almost mandatory at this point in their relationship, especially since moments like these were becoming rarer than usual with the overloads of work.

The villain sighed, rolling their eyes affectionally as they came in for another kiss, one more sensual and intimate this time. Mouths open and tongues twisting together, carefully, gently. Just how the hero liked it.

“And kiss, my love.”

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tommyxgrace-always · 1 year

Text

Peace - 11th hour - Grace!!

In s6 finale, when the bell chimes, Tommy looks at his watch and says “11th hour. Armistice. Peace atlast”.

I was aware of Armistice day (end of war) but only recently found out that 11 am was the exact time WW1 officially ended on that day.

And my Tommy - Grace shipping brain immediately found a correlation of 11th hour with Grace!! Peaky’s use of symbolism blows my mind!! The show always made it clear he only felt at Peace with Grace, here’s a compilation of ALL subtle and not so subtle references to this.

S1:

THE MOST OBVIOUS. He tells Grace, “I dont hear the shovels anymore” and the morning after we see him sleep like a baby, warm and peaceful.

S1:

During Soldier’s minute speech, we see he is thinking of Grace and their time together. When he looks at his watch it says 11.01

11.00 signifies peace for him but now that Grace will be gone, he passed his moment of peace. Thus the watch shows “one minute past 11”. Now he prepares to continue fighting the war both inside and outside.

S2:

Post Charlie Chaplin date, Tommy and Grace are back at Ada’s. While kissing, Grace says “it’s too late Thomas” to which he says “it’s 11.00 Grace”. Now as audience, we understand Grace is due to be back by midnight, so plotwise it gave us a sense of time. But symbolically, 11 represents his time of peace and Grace is with him at that moment.

S3:

During his wedding toast he says “to love, to peace to marriage”. He looks at Grace when he says “peace”

S4:

When the family is back at Arrow house, Arthur announces he is staying and then proceeds to raise a toast “our enemies are gone, war’s over. To peace.”, Tommy doesn’t raise his glass and just stares blankly. He looks uncomfortable, he is aware his peace is already gone, he will just be empty. Few minutes before the toast scene the camera zooms past everyone in his house, Grace’s picture is at one of the corner tables with a lamp. It easily catches the eye when we see the scene.

Adding one more..

Thanks @korinthya for pointing it out.

In s6, the bell chime at 11 am, marked the end of war trauma for Tommy (confirmed by SK in an interview). It’s interesting that he found that peace in 11th year after Grace’s death.

#tommy x grace #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #grace burgess #thomas shelby #grace shelby #cillian murphy #tommy x grace forever #annabelle wallis #tommy and grace #polly gray #arthur shelby #john shelby #grace x tommy #charles shelby #ada shelby #grace and tommy

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zablife · 1 year

Text

Drinks with Polly in the Parlor

Requested by @notyour-valentine for my 2K celebration An Evening at Arrow House. Warning: This is a dark fic 💀

"Would you care for a glass of champagne, Aunt Polly?" you asked sweetly. You wanted to impress your husband's aunt with your hospitality, but you needed a glass of liquid courage yourself after being left alone with the imposing Shelby matriarch. The silence which had already grown between you was terrifying and made you feel like a failure.

She turned from the mirror where she was checking her crimson lipstick, one perfectly manicured eyebrow arched in your direction as she replied coldly, "Champagne is for celebrations, my dear. I'm afraid a toast seems woefully late considering your nuptials took place weeks ago. Wouldn't you agree?"

You could only blink in shock. It was true you and Tommy had eloped without a single family member present to witness your vows, but he assured you it was the done thing. This was his third marriage after all and you agreed a lavish affair would be inappropriate, especially given the fact that he divorced his second wife less than a year ago. Surely Polly understood all this? Then again, the withering glance she gave, proved otherwise.

"I'm sorry if we've offended you..." you began.

Polly waved off your apology before you could finish, crossing to the bar to pour her own drink. Like Tommy she preferred Irish whisky, neat and she sipped it slowly as she looked you up and down carefully. A small smile began to form on her lips as she noticed the abundance of diamonds caressing your delicate neck.

"It's not you or I who should be apologizing. My nephew can be a careless man," she hummed, smile quickly fading as she stared at her own reflection once more, seeing something which obviously displeased her. "I always thought he favored his mother, but he is so like his father at times the way he treats the women in this family."

"Excuse me?" you asked, twisting your fingers and wondering what could be keeping Tommy. You were beginning to feel uncomfortable with the turn in conversation.

She chuckled darkly as she stopped in front of you, her hazel eyes dancing with a manic energy that made your stomach drop in anticipation of her next words. "I died for him once. Did you know that?"

You swallowed thickly and shook your head, fingers now clutching the cool metal at your throat as if it might make your husband appear more quickly to save you.

"It's alright, I escaped the noose," she assured you, lowering the volume of her voice to that relegated for the telling of secrets. "Climbed through it like a window to the other side. And I found you can do anything you want cause there are no rules, cause there are no risks. When you’re dead already, you’re free," she whispered as though she was imparting wisdom you might find useful one day.

"He did me a favor really," she mused. "Now I'm the one protecting this family because I'm the only one who can see it all clearly. My second sight keeps us safe, you know." However, you only heard the rantings of a madwoman and your body began to tremble involuntarily.

"Oh, darling. You're shaking," she noted, reaching a hand out to steady you. Her fingers grasped your forearm, nails digging in like talons, and anchoring you to the spot. With saccharine sweetness she cooed, "That's a beautiful necklace," drawing out the vowels in beautiful until it sounded like a taunt. "What does a woman like you have to do to earn a bauble like that?"

"T-tommy chose it on our honeymoon because he loves me," you stuttered, eyes searching hers for a sign she would release you from this trap you'd unwittingly fallen into.

"Diamonds," she said reverentially. "Goodness, you are special then, aren't you?" she couldn't help but add sarcastically.

"I should hope so," you answered in a defiant tone you could no longer hold back given her blatant disrespect.

Her hand slipped from you and you took two steps backward as she smirked. "You know it was sapphires for Grace. They represent wealth and abundance so that suited her I suppose. Rubies for Lizzie, all vitality and passion. But here you stand wearing diamonds," she pronounced.

Feeling the clasp of the necklace dig into your skin in the same painful way Polly's nails had clawed against your arm, your irritation grew. "And what does that mean?" you demanded. Your unease caused the gems to weigh down upon you like bricks. You tried to inhale deeply, but found it difficult to draw breath.

"Some say eternity," she answered in amusement before turning her concentration to your neck. A cackle erupted from her lips as though the idea of your union was a complete joke. Your anger mounted along with the suffocating feeling, closing your throat so you couldn't scream or reply.

"Others say invincibility," she added. "But that's not what you two have. I can see it in the air around you. I know what you are," she proclaimed, eyes narrowing at you hatefully. She closed her fists tightly by her side, knuckles white from the force. And that's when you felt the crushing grip at your windpipe. You fell to your knees, hands flying to your throat, ripping at the necklace or whatever phantom force seemed to be cutting off your air supply. As you rocked back and forth spluttering and choking, Polly stood over you triumphantly.

-----------

When Tommy came looking for you in the parlor, Polly sat sipping her whisky calmly on the sofa. His eyes immediately darted to your tear stained face as he heard your hiccuped sobs coming fast between uneven breaths. "Y/n?" he called to you in panic, crossing the room in quick strides before Polly held up a hand for him to stop.

"She has something to say, Tommy," she announced, looking to you expectantly.

Tommy furrowed his brow in confusion as his foot came to rest over something small and hard. Stooping to retrieve the object, the hurt became evident on his face as he surveyed the floor where your beautiful necklace lay in ruins, a constellation of diamonds cast over the carpet.

As the jewel winked up at him, he looked from his palm and back to you as you stood, wobbling slightly from lightheadedness. "I've made a terrible mistake," you sobbed, brushing past him and running from the room with the urgency of someone fleeing their own execution.

Before he could turn to follow, Polly's eyes flicked up to Tommy's, holding him motionless within her hypnotic gaze as she promised answers. "Perhaps now she'll tell you what she really wanted here because it was never you, my boy."

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

Tag List:

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@notyour-valentine

@areyenotfondofmelobster

@polishcrazyone

@elenavampire21

@little-diable

@lyarr24

@jomarch-wannabe

@helen06dreamer

@raincoffeeandfandoms

@dearshelby

@cillmequick

@call-sign-shark

@peakyltd

@brummiereader

@runnning-outof-time

@emotionalcadaver

@thegreatdragonfruta

@noforkingclue

#zablife 2K celebration #Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Polly Gray fanfic #Polly Gray imagine #Polly Gray #Polly Gray x reader #Polly Gray x you

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nyanashima · 1 year

Text

Breakfast in Bed (Undateables Edition)

finally finishing this ask!! the brothers version is right here

Content warnings: tooth-rotting fluff and domesticity

Diavolo

Diavolo has a busy schedule, so he can’t afford to lounge in bed often. Because of this, he only really has breakfast in bed when he’s sick.

When you bring him breakfast, he tips his head in confusion. You’ll have to explain to him that sometimes people do this for their loved ones, just because.

Once you do, he lights up. What a sweet gesture!

He’ll ask you to sit with him, and he makes sure you’ve eaten before he starts. He’d be more than happy to share with you either way.

Loves whatever you made, even if it’s burnt toast and a rock-solid egg. You went out of your way (and likely fought Barbatos) to do something nice for him. To say Dia’s soft is a massive understatement.

“Come to think of it, I believe my father mentioned doing this for my mother once… I never thought I would get to experience it myself. Thank you, MC. You truly make this castle feel more like a home.”

Barbatos

Much like Lucifer, Barbatos is up at the crack of dawn. You’ll have to be up real early to catch him still in bed.

This right here is an ‘acts of service’ man. Most of his life is about making others’ days easier, and he takes pride in it. Needless to say, it’s rare for him to be on the receiving end of such treatment.

At first, he’s a little uncomfortable because he’s not used to people seeing him in such a state. He’s in his pj’s, with bed head and drool on his pillow– yes, he is not as graceful a sleeper as one might think.

But then you sit on his bed, smiling and lovingly fixing some stray hairs, looking at him like he’s the world? Lord, he might just faint.

Maybe a little vulnerability is fine, actually, for the sake of love and domesticity.

