#places to visit near Summer Hill | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fr0stf4ll · 20 days

Text

Flavours of Prythian

Coming from that request

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; Y/N, a talented restaurateur’s life is turned upside down when she forms an unexpected bond with Azriel, the mysterious Spymaster of the Night Court. Befriending Elain, who confides in her about a male she’s trying to win over, she eagerly helps her new friend — only to discover the male is none other than Azriel. When the bond between her and Azriel snaps at first touch, she’s torn between loyalty to Elain and the undeniable connection she shares with the shadowy warrior.

word count ; 7.8k

warning; //

notes; Yoo everyone, here is my first one shot ! Thank you again for the request<333 Should I do a more general taglist so that you guys can be permanently on it. Enjoy it, see you <3

---

Prythian was a land of many wonders, from the towering peaks of the Illyrian mountains to the lush, rolling hills of the Spring Court. But for you, the true magic of the land was found in its kitchens, markets, and the rich flavors that each court had to offer.

You had always been drawn to the culinary arts, even as a child. Your curiosity led you to travel across the courts, tasting the distinct dishes of each region, learning from the most skilled chefs, and uncovering the hidden culinary gems that most would overlook. You spent years journeying from the Day Court, where spices danced like sunlight on the tongue, to the Winter Court, where hearty stews and warm bread were a staple against the biting cold. In the Night Court, you discovered the delicate balance of flavors that mirrored the starlit skies above, and in the Summer Court, you indulged in the rich, vibrant tastes that seemed to capture the very essence of the sun-drenched beaches.

Your travels weren’t just about satisfying your own cravings; they were a quest to bring the best of Prythian’s diverse cuisines to others. And so, you did the impossible—you opened a series of restaurants, each one in a different court, each one a testament to the culinary traditions you had learned and made your own. Your establishments became a haven for those seeking not only a good meal but an experience, a journey through Prythian’s tastes and textures without ever leaving their seat.

Your flagship restaurant, nestled in the heart of Velaris, was particularly special. It was here, in the City of Starlight, that you combined the flavors of all the courts into a menu that was as varied and enchanting as Prythian itself. Word quickly spread of the remarkable dishes served within, and soon, it wasn’t just the citizens of Velaris who came to dine—High Fae from every court sought out your creations.

One such evening, as you oversaw the final preparations for the dinner service, the door to your restaurant swung open, and in walked a familiar face—Elain Archeron. Elain had been wandering through Velaris, taking in the beauty of the city, when the warm, inviting aroma from your restaurant had drawn her in.

Elain was known for her gentle nature, her love of gardening, and her keen eye for beauty in all things. But tonight, she was here for something different—a new experience, a chance to explore another form of beauty through the culinary delights that had been whispered about throughout the city.

As Elain took her seat near a window overlooking the Sidra, she immediately felt at ease. There was a sense of comfort and warmth in the restaurant, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself walking over to greet her. She looked up with a warm smile, her eyes bright with curiosity and a touch of shyness.

“Welcome,” you said, your own smile reflecting her warmth. “I’m Y/N, the owner and chef here. It’s a pleasure to have you.”

Elain’s smile widened, and she nodded appreciatively. “I’ve heard so much about this place, I just had to come see for myself. The aromas alone are worth the visit.”

You chuckled, feeling an instant connection with her. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ll make sure the food lives up to the expectations.”

As the evening went on, you found yourself returning to Elain’s table more than once, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. You talked about your travels, the different courts you had visited, and the inspiration behind some of the dishes on the menu. Elain, in turn, shared stories of her own—of her love for gardening, the peace she found in the quiet moments spent among the flowers, and her growing appreciation for the little joys in life, like a perfectly prepared meal.

There was something comforting in the way you both connected, as if you had known each other for much longer than just one evening. By the time dessert arrived—a delicate pastry inspired by the flavors of the Summer Court—you and Elain were chatting like old friends, the conversation punctuated by shared laughter and the occasional appreciative hum as she tasted each new dish.

As the night drew to a close, Elain hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I’d love to come back,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. “Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

You smiled, genuinely pleased by the idea. “I’d like that. You’re welcome anytime, Elain.”

Elain quickly became a regular fixture at your restaurant, her visits growing more frequent as the two of you bonded over shared stories, laughter, and the occasional glass of wine. It wasn’t long before your casual conversations began to take on a more personal tone, with Elain confiding in you about her life, her hopes, and her dreams.

One evening, after the dinner rush had died down and the restaurant had settled into a peaceful hum, Elain arrived with a particular glint in her eye. You noticed it the moment she walked in, her steps lighter, her smile brighter. She took her usual seat by the window, and you didn’t waste any time joining her, a knowing smile on your face.

“Alright, Elain,” you said, sitting down across from her. “You’re glowing tonight. What’s going on?”

Elain blushed, her hands fluttering nervously in her lap. “It’s nothing, really… Well, maybe it’s something. I don’t know.”

You leaned in closer, eyes wide with curiosity. “Come on, you can’t just leave me hanging like that. Spill!”

She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before finally giving in. “There’s… this male,” she began, her voice soft but filled with excitement. “I’ve been trying to get his attention for a while now, and I think… I think it might actually be working.”

You couldn’t help but squeal in delight, clapping your hands together. “Elain! This is amazing! Tell me everything—who is he? How did it start? What’s he like?”

Elain giggled at your enthusiasm, her own excitement bubbling to the surface as she began to share the details. “He’s… well, he’s different. Reserved, I guess you could say. But there’s something about him that just draws me in. He’s kind, in his own way, and he has this quiet strength that I really admire.”

You listened intently, hanging on her every word as she described this mysterious male who had captured her attention. It was clear that she was smitten, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement for her.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked, your mind already racing with ideas. “How are you going to win him over?”

Elain smiled shyly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “Well, I thought… maybe I could start by cooking for him. You know, something simple but special. He loves good food, and I think it might help him see… well, see me.”

You practically jumped out of your seat with excitement. “Elain, that’s perfect! And you’re in the right place—I can help you with recipes, tips, anything you need. We’ll make sure this meal is unforgettable.”

Her eyes lit up with gratitude. “Really? You’d help me?”

“Of course!” you replied, beaming. “This is what friends are for. And besides, I love a good love story. We’ll make sure he can’t resist you after this.”

From that moment on, the two of you were inseparable. Elain would visit the restaurant every few days, sometimes to try out a new dish, other times just to chat and share the latest developments in her budding romance. The more she talked about this male, the more you could see how deeply she cared for him, and it made you all the more determined to help her succeed.

You spent hours in the kitchen together, experimenting with different ingredients and techniques, crafting meals that were not only delicious but also filled with meaning. Elain would watch you work, her eyes wide with admiration as you explained the significance of each spice, each flavor, and how it could be used to convey emotion.

“There’s a language in food,” you told her one afternoon as you kneaded dough for a loaf of bread. “Every dish tells a story. When you cook for someone, you’re sharing a part of yourself with them. It’s intimate, in a way.”

Elain nodded thoughtfully, her hands busy chopping herbs for the soup you were preparing. “I never thought of it like that, but it makes sense. I want him to know how I feel, even if I can’t always find the words.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for your friend. “Then we’ll make sure every bite he takes is filled with love.”

As the days turned into weeks, Elain’s visits became a highlight of your day. She would burst through the door, her eyes sparkling as she recounted her latest interactions with the male who had stolen her heart. You would listen with rapt attention, offering advice and encouragement, celebrating every small victory and reassuring her during moments of doubt.

“He loved the soup,” she told you one evening, her cheeks flushed with happiness. “He said it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. And I think… I think he’s starting to notice me.”

You grinned, feeling a surge of pride. “I told you, Elain. No one can resist good food, especially when it’s made with love.”

She laughed, her joy infectious. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N. You’ve helped me so much.”

You waved off her gratitude with a smile. “Nonsense. You’re the one doing all the hard work. I’m just here to cheer you on.”

But the truth was, you had come to care deeply for Elain and her happiness. It wasn’t just about the food anymore—it was about seeing your friend find the love and connection she so deserved. And as she continued to come back, sharing her hopes and dreams, you couldn’t help but feel that you had found something special too.

Your friendship with Elain had become a source of joy and fulfillment, a reminder that sometimes, the most meaningful connections were forged in the simplest of moments—over a shared meal, a quiet conversation, or a burst of laughter that echoed through the night.

And so, as the seasons changed and the nights grew longer, you continued to help Elain in her quest to win over this mysterious male, knowing that whatever the outcome, you had found a true friend in her. A friend who had come into your life unexpectedly, but who had quickly become an irreplaceable part of it.

Weeks had passed since you and Elain had first started crafting meals together, each one a carefully planned step in her quest to win over the male who had captivated her heart. Every visit, every dish, brought a new story, a new glimmer of hope in her eyes. You were genuinely happy for her, thrilled to see her so full of life and excitement. So, when she asked if she could bring him to your restaurant for dinner, you couldn’t have been more supportive.

“Of course, Elain!” you’d said, flashing her an encouraging smile. “I’ll make sure everything is perfect. It’ll be a night he won’t forget.”

You’d spent the entire day preparing, selecting only the finest ingredients and crafting a menu that would showcase the very best of what your restaurant had to offer. You wanted this night to be special for her—special for them. You had no idea how special it would become, for reasons you never could have imagined.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city of Velaris in a warm, golden glow, Elain arrived at the restaurant with a male by her side. You couldn’t quite make out his features at first, but the way she clung to his arm, her eyes bright with anticipation, told you all you needed to know. This was the one.

As they stepped into the softly lit dining room, you finally got a good look at him—Azriel, the shadowsinger of the Night Court. You had heard of him, of course, through whispers and stories, but nothing could have prepared you for the moment your eyes met his.

Elain beamed as she introduced the two of you, her voice filled with warmth and pride. “Azriel, this is Y/N, the wonderful chef I’ve been telling you about. And Y/N, this is Azriel.”

He extended his hand to you, his expression polite, reserved. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his voice deep and smooth.

You reached out, intending to greet him with the same friendly courtesy you offered all your patrons. But the moment your hand touched his, something shifted in the air—a sudden, overwhelming rush of heat and energy that took your breath away. The bond snapped into place with such force that it nearly knocked you off your feet.

For a split second, the world around you faded, and all you could feel was the pull, the undeniable connection that tethered your soul to his. His eyes widened in shock, and you knew he felt it too—the bond, the realization that fate had just entwined your lives in a way neither of you had expected.

But as quickly as the bond formed, reality came crashing back down. Elain was standing there, her eyes full of hope, completely unaware of the storm that had just erupted inside you. She had no idea that the male she was so clearly infatuated with, the one she had been working so hard to win over, was now bound to you in a way that went beyond anything you could have ever imagined.

Panic surged through you. How could this happen? How could you possibly accept this bond when it would mean shattering the friendship you had built with Elain, when it would mean taking away the one thing she wanted so desperately?

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

With a forced smile, you quickly withdrew your hand from Azriel’s grasp, the warmth of the bond lingering like a phantom touch. “It’s nice to meet you too,” you managed to say, though your voice sounded hollow even to your own ears.

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you, confusion and something deeper flickering in his hazel eyes. But you couldn’t let yourself look too long, couldn’t let yourself feel what was brewing inside you. Not when Elain was standing right there, her happiness hanging in the balance.

“Please, take a seat,” you said, stepping back and motioning toward the table you had specially prepared for them. “I’ll make sure everything is perfect.”

Elain smiled, oblivious to the turmoil in your heart, and took her seat. Azriel hesitated for just a moment before following suit, his eyes never leaving yours. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the unspoken questions hanging in the air between you, but you didn’t dare meet his eyes again. You couldn’t.

As the evening went on, you did your best to stay professional, to act as if nothing had changed. You brought out dish after dish, each one more exquisite than the last, all while ignoring the fire burning in your chest. Every time Azriel tried to catch your eye, every time he tried to speak to you, you found a reason to turn away, to focus on something—anything—else.

Elain chattered on, completely unaware of the tension building between you and Azriel. She complimented the food, praised your skills, and even mentioned how much Azriel seemed to be enjoying himself. And through it all, you kept up the facade, kept pretending as if the bond snapping into place hadn't turned your entire world upside down.

But it was getting harder. With every glance Azriel sent your way, with every quiet question he tried to ask you in passing, it felt like the invisible thread between you was pulling tighter, demanding to be acknowledged. Yet, you refused to give in.

As the night dragged on, the tension between you and Azriel grew unbearable. He could sense it—you knew he could—but Elain remained blissfully unaware, happily recounting the gossip from the latest happenings in Velaris, smiling every time she caught Azriel glancing her way.

Azriel's eyes kept drifting back to you. Not once, not twice, but every time you approached the table, as if he couldn’t stop himself. You could feel the weight of his gaze burning into you, the way his expression darkened each time you brushed past him without so much as a word. He knew you were avoiding him, and he didn’t like it.

When you brought out the final dish—an indulgent dessert meant to close the evening on a sweet note—Elain excused herself to step outside for a moment, leaving you alone with Azriel for the first time since the bond snapped.

You could feel his presence before you even turned around, the quiet intensity of his gaze. And as you set the plate down in front of him, you knew you couldn’t avoid this confrontation any longer.

“Y/N.” His voice was low, barely more than a murmur, but the way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine. “We need to talk.”

You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes firmly fixed on the table in front of you. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, your voice cold and distant, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you.

Azriel leaned forward, his voice dropping even lower. “Don’t lie to me. You felt it too.”

The bond. He didn’t have to say the word for you to know what he meant. It was a truth that hung in the air between you, undeniable and impossible to ignore. And yet, you had to. You had to protect Elain, to protect your friendship, no matter the cost.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, your heart aching with the effort it took to deny the pull you felt toward him.

Azriel’s expression darkened, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “Don’t do this, Y/N. Don’t shut me out.”

But you couldn’t let him in. If you let him in, if you allowed yourself to even consider what the bond meant, you would be betraying Elain in the worst way possible. How could you even think about being with him when she had spent weeks confiding in you, trusting you with her feelings for him?

“No, Azriel.” You stepped back, your voice firmer this time. “I can’t.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Why? Because of Elain?”

You winced at the mention of her name, the weight of guilt pressing heavily on your chest. “She cares about you. A lot.”

Azriel's expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Y/N, it’s not like that between Elain and me.”

But you shook your head, refusing to let yourself believe it. “It doesn’t matter. She’s my friend. I can’t—I won’t—do this to her.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with tension, a storm of emotions swirling just beneath the surface. Azriel opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, the sound of the door opening broke the silence.

Elain re-entered the dining room, a bright smile on her face as she made her way back to the table. “Sorry about that,” she said cheerfully, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between you and Azriel. “What did I miss?”

You forced a smile, masking the turmoil raging inside you. “Nothing,” you lied, your voice steady even though your heart was breaking. “Just making sure everything’s perfect.”

Elain beamed, clearly pleased with how the evening had gone. “It really has been perfect, Y/N. Thank you so much for everything.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he finally looked away, the tension in his jaw clear as he nodded in agreement. “Yes… thank you.”

You nodded once, offering them both a stiff smile before excusing yourself from the room, your chest tightening with every step you took away from them.

As you retreated to the quiet of the kitchen, your hands bracing against the counter, the reality of what had just happened began to sink in. The bond had snapped. Azriel was your mate. And yet, you couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept it.

You had promised yourself you’d never hurt Elain. And if shutting down every advance Azriel made, if pushing away the one person the Cauldron had chosen for you was the only way to keep that promise, then that’s exactly what you would do.

Even if it tore you apart.

Back in the kitchen, you leaned heavily against the counter, your hands gripping the cold marble surface as you tried to regain your composure. The bond had snapped, and with it, any sense of stability you had managed to hold onto throughout the evening. The world felt off-kilter, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering on the brink.

One of your sous chefs, a sharp-eyed female who had worked with you since the restaurant’s inception, noticed your pallor. She set down the pan she was holding and approached you, concern evident in her eyes.

“Y/N,” she began cautiously, her voice gentle but probing, “are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You forced a nod, though you knew your expression wasn’t convincing. “I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice was shaky and unsteady.

She frowned, clearly not buying your response. Her eyes scanned your face, taking in the unusual paleness of your skin, the way your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the counter. “You don’t look fine. Do you need to sit down? Maybe get some air?”

You shook your head, trying to brush off her concern, but the weight of the bond pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. “No, I’ll be okay. It’s just… been a long night.”

She hesitated, still studying you closely, before glancing around the bustling kitchen. “But, Y/N,” she continued, her tone turning more inquisitive, “it’s strange. You always insist on preparing Miss Elain’s meals yourself, especially when she’s bringing a guest. But tonight, you didn’t even touch the preparation. You left it all to us.”

You froze at her words, the reality of what had happened sinking in even deeper. She was right—normally, you would have insisted on handling every detail of Elain’s meal, wanting to ensure that everything was perfect for your friend. But tonight, when it mattered most, you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to do it.

The truth was, the moment you realized Elain was bringing someone special, you couldn’t bring yourself to touch the ingredients. You had let the staff handle everything because deep down, some part of you knew something was about to change—something you weren’t ready to face.

“I…” you started, but the words caught in your throat. You swallowed hard, trying to find some semblance of an explanation. “I just thought… maybe it was time to let you all handle it. You’re more than capable.”

She tilted her head slightly, her frown deepening as she searched your eyes. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

You nodded again, more firmly this time, even though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue. “Yes, I’m sure. I trust all of you with the kitchen. You don’t need me hovering over every detail.”

She didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she didn’t press the issue further. Instead, she offered a small, supportive smile. “Well, if you ever need a break, don’t hesitate to step out. We’ve got things under control here.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I appreciate it.”

With a final nod, she returned to her station, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the crushing weight of the bond you were trying so desperately to ignore.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to push away the overwhelming emotions swirling inside you. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the image of Azriel’s eyes, the way they had widened in shock and recognition when the bond snapped into place. You couldn’t forget the warmth of his hand in yours, the way the world had seemed to narrow down to just the two of you in that fleeting, life-altering moment.

But Elain… you couldn’t do this to Elain. You couldn’t shatter her hopes, her dreams, just because of a bond you had never asked for. So, you did the only thing you could—you steeled yourself, pushed down the emotions threatening to break free, and vowed to keep your distance from Azriel, no matter how much it hurt.

You would be there for Elain, just as you always had been. You would help her win over the male she had been trying so hard to impress, even if it meant denying your own heart in the process.

Because that’s what friends did. They put each other first, no matter the cost.

And as you stood there in the kitchen, surrounded by the comforting sounds of sizzling pans and clinking utensils, you made a silent promise to yourself: you would protect Elain’s happiness, even if it meant sacrificing your own.

—

Azriel sat in the sitting room of the townhouse, surrounded by the familiar faces of the inner circle, yet he felt completely out of place. The evening had been an unexpected whirlwind of emotions, leaving him reeling from the bond that had snapped so suddenly and without warning. He had come here to find solace, to clear his mind, but every thought seemed to spiral back to you—the way you had looked at him, the way you had recoiled after the bond had formed during dinner at your restaurant.

He couldn’t understand it. How could something so significant be brushed aside so easily? He had tried to reach out to you, to understand what was happening, but you had shut him down, leaving him to grapple with the weight of the bond on his own.

The others were chatting around him, the sound of their laughter and conversation filling the room, but it all felt distant, muffled. Azriel’s mind was too clouded to focus on anything they were saying. He was trapped in a loop, replaying the moment over and over in his head—the spark, the connection, the way your eyes had widened in recognition before you quickly masked it.

He was so lost in thought that he almost missed it when Rhysand mentioned your name.

“You know, Y/N’s restaurant is one of the best in Velaris,” Rhys was saying, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “Feyre and I went there a few nights ago, and it was nothing short of incredible.”