Barbatos cups your cheek and pulls you down to kiss your forehead. His smile is unpolished, wide, and genuine.

“Thank you, my dear. It smells wonderful… May I be selfish and ask you to stay with me a while?”

Solomon

Bold of you to assume he even went to bed

Solomon is asleep at his desk when you find him, drooling on an old spellbook.

Extremely disoriented when you wake him up. He takes a minute to fully understand his surroundings, doing half-hearted stretches.

Once he’s somewhat conscious, he gives you a dopey grin and takes your hand with his eyes half-closed. You can see him mouth the word “morning,” but no sound comes out.

His mouth makes a little “o” when he sees what you made for him. He turns to you with wide, soft eyes– he doesn’t say anything, but the look he gives you says “really?”

He’s not blinking back tears you’re imagining things

Solo’s too sleepy to hide how he really feels. He tugs gently on your shirt to get you to lean down and plants a little kiss wherever he can reach. His voice is soft and slightly raspy from sleep.

“Thank you, MC… Let me wake up a little more, and I’ll return the favour.”

Simeon

Luke helped you cook whether you like it or not

Simeon wakes up once your side of the bed goes cold. He feels around for you and sits up when he realises you’re gone.

Shortly after, you and Luke waltz in with a tray, giggling at one another. Simeon feels Cupid’s arrow pierce his heart again, right then and there.

A rush of warmth fills his chest. Despite already being in a comfortable relationship with you, his stomach is in knots. Is this what having your own family is like?

His expression is the epitome of tenderness.

“Thank you, both of you. You know, MC, sometimes I think you’d make a good angel yourself.”

Luke

Luke is thrilled when he finds out you packed his lunch.

Despite his insistence that he’s not a kid and can make his own, there are stars in his eyes when you hand it to him.

The little man handles the container like glass while vibrating from excitement.

A picture of your cooking gets sent to Simeon and Barbatos later that day (NOT Solomon, lest he gets any ideas).

The next day, Luke packs you one in return and asks you to teach him some human-world recipes.

“Thank you so much!! Don’t pack a lunch tomorrow, okay? I want to make you something too!”

#obey me headcanons #obey me barbie #obey me undateables #obey me nowdateables #obey me diavolo #diavolo obey me #dia obey me #obey me dia #barbatos obey me #obey me barbatos #obey me barb #om simeon #simeon obey me #obey me simeon #simeon #omswd simeon #luke obey me #obey me luke #undateables headcanons

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padfootdaredmetoo · 1 year

Note

Hey I got a request for Tommy Shelby so you are tommy daughter age 15 so your mum died when you was little and polly and Esme are out of town and Linda and you don’t ger on

So you just start your first period and you don’t know what to do and you was to scared to tell Tommy so you didn’t when he got home you started to cry in his arms but still didn’t tell him In the middle of the night you run to his room crying because you was in some much pain and you leak on the bed as well so you was scared he was going to yell at you but he didn’t and help you

Hope that make sense

Hey Anon,

Thanks for waiting!!! I changed a bit of it but hopefully you enjoy it!

Warnings: cramps, periods, missing your mum,

You woke up and felt a strange type of feeling in the pit of your abdomen. It wasn't enough to cause pain at first but it did distract you as you went about your morning routine.

Coming downstairs, you looked at your breakfast but couldn't manage more than a piece of toast. You munched on it wondering where everyone was. You stood up to make some herbal tea in the kitchen and felt a strange sort of rush. It was followed by an awful cramping sensation. You sat back down as the pain stole your breath and took a few moments.

Your immediate reaction was to go to the bathroom, where you saw an absolute mess in your panties. Panic shot through you. What the hell were you supposed to do?

You got yourself cleaned up and tried to keep it contained. You called your dad and felt sick when he answered the phone.

“Shelby?” He said in a cold voice. You hated his telephone voice and you felt small. You couldn't bother him with this type of stuff.

“Do you know where Polly is?” You blurted out realizing you must sound panicked.

“She’s gone to London with Esme. What’s wrong?” His voice was softer now and you considered telling him but something in your chest just wouldn't budge. It felt like a deep dark secret, it was too vulnerable to outside of your body.

“Ah, nothing. Just feeling a bit off. Probably just going to rest for the day.”

“Do you need me home?” He asked and a part of you wanted to say yes.

“No, no. that’s alright. I’ll be fine.” You lied. “Just going to read in bed. Nothing to worry about.” Your voice almost caught. Tears started to fill your eyes.

“Alright, love. Call if you need me.”

“I love you.” You whispered. You felt no control over your thoughts or feelings.

“Love you too.” He said it with an air of suspicion and you regretted saying it. With your head spinning you went back into your room. You lit a fire and crawled under your heavy quilts.

You grabbed a book from your side table and tried to hide away.

He just wasn't quick enough. The arrow pierced his flesh and his muscular body fell hard into the forest floor.

The book slipped from your fingers and you cried. Harder than you could ever remember. Your body shook as you cried out. Your emotions ran all over you as you felt your heartbreak.

Just then there was a knock at the door. You wiped your face with your sleeves.

“Can I come in?” Linda called from the hallway. There wasn't any way to hide.

“Erm- Yeah?” You said and the door opened.

“Are you alright?” She asked concern causing her face to twist up. You figured you could tell her, but that knot in your chest got tighter. The only person you wanted to tell was your mum. But she was long gone. You felt an empty sensation consume you and you fought the urge to cry.

“Yeah, just a sad book.” You managed. Her eyes flicked to the book on the floor beside the bed, her eyes darkened when she looked at the cover. Her eyes moved back to you and you resisted the urge to sit up straighter. You didnt particularly like Linda.

“There is only one book you should be concerned with and that sure isn't it.” Her voice was sharp. “I’ll have a word with your father, though I doubt he has any interest in the redemption of your soul.”

Your fists balled in your blankets and you fought the urge to scream at her. You imagined hitting her, her blood splattering the carpet. But you were Tommy’s daughter, no consequences would fall on your shoulders. Arthur would have to answer for it and that made you want to hit her even more.

“If that’s all I’ll be on my way.” She looked at you for a moment longer and you hated how much you wanted to make her hurt for what she had said to you. She turned and shut your door. Once you heard the front door shut you padded down to your dad’s study.

You pulled the top desk drawer open and snatched a pack of cigarettes. You stomped back upstairs and slammed your bedroom door. You sat on the ledge of your window and opened it enjoying the cold wet air. You lit a cigarette and started in on the pack. Why you felt this would help you didn’t know. It just seemed right.

The smoke was awful but also satisfying. You sat there until your stomach hurt so bad you had to move back to your bed.

The cramping sensation came in waves and you drifted in and out of sleep. The pain was only getting worse. The day passed into night and you only made it as far as your bathroom and back. The blood was more and more, coupled with the pain started to make you worry.

What if something was really wrong? Maybe your organs weren't right and were bleeding to much? What if it didnt stop like other women and you bled out?

Worries consumed and you drifted back to sleep. It seemed to be the only thing that helped the pain.

The pain became unbearable and it caused you to wake up. It hurt to breathe and you couldn't move. Just then a knock sounded on your door and your dad opened it slowly. He took one look at you and ran to your side.

You were curled up into a ball and felt so awful and embarrassed you wished you would pass out.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was scared and it caused you to just give up.

“I got my time of the month- fuck” The cramps kicked up again and you couldn't speak.

“Alright.” He said rubbing your back. There was a silence and you felt the tears coming again.

“I want my mum” You whispered before crying out. At that, he held you tightly.

“Me too.” He said softly. He kissed the top of your head before stiffening slightly. “Go take a bath and I’ll give Polly a call.”

You moved the blankets and started to cry even harder in embarrassment. The quilt your mum had made also had some blood on it and that caused something hard to break inside you.

“Hey, now. It’s alright.” He tried to help you up. He got you to the bathroom and started the bath before leaving you alone. It felt awful being alone but the hot water helped the pain immediately.

_________________________________________________

“Shelby” Polly’s voice was a little slurred and he assumed that everything was going well in London, perhaps too well.

“Pol, Shes’s - erm started her time of the month-” He sighed not sure what he was really asking for. “So how do you think I should go about that.”

“Oh, I’ll drive back -” She said in a more sober voice.

“No, I can handle it. I’m just not sure how you lot handle this type of thing.”

“There are sanitary things in my bathroom. The bottom shelf of the vanity.” He could hear a bunch of rustling on her end.

“Alright thank you.” He said grateful for her help. “Enjoy the rest of the trip.” It was out of character for him to say this but he was grateful that she helped. Things between them hadn't been the easiest with the expansion to London, he hated how much it bothered you but he just didnt know how to fix it.

“Alright. See you soon.” She said in a distracted tone. He hung up the phone and went into the bedroom she normally slept in when she would visit. There was a thin film of dust on the dresser and he could feel how much he missed her for the first time.

He found what he was looking for and headed back to the bathroom. Hopefully this didnt require instruction.

______________________

You got out of the bath and dried off and changed, your dad opened the door a crack and stuck his arm through. You took the box from him.

“Pol said to use those.” He explained through the door.

“Right. Thanks.” You said weakly. Thankfully things were self-explanatory and you got yourself sorted. You assumed he would be down in his study for the night so your plan was to look through Polly’s room for another romance novel to distract yourself.

You came out of the bathroom and took note of your clean sheets and new quilt on the bed. A sense of panic and irritation shot through you. Where the fuck was your quilt?

You didnt care that there was blood on it. You would keep it stained, you would even keep it’s ashes if it burnt up. Your mother had made that for you while pregnant. You were supposed to be buried with it. You ran down the stairs ready to fight someone. You went straight to the kitchen to check the garbage can.

Swinging open the heavy door, you were caught by your dad at the sink. He had his vest off and his sleeves rolled up.

“Where-” but you realized it was soaking in the sink. “Oh.”

“Not the first time I’ve had to get blood out of somthing, probably won’t be the last.” He was smoking with one hand and adding some liqiud into the sink with the other. He looked so unbothered that you started to cry again.

“No - you dont have to -” But you had already started to hug him.

“You can fix it?” You sobbed.

“Of course. I’m your dad.” He said this a lot but his voice was different this time. It had a weight to it that made you cry even more. “Everything is going to be fine.”

And surprisingly it was. He found a hot water bottle in the cupboard and tucked you into your bed. He grabbed the book off the floor and you snatched it away tossing it towards your laundry hamper.