Feyre nodded enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up at the memory. “The food was amazing. Every dish was like a work of art. She really has a talent, doesn’t she?”

Mor, who was lounging on one of the couches, joined in with a grin. “That’s not even the half of it. Y/N’s got restaurants all over Prythian—one in each court, if you can believe it. She’s become a bit of a legend in the culinary world.”

Azriel’s heart sank further as they continued to praise you, each word driving the knife deeper into his chest. It wasn’t that he disagreed with them—he knew you were remarkable, talented, someone to be admired. But right now, every mention of your name was like salt in a wound that was already festering.

Cassian, who had been listening with a smirk on his face, finally spoke up, his tone playful. “Sounds like Az here missed out on one hell of a meal tonight. Maybe he’ll have to go back and get a taste of what everyone’s raving about.”

Azriel tensed, the comment hitting far too close to home. He knew Cassian was just joking, but the implication—the reminder of what had happened tonight—was too much to bear. Without a word, he pushed himself up from his chair, his movements abrupt enough to draw everyone’s attention.

“Az?” Feyre called out, concern lacing her voice as she watched him head for the door. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t trust himself to respond. Instead, he muttered something about needing some air and quickly left the room, the weight of their gazes heavy on his back as he made his escape.

As the door closed behind him, an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Everyone exchanged glances, clearly taken aback by Azriel’s sudden departure.

“What’s gotten into him?” Rhysand wondered aloud, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Cassian, never one to let an opportunity for humor pass by, snorted and shook his head. “Probably just realized he’s been a brooding mess all night and couldn’t handle the idea of someone actually having a good time.”

Mor chuckled, though there was a trace of worry in her eyes. “Or maybe he just can’t handle the fact that Y/N’s cooking is so damn good, it knocked him off his game.”

Rhysand sighed, glancing toward the door Azriel had just walked through. “He’s been off since he got back tonight. Maybe something happened.”

Feyre bit her lip, her expression softening. “I hope he’s alright. He seemed… different.”

Cassian, ever the optimist, leaned back in his chair with a lazy grin. “He’ll be fine. Az is tougher than all of us combined. He just needs some time to brood in his room, and he’ll be back to his grumpy self in no time.”

The group shared a few more laughs at Azriel’s expense, but the concern in their eyes never fully faded. They all knew Azriel well enough to understand that when he withdrew like this, it meant something was seriously bothering him.

Azriel’s footsteps were heavy as he made his way to his room, the quiet of the hallway amplifying the thoughts swirling in his mind. As soon as he entered, he shut the door behind him and leaned against it, closing his eyes as he tried to block out the noise, the chaos of emotions inside him.

He couldn’t shake the feeling of your hand in his, the way the bond had snapped into place like it had always been there, waiting. The connection was undeniable, and yet… you had denied it. Denied him.

Why? The question gnawed at him, refusing to let him rest. He had seen the recognition in your eyes, the brief moment when you had felt it too. But then, you had shut down, shut him out as if the bond meant nothing.

It was more than just confusing—it was painful. Azriel had spent centuries in the shadows, watching from the sidelines as his friends found their mates, found love. He had accepted his place, accepted that perhaps it wasn’t meant for him. And then, in the span of a heartbeat, everything had changed. You had changed it.

And now… now he was left in this strange limbo, caught between the undeniable pull of the bond and the walls you had erected between you.

Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides as he fought the urge to storm back to your restaurant, to demand answers, to make you acknowledge what had happened. But he knew he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t force you to accept the bond, couldn’t force you to feel something you clearly weren’t ready to face.

With a frustrated sigh, Azriel pushed off the door and crossed the room, heading to the window that overlooked Velaris. The city was peaceful, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, but his mind was anything but. He rested his forehead against the cool glass, his eyes scanning the distant lights of the city below.

“Why?” he whispered into the empty room, his voice tinged with a desperation he rarely allowed himself to feel. “Why won’t you let me in?”

But the night offered no answers, only the quiet whisper of the wind as it brushed against the windowpane.

—

The next day passed in a blur. You threw yourself into your work, letting the familiar rhythm of chopping, stirring, and plating distract you from the turmoil brewing inside. The restaurant had been busy, as always, with customers filling every table, their laughter and chatter echoing through the dining room. But despite the bustle, you couldn’t shake the heavy weight in your chest—the bond that you were trying so desperately to ignore.

When the last customer had left, you sent your staff home, insisting that you would handle the closing on your own. You needed the time alone, needed to clear your head without the distraction of others around. As the front door clicked shut behind the last of your employees, you finally allowed yourself to breathe.

The kitchen was quiet now, save for the soft sound of the knife in your hand as you prepped ingredients for the next day. The rhythmic motion of slicing through vegetables was soothing, almost meditative. But as you worked, you couldn’t help but feel the tension still coiled tight in your chest.

You were focused on the task at hand, chopping carrots with practiced precision, when a voice cut through the silence, making you freeze in place.

“I bet you could be good with a sword with how you work that knife,” came the familiar, deep voice, tinged with a hint of amusement. “Personally, I wouldn’t want to be those carrots.”

Your hand stilled mid-slice, the knife hovering just above the cutting board. You knew that voice all too well—Azriel.

Slowly, you turned to face him, finding him standing just inside the doorway to the kitchen, his expression guarded but his eyes full of determination. He had changed out of his usual leathers, dressed instead in a simple tunic and trousers, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his gaze.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension from the previous night hung heavy in the air, thick and suffocating. You could feel the bond thrumming faintly between you, a constant reminder of the connection you were trying so hard to deny.

But you knew why he was here. You had been avoiding him all day, refusing to even think about the conversation you knew was coming. But now, with the restaurant empty and the two of you alone, there was no escaping it.

You set the knife down on the counter, wiping your hands on a nearby towel as you steeled yourself for what was about to happen.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm as you faced Azriel. The tension in the room was almost palpable, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between you. You had been dreading this conversation, but there was no avoiding it now.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” you said, your voice firm, though you could hear the tremor in it. “We can’t do this, Azriel.”

His brow furrowed, confusion flashing in his eyes. “Why not? Y/N, you felt it too. The bond—it snapped into place. We can’t just ignore that.”

You shook your head, your heart aching at the look on his face. “I’m not ignoring it. But I can’t—I won’t act on it. Not when Elain… Not when she’s been trying so hard to win you over.”

Azriel’s eyes widened in realization, and he took a step closer to you, his expression softening as he reached out. “Y/N, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Elain wasn’t trying to win me over… not in the way you think.”

You hesitated, frowning as you tried to make sense of his words. “What do you mean? She’s been telling me everything, Azriel. How she’s been trying to get your attention, how much she cares about you… I can’t do that to her. I won’t be the one to hurt her like that.”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, clearly frustrated but determined to set things right. “Y/N, you don’t have the full story. Elain… she’s not interested in me like that. She’s been trying to make Lucien jealous.”

You blinked, taken aback by his words. “Lucien? But… he’s her mate. Why would she do that?”

Azriel nodded, his expression softening as he saw the confusion in your eyes. “Yes, he’s her mate. But they’ve been going through a rough patch lately. Lucien’s duties as emissary for the Night Court have kept him away, and Elain’s been feeling… neglected. She thought that by spending time with me, by pretending there was something more between us, she could get a reaction out of him. It was never about me, Y/N. It was always about Lucien.”

You felt your heart drop as the realization hit you. “So, you were just helping her as a friend?”

Azriel nodded again, his gaze steady as he took a step closer to you. “Exactly. I was only doing this to help her. I never had feelings for her in that way, and she knows that. We were just… playing a part to get Lucien’s attention.”

You swallowed hard, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place. “She didn’t tell me any of this.”

“She probably didn’t want to worry you,” Azriel said gently. “Or maybe she wasn’t ready to admit it to herself. But I promise you, Y/N, there’s nothing between Elain and me. There never was. She’s still trying to figure things out with Lucien, and I was just trying to help her.”

You looked away, your mind racing to process everything Azriel was telling you. You had been so sure, so convinced that you were protecting Elain by shutting Azriel out. But now, with this new information, everything felt uncertain, like the ground had shifted beneath your feet.

“Azriel, I…” you started, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond. You had built up walls around your heart, walls meant to protect both you and Elain from the pain of betrayal. But now those walls were crumbling, leaving you vulnerable and confused.

Azriel took another step closer, his voice gentle as he spoke. “Y/N, please. Don’t shut me out. Let’s talk about this—really talk. Give me a chance to show you that this bond isn’t something to be feared. It’s something that could be… everything.”

You stood there, trying to process everything Azriel had just told you. The confusion, the guilt, the realization that you had misunderstood everything—it all came crashing down at once. You looked away from Azriel, your gaze dropping to the floor as you struggled to make sense of it all.

“Okay,” you finally muttered, more to yourself than to him. “Now I actually feel like a dumbass.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you cringed internally. But when you glanced back up at Azriel, you found him staring at you with wide eyes for a moment—before a warm, rich laugh escaped him. It was a sound you hadn’t expected, a sound that cut through the tension and made your own lips twitch into a reluctant smile.

Azriel shook his head, still chuckling softly. “You’re not a dumbass, Y/N. Just… someone who cares a lot about her friend.”

You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders relaxing slightly as the weight of the misunderstanding began to lift. But even with the air between you lightened, you couldn’t shake the lingering worry, the uncertainty of what this all meant.

“I just… I don’t know you that well,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, more hesitant. “And this bond… it’s a lot to take in. I was so worried about Elain’s feelings that I didn’t even stop to think about how I felt. About how to navigate this.”

Azriel’s expression softened further, and he took a careful step closer, making sure not to crowd you. “I understand. The bond is… overwhelming, especially when it comes out of nowhere. And I know we don’t know each other well yet, but that’s something we can work on. We don’t have to rush into anything, Y/N. We can take this one step at a time, if that’s what you need.”

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze fully for the first time since the bond had snapped. There was no pressure in his eyes, no demand—just a quiet patience that made your heart ache with a strange mix of relief and something else, something warmer.