“What was-”

“Don’t worry about it.” You said not wanting to remember what Linda had said.

“Alright, let's stick to the classics.”He grabbed a book off of your shelf and sat next to you reading. You relaxed against him and felt like a little kid again. A bittersweet feeling ran over you and you knew your dad felt it too. If he was sitting next to you reading a bedtime story, something he hadn't done in around 10 years, he must feel it.

Time was moving quickly, pulling the both of you away from your mother, and eventually, it would pull the both of you apart as well. You took a deep breath and tried to focus on the story that was unfolding knowing it was the only way to slow time down.

___________________________________

She fell asleep on his shoulder but he just couldn't bring himself to get up and leave yet. The flashes of pain in your eyes as you cried for your mother made him remember your face as a child doing just the same. He wished she would have been here, just like every other milestone.

He lit a cigarette and noticed that there was an ashtray on your window. Next to it was a box he was pretty sure came from his desk downstairs. He could get angry at you, but who was he to lecture you on smoking? He sighed.

There was a faint knock at the door and Tommy’s eyes narrowed slightly. Polly poked her head in and gave him a look he hadn't seen in a very long time.

“She alright?”

“Yeah.” He gave a nod. Polly came in and sat on the end of the bed, she looked tired and older somehow.

“I’m not happy with the way this family is being run.” Her voice was cold but there was a tinge of sadness that softened him slightly.

“I agree” Her eyes snapped towards him. “I think we can work something out.”

She took a long moment to look into the fire. Some of the tension in her shoulders relaxed and he hoped they could find a way to stop fighting.

“I got her some stuff for the morning.” She patted his leg before getting up. “I’ll be in my usual spot if you need anything.” She gave a soft smile that didnt quite reach her eyes before moving out of the room.

“I think you should have tried a bit harder.” You whispered causing him to jump slightly.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, all things considered, we could die anytime we leave the house. She’s been more of a help to you than anyone else that’s been in your life. Also, I miss her.” Your voice wobbled and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, go to sleep and I’ll fix it.” He tucked you in under your covers and went to go have a proper talk with Polly.

____________________-

You settled into your bed and thought about how far you could milk this emotional instability. Maybe you could even get him and Esme to get along.

Esme showed up in the morning and she and Pol cooked a proper breakfast. Esme made you some tea to help with the cramping, and Polly told you some stories about your mother.

Then they both gave a very giggly talk about the birds and the bees and a more serious one about womanhood.

They kept you fed with lots of herbal tea and meat.

They took you out shopping and spoiled you rotten.

Tommy was always aware of the PMS and tried to keep the house as mellow as possible during that time. He hated seeing you sad and everyone was slightly afraid of your temper. He had to keep an extra eye on the guns and cigarettes.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby & daughter #shelby daughter

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evita-shelby · 7 months

Text

It's Only a Paper Moon

Diane x Bucky

Cw:allusion to premarital sex?

For @yorkshirekiwi

Based around this version of the song

She offers a carved flask, and he accepts it with a muttered thank you. She looked like Collen Moore with those eyes of hers, one brown, one blue. Very pretty too.

“Gin?” He asks after handing the flask back mostly empty. Tasted like Shelby Gin if you asked him, just as sweet as he likes it.

“My dad’s personal recipe.” The nurse said with a shrug and emptied the rest of it herself. The Shelbys were English, what were the odds the Shelby Gin heiress was the pretty nurse with the strange eyes sitting here with him?

If it had been a shit day for him, it would have been about as bad for her as well. Her hair is falling out of the impeccable bun she’d had on when they arrived, her uniform stained with blood and grime and looks older than she looked when he last saw her.

She doesn’t smoke, and yet she took a cigarette break. More like an excuse to just calm down before having to go back to the triage.

“Name’s John, everyone calls me Bucky.” He smiles and wipes a smudge of blood off her cheek with his sleeve.

“Diane, Nurse Shelby when I’m om the clock and Di when I’m not.” She returned his smile and Bucky knew he just had to take out this posh English girl dancing.

“Any plans for tonight, Lady Di?” he needs a drink, to sing and maybe even a fuck too. Good thing he had no prior commitments to keep him from doing that last bit.

Those RAF Officers would hate it so much if they saw him with her, wouldn’t they? What was it that they’d said, an American thinks he can fuck a duchess?

“Free as a bird, Major.” Lady Di answers and tells him where he can find her.

“Call me Bucky.”

They talk about him as if he were a Hollywood star, him and his friend, Gale. They had the looks and the charm, even if Bucky often did all the talking.

She wore pale pink with red earrings, red as her lipstick and her shiny heels that barely had her reach his shoulders. Not that it matters, John Egan was too good of a dancer to care about the disparity in their height.

He’s great fun, sings along to the music and yet knows his limits despite having the same intention as every man before him. She’d fuck him of course, she needs the release as much as he does, might as well send him off to die having had a great night.

“How do you live in a place like this, no sunshine no good food?” he asks ordering them both drinks. He knows who she is given by that grin when he gets them Shelby Whiskey.

“My mother’s foreign, from Mexico, and my dad is Romani, a gypsy if you aren’t familiar with the word. So, I get great food and I can always chase the sun whether on land or over the water.” She thanks the barkeep and wonders if he’s done his research on her like the some of the others have. “Besides, it has its charms, Arrow House is known for gardens and woods you can get lost in.”

Diane had done her homework on him, there was always a need to properly vet the people she slept with, especially since her father was in the House of Commons and his factories supplied so much for the war effort.

Perhaps made the connection between her and the gin. The Americans wouldn’t be so careless as to have him spy on her, or realize she was here to see what sort of shit the yanks weren’t telling the Crown.

John Clarence Egan, from Manitowoc, Wisconsin, born September 9, 1915. A shit singer, with a devil may care attitude that made you forget this war and not some movie. He had a girl back home, Josephine Ada Pitz, the first female pilot in their town. He was fond of Shelby alcohol, something that had cemented itself in the hearts of the American working class even before prohibition ended.

“The best of both worlds, then.” He said and proposed a toast to it.

“I heard you sing, Major.” Diane mentions and feeling her heart flutter when he grins widely.

“Like a donkey in a church choir, but it doesn’t matter if you’re loud. Do you, Lady Di?” Bucky asks with his eyes shining in mischief.

“How about you pick the song, Bucky, and I’ll show you?” No wonder the ladies here were crazy for him and his friend. John Egan could get dowdy Queen Elizabeth to jump into his bed if he set his mind to it.

“Paper Moon.”

Its not long before they’re sneaking around for more than just a few drinks and couple of songs that same night.

“You know what I want?” he asks as they move into the sparse woods on the base in search for privacy. The supply closet was already claimed, neither wished to risk their sleeping quarters and there was no way to go to the bed and breakfast nearest the base.

“I hope its not a virgin, Bucky.” She teases kissing him again and tugging him to her by his belt buckle.

“No, not that, Lady Di.” He presses her back to the tree, not caring they’ll be discovered and punished for this. But he’s a good kisser, and the rough bark turns her on even more. “I want to feel something other than whatever the fuck’s gotten into me, Di.”

“Don’t we all, Egan. Only a paper moon, isn’t it?” The singing, the dancing and the feel of understanding as they gave into their attraction for each other, all of that was just to sate their needs for the night and go their separate ways once it was over. Not that Diane judged him for it, not one bit.

They could die tomorrow and no one but a handful of people would care about it.

Only a paper moon sailing over a cardboard sky after all.

It becomes a habit, she is Bucky’s girl even if they are technically only friends who fuck each other and sing together.

She reads cards and knows the future, not that he’s ever believed in that bullshit, but she’s not been wrong when she tells him he’ll come back each time he leaves.

Wouldn’t be make-believe if you believed me, she sings when he doubts her predictions out of habit most days.

Still this is all a paper moon and she’ll move on soon enough. They all do.

“Won’t your girl back home be angry you’re singing and fucking an English girl?” Diane asks as they devour each other in the little bed and breakfast every soldier has used at some point. Before the Americans came in it was the RAF and before that just normal people with no fear of dying after.

“Shit’s been over since I came here, not the pen pal type, Di.” he hadn’t thought about Jo since he got command of his squadron and returned to flying. She’d sent some letters then once she saw he wasn’t going to write back, Jo stopped writing. They always do.

“Just making sure I’m not your dirty little secret.” The nurse assured him as their paper moon hung in the sky.

“Are you gonna come dancing tonight?” he asks once the moment is over and they pretend they don’t have other shit going on. They’re just another pair of lovers making use of the bed and its warmth.

“Only if you ask me nicely, Major.” She flutters her lashes and kissed him sweetly.

He likes her, likes the feeling of knowing she’s here waiting for him.

Strange how he sought her out so he could feel something else for a change, and got more than he’d even asked for.

Everything’s make-believe until you believe in it.

That night he gets the band to play Paper Moon.

He sings to it and she blushes feeling every single damn thing he is now trying to tell her. Perhaps she really was a witch, after all.

“But it wouldn’t be make-believe if you believed me,” Di sang softly, just to him, as she kissed him like she loved him.

“Do you want me to bring you back anything from my next flight, sweetheart?” he asks knowing whatever she answers won’t make sense until after his mission.

“Last nice thing you see in Algeria, preferably jewelry of some kind.” Her mismatched eyes gleam in knowing he finds it hard to believe her words.

John and those who survived Regensburg stay in Algeria for a week, and no matter how hard he tries he can’t find something nice for her before his tine there is up.

On his last day in Algeria, he buys a silver locket with a carved moon where he puts a picture of himself.

He loves her, as strange as it feels to admit it even to Buck, who only teases him for it.

“You should’ve gotten the ring instead, Bucky.” Gale jokes and Bucky hates to admit that he’s right, but there will be time for that if he is to believe his witch.

They celebrate his return with gin and she wears the locket as he takes her on the same tree they fucked against that first night.

He takes her picture with him on missions and likes the kiss she pressed on the back of it along with the lyrics to the last bit of Paper Moons as part of their inside joke. Bucky is a skeptic and no matter the proof to what she envisions, he still does not put much stock on her words.

He didn’t believe her that he’d survive this long, he is only about ten missions away from the holy number and she tells him she sees him surviving the war. Bucky believes that part after Regensburg, tells her himself as he grieves for his friends who didn’t make it.