“But… what if this doesn’t work?” you asked, your voice small, the fear you had been trying to suppress finally finding its way out. “What if I can’t be what you need?”

Azriel’s eyes softened even more, and he shook his head gently. “Y/N, you don’t have to be anything but yourself. The bond doesn’t demand perfection—it’s just a connection, a starting point. We figure the rest out together.”

You swallowed, feeling the sincerity in his words. The fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of your mind, but it was tempered now by something else—a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, this could work.

“Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, but Azriel caught it nonetheless.

He smiled softly, his wings shifting slightly as if in relief. “Okay,” he echoed. “One step at a time.”

For a moment, you both stood there in the quiet of the kitchen, the bond humming faintly between you. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t without its complications, but it was something. And for the first time since the bond had snapped, you felt like maybe you could handle this—together.

Azriel extended his hand, not as a demand, but as an offer. “How about we start with something simple? A walk, maybe? Just to talk, get to know each other.”

You hesitated for a moment, the anxiety still lingering, but then you nodded slowly, reaching out to take his hand. His grip was warm, reassuring, and as his fingers closed around yours, you felt a little of that fear ease away.

“Yeah,” you agreed, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “A walk sounds good.”

And as you both stepped out of the kitchen, hand in hand, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe—just maybe—this was the beginning of something worth taking a chance on.

#azriel fic #rhysand #azriel #cassian #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #sword #a court of thorns and roses #acotar series #acotar fanfiction #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar x reader #acotar x you #elain

607 notes · View notes

ma1dita · 5 months

Text

love me dry

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.5k

summary: (post-TLT) The one where he meets you at his mother’s house, though both of you didn’t expect the other to be there. A glimpse into May Castellan’s perfect day (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: sorry for the hiatus! been on the study grind and didn’t even notice, but i’ve been working on this for a bit! macbeth references (comment if you catch them/or ask and i’ll yap) and slight suggestive stuff under the cut—but anyways let’s just say the prophecy by taylor swift came out at the right time.

(posted 4/19/24, semi-edited)

—

The drive to Westport has become almost an afterthought in these past few years— in the way you unconsciously reach for your favorite hoodie on the way out the door or tuck in your chair before you leave a table, almost automatic but ingrained with a touch of care.

With letters to May Castellan occupying your passenger seat instead of the boy who wrote them, you’d make the drive multiple times but stop short just before the property line. It took months of parking at the bottom of the hill and just watching the sun set on the little house, so clearly being able to imagine a smaller version of him running around and wreaking havoc.

Little Luke, with bandaged knees and feet that move as fast as his motor mouth, amber eyes glinting like windchimes in the summer breeze. His mom must’ve watched him play by himself through the bay window before calling him home when the clouds covered the horizon, wispy tendrils stretching over the rain gutter like how lovers hold hands. It must’ve reminded her a lot of his father, leaving nothing but the open air in his wake. Still, all of this was familiar to you too—despite having never stepped foot in the white house.

But knowing Luke meant knowing his home like it was a part of you.

The old hatchback’s engine gently rumbled against the quiet of the property each time you visited, and May would wait for you to come near— waiting for you to be ready to walk into a mausoleum of the boy you both once knew. You were familiar to her too, even as a blurry figure hunched over the steering wheel. She’s seen your face in the small glimpses between the shattering earth of her reality and the hazy foresight she lets herself succumb to remember what her son looks like. In every vision of him since he’s left, you’ve been there; and something about that quells the pain and anguish that it brings to her body when she sees it. But May Castellan is ever an observant woman, gift of prophecy aside. A mother always knows.

It also turns out that she makes excellent conversation over a plate of slightly singed chocolate chip cookies.

—

Luke Castellan is years older than the version of him that last sat at this kitchen table. He doesn’t know if he’s any wiser for it—wondering if he’s made a mistake in coming back here after all this time as he watches his mom hustle around the kitchen that’s suspiciously sparkling clean. A silver spoon clinks against the glass pitcher that May stirs mixed berry Kool-Aid in, his favorite, he remembers, and it makes him squint against the light that filters through the gauzy curtains of the windowpane above the sink. Luke could’ve sworn that there used to be badly patched rips in the fabric, but he attributes it to the dark corner of his memory he still hides away like a secret. Sitting there and taking it all in, he wonders what it would’ve been like to actually grow up here—to stay, for once.

But that’s something he doesn’t have the privilege of knowing. When his mom turns to hand him a glass with her shaking hands, wrinkles and laugh lines are mapped across the expanse of her face. He’ll never know how they got there. The wooden chair creaks under him, groaning under the weight that he carries and Luke once again feels uncomfortable in a place he once called home.

“Knew you’d come back. A mother always knows,” May mutters, voice disembodied like she’s floating just out of reach. Her hands clasped over his, rubbing her thumbs over the veins as if she’s checking his pulse (or the possibility of him being an apparition) and the crack in her smile mirrors his. But this isn’t the home he remembers—his frontal lobe was underdeveloped back then and the only plan it could form was the one to get him the hell out of Westport, there’s something different in the details. Tiny things, like the patio swing chain reattached to its post, a mended table leg, and ceramic tiles on the countertop unbroken and smooth. This is a home and a mother he once longed for as a kid, along with the feeling of comfort and safety you can only attribute to a place like this.

Calculating eyes scan the perimeter of the kitchen, but no one knows he’s made the trip to Westport, not even his own crew. Surely nothing could mess this up for him, not here. This was his last step before his quest for redemption eats away at his physical body, and then it will all be out of his hands.

There’s not much left for me here, he thinks— there’s not much of me left here, either.

Then Luke hears you before he sees you—the sound of you humming under your breath mixed with the jingle of keys turning in the front door. With bags of groceries leaving marks on your arms and a soft smile he hasn’t seen you wear in ages, for once you look lighter again. For a moment, the thought crosses his mind that this must be what you look like when he’s not around. Nonetheless, he breathes easier when you’re near. Of course, you’re here, and the irony grips him by the neck almost as if to make it known why his home feels like home again.

“Yeah hon, I’ll have to call you back,” you laugh into your headphones before tapping them with one free finger to end the call. In a split second, your eyes meet. Staggering back at the sight of him sitting at the table and the absolute grin on May’s face, you decide to continue into the space ahead and start putting the groceries away like nothing is out of sorts.

“I see you have a visitor, Miss May. Is he staying long?”

Luke sips at his glass, juice extra tart just how he likes it. His lips pucker at the taste it leaves in his mouth and when he opens his mouth there’s a hint of blue. You try not to look too long.

“For the night,” he answers, even if you weren’t talking to him, but it makes May so vibrant with the notion of him not running again that she instantly hops to her feet and rushes to make the bed in his old room. “I won’t be in your way,” he swallows. You gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame, but move around his chair without touching him—further proving that Luke is, in fact, an obstacle you must overcome. He’s a stranger in his own home and you’ve found yourself at ease in it. You wonder if any of that will make a difference in the long run.

“She’s…”

“More peaceful. I’ve been practicing with my dad, so I do what I can to ease her fits but I’m not exactly equipped to lift a curse from Hades,” you mutter through a bitten lip. Luke stares at you but it feels nostalgic, like someone on the outside looking in. Well, shit. He’s been leading demigods to their deaths every summer and you’ve been trying to cure his mentally ill mother in the time you don’t spend trying to stop him.

“I don’t think I even remember the last time she made sense while talking to me,” he laughs hollowly. You purse your lips and shrug, “I visit her every two weeks. She still has her triggers, and she gets confused but she’s not in pain. Your letters helped.”

“Is that why you came here then?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” you joke feebly. It falls flat and yet he still smiles, even when you say, “They weren’t for me.”

“They were about you. All of them were.”

You know that too. May makes you read them to her before bedtime as you stroke her hair and send her off to Hypnos. You’ve relived your relationship with Luke a million little times, and he’s written about you and all of your yesterdays like it was the only glimpse of Elysium he’d ever reach. In those letters, you get to remember the good parts of being in love—laughing in the empty amphitheater, holding hands under the dining table, sneaking kisses in the strawberry fields.

You used to understand each other so well: every dream, every feeling. But there is nothing you understand about the man sitting across from you now. The both of you sit at the kitchen table and there is nothing more to say.

Luke doesn’t have to stay. While you were at the supermarket, he spent an hour trying to explain to his mother that he needed her blessing to swim in the River Styx. Through nuances and veiled simplicity in the words he weaved to convince her, there wasn’t much opposition in her half-empty, half-prophetic mind. May always knew that Luke loved to swim when she took him to the beach, and that was that.

There was nothing more to say.

—

He knows it’s too good to be true when moments later May’s screams carry through the halls of the little house, down the stairway you’re currently clambering up to reach her. By the time his boots reach the second landing, he finds the two women he loves most in a huddle against the linen closet, his mother’s glowing green eyes and empty groans rattling him to the bone. If he were any smaller, he’d be shaking. Even now he doesn’t know what to do— feet frozen as he watches you brush her curls away from her face and lull her to solace.

“Can’t find Luke’s sheets—he needs the Toy Story ones…” May mutters as she rocks on her heels, “My boy needs to be home… He’s meant to be home!” Her fingernails are cutting into your wrists and then she silences with a wave of your hand.

“He’s home, Miss May. He’s right there,” you whisper. When your eyes look at Luke, you watch him crumble—the cracks in his fortitude tumbling like fallen rocks at the sight of the two of you and then you see him. The boy you met at 14 who was angry at the world for making him run away from his mother and the hands of fate until it crept up to snuff him out for the sake of a prophecy foretold by deities who will never understand what it’s like to be human. But there are no second chances, and there is nowhere left to run. “He’s here for you. I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”

“I see it, the two of you together. The worst will be over soon, and then it’ll all make sense,” she says breathily, licking her lips and straightening herself like nothing happened. Even after you send her off to prepare a basket for the beach, Luke doesn’t move when his mother pats his arm and walks around his body and towards the stairs. Neither of you speak until your fingers touch his jaw lightly, and Luke doesn’t know if you’re trying to help him or inspect him. He tilts down to look at you anyway.

“She thinks we’re still together.”

He blinks. Somehow that’s the most shocking thing he’s heard today. Fate is most definitely cruel and fucked up because he never expected it to be like this—once upon a time he hoped he could take you home to meet his mother when everything was said and done; no shackles from Titans or pressure from the gods.

It was supposed to be different.

“The letters probably didn’t help as much as you thought they would then,” he mumbles, calloused hands guiding your hands over to his swiftly beating heart. You scoff, “Neither does bringing up my boyfriend. She thinks it’s you.” He’d believe anyone who’d say they watched you yank his heart out of his chest with that statement, everything bloody in your hands. It’s still yours, even if you don’t want it.

“Kit?”

You shake your head and shrug, “That was forever ago. But he treats me well.”

Luke wants to ask more but by the tension in your shoulders, he knows not to push. He’s not entitled to know anything more than what you give him. It’s not his place anymore. So his brow furrows at your next suggestion.

“Just pretend, Luke. For the day, so your mom doesn’t get agitated. I’m not asking for much here.”

It’s a terrible, terrible idea—even you know that. But you both have always been good pretenders. Liars, a voice corrects in the back of your mind. You reason that it’s for May and insist upon that fact, even if the heartbroken girl you left at Camp Half-Blood is raging at you from deep inside the recesses of your mind that you hide her in. What’s one day with him compared to the many you’ve gone without? You don’t need to know the rest of why he’s here, or what more he’s going to do— and you don’t ask.

Not knowing has always hurt less.

—

You’ve forgotten how good Luke is at playing the part of a good boyfriend. He offers to drive to the beach, carries the picnic basket and blanket for you all to sit on, and listens intently when May asks about your college classes. There’s no discomfort in the way he holds your hand as you walk in the sand or dusts your feet off before laying them across his lap. It’s easy to laugh at his bad jokes, it’s easy to act like the boyfriend you describe is anything like him (even if he’s the complete opposite), and it’s too damn easy to fall into the familiar rhythm that is you and Luke. The three of you lay down as the spring breeze covers you from the rest of reality, hiding away from the truth of a broken woman and two ex-lovers. By late afternoon, you find yourself enjoying it, and it’s cruel how the guilt isn’t rolling off you in waves, instead longing for him to follow you anywhere.

He meets you by the shoreline with both of you waist-deep in the water. May’s collecting seashells but she turns to look at you two every so often like she’s framing this memory in her fragile mind. Without saying it out loud, the both of you hope it will hold.

“She always talks about you, you know? Even without trying,” you mutter as saltwater pours from your fingers to the valleys made by the veins in his forearms. It’s like initiating touch without the consequences of actually doing it, and he immerses himself in the feeling as it spills over him, feet rocking against the tide.

“I do too. Can’t help it.”

When the sea ripples once more pushing you against the wall of his body, you end up holding on, and he doesn’t let go. You both smell like salt and sunshine, pressed together and nothing has made more sense. The silence goes on for a beat too long—he whispers, “You still talk about me? Your boyfriend must hate that.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk about you? For anyone to get to know me, they have to know you.”

Your shirt is stuck to your skin in the surf and Luke’s hands brush over the waistline of your underwear, daring to reacquaint himself with your touch and spur a reaction from you. You may be the best actress he’s ever known but anything is better than watching you be complacent with the false niceties of the day.

“There isn’t much worth knowing.”

“I’d never say that, Luke,” jaw tensing, you let out a breath when his hands encircle your hips, hidden in plain sight in the deep of the ocean. He chuckles and the sound tickles your brain to remind you it's the type of laugh he spits out when he’s hiding his anger, “There’s a lot we’re both not saying.” Your name slips past his lips, sneaking past your defenses and hitting you head-on like a bullet.

“Why?”

Why are you doing this? Why are you helping his mother, why aren’t you actively fighting and turning him in, why are you letting him hold you if he’s only going to leave again—there are too many questions and only one clear answer.

“Because it’s out of our hands, isn’t it, Luke? You love your mother but you wouldn’t have come here unless it’s too late. Annie told me you went to see her in San Francisco.”

He was never here to make amends or save face. There was no version of him that was going to ask you to run away with him because he knows you deserve more than always running from fate. He’d do it all over again as long as you got this— the life you’re living with your college degree, your boyfriend, and your happy family— and Luke has no place in that.

A dry laugh bubbles from his throat, sticking like seafoam when he says, “You hate San Francisco.”

You wouldn’t have come, anyway.

—

By the time you get home for dinner, your skin is sensitive and tingly from the heat of the sun. May’s tracing circles into the back of your hand as she leads you up the patio steps. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that makes you sway against the doorway.

“Too much time having fun,” she mumbles, patting your cheek, “Take a cold shower dear. Join us when you’re ready?” Luke’s eyes follow you all the way up the stairs and then again, he’s left to his own devices.

Most of the said shower was spent thinking about what your friends would say about you for playing house with the enemy. The guilt felt like ice along your spine, paralyzing you for wanting to be selfish, to choose what makes you happy even if it fucks the rest of the world. But looking in the mirror afterward was scarier—you recognized the girl that stared back at you as someone you thought you’d never see again. A version you left behind years ago, with her head held high and so sure of herself with your Luke by your side.

Surely, there’s no harm in indulging in this vice for the rest of the night. Not when you haven’t felt this relaxed in years.

Dinner is being served by the time you make your way back downstairs. It’s a simple dish you taught Luke how to make back at camp when you raided the kitchens at midnight. Nothing special, reminding you of your own home—but the fact that he remembered makes your smile widen as you take a seat and promise to wash the dishes. Luke chuckles the type that makes his eyes crinkle in mirth once he watches you dig into your meal, knees brushing under the table like old times.

Everything feels easier after that.

“Today was the best day,” his mother mutters as you tuck the covers under her chin. May kisses both of your cheeks before she shuts her eyes and you gently fold the letter she chose tonight back into her nightstand for safekeeping. This time, you read her the story of your first kiss with Luke sitting at the foot of her bed in the dim light of her room. It’s less scary here than he remembers, but maybe it’s because this time there’s no screaming and him running to hide in the closet. Your voice is much more pleasant than those suppressed memories, immersing you all in a more pleasant one— the both of you in the amphitheater kissing on the stage with his hands in your belt loops. Luke could recite every word on that page if it meant he could go back in time, not with Backbiter but with you, just to live through that moment again. I think I’m falling in love with her, is how the letter ended but by then he already knew. Writing it down to tell his mother always made it real.

This, you, right here—everything is real.

He’s silent even as he watches you smoke through the cracked window of his childhood bedroom, and you’re surprised when he steals a puff. His hands are shaking under the moonlight and suddenly it’s clear that he’s scared. Everyone feels fear, but in all the years that you’ve known him, Luke Castellan has never let you see it.

“Those things will kill you one day,” you mumble, watching him lean against the windowpane. It’s what he used to always tell you so that you’d quit, but old habits die screaming. It’s another vice you refuse to let go of.

“Wanted to try something new before I…” his voice drops off.

Lose myself.

Lose you.

Luke coughs as the smoke enters his lungs, a momentary rush hitting him brought by the nicotine. Your hands go to cup his jaw as you set your forehead against his, a silent plea for him to just be honest if there’s truly nothing left to lose.

“I’m out of time, Trouble. It’s out of my hands.”

Shuddering at the feeling of him tracing every ridge of your spine, you think the way he says your nickname sounds like the way he used to say I love you. It’s raining outside now, the harsh pitter-patter of wet drops drowning out the sound of your voice, “What can I do? Is there anything left for me to do?” When his head shakes, your noses brush, and your breaths intermingle, almost magnetic. Perhaps the rain is getting in from the open window and you feel it hitting your cheek until you see the shine of his eyes.

“You think I did this because of you. I know you do, but you need to know I did all of this for you, trouble. I choose you and me. Every time,” Luke gasps, intertwining his fingers with yours, the both of you pushing and pulling in this embrace like the moon with the tide.

“Luke…”

You’re pressing yourself against him, face hidden in his shirt as your brain catches up to your heart, hasty breaths and every atom of your being screaming to be held together by him and then you’re on him, through tears and clenched fists tumbling towards the tiny twin bed. The only way he likens himself to his father is his yearning to be a true traveler, but what he knows best out of anything in this entire world is you. He knew this body once too— every birthmark, scar, and dimple. Who else has had the privilege to navigate the ridges of your spine, to know the pressure of your kiss? A tattoo peeks out to say hello at your hip bone. There are new stories and new marks, there are parts of you unknown to him now. Luke thinks that must be what hurts most about each time he leaves you.

But then gods, why does this feel so good?

Warm palms caress your waist, nudging your shirt up in the hopes that this will be enough compensation for all his misdoings—the tears you’ve cried, the anger you’ve felt, the things you had to do and will have to do because of him. Luke is someone who’s gotten comfortable with manipulating time, but time has manipulated him and all of his plans for the both of you. Sleepy setback bedroom eyes meet his own that glow in the gentle light of the lamp on the nightstand. Maybe if you pretend again his childhood bedroom can turn into the star-speckled darkness of cabin 12. You can just lay down and tuck underneath his arms waiting for him to fall asleep. But he stays up this time, making you hiss at the feeling of his lips against your neck.

“We can’t… Angelface,” you say breathily, still leaning into the trail he marks across the valley of your collarbone, “We’re not together anymore.”

A kiss is placed on your pulsepoint, knocking against the cord of your necklace.

“We shouldn’t… I have a boyfriend.”

Another kiss rests against the warmth of your forehead.

“We’re on opposite sides of a war… You’re my enemy.”

Finally, his lips meet yours, for a moment as if to test the waters.

“Not tonight,” he says, and there is no other option but to agree. There is a lifetime to make up for in a night, and fuck it—they’ll crucify you anyway. You were never meant to be a hero, that’s what he always wanted. You just wanted him. Your head hits the pillow and he looms over you until you’re pulling him in for more than what’s necessary to accept an apology.