“I wanted to feel something that night and now I think I feel something else tonight.” He admits as they sit under the tree, and he wraps his sheepskin over her shoulders even if he is the one not used to English autumns.

Gale may think the sheepskin ugly, but Diane likes the comfort of it, of John’s aftershave and cologne, the faint smell of his own sweat and even the detergent used to wash it. It is him almost as much as he is himself.

She wears it when he lets her, once she surprised him wearing only it at their little rented room. Bucky had undone the zipper slowly and kissed every inch he freed from its confines.

She loves him, and he loves her even if he cannot make himself say it outloud…yet.

“And what is it that you feel, Major?” the witch asks loving the way he smiles at her question.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you, Lady Di.”

He believes her until he doesn’t.

“You have to be wrong, check your cards again.” He cannot believe her words.

Gale Cleven wasn’t gonna be shot down over Bremen. No, he couldn’t. Not Buck.

“I’m sorry, Bucky, I can’t change things just because you ask.” The witch said and put away her tarot cards after a fourth reading.

He shouldn’t have believed her, why did he do this to himself? He’d never believed in this bullshit and now he won’t.

Buck was gonna live, he wasn’t going to go down in his next mission because Diane’s psychic bullshit is just a fucking paper moon.

Bucky can’t even find the words to warn Buck that night and before he knows it, he’s been given a two-day pass to London. Di offers to set him up at her parents’ house since they’re not there, but he refuses because he cannot even look at her without being angry.

He can’t even tell who he is angry at, her, her cards or fucking God himself.

She gives him her address either way and after giving up trying to forget her with the Polish Widow who didn’t care he had his Lady Di; Bucky finds himself watching the bombs from the window in her bedroom.

Bucky Egan doesn’t wake until noon and calls from the telephone on the desk of Thomas Shelby MP OBE praying to God Diane was wrong.

“Norfolk 7322, please.”

Diane finds him crying and raging against God for taking Buck.

“I’m gonna kill those fuckers, for Gale.” He vows as he breaks apart in her arms.

“He’s not dead, you’ll see when you meet him again.” The witch assures him and he is too out of it to even consider she might be right, just as she was before. “I said he’d be shot down, not killed, Bucky.”

She stays in London while he returns to duty a day earlier than planned.

When packs her picture for his next mission, he reads what she wrote on the back of it on his birthday last month.

It’s phony, it’s plain to see

How happy I would be

If you believed in me

Bucky leaves without asking her how Munster will go and asks Crosby to give her his sheepskin for him.

When Diane saw what would happen in Munster, she could not speak.

He wouldn’t die, no, she’d feel it in her heart if he was, but knowing he wouldn’t be coming back from this mission has her doubting her own visions.

She loves him, loves him so deeply she cannot imagine a life without him in it. They’d joked about marriage, about he’d take his Lady Di and marry her in Manitowoc in the same parish he went to with his parents all his life, how they’d be Mr. and Mrs. Egan and have a daughter named Rosemary Gale after Rosemary Clooney and Gale Cleven because Gale’s a girl’s name.

Harry Crosby comes to give his condolences and Bucky’s jacket at her doorstep, but she refuses to accept his word that he’s gone.

“Bucky’s not dead, he’ll come back here. I’ve seen it.” She lies as she takes Bucky’s sheepskin and cries herself to sleep in it while humming ‘It’s only a paper moon.’

Lady Di keeps herself busy working as a nurse as if she were possessed until a letter from a prisoner of war camp in Germany arrives written by John Clarence Egan himself.

‘I need a new picture, Lady Di, I believed in you so much I lost it in a German field’, he writes and adds, ‘Buck says hello.’

Diane sends her picture with the same words as before and sprays enough perfume on her letter for it to still smell of her when it arrives several months after it should’ve been.

And because he believes her now, she works with the Crown and the Americans to keep him and his comrades safe until they’re brought home.

‘If you can stay put for me, I’ll let you take me to Manitowoc, Wisconsin, Bucky,’ she writes on the postscript of her letter to him. In the same letter she makes sure to name drop her dear friend Lilibet Windsor, the Princess of Wales, who agrees to send her regards if it means he and the rest of the prisoners are not executed by the Nazis.

“You were right, I should’ve picked the ring instead of the locket.” Bucky tells his friend who’s gone distracted by his Marge’s letters.

“Can’t be your best man nor you mine if we have a double wedding, Bucky.” Gale jokes after sharing his good news.

"Our girls deserve their own day, don’t they?” he laughs with renewed strength knowing he and Buck aren’t going to die in this shithole.

He consults with his witch, plans accordingly and so far everything goes well even if they have to wait until she finds what day is best for their escape.

When they escape on January 27th of 1944, he is humming Paper Moon to himself and tells Buck that’s going to be the first dance he and Mrs. Egan will dance at their wedding.

Bucky’s not been a whole day back on Thorpe Abbotts when he finds her waiting in only his sheepskin and the locket at their hotel room singing Paper Moon with two glasses of champagne.

She sings beautifully, she’d be a star if she wanted, but she’s perfectly happy as she is, as the soon to be Mrs. John Egan.

He’s bought the ring, a silver one to match the locket with moons carved all around it. Inside it says the same words as her picture.

“Only if you ask me nicely, Major.” She whispers knowing everything with those pretty eyes of hers.

John Clarance Egan elopes with her the moment the ring is done, on February 14th, 1945, with Buck as his best man and Diane’s best friend who came all the way from Margate, as her maid of honor at the dance hall with the chaplain officiating and the Valentine’s Day dance serving as their reception.

“I heard you sing, Bucky.” Allie Solomons asks, having only heard of him through letters and Diane’s words.

“Like a donkey in a church choir,” his wife grins and he took the bait.

“Pick a song, sweetheart, and I’ll show you.”

#bucky egan #bucky x oc #john bucky egan #john c egan #masters of the air #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction #diane shelby #bucky egan x diane shelby #Spotify

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depresse0espresso · 8 months

Text

The Favorite (Chapter Three)

Warnings: Mentions of death, Description of Death

Chapter Two

My eyes snap open as I hear a noise. As they come into focus, I see Lucas standing above me, a dagger in his hand, ready to swing down and attack me. I barely roll out of the way, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I scramble to my feet and search for a weapon to defend myself.

"Lucas, what are you doing?" I ask, my voice trembling.

I moved away from him, clutching the lasso tightly in my hand, hoping it would protect me. “There are only four tributes left and I want to live even if it means I have to get rid of you” Lucas eyes me warily.

I take a step back, my heart pounding in my chest. Knowing I have no other choice, I draw back my arm and hurl the lasso towards him, determined to protect myself. As the lasso hurtles towards Lucas, he sidesteps and hurls the knife at me. Instinctively, I duck just in time, narrowly avoiding the deadly weapon. But as I do, I realise that my actions have unintentionally triggered a chain of events that may have saved my life. The knife that Lucas throws at me flies past me and lands directly in the chest of the District One tribute, Lux. Lux aiming to shoot me in the back.

The force of the knife striking Lux's chest causes him to lose his balance. His arrow, intended for me, veers off course and lodges itself in Lucas's throat instead. Blood gushes from the wound as Lucas collapses to the ground, his eyes wide with shock. Frozen in disbelief, I lay there on the ground as the cannon echoes reverberated through the arena. Lucas and Lux's once imminent threat is now gone. The sight of the lifeless bodies on either side of me is a grim reminder. But something is wrong. The cannon keeps sounding and getting louder and louder. I try to make sense of the deafening noise, but it only grows stronger and more chaotic. The sound of screams and yells merges with the relentless booming of the cannons, sending a chilling wave of terror through my body. I remain huddled on the ground, my hands pressed tightly against my ears, praying for the nightmare to end.

With a jump I quickly sit up in bed, my heart still racing as I look frantically around my room from the intense nightmare. But as I try to make sense of the chaos, I realise that what I experienced wasn't a nightmare, but a gruesome memory of what had happened. Lucas had indeed tried to kill me, and Lux, hearing the commotion, had come to eliminate us both. The chain of events that unfolded had been a matter of survival, and I was the survivor.

"Mari, wake up! There is still a lot to get done before the reaping, and you can't be late to your first reaping as a mentor!" I jump startled, my heart still racing from the vivid nightmare. The sound of Pa banging on my bedroom door brought me back to reality, but the lingering fear from the arena remained. A new dread fills me as I realise that today is reaping day, and two children will be reaped. Not only will I have to witness the agony of their families, but I will also be expected to train one of them within a week, knowing that only one can survive.

I drag myself out of bed and stumble downstairs to find Pa already sitting at the kitchen table, a worried expression on his face. It's not uncommon for him to let himself in, especially on important days like reaping day. As I join him for breakfast, I can't help but feel a mix of gratitude and resentment towards him for always being there, even when I wish he wasn't. "Why do you look so worried, Pa?" I ask as I grab a piece of toast and spread lemon curd on it before taking a bite and pouring myself a large coffee.

"I'm going to be fine. Benji will take good care of me as my fellow mentor."

Pa takes a sip of his tea before saying "Darlin', it's not about whether I think you can handle it with Benji's help,’’ Pa replies, his voice filled with concern. "It's about what you'll face in the Capitol as a mentor. I've been there, and it's a whole different ball game."

"I appreciate your concern, Pa, but I have confidence in Benji's mentoring abilities and that I'll be able to keep up. Besides, I've been through worse." I take another bite of my toast, savouring the tangy sweetness of the lemon curd, and wash it down with a sip of coffee, hoping to shake off the lingering unease from the nightmare.

As we eat our breakfast, the front door opens and Benji walks in, helping the elderly frame of Rose, the first female victor from District 10 and Pa's Mentor and mentoring partner for the 15 years before Benji won his games and took over mentoring for the ageing Rose. The sight of Rose brings a sense of reassurance, knowing that she has faced the challenges of being a mentor in the Capitol before and can offer guidance and support.

“Ah, look speak of the devil,” I say to Benji jokingly as he helps Rose sit down at the table ‘’Morning Rose” I greet her as I stand to kiss the old woman on the cheek, cherishing the warm familiarity she brings "Morin Sweet girl'' Rose response her voice warm and inviting, Rose has always been like a grandmother to me, teaching me how to garden and trying to teach me how to knit and all the stuff a grandma would do. As we gather around the breakfast table, Rose fills the room with a comforting sense of family and tradition. If the group of Victors in 10 were considered a family, Rose was the Matriarch. Her voice, like a gentle lullaby, brings back memories of baking cookies and sharing stories, as she fills us in on the current state of her greenhouse and other mundane things trying to keep the mood light on such a dark day. I stand after finishing my toast and see my front door still wide open as I pass Benji. I give him a pat on the shoulder as I walk past his large looming frame. He smiles at me as I head to my front door to close it.

He asks what I'm doing in his normal drawl. Benji asks, "What are you up to, Mar'? Locking the door already?"

"I'm just making sure that Jack doesn't show up uninvited and Make today even worse. That old bastard always knows how to make things worse." I say

"Marina!" I hear Pa chastise me from the kitchen table. "What? It's true! That man is a Bastard. I don't care if he's also a victor," I fire back, frustration evident in my voice. "no amount of trauma should justify the way he treats his wife and little girl, he is rotten"

My resentment towards Jack stems from his consistent mistreatment of those around him, His neglectful and abusive behaviour is inexcusable, and it has been a constant presence in my life since childhood my options only became worse when he married a girl closer to mine and Benji's age than his own and a little girl was brought into the world shortly afterwards. Despite his victory in the games, he refused to take on the mentoring role, forcing Rose to continue mentoring long after she should have been able to retire. Jack's actions have left a lasting impact on our family of victors.

“Now Y’all have two hours to help me go over all the things I need to do as mentor again before the reaping,” I say as I head back into the kitchen, grabbing a notepad and pen to jot down all the tasks and responsibilities that need to be addressed as a mentor once again. It's going to be a busy morning.

On our way to the reaping, Pa and I stop at Mama's grave. We lay flowers gently on the headstone, which bears her name and titles: Mother, Wife, Healer. It's been years since she passed away from a disease that spread through a neighbouring village, leaving me with only fleeting memories of her gentle touch and loving presence. She dedicated her life to serving others and providing comfort in times of pain and sickness. Mama's nurturing nature has had a profound impact on me, shaping my inclination to care for others. I find solace in helping those in need, just as she did, and it fuels my determination to protect my loved ones from people like Jack who bring nothing but harm and negativity into our lives.

Pa stands there, a sombre expression on his face. I can't help but wonder how such a sweet woman like Mama fell in love with someone as grumpy as him. Maybe Pa wasn't always like this; perhaps it was the pain of losing her that hardened his heart and turned him into the person he is today. Pa starts talking to Mama's grave, sharing the news of the horses and proudly mentioning the new foal that was recently born. He speaks affectionately about the animals, finding solace in their presence and the simple joys they bring to his life. "Mama would have loved to see this little foal," I say softly, joining Pa by Mama's grave. "She always had a way with animals, just like you." Pa smiles, his eyes glistening with memories. "She did, didn't she? That's why I fell in love with her in the first place." Their love story is a testament to the strength of their bond. Despite the hardships they faced, including my father's traumatic experience in the Hunger Games, my parents stayed together and supported each other through thick and thin. It's a love story that inspires me and reminds me of what I could have had.

Reflecting on my parents' enduring love story, I can't help but feel regret for what I lost. After returning from the traumatising experience of my games, I found myself unable to have a normal conversation with my schoolyard sweetheart, Myles. We had broken up before my tour, and although I knew it was for the right, guilt still lingered in my heart. Every time I tried to open up to Myles, the memories of the arena flooded my mind, causing me to shut down emotionally. It felt impossible to bridge the gap between the person I was before the games and the person I had become. The guilt of pushing him away weighed heavily on me, a constant reminder of the price I had paid for survival.

Before I can dwell on it too much, I see Benji's large frame appear out of my eyes. He has returned from loading our luggage onto the train, and now he has returned to walk with us back into town for the reaping. As I walk down the hill towards Benji, I feel the summer sun's warmth on my skin. I also feel the soft breeze brushing against my face, and the crunch of dry grass beneath my feet. The sights and sounds of District 10's plains and hills surround me. I take mental pictures of my home and as I reach Benji "Are you ready?" "No, but I have to be, don't I?" I reply with a sigh, trying to muster up the courage for what lies ahead. Benji gives me a sad crooked smile and a pat on the shoulder "Yeah you do, now let's go don’t want to be late"

Clara Fords of all the people to be reaped had to be someone I knew. She went to school with me, she was the year below me and we had common friends. She came to my house for play dates when we were young. Now I have a week to prepare her as best I can to go into the arena and kill 23 others and not die trying. She sits in the chair in front of me on the train heading for the capitol, this sweet bubbly girl who cried about almost everything, who went and picked me flowers when my ma died and was the first person to hug me when I got back from my games, was my tribute for the year. But she isn't crying now as she sits pale sipping on a cup of tea slowly, her big brown doe-like eyes flickering around the train car taking in all the details on the walls around us. I notice her hair has started to fall from its braid, and the light from the window hits it making her red hair look like it's on fire, It is pin straight and I remember our play dates where my mama tried to style her hair the same as mine but it was pin straight and would lose any shape within minutes compared to my hair that if I brush it the wrong way when it will be stuck like that until I wash it next.

“Clara” I call her name to get her attention. Her eyes land on me as she waits for me to continue “Tell me everything you can, skills, talents even the things you think I might know about you and anything is useful” Clara looks at me with determination in her eyes and responds, "Well, I'm fast, really fast. And I've been working with crops my whole life, so I know how to handle a scythe. Oh, and I'm a decent climber too." I recall seeing an 11-year-old Clara chase down a cow before it could get too far away from the cattle divers who were transporting it. "I already knew how fast you were, having seen you chase down a cow once when we were kids. But it's good to know that you're also skilled with a scythe and a decent climber. We'll make sure to use those to our advantage in the arena’’ Her eyes fill with tears at the mention of the arena, I leap from my seat across from her take the teacup from her hand and place it down on a table beside her before I grab her hands and say “I know how scared you are and what you are feeling at the moment but I need you to promise me something okay, that once we get off of this train in the capitol that you won't cry in front of the other tributes if they see that you're putting a target on your back, you can cry all you want until we get there but once we do i want you to turn those tears and fear into anger I want you to use it to your advantage. Use your fear to make you stronger and push you further. you can make it out of here.” I squeeze her hands tightly, trying to convey my words of encouragement. Clara responds by wiping away her tears and nodding, her determination shining through. "You're right," she says, her voice steady. "I won't let my fear hold me back. I'll use it as fuel to survive and fight in the arena. Thank you for believing in me." I nod and continue "You have the power to make it out," I say firmly. "Use your fear as motivation, and you'll be victorious.”

As we arrive in the Capitol, Clara and the boy Morgan are taken away to be cleaned up and dressed for the parade, while Benji and I head to the tenth floor to prepare for the tributes' parade. We both get dressed and make ourselves look presentable, while I opt for a feminine and vibrant look. I change into a summer dress adorned with pink flowers and slip on a pair of white heels. To complete the ensemble, I put on a pair of gold earrings and twist my hair up into an elegant updo. With my transformation complete, I head out to meet Benji in the hall by the elevator as I enter. He stands with Leto who is talking out of his ear about how life has been in the capitol and Benji nods politely even though from where I stand I can tell he doesn't care. Benji has changed into a nice pair of dress pants and black boots, with a crisp white button-up shirt and a dark blue jacket that complements his dark skin. He looks sharp and confident, with not a hint of worriedness and I wonder if once I have mentored a few games I will appear that collected.

as I walk down the hall towards them I draw their attention and gasp “Oh Marina, don't you look so pretty. Doesn't she look pretty Benji” he gushes as he rushes up to me. Benji chuckles and replies, "Well, Leto, I always say it's what's on the inside that counts. And on the inside, Marina's well, how do I say this nicely " The sound of me whacking Benji on the arm echoes in the hall as well as his laugh. "Come on," I say, rolling my eyes playfully. "Let's focus on the task at hand. We have a parade to attend, remember?" Leto grins and nods, “You two take this elevator while I go down to collect Clara and Morgan. We will meet at the chariot in half an hour for the parade.”

As Leto leaves to collect Clara and Morgan, Benji and I call for another elevator. As the elevator doors open, I turn to Benji and say, "You know, I have a feeling Clara has better odds in the arena. She is resourceful and quick on her feet." Benji nods in agreement, "I agree, Clara has a natural survival instinct. I think she'll surprise everyone." we enter the elevator and continue our discussion “I feel bad we haven't even seen the train and we are choosing Clara as our favourite” I sigh and Benji answers “it has always been the way Rex and I did it, we still give the other tribute the same treatment but you're always going to think another tribute is going to have better odds” he admits honestly that makes me curious and I ask "who was the favourite last year Lucas or me" even saying his name sends a chill down my spine but I want to know "be honest, not who you and Pa wanted to win, but who had the better odds"

Benji hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering with a mix of emotions. "Honestly, Marina, you had the better odds," he finally admits, his voice softening. "Lucas was strong, but you were cunning and strategic. You had the skills to survive, so yes you were the favourite" I don’t know why but that makes me feel relieved that they always thought I had a chance and that if I keep on believing in Clara she will have one too

When I feel the elevator come to a halt, I don't even look at the floor number as I go to exit it and I hear Benij ask “Mari, where are you going it’s not our floor–”. I crash headfirst into the chest of someone who is rushing to get on the elevator. I stumble back and hear Benji laugh as I fall onto my ass.

I sit on the elevator floor, embarrassed and dazed, I can hear Benji letting out a loud cackle of laughter, and I can see him out of the corner of my eyeline doubling over with amusement at my clumsy encounter. The person who knocked me back rushes to my aid, crouching down and giving me their arm while apologising. As I hear their voice, I freeze and look up to meet the eyes of Finnick. His sea-green eyes are filled with concern, and he quickly helps me back up grabbing the small of my waist, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. "Mari, I'm so sorry," Finnick says, his voice filled with genuine remorse. "Are you okay?" I nod, still speechless from the unexpected encounter, and manage to stammer out a weak " im okay." But deep down, I can't deny the surge of excitement and butterflies that Finnick's presence brings. As I try to regain my composure, I can't help but feel a mix of annoyance and embarrassment at Benji's persistent laughter echoing behind me. When I am standing up again I ask Finnick jokingly "Do you ever think we are going start a conversation without scaring each other" My eyes meet Finnick's again, and this time, there's a playful glint in his sea-green eyes. "Maybe one day," he replies with a smirk, his touch lingering on my waist for just a moment longer before he steps away and drops his hand, and I can feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. I take a deep breath, trying to shake the feeling off. I smooth out the back of my dress and make room for him to stand beside me in the elevator. He adjusts his jacket and stands next to me in the elevator as it begins to descend again.