There’s nothing left to lose.

—

Before your mind can wake up dreading the consequences of last night, your socked feet take you to the kitchen to clean up the mess you’ve both left behind. The old floorboards creak underfoot and there’s a method in the way you’re washing the dishes, hot water and soap starting to seep through your shirt sleeve but you choose not to notice. Scrubbing at the dirt and grime left behind on the porcelain until your fingers start to prune, a lump forms in your throat before you can stop it. Maybe if you scrub hard enough at the glass that Luke drank out of last night it can eventually be clean. But it’s taking you longer than you thought, jaw tensing and fingers turning white at how hard you’re holding on. May appears behind you, guiding your hands away from the scalding water, and though you resist— the glass drops into the sink and shatters with a loud crack.

“Damn spot wouldn’t get out,” you sniff, turning away to look out the window and think of anything but him, but he’s everywhere even when he’s not here, so much so that it suffocates you. Guilt lines every shaking breath you take until lavender eyes meet amber at the sensation of her clasping your red and raw palms with a dishtowel.

You see him in her too.

“His fate is greater than the cards he’s been dealt with. You know that.”

It’s the clearest and most sensible May’s spoken in days. Perhaps when it comes to Luke, she’ll always know better. Eyes darting elsewhere to fight the tears that brim at your lash line, you look down at your swollen hands, palm up towards the heavens almost imploring, “Why couldn’t it be me?”

The question’s direction is unclear and you don’t expect to get an answer, turning away to grab some ice from the freezer and she remains standing there—staring at the windowsill at a compass that’s now found its home next to the faded picture of a man who’s left more times than there are reasons to stay. Just like his father, she thinks, a small smile quirking at the side of her lip where a scar would meet her son’s. Clicking it open delicately like how she used to hold his hand, there’s a photo of you and Luke resting against the cover ripped away from a memory frozen in time.

“It is you,” May says quietly, though you’ve already left the room.

A mother always knows, after all.

—

“Aphrodite,” I pleaded to the moon-drenched night sky. “Tell me; if love is meant to heal, then why does it destroy those who choose it?” From somewhere beyond the clouds, I heard the Goddess laugh. And I knew. -Nikita Gill

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #luke castellan fanfic #trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians

468 notes · View notes

naturistgirl · 2 months

Text

Crowded Tourist Spots, Deserted Places and the 'Textile Offended'

I live close to a beautiful tourist area. For a naturist that can be frustrating. The beautiful landscapes, valleys, hill tops and woodlands near where my home, come in two flavours - crowded and deserted.

I am openly naturist. I hate getting tangled with the 'Textile Offended'. Let me explain my meaning. Most people I meet are generally accepting of naturism; happy and cheerful in their greetings; few are ever offended. All of us have seen a naked woman before. The 'Textile Offended' apparently aren't among them. These are people who walk past you several times to get a closer look or even a photo on their phone. They are likely to go out of their way, even changing direction so that they can be 'offended'. They wear clothes and in this hot sticky summer weather they can get awfully hot and bothered. If possible I like to avoid the risk of being on the same path. They will come up to you to tell you you're 'breaking the law' (you aren't) or 'damaging children' (naturism is NOT a safeguarding issue). The clothed don't offend me by wearing textiles but I do draw the line at them bothering me with groundless arguments and accusations. That does offend me and and it can spoil my day!

Yesterday we went hiking above Newchurch-in-Pendle. This is a well frequented area with people climbing Pendle Hill. It is a very pretty village and one associated with the Pendle Witches. There is a little shop here 'Witches Galore' and the churchyard reputedly has a hanged witch buried there. See the little witches on brooms on the fingerpost above? It gets busy in summer (and on Hallowe'en).

I generally don't even put clothes on to start with. I do however carry a side tie bikini with me 'just in case'; little triangles of cloth that cover me (barely). I have 'Daisy Dukes' too if necessary and a very skimpy little gingham blouse. They don't get much wear and the bikini is pretty pointless anyway but they do keep the 'textile offended' at bay! Yesterday I had to wear them for a little while as there were plenty of people about. It is one of the penalties of visiting textile tourist spots!

Once naked, I STAY naked, even if I see someone approaching. They have already seen me, so what? Nothing looks worse than scrambling furtively into clothes or hiding behind a rock! Just be bold; smile (a lot) and say a very cheerful 'Hello' (around here the phrase is 'How do?' Generally, my 'emergency textiles' stay neatly in my bag where they belong!

The photographic shots here were all taken in relaxed fashion as we walked the track away from the village towards Ogden Clough. It demonstrates how you can do a little naturism even in a really popular tourist area.

Most people just tend to hang around the pretty village, buy souvenirs and take cute photos on their phones. I really like that they do! It keeps them off the trails. Yes, we did see a few people hiking on the same path as us but they were mostly busy, like us, enjoying the great outdoors.

If another hiker comes along the path behind me (one did), I don't really worry too much. I don't think my derrière is capable of offending anyone? I hope not! Hopefully the same is true for my husband. Girls like tight buns too!

Finally an entreaty! Tumblr is first and foremost a Blog Site. If you are a naturist like me and enjoyed this blogpost, please like, share and re-blog with my blessing. Do add your own affirmative comments. More important, if you feel inspired to hike clothes free, please blog about it too! Though there are maybe 6.5 million naturists in the UK, we do need some more!

I welcome messages from anyone who generally wants to know more about naturism. I also love to chat with other naturists about the lifestyle. This ISN'T a sexually themed blog however (I do have one of those too but the photos will never appear here).

Indeed a Naturist lifestyle is NOT about having lots of sex simply because you're naked! Paradoxically, sex is NOT about nudity and the absence of clothing. Erotic clothing (and its gradual removal) is a sexual tease and a must!. I also work as an adult model. Photoshoots generally start with underwear and what happens when it is removed! As a naturist I simply don't wear any!

My perennial postscript: Thank you to this wonderful guy (my loving husband) for the photos shown here. (I married my photographer!)

Without him, these blogs would be all words. He makes the blog special with what he does and I love him to bits.

Walking together with Mart, we are a naturist couple and if we meet anyone else, this is generally more acceptable (for some reason) than being alone. Single naturist men are often criticised, single naturist women tend to get chatted up (and delayed!).

Jane xx

#naturist #nude outdoors #clothesfree #nude in nature #girlblogging #normalize nudity #outdoor nudity #hiking #nonsexual nudity #naturismo #naturista #naturiste #nude outside #nude photos

72 notes · View notes

differenteagletragedy · 10 months

Note

swap au: the boy across the street is Baxter, the boy who lives far away but is still your friend is Cove, and the boy who comes for but one summer is Derek.

When I tell you the powerful and immediate urge I had to rewrite the entire dang game with this ... this is so much fun, thank you!!!

You could hear the new neighbors moving in at your spot behind your house. You'd thought about taking a peek to see what kind of people they were like, but decided to stay out of the way, watching clouds on the poppy hill instead. With how nosy your moms had been after the "for sale" sign disappeared, you'd be learning about them soon enough.

After a while, the clouds stopped holding your attention and you stood, looking for a new activity. Before you knew it, you were making your way to the shore -- there was always something to do there.

When you arrived, the typically empty beach wasn't quite as empty as it usually was. Up near the path, away from the water but still on the sand, was a boy. He looked to be your age, maybe a little older. He hadn't heard you approach, and was instead staring straight ahead at the ocean.

"Hi," you said, and you quickly broke whatever spell he was under. "I haven't seen you around before."

"That would be because I just moved here," he said. He pulled on the hem of his shirt, then smiled at you, extending a hand. "My name is Baxter Ward."

At the time, you thought it was weirdly formal, something grown-ups did to greet each other, not kids. But over time, as you got to know him and all his quirks, you looked back at the moment fondly.

That summer, he became your best friend.

You took to each other immediately, and if you had it your way you would've have spent every waking minute together. Sometimes Baxter couldn't hang out though -- he didn't talk about it much, but he seemed sad sometimes when he talked about his parents, and the few times you spoke with them you got the feeling they didn't like you very much.

But Baxter, as oddly formal as he was, wasn't afraid to break rules. And after a meeting between his parents and yours that didn't seem to go so well, your moms were quick to welcome him whenever he wanted to come over. You were able to get close.

By the time the summer was over, you could hardly remember what life was like before he came into it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Five years later, you were 13, and Baxter was still your best friend. He went to a private school while you went to the public one, and from what little he told you about it, he didn't really have friends there. It was a boring place to be, he told you, and he'd much rather be spending time with you than with those spoiled rich kids.

He never bothered noting that he was also a spoiled rich kid.

One day, the two of you were in your bedroom, wasting away a day together. He was lying comfortably on your bed and you were sitting at the foot of it, leaned against the window he regularly used for secret visits -- when he didn't want to hear his parents complain about him spending so much time with you, he found it easier to just slip away unnoticed.

"There's a boy coming over today," he mentioned, ending a comfortable silence. "I think you'll find him interesting."

"If you think he's interesting, then I'm officially scared," you teased.

He smirked in response. He was proud.

Over the past few months, Baxter had started getting more experimental with his fashion. He'd always dressed a bit preppy, and that hadn't changed much, but now he was moving towards clothes that were only black and white. He'd shown you a few more alternative pieces he'd ordered, things that matched the color scheme but were a little more out there, but he hadn't had the nerve to wear them out yet.

"He's the son of a business partner of my father's," he explained of the mystery boy. "I've met him a few times before, he's very shy."

"Then why do you think I'll think he's interesting?" you asked.

"He's also very cute."

You blushed, and he laughed.

You'd had a crush on him for a while, and you couldn't tell if he knew, or if he might like you back, but it was certainly clear that he enjoyed teasing you about anything even remotely related to dating. It always flustered you, but he enjoyed that, too.

He opened his mouth to say anything else, but before he could, the door to your room opened and Liz popped her head in.

"Some kid is at the door asking for you," she told Baxter. "I didn't realize you'd officially moved in."