Finnick turns to Benji, his smirk growing wider. "Well, well, if it isn't Benji," he says, his tone slightly cocky. Benji, on the other hand, looks wary, unsure of how to react to Finnick's unexpected presence now that he has gotten over my mishap. Benji greets Finnick with a curt nod and a simple "hello," his laughter long gone into a more reserved demeanour. The tension between them is palpable as if there's an unspoken rivalry simmering beneath the surface. This encounter between Finnick and Benji reminds me of the comment my pa made after I met Finnick in 4. He said that there was a tense situation between Finnick and him in the mentor room after I won my games, beating Pearl, who was Finnick's tribute the previous year. things had escalated in the mentor room that bad, Benji would have been there to jump to my pa's aid in an instant. and I can’t help but wonder if that is the cause of the tension between Finnick and Benji now.

As the elevator doors slide open and we reach the right floor, I catch Finnick stealing a glance at me before quickly looking away. I can't help but wonder if he looks at me and wishes that it was Pearl standing next to him instead, considering their history as tribute and mentor. I wouldn't blame him if he did, I can't imagine Benji standing here in the elevator with Pearl so calmly if I had been the one to lose, I don't even want to think how Pa would handle the situation if the roles were reversed. The thought lingers in my mind as we step out of the elevator. I feel a new sense of admiration building in me for Finnick because either he is incredibly skilled at hiding his feelings, or he is genuinely able to set them aside.

As if he couldn't be more of a perfect enigma

I can see a large group of people crowded around the mentors, before Benji can introduce me to anyone Finnick leans in and says, "There's someone up ahead I think you should meet." He gestures towards the group of mentors, his eyes glinting with curiosity and anticipation like he's waiting to see how I react. He places his hand on the small of my back and guides me over to an elderly woman with long curly hair. I can't help but feel a twinge of familiarity as the woman reminds me of Rose with her kind eyes and smile. As we approach the woman turns her attention towards us giving Finnick a dotting smile as he moves to her side to introduce me “Mags, this is Marina Nivera the newest mentor” Finnick lowers his voice slightly and enunciates his words, ensuring that Mags can hear what he is saying. As Finnick introduces me to Mags, I can't help but notice a gentler side to him. His voice softens, and there's a warmth in his eyes that I hadn't seen before. The butterflies in my stomach flutter again, and I find myself drawn to him even more. As Finnick finishes introducing me to Mags, he turns back to me with a gentle smile, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of curiosity as he tries to gauge my response as he says “Mari this is Mags, my fellow Mentor for distinct 4” My eyes widen in realisation as I click on to who she is. Mags, the elderly woman standing before me, is none other than Mags Flanagan, the legendary victor from District 4 who won the 11th Hunger Games and Rose's closest friend as they were first mentors from the pool of victors.

"I'm Marina," I say, extending my hand towards Mags. "I've heard so much about you from Rose. She speaks highly of you." Mags' eyes light up with recognition and she smiles warmly, pulling me in for a hug instead of a handshake. "I'm sorry, who is Rose?" Finnick asks, his face showing a puzzled expression. He seems genuinely curious and unaware of the connection between Mags and Rose. Mags release me from the hug and turns back to Finnick to explain “Rose was one of the original victors from 10 she was a mentor up until Benji won his games and took over for her” Mags answers Finnick “She was also a dear friend of mine we were mentors together for a long time, She retired before your games that's why you have never met her Finnick” Finnick nods in understanding before asking in confusion again, "If she was the last female victor for 10, why did she retire when Benji won his game and not when you won yours, Marina?" Finnick's questions. “Each district has a different way of choosing the mentors for the games I don't know what you do in 4, but in 10 it is always the most recent victors who mentor regardless of gender,” I tell Finnick tilting my head at his surprised face and I can't help but want to tease him "Don't tell me you've been a mentor for three years and you never noticed how the other districts choose their mentors," I tease him, playfully nudging his arm. "Looks like you still have a lot to learn" I add with a sly smile Finnick chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Well, Mari, it seems like I do." He raises an eyebrow and gives me a mischievous grin and a look that I cannot put my finger on.

Behind me, I hear Benji call my name as the tributes begin to file out with their stylist and district escorts. The other mentor disperses toward their district's chariots with serious looks now on their faces except for a few. I witness the District 12 mentor stumble and barely catch himself from face-planting into the ground. I turn back to Mags “It was so nice to meet you Mags, i hope we have the chance to talk again soon” I offer her a warm smile.

When I turn to Finnick, I jokingly say, "It's always a pleasure running into you Finnick, let's avoid making it literal again next time." I walk backwards as I say this before turning on my heel and beginning away to walk towards Benji who is waiting with Clara and Morgan. I can hear Finnick chuckling as I walk away. As I approach the chariot, my heels make a click-clacking sound, drawing attention to my presence. When I get close, I can't help but analyze the outfit Clara has been put in. She's wearing a flowy white dress with sparkly details that match her sparkling Western boots, which have a heel far larger than what we wear at home. Completing the ensemble is a matching sparkly cowgirl hat, making her look like a glamorous rodeo queen. She looks like the perfect Captial stereotype of someone from District 10. I go over to Clara's side as she moves to hop up onto the chariot and begin telling her what to do during the parade. "Wave and smile," I instruct, "and if you really want to grab their attention, throw your hat out to the audience. target anyone and everyone, and make them all think that your attention is on them. There's nothing that these people love more than being the centre of attention." I offer her my hand to help her hop up into the chariot "Anything else I need to know?" Clara asks, her eyes wide with anticipation as she takes my hand and hops up into the chariot. I squeeze Clara's hand reassuringly and say, "Hold on tight and keep your balance. The chariot can be quite bumpy, especially when it starts moving. Just focus on smiling and waving, you've got this Clara!" As the chariot begins to pull out slowly, I walk alongside it, giving Clara's hand another squeeze before letting go. I continue to follow the chariot until I can no longer keep up, as it pulls out onto the parade strip I watch Clara take all my advice as she confidently waves and smiles at the cheering crowd. A surge of pride wells up within me as I witness Clara fearlessly throwing her hat into the crowd, eliciting deafening cheers from the spectators. It's a brief moment of triumph, but as I stand with the other mentors, I realize that the work has just begun. The parade is only the beginning of Clara's journey in the Hunger Games, and there still is a lot of training and preparation ahead of us.

A.N: this chapter is my longest so far so probably has the most spelling mistakes lol, the purpose of this chapter was to kinda meet more of the people around Mari, Benij is probably my favourite. i also hope it was clear that Finnick was trying to see Mari's reaction to Mag like a test, if she can't win Mags over then is she really someone he should be friends with?

#finnick odair #hunger games finnick #thg finnick #finnick imagine #finnick odair blurb #finnick odair headcanons #the hunger games #thg fanfiction #finnick odair x reader #finnick x you

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factorialsotherfandoms · 10 months

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I am apparently just really really soft on the inherent eroticism of caring for even baby and silly wounds. Also this is established Fit/Pac and ex-fuckbuddies-now-bffs Fit&Philza, with Fit being very supportive of Pac getting himself more sexy men The actual ship forming most of this fic is Pac/Philza.

Err I guess... Pre-Pac/Philza, with pre-Fit/Pac/Philza, established Fit/Pac and ex-Fit/Philza? For the slash ships. For those wanting to know before poking. Set after the eggs are back! (But still no Mike...)

"So, all you need to do is ask him to help you with weapons practice," Fit slowly explains. "He's a bit of a dumbass, but he loves helping people."

Pac nods, "okay, got it."

"And don't worry about Richarlyson - I'm taking all the kids to the gym for a 'yoga session' that might end up a pillow fight."

"I trust you," Pac replies.

"Yeah that still confuses me," Fit shrugs, his face quirking a bit.

Pac hops up onto his toes, leaning forward and kissing Fit's bald head. It earns a laugh and banishes the frown at least.

"I get it, I get it; your place or mine tonight?" Fit squeezes his hands in return - Pac knows he loves him, now, just that Fit sometimes struggles with the more obvious affections. It's enough, though, its more than enough to be trusted to spend the night together.

Night's a long way off, but Pac knows its Fit's way of reassuring him he supports his endeavor and doesn't mind at all.

"I was thinking... The other place? You know?"

Fit nods, "alright. So. We head up the wall, you approach Philza, I'll drop some hints and steal the kids - then it's all on you."

"You make it sound worse than it is," Pac giggles, nerves winning for a moment.

"Go get that ass, Pac, you deserve it."

Fit's already warped away before Pac can process the words, let alone recover from the blush and the stuttering.

---

By the time Pac gets atop the wall, Philza is sat waiting on the trampoline, a slightly confused look on his face. Fit and the children are already gone, and Pac mentally curses his roommate for the lack of support he's been left with.

"Hi Phil," he waves a little awkwardly instead.

"Hey Pac," the confusion is morphed into a smile. "Fit said you have something to ask me?"

"Yes, um," Pac tries desperately to remember what Fit said, how to get close to Philza in a way they're both comfortable with. Ask for help with weapons, was it? "You are good with sword, right?"

"I get by - Etoiles is better," Philza shrugs - and oh, how Pac knows how Philza does more than just get by. "Why? Axes are better here anyway, less risk of hitting an egg."

"Ah, I know, I know," Pac swishes his hand a bit as he thinks. "I just want to be better, you know? So - So I can protect Richarlyson!"

"You really don't want a sword then, king," Philza laughs a bit. "And you're good with an axe! You don't really need help with that."

Pac wants to object, he even starts going to; it's not just about helping Richarlyson, its about learning, about protecting himself and all his loved ones, its about finding an excuse to spend time with a man who never thinks to ask others for company.

"How do you feel about archery?" Philza follows it up with. "Much easier to keep the eggs safe when nothing can get close, you know?"