"Thank you for the warm welcome, sis," he said easily, then stood and looked at you.

"Let's go," he said. "That would be the boy of the hour."

He held out a hand to help you off the bed, and, blushing again, you took it. There was that smirk again, but this time he chose to let it go.

When you went downstairs and to the door, you saw the boy had retreated back towards the street, looking uncomfortable. He was tall and gangly with bright green hair and glasses, and Baxter had been right -- he was cute.

"Cove!" your friend called out brightly, leading you over for an introduction. The boy, Cove, held up his hand in a slight wave. He was nervous.

But as awkward as Cove was, he managed to work his way into your cozy little friend group of two, turning it into a trio.

At one point during the summer, you and Cove had exchanged phone numbers. His father -- his parents were divorced and he lived in another neighborhood with his dad -- was much more easygoing than Baxter's parents, so you were able to visit him quite a bit.

You were even invited over for a sleepover, which Baxter had been surprised about. He'd reacted strangely when you told him about it, it seemed -- you weren't sure if he was upset that his parents had never let you stay over, or if it was something about you getting close to Cove. But in the end, he'd put on his old friendly smile and told you to have fun.

When your moms dropped you off at Cove's house, he greeted you at the door and invited you in, as awkward as the day you had met.

"It was my dad's idea, to ask you to stay over," he explained as you made your way to his room to hang out. "Not that I don't want you to stay over! It was just his idea is all."

"Why would he want me to stay over?" you asked.

He turned to face you as you came to a stop in his bedroom, but he kept his eyes down. He started rubbing his arm, a nervous tick you'd picked up on pretty quickly.

"I don't ... I mean, I don't really have many friends, I guess," he said. "My dad wants me to have more. I think he worries about it."

"Why didn't you ask Baxter?"

"My dad doesn't like his dad," he said.

That made sense to you. You didn't like Baxter's dad either.

Cove didn't live in your neighborhood, but he still lived near a beach. You walked there together and spent most of the evening there, and when you went back, his dad had cooked you dinner.

Throughout the day, he had loosened up, but when it was time for bed, he started getting shy again. His father had laid out two sleeping bags side by side on the living room floor, and after you both got into them, he didn't say a word.

"Cove?" you asked.

He didn't say anything. You turned to face him, sure he hadn't been able to fall asleep that quickly. In the faint light coming in from the kitchen, you saw his eyes wide open, and maybe a tiny bit of color on his cheeks.

"Are you all right?"

He turned his head toward you slightly, not enough to make eye contact, and said, "Yeah."

It wasn't very convincing.

It was your turn to stay quiet -- you weren't sure what to say. Then, without further prompting, he turned to face you too. He met your eyes.

"I get nervous around you," he said plainly. "More than other people. That's why I don't say stuff sometimes."

"Oh," you replied. Then, "Why?"

He shrugged, a decidedly non-romantic gesture, but it still tugged at your heartstrings.

He ended up changing the subject, and you laid there together for a long time, whispering about what you'd done that day and what you wanted to do tomorrow, what you wanted to do with your lives. It was nice, and when you finally fell asleep, you thought maybe you could see Cove being in your life for a long time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Five more years went by, and more big changes came with them.

Baxter was your best friend and still your neighbor -- for the time being. You'd graduated high school and were now adults, and you knew he was desperate to get out of his parents' home.

Cove was still important to you, though you'd been seeing him less and less. His father had cut professional ties with Baxter's, and there was a bit of bad blood there. He'd also decided he wanted to go to college to study marine biology, which was no big surprise, but it did mean that a lot of his free time went to studying.

You weren't sure what exactly you wanted to do, but at the beginning of the summer, an opportunity for a quick adventure before diving into real adulthood presented itself, almost literally on your doorstep.

Gossip spread easily in Sunset Bird, and your moms had heard that the newly vacant condo next door to Baxter's house had been rented. They were eager to see who was coming into the neighborhood, but because they had to leave for work before anything happened, they asked you and Baxter, who was almost always over, to keep an eye out.

Baxter agreed before you could say anything. He'd always done anything your moms asked. You thought it was because he was thankful that they'd unofficially adopted him as their third child.

The two of you settled outside on your front step, waiting and chatting idly about some nonsense he'd made up about who the new neighbor would be. He was really getting into the details when a cab pulled up across the street, and a guy who looked to be about your age stepped out.

"This is not what I expected," Baxter whispered to you before letting his mouth hang open.

You watched as the newest resident of your tiny town moved to the back of the car, opening the trunk and easily pulling out a suitcase. He was all muscles and tan skin and had such a big smile as he tipped the driver. The cab left, and the stranger must have felt your eyes on him, because he turned to you then and smiled even wider.

"Hey, neighbors!" he called out, sounding as friendly as he looked. He started making his way over, and you saw bright green eyes twinkling at you.

Baxter stood, sticking his hand out to help you up. You took it, and he used his other hand to smooth his black and white hair.

"My name's Derek," the guy said holding out a hand to you the same way Baxter had when you first met him ten years before. You shook it, and he smiled directly at you before moving to shake your friend's hand as well.

You and Baxter introduced yourselves, then Baxter asked, "So, Derek, what brings you into our tiny neck of the woods?"

"I'm on vacation," he answered. "Well, kind of. I play college soccer, and there's a coach in the city that's really good, I'm going to work with him this summer. My parents wanted me to have an actual vacation too though, so ..."

He finished his thought by gesturing to his condo.

"I see," Baxter said, and you could hear it in his voice already -- he was turning the charm on. "Well, you know what they say about all work and no play. If you ever feel the need to play, don't hesitate to find us."

Ten years of friendship, and Baxter could still make you blush. If Derek was taken aback by his forwardness, he didn't show it -- instead, he laughed openly.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. You thought you saw him sneak a glance at you as his smile turned smaller, but you weren't sure.

You learned quickly that Derek was serious about his work. He left for long stretches to go into the city for his private training, and you frequently saw him out for runs around the neighborhood.

But he also, it seemed, had taken a liking to you.

One evening, he knocked on your door. You were home alone, so naturally you were the one to answer, and he was there, as always, with a big grin on his face.

"Hey!" he said. "I totally get if you have plans, but if not I thought I'd come check to see if you wanted to hang out?"

"I'm free," you told him.

"Cool. Do you wanna come over?"

When you paused, he quickly continued, telling you, "Oh no, I'm not ... I'm not trying to ... do you like video games?"

A few minutes later, you were sitting next to Derek on his couch, starting up a game of MarioKart.

His composure regained, he said, "I hope you know I'm not going to take it easy on you."

"Why would I think you'd take it easy on me?" you laughed, looking at the tv to choose your character.

"Pretty people always think they can get their way."

That stopped you in your tracks. You glanced over at him, and he was smiling at you.

"You would know," you replied, trying to return the compliment.

As you played, you both found little ways to get closer to each other. Once he scooted over to show you which button to press to do a certain move, and soon after you'd done the same, pretending like you'd forgotten.

After a particularly intense race, it happened -- you finally beat Derek. He'd stayed true to his word and hadn't taken it easy on you, beating you time after time, but now, you'd bested him.

You stood up enthusiastically, cheering for yourself, and ever the gentleman, he stood up as well to cheer along with you.

The next thing you knew, he had his strong arms around your waist, and yours had gone up around his neck. He leaned in a bit, then paused.

"I like you," he said softly, "and I think it would be nice to kiss you. But I'm going back to college in a couple of months, and --"

"A couple of months is enough for me," you told him.

He smiled again, then kissed you. It was gentle and sweet, and over far too soon.

"I'm thinking I should probably make a little bit more time this summer for playing," he said, giving you a smirk that could almost rival Baxter's.

#our life beginnings and always #our life #olba #baxter ward #cove holden #derek suarez #our life baxter #our life cove #our life derek #i cannot emotionally handle how much i love this #imagine the ghost moment with baby baxter #the rv moment with baxter #the boardwalk with cove #mountain scene with derek #DEREK'S GOODBYE ARE YOU KIDDING

262 notes · View notes

swaps55 · 6 months

Text

Sparrow

For @dinchenrockt, who imagined Sam and Kaidan having pancakes on a nice day. I just added a little drama, because this is Sam we're talking about. Read on Ao3

The second batch of pancakes is starting to bubble when Kaidan’s skin tingles in the presence of Shepard’s biotic field. Shepard himself peers at Kaidan suspiciously from behind the archway into the kitchen, like he’s doing recon and Kaidan is an unknown element.

“Hey, you,” Kaidan says with an amused smile. “Good morning.”

“It is morning by my standards. It is ass o’clock by your standards. Why are you awake?”

Kaidan gestures towards the open window, where sunrise hasn’t quite surrendered to daytime and some enterprising birds are getting a jump on things. “It’s a beautiful morning. Thought I’d spoil you with a nice breakfast.”

Technically true, on both counts, even if it doesn’t really answer the question. Shepard narrows his eyes, perhaps suspecting there’s more to it, but Kaidan heads off further questions by plucking a piece of bacon off a plate and holding it up.

“Burnt it just for you.”

Shepard makes an interested sound and fully enters the kitchen, snatching the Distraction Bacon and popping it in his mouth. Bacon shouldn’t crunch like that unless it’s in a salad, but relationships require compromise.

“So, bacon. Pancakes.”

“Bacon in the pancakes. With bacon garnish.”

“Fancy.”

“Also blueberries,” Kaidan says, gesturing to a bowl. “And, uh, I was going to make some eggs but I accidentally just made more pancakes.”

“True to your nature.” He kisses Kaidan on the temple. “I’ll get plates.”

“One step ahead of you. We’re eating outside.”

Another suspicious look.

“It’s nice outside, remember?”

“I will concede it is tolerable outside, because I love you. But breakfast made, table set, and it’s what time? How long have you been up?”

Kaidan shrugs a nonchalant shoulder. “I said I wanted to spoil you.”