"Like... a bow?" Pac queries, and thinks. Remembers Philza shooting him from his boat, and that was terrifying - terrifying, horrifying, but also kinda hot. "I do some. I'm not good, though."

"So long as you can see shit, you can learn," Philza shrugs. "We could set some targets up along the potato farm, if you want a go?"

Shooting arrows through the potato farm sounds like a waste of food, but Pac also knows just quite how much the man on the wall has. He's not rich like many of the islanders, but his family are always the last which will go hungry.

Nobody Philza cares about ever goes hungry, love written in baked potatoes and avocado toast.

He nods to the suggestion, and something in Philza's face softens a little.

"I'll meet you up there, king; I've got some shit bows we can use, rather than waste our good ones."

"Alright," Pac nods. "I'll wait here?"

"You got top of the potato farm? I know some of them have enchantments, and I'd rather not set the house on fire."

Pac checks, and responds in the affirmative as he finds the waystone listed there.

"Great. If I just give you these..." Philza pulls out a stack of targets from his backpack, and passes them over. Their fingers brush, and Pac's heart does an awkward flip. "You start getting set up; I'll be there in a just a tick."

"See you soon!" Pac waves as Philza warps away; Philza laughs and waves back, even as he is taken in purple light.

Brushing over his hands, Pac gathers up the targets. Warping to the far end of the wall is easy enough, which only leaves finding where to put the targets. Unsure he places them along the side of the wall, sat on the raised lip for a little height.

He's put ten out when the waystone sounds and Philza appears, a bundle of half-broken bows in his arms.

"Sorry to use you to clear out my trash," he grins. "No idea why there's so many in the sea, but its good to get a feel for different ones anyway."

Pac just nods, finding it easy to agree. He knows Philza has not had a life like his, but still the man scrapes together every resource and uses every scrap - a near broken bow is good for practice, thousands of pounds of andesite mined from the wall can be used to bridge and to fight, rotten food goes back to the land and makes soil to grow life again on a dead, stone wall.

"Can I see your bow? I want to make sure I get you something similar to practice."

"Okay," Pac finds it in his inventory, passing it over.

Philza looks at it, turning the weapon over in his hands.

"Nice," he says. "It's well made, working with the wood. Let me see..."

Pac's bow is handed back, and his insides squirm happily at even the slight compliment. Philza's focus is entirely on the bows, allowing Pac a moment to squee out some feelings.

A couple of the bows are tossed into another of Philza's backpacks, before he makes a neat pile and grabs one for himself.

"Pick one to start with, and we'll see how long before it breaks," he says. "You got arrows?"

"Sim."

"Alright. Show me what you do, first - can you hit that target for me?"

Philza places a warm hand on Pac's shoulder, leaning in close as he points to one of the targets. Pac knows why - there's no good way to describe them, and getting close means more reliable pointing - but it still brings a blush to his ears.

"I'll try."

He shrugs Philza's hands away, and the man steps back. Pac raises the bow, aims, and shoots. It's not an exact bullseye, but it's close enough a monster would have taken serious damage.

"Nice work," Philza praises as easily as water flows. "Just a thought, though - in combat you don't get to stand still and aim. Try doing it moving."

"Moving?"

"Yeah moving," Philza grins a bit, twirling up his bow. "Like in a fight, you know? Gotta still dodge their arrows, else you aren't doing much good."

Philza doesn't wait for more answer, just starts moving. His turns are sharp like dodging imaginary arrows, as he backs and forths. After a few seconds he crouches, shoots a single arrow, then immediately starts running again.

The arrow lands about as close to the centre as Pac's did, and he knows this is really where it makes the difference. Pac's alright on a target and in calm conditions, but as soon as something is moving or a monster scares him? It gets trickier then.

"Your turn," Philza says. "Don't worry about which target, just try hit something - this sort of shit is worst when you get mobbed, anyway."

Pac tries to copy what Philza was doing, but cannot quite make the same patterns it seemed Philza made in his mind. So, instead, he settles just for running backwards. It's hard to take aim on the move, but he tries, drawing his bow as he runs and twisting to fire it behind himself.

He thought his aim was good - the arrow hits the ground a good way before the target.

"Right," Philza's word is stretched out a bit. "Okay, I see - good tactic, shooting while running, that'll save your ass. You would have hamstringed anything close to you with that shot and that's a great method to survive by. Honestly, getting out alive is more my thing so I'd say you're fine, but... Come back over here?"

Not feeling in the slightest bit deserving of the praise, Pac still returns. He wasn't aiming to hamstring a nearby enemy - he was aiming to hit a target! Philza's point sort of makes sense, and he has to agree surviving is more important than winning, but it still feels bad.

"Okay, just let me," Philza squints at Pac, then at another of the targets. "Draw the bow for me? But hold it - don't fire."

"Okay," Pac does as he's told, pulling it up and pointing it down the wall.

"Let me see..." Philza squints at him, circling him - even if he crouches out of the arrow's direct path. "Your posture is fine for short distances and stationary, but with the twist you're not getting all the power in your arms. Can I touch you?"

"Um, okay?" the question completely blanks Pac's mind; before he even realises he agreed warms hands are on him, adjusting his elbow and his arms.

Philza's head his close to him as he helps adjust Pac's posture; he can feel the breath on his neck, and a strong chest at his back. The tugging is insistent but gentle, even as Pac's limbs object somewhat to the postures.

Pac wants nothing more than to curl into the touch, to become one of Philza's people - warm and protected and fed and /loved/.

"Here you go," Philza smiles. "You should be able to get power into it easier with your arms like this, and keeping your balance should be a bit less shit. I'd fix your legs but we're talking about doing it running, so not much point right now."

Pac thinks of Philza's hands between his legs and, yeah, he might need a bit more warning before facing something like that. He tries to concentrate on how everything feels, before letting the bow down and stretching his arms.

"Thank you," he says.

There's laughter in reply, "that's not nearly enough time to have remembered it, but okay if you're done we're done."

"We could have a contest?" Pac suggests, already knowing he'll loose. "Speed shooting - just hit the target, not points?"

"You wanna?" Philza leans down and picks up one of the bows in the pile. "I can take left, you take right, we go until we break all these crap bows?"

There's a decent sized pile - Philza loves to fish - but Pac grins anyway. It's not a fight, not the adrenaline in that way, but he still loves competition. Maybe he and Richars could make some sort of archery range, possibly with moving targets in quirky colours or on a minecart rail! A rail shooter, like a theme park! It would be good practice, and fun, and someone can surely automate fixing the bows and making more arrows.

"Maybe half of the pile?" is what he says, mind already thinking and wondering if he should invite Philza to join in the building, if Richars likes the idea - Fit doesn't really build as much, but Forever speaks the world of Philza's abilities. Given Mike is still sick...

Philza must see Pac's face fall, because he says, "yeah sure, but are you okay?"

"Just thought of something Mike would like," he knows his smile is thin.

"Write it down," Philza suggests. "He'll be back soon enough, and you can just give him the book of funny crap he's missed. Might kill him, though, this island has so much weird shit being said and going on."

"I'll ask Richars," he replies, not entirely thinking about the book idea.

Philza looks confused, but shrugs and picks up a bow, "'right. You want to count us down?"

Pac takes a bow as well, and checks his arrows are easy to reach. As he counts Philza draws his bow back, and Pac copies the motion - it's only the first shot they get to aim, just like an ambush.

"Go!" he calls, and they do.

Five minutes and an inventory full of shattered bows later, Pac is exhausted and Philza is bent double, laughing - he lost, of course Philza was going to win, but Pac did better than he expected to.

His fingers, however, are starting to bleed, and maybe he should not have pushed so far.

He holds them up to the sky, watching the burst blisters now drip blood onto his face.

"Alright, alright," Philza finally gathers himself. "No more shaft jokes, though, I don't think-" the pause and drop in his voice is almost instant when he looks up. "Pac? You good?"

"Ah, sim, sim," Pac pushes himself to sit up again, fingers catching on the floor. "Just did too much, yes?"

"Yeah the stamina takes years to train," Philza comes and sits on the floor beside Pac, fishing about in a backpack as he does. "Ask Fit if your back hurts - he gives amazing massages, if you haven't had already - but for now..."

A potion bottle is held towards him.

"It's okay," Pac smiles. "Just blisters."

"On your fingers, which are fucking shit. Give me your hands."

Pac hesitates, but under the glare he does.

(Philza looks after what is his, does this make Pac his? At least by association?)

Philza takes Pac's right hand first, scowling at the blisters on it with an "aw, mate, you could have just asked to stop early". The potion is poured onto a cloth, and then gently dabbed against each blister - bleeding or not in turn. Then there's a box of children's plaster's in Philza's lap, and he picks out all of the green and blue ones. He alternates finger to finger - green and blue, green and blue - and... and...

And each time he presses a plaster down, he presses a tiny kiss to the padding over each wound.

By the time all ten fingers are tended to, Pac is sure he resembles a strawberry.

"All better," Philza promises, refusing to make eye contact as he tidies the waxed-paper packaging into his inventory. "With the potion, they should be all healed up by morning."

"Ah, um," Pac isn't sure how words work any more, but he wrangles them in the end. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," a grin, and Philza does look up this time.

Just as their eyes catch Fit returns, all four eggs in tow. Pac waves - Fit's eyes narrow on the plasters before relaxing at the sight of all the broken bows - and the kids run over.

"Fit!" Philza calls, instead of a greeting. "Pac here needs a massage, and I've told him of your amazing skills!"

"Oh did you now," Fit wriggles an eyebrow at Philza, before softening as he looks at Pac. "Come down to the gym, then; I'm sure Phil can manage the kids."

There's a mock protest, but it's only play pretend; as they walk away Philza blows them a kiss each, only to squawk in protest at something one of the eggs says.

Pac goes to look; Fit cups his hand behind his back and continues leading him away.

"He's Philza Minecraft," Fit says. "He can manage some kids; let's go have some fun."

"I really do need an actual massage," Pac quirks half a smile. "Not sure I'll be up to much."

"You say as if seeing your face isn't enough for me."

Pac is going to die. These two men are going to kill him, and he's going to die.

It might even be a death Mike only teases him over, not disapproves of, when he finally finds out.

#qsmp shipping #qsmp fanfic #qsmp philza #qsmp pac #extremely mild hurt/comfort

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kekaki-cupcakes · 1 year

Note

Yoooooo still curious and excited anon here!

Could I please request for a Jason Grace meeting and falling in love at first sight with a “bad girl/punk” demigod at camp half blood?

Bad girl in the sense of like rebellious, chaotic, the kind with motorcycles and black leather jackets and so if it explains the vibes better?

Idk it would be like fun ‘cause Jason is kinda the good boy of the group.

And idk he reminds me of a golden retriever.

Idk I tend to associate animals to ppl for no real reason.

If u were an animal which one would u be?

Sorry for the long ask!

Bye! Have a great day!

First time writing Jason so he might be a bit OOC but I went with a very oblivious lovesick golden retriever energy haha. Tiny bit of angst in there because you know, its Camp Half-Blood.

Big Brothers big sisters Best Friend

»»————-　★　————-««

Finding Thalia couldn’t be that hard, right? It wasn’t like she was the leader of The Hunters of Artemis, who were visiting camp, meaning she would be off beating the Ares cabin at games, or recruiting even more hunters with talk of immortality, toasting marshmallows every night, and Hawkeye merch.

Jason strolled through camp, dodging the spears being thrown as the Hermes kids ran past to the arena, grass crunching underfoot and sun shining brightly. When the Hunters showed up, it was like an unofficial holiday for Camp Half-Blood, Jason’s orange shirt standing out in the sea of casual clothing and silver jackets. The [usually] strictly followed timetable for the day was more of a mere suggestion at this point, everyone preparing for an intense game of capture the flag, and a general prank war.

“Move along you little fuck nugget!”

There she was.

“Thalia!” Jason called, feeling the scar on his lips stretch as a grin broke across his face. His sister was yelling at a group of Iris kids, who ran off giggling a moment later. She sat back down behind the fold out table with a deep frown, which pulled on her eyebrow piercings.

It quickly disappeared when she spotted Jason jogging over. “Little brother!”

Thalia vaulted over the table, scattering leaflets into the wind as she picked Jason up in a hug, spinning him around until he was dizzy. “Woah, okay you can put me down now before I puke.”

She threw her arms up, cropped silver jacket catching the sun and nearly blinding him. He re adjusted his glasses and blinked a few times while she wheeled him back over to the fold out table, which was now a mess of papers, pens, and arrows. “Listen up fuckwits, this is Jason, my little brother, no maiming him in capture the flag or I slit your throats in your sleep, deal?”

Two hunters with undercuts and summer dresses didn’t bother looking up from the quiver they were adjusting on a daughter of Aphrodite. The girl at the table did though, after screwing up a sheet of paper and tossing it over her shoulder.

Jason’s heart stopped.

Not literally, of course, but he would happily let the girl stab him with the knife strapped to her back, over the top of her leather jacket. He caught a glimpse of painted musical notes in a messy neon pink decorating the dark leather, and then realized he was staring. “Sorry, what?”

“I was just saying imma maim you in capture the flag,” Thalia explained with a wicked grin.

Jason blinked, “weren’t you just saying-”

“Irrelevant,” Thalia cut him off, throwing an arm over his shoulder and yelling something to a boy with green hair a few meters away. Jason took the opportunity to take another peek at the girl, who was now popping a bubble of purple gum as she watched Thalia brandish a blood stained arrow at the crying kid.

His eyes skipped from a crown tattoo around her arm to the chunky doc martens poking from underneath the table, then to her eyes, which were on him. Shit. Jason looked away with warmth in his cheeks, hoping the girl hadn’t realized he was blatantly staring at her. How could someone look that scary and still be so attractive at the same time?

Hot people should be approachable, so he didn’t have to hide behind his sister with wide blue eyes, like he was now. Thalia ran a hand through her spiky dark hair, blue streaks flicking around, and Jason finally remembered why he was actually here, apart from wanting to stare at the girl who’d slipped white headphones over her head and gone back to the clipboard.

“Thal’s, Chiron wanted to talk to you, something about knives?”

“Shit,” Thalia grumbled, folding her arms. She glanced up at the big house and then back at the girlTM. Then a smirk spread across her face, probably clocking the pink dusting Jason’s face. She was just so…nice looking. Jason could stare at her forever.

“Her mum’s teaching her to ride a motorbike, she wants a doberman, and she graffiti's.” Thalia said, clapping Jason on the shoulder with a cocky wink. “lLso a swiftie, don’t tell her i told you though. Good luck!”

“Huh?” Jason whimpered, his shoulders falling as his sister left him in the sign up area with a bawling green haired child and a lot of scary teenage girls. “Wait, no come back-”

He stood there for a minute, glaring at Thalia’s retreating figure, who was hiding knives underneath rocks as she went. He tapped his fingers on the table, trying to look casual as his brain drooled over the lip piercing the girl had. WHY DID SOMEONE GET TO LOOK THAT ATTRACTIVE?

She pulled her headphones down around her neck and looked up at Jason with a brow raised. She had sharp eyeliner and a low voice. “So like, you gonna sign up, or…”

“But… I’m a guy?”

“I don’t assume,” she shrugged, eyes lidded, and popped another bubble of purple gum.

Jason felt his heart drop through his stomach and land in the grass when he realized what the girl would be doing here. He hoped his voice wasn’t wobbly as he spoke. “You’re a hunter?”

“Nah,” she grinned, leaning back on the fold out chair and propping her chunky shoes on the table, dirt smearing on the sign up sheet. “My mum’s Tyche, Thalia asked me to stand here and increase the chances people will sign up.”

Jason thought for a moment, trying to remember who Tyche was. His brain still thought of everything the roman way, figuring out who deities were was a headache. She blew another bubble, and it popped on her face, which she pulled off and stuck on the bottom of the table without a second thought. “Fortuna for you, goddess of chance, dispenser of good and ill fortune.”

“You know I’m roman?” Jason may have focused on the wrong part of the conversation. All he got in return was a smirk and a shrug. SHE KNEW HIM?

She watched him for a moment, probably wondering if he was sunburnt, and then got to her feet. Jason realized he was way too far gone once he found out she was taller than him. “I’m teaching arts and crafts next, wanna help?”

“Yes.”

»»————-　★　————-««

Jason had been tricked. How it only occurred to him once he was standing in the middle of the arts and crafts supply closet, arms full of stolen spray paint, he didn’t know.

One minute he’d been helping this really cool girl, and the next minute Malcom Pace was opening the door with wide gray eyes. “You’re the one stealing all the cans?”

“There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this,” Jason started, hoping it would give him enough time to think of a perfectly reasonable explanation. Nothing came to mind, so he called on his roman roots and lifted his head high, hoping he didn’t look like a deer in headlights with a spinal problem.

“I’m stopping the thief.”

Malcolm just stared at him, moving out of the way as Jason sidled past him into the room filled with ares kids and glitter bombs. “If whoever’s stealing all the paint doesn’t know where it is, then they can’t take it. Chiron asked me to take it all to the big house until he figures out who’s stealing it.”

“It’s totally the Stoll’s, who else would be drawing penises on my cabin?”

Jason blinked. He had not come prepared enough for the spray cans stealing expedition, but to be fair he had no idea he was stealing until he saw the sign saying ‘ask permission from Butch or Malcom to use. “Well yes, but are you gonna dob them in?”

Totally something that would happen at Camp Jupiter, if somebody was stupid enough to steal the paint in the first place, but Camp Half-Blood was a little different. Malcolm snorted. “No, it’s hilarious. But if you see Connor, tell him to do the Ares cabin, Clarrise stepped in my waffles this morning.”

“Will do,” Jason managed to mutter, and then strolled through the arts and crafts center like he was supposed to be there. He nodded at one of the Athena kids who was sculpting a statue of an anime character, and then ducked his head as he left.

When he made his way around the back, he saw the girl who’d tricked him, without even thinking that he could get in trouble. “Hi!”

She just blinked in shock, her jaw dropped. SHE HAD A TONGUE PIERCING. Jason grinned as he dumped the armful of multicolored spray paint canisters in her arms. “I got them!”

“You- that was a trick you tiny punk!” She laughed, and Jason felt his face heat up as he noticed the sparkle in her eyes. “How did you pull that off?”

He ducked his head and shrugged. “I dunno, I guess people just assume I’m doing stuff I’m supposed to do?”

Jason had to look away when she bit her lip, teeth clicking with the silver metal ring looped through the right side of her bottom lip. “I like you.”

“Thanks.” His voice cracked.

“You’re mine now.” She stuffed the spray paint cans into a satchel jingling with pins of various bands and slogans, then looped her arm through his, yanking him along as they made their way to the horseshoe shape of cabins.

Jason grinned as he followed happily, looking up at her smug expression. She stopped outside the silver cabin, and Jason faltered when he saw that one wall had been painted over with a dull shade of gray, then overlapped with a beautiful mural of the night sky. Constellations glittered as if painted with stardust themselves, and drip lines ran down the arrows the girls in the painting were holding.

The tallest girl had a serious expression, long thick hair tied back in a plait that flowed over her shoulder. The brightest set of stars were wrapped around her shoulders. One arm was gripping the shoulder of a girl Jason recognised.

He had never known her, but he recognised the small smile and the slope of her nose, the color of her hair, he recognised her because he was friends with her little brother. “Is that-”

“Zoe and Bianca.”

»»————-　★　————-««

Thalia stomped her foot in the dirt and scanned the muddy clearing again. Where was he?

A battle cry echoed through the woods, and there was the familiar screech of the monster, but then she heard Clarrise yelling, so they had it under control. Her blue flag, which was safely protected by Phoebe and a new recruit, was about to be joined by its friend, the red flag, securing the hunters win and furthering their streak.

“Jason?” She called. He was on the hunters team, only because cabins weren’t really supposed to split up, and like hell Thalia was fighting her hunters.

Naomi stomped up, her quiver empty, and someone was screaming in the distance. “Have you seen that Tyche girl who’s supposed to be giving us a bigger chance of winning? Where is she?”

“Yo, guys! That blond jock’s getting the life snogged out of him behind Zeus’s fist!” Another new recruit fell out of a tree, binoculars in her hands as she grinned.

Thalia smirked. “Dad will love that.”

»»————-　★　————-««

#pjo fandom #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #nico di angelo #Jason grace #Thalia grace #hunters of artemis #jasongrace #jasongracexreader #Jasongracexyou #jasongracexpunk #Tyche

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