Still not an answer, but he hands Shepard the blueberries to give him something else to focus on and flips the remaining pancakes onto a platter, next to the pile of bacon, all nestled onto a blue and yellow tray that had been gathering dust in the back of a curio until Kaidan stumbled upon it last week looking for decorative pitcher his mother had asked about. After flipping the griddle off, he leads them to the front porch and sets the trays down on the small table next to the porch swing.

Shepard observes the spread. “Orange juice. Cloth napkins. The ‘good’ silverware. By the way, I still do not understand the silverware hierarchy.”

“My mother will happily show you next time she visits.”

Shepard snickers as he takes a seat. “Well, whatever. You pulled out all the stops. You are spoiling me.”

Kaidan makes a pleased sound as they fill their plates. They’re the same blue and yellow as the platter, with a sunflower in the center and a painted band around the edges. He’d forgotten about them completely until finding the platter. His father used to break them out when they had big breakfasts in the summer. He traces a chip in the paint. Where had they even come from in the first place? His mother? Were they just inherited with the house when his mother took it over from Kaidan’s grandparents? He’d never asked. Maybe she knows.

“Look at all this burnt bacon, just for me,” Shepard says, with a soft smile.

“Just for you.”

No reason to mention that it got burned because Kaidan was too locked in his own head to notice until he damn near set off the smoke detector.

But the pancakes are good, quite frankly. The blueberries are ripe, picked from the bushes out behind the barn just yesterday. The breeze is cool but not cold, the sun pooling at the edge of the porch steps, warm and waiting.

A far cry from the days that weren’t beautiful.

He releases a long breath and forces his mind back to the present, where Shepard is drowning his pancakes in maple syrup because moderation is not a concept he has ever developed a relationship with.

Echo whinnies from the field down the hill, head raised, ears pricked, looking right at them, as though now that she’s noticed their presence she’s offended she wasn’t invited to breakfast.

“Later,” Shepard hollers back at her. “I’m getting spoiled.”

Kaidan rests an elbow on the table – his mother would be so aghast – and chuckles into his hand.

When had he stopped getting up in the mornings for those breakfasts his father cooked? Breakfast had been his forte. The only way he outshined Kaidan’s mother in the kitchen. But that last summer before BAaT he’d stopped getting out of bed for them.

Should have gotten out of bed.

Shepard’s eye is on him again, as he saws into his pancakes and fails to spear a piece of bacon along with his next bite because it’s so brittle it just breaks under the tines of his fork. Once he’s subdued the bacon he nudges Kaidan’s knee.

“You’re awfully quiet for someone who just put out such a magnificent spread.”

Kaidan waggles an eyebrow. “Resting on my laurels.”

Shepard knee stays at rest against his, and Kaidan leans a little more into it. The weight of it, the presence is…reassuring.

The sparrow that wings in from the roof and alights on Shepard’s stack of pancakes is less reassuring.

Read the rest on Ao3

#mass effect #mshenko #kaidan alenko #my fic #post-war pancakes #gone just a little bit awry

64 notes · View notes

howlsofbloodhounds · 3 months

Text

I feel like Color’s the type of person who’d take seasonal or part time jobs that allow him to travel.

Like he travels around doing pet sitting, house sitting, fire watching in the summer. Park ranger and working at ski resorts, planting trees and working as temporary retail staff during holidays.

But I think he especially enjoys those that allow him routine, enough space to avoid overwhelm without feeling alone, and jobs that don’t really feel like jobs, you know. He does not care for a typical 9 to 5 job.

Outside of the shared apartment with Delta and Beta in the Omega Timeline, he mostly doesn’t have to pay for housing or rent because he hardly settles down into any houses.

Sometimes stays at hotels, apartments, airbnbs, but mostly he takes jobs where free housing and accommodation is already present; like being a fire lookout or a sitter for a house/pet.

He takes pictures and keeps a scrapbook out of everything he encounters (with permission from house/pet owners before taking any pictures of their pets and houses), all the pretty sights of his surroundings up in the hills where some lookout shelters are placed.

Works fire lookout for most of a summer, retail on holidays, house and pet sitting otherwise. He travels a lot, makes enough money to live comfortably, without really settling down anywhere or feeling pressured to.

Epic, Delta and Beta, and Killer sometimes swing by to visit while he’s working in the lookouts, sometimes stay a few days or weeks. And Color often has to convince Killer to not start a fire just because he got bored of waiting around to spot one.

He journals as well as scrapbooks, noting the weather, any happenings on the job, whatever he happened to be thinking or feeling that day.

Has another notebook reserved for whenever he randomly gets urges from the souls to write or draw things down, so it’s all very colorful and eye catching.

Sometimes Color gets the sense that places that are unfamiliar are actually familiar, like he’s been there before even though he knows he hasn’t, a sense of Deja vu.

Probably because being in, near, or around woods and forests is something all the souls experienced before—trailing through the woods to climb Mt.Ebott—so he assumes it’s because of that.

Everyone knows him in some form or another. They know what he looks like, maybe what he does, but he doesn’t stick around much for others to truly know him or for him to put down any ties.

If he happens to visit an AU he’s helped protect or save before, then a few people would offer him free housing and the like for however long he needs before moving on.

And, of course, Ccino always offers him a place to stay for a bit should Color ever find himself in the area of his cat cafe. Which he often does, as that’s where Killer likes to spend some of his free time and it’s a neutral space.

All this is to say, I think he’d enjoy the Firewatch game.

35 notes · View notes

niko-jpeg · 5 months

Text

First of MANY Camp Green Hill Doodles. Camp Green Hill is my silly summer camp AU, and since I've been on a 06 kick lately, lots of silliness with that case running through my brian. Context and explanations under the cut <3

Alright! Camp Green Hill takes place at its namesake. It’s a pretty nice, isolated place in the middle of nowhere, and a safe haven for Mobians with or without ‘supernatural abilities’. Sonic is a permanent resident and under the care of Ranger (“Uncle”) Chuck, who is currently in charge of the camp. Onto the doodle explanations:

“Sonic the Hedgehog”: Just a little doodle of our resident hedgehog. He’s well known both around camp and around town for being bright, full of energy, and very competitive. He possesses a super speed ability and loves to let it show.

Sonic and Tails: Sonic and his little brother, Tails were found in the woods around the camp around 10 years ago. Their origins are pretty much unknown, and neither of them say anything about their old homes. It came to light that Sonic kidnapped Tails after keeping an eye on the toddler and noticing he was severely neglected by his community. Sonic’s origins remain unknown. Uncle Chuck speculates he also came from a neglectful family, which is why he took Tails and ran.

Drowning: Sonic cannot swim. Despite this, he hangs around water frequently, especially when pissed off or upset. This has resulted in many near drownings.

Uncle Chuck: Artists rendition of how Uncle Chuck became an uncle. Sonic just kind of wandered into the camp, decided he liked it and its weird owner (Chuck), and declared him their uncle.

Sonic Enjoys Rock Climbing: It's one of his favorite camp sports! He’s gotten pretty damn good, but for the sake of setting a good example, will make use of the safety equipment.

A Completely Normal Cat: A completely normal cat with a completely normal vibe who cannot talk, I promise. Just kidding, that's resident half god Mephiles! They prefer to take on the form of a cat most of the time, mostly to not throw other campers off. And yes, they are in fact, a camper. It's a long story. If you want to know more. My ask box is open ;)

Friendship Bracelets: Silver is buddies with Mephiles, but neither of them have been properly socialized. He and Blaze have matching friendship bracelets, so he made Mephiles one too. They wear it as a collar, since cat wrists aren’t the best for jewelry.

Lawn Chair: There's a little filler ‘episode’ where Silver, Sonic, Blaze, and Shadow all go to a waterpark outside of town, and Silver enlists the help of Meph to get them in, since they know a certain illusionist jackal who could help them out. They pretend to be Shadow’s older sibling to get them in, and hang out with Blaze far away from the splash zone.

They/Them Icon: Just a doodle of Meph I did to fill space lol.

Blaze and Silver: They have a long, complicated friendship. She appeared to him when he was younger shortly after losing his whole family to a catastrophic apartment fire. She’s a secret friend from another dimension, and his only real friend. Little does he know, Blaze was the one who accidentally started the flame, and now feels bad for orphaning him. She grapples with the guilt a lot. Meph was messing around in the future during the off season and accidentally befriended the two, which was their ticket to the past at the camp.

Also, Silver visits Blaze’s dimension frequently! Once he’s comfortable around people, he’s full of spunk, and loves a good adventure. He’s not as innocent and shy as he paints himself to be, not even by a lot. He’s still nervous around Mephiles though, given the whole ‘god’ thing.

#Sonic the Hedgehog #Sonic au #Sonic 06 #Sonic the Hedgehog 2006 #Miles Tails Prower #Uncle Chuck #Mephiles the Dark #They ain't so dark in this au though. they get a really neat arc and I'm excited to yap about it #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #Please ask me about this au I'm going insane #niko.jpeg #And appreciate the messy shading I was trying something new #Meph in the lawnchair and Sonic drowning and climbing are all semi shaded #Please reblog too I beg I need people to be interested in this au or I'll go insane its so special to me #my special little princess #okay rant over #Camp Green Hill

44 notes · View notes

iluvmatt · 1 year

Text

unearthly, m.s

prologue, i beg of you, save us from this hell. synopsis: in a small suburban area of boston, a group of teenagers—matthew sturniolo and his two triplet brothers, nick and chris, and a childhood friend of theirs, y/n—travel to an old destination named granger’s deathly hill; a place in which hadn’t been visited merely since the early 1970s. atop of the old haunted hill, the group soon realize things aren’t truly as picturesque as they imagined and conclude that they are in grave danger. as they meet people along the way, they realize that the journey home may be harder than expected. knowing that they are in a situation that could ultimately ruin their lives or end them entirely, they make up a plan to make it back home safe, or better yet, alive. amongst the chaos, while trying to save each other, matt and y/n realize that there is more to them than just friendship. warnings: mentions of death with small description, and anxiety expressed in the prologue below.

rumor spread rapidly around the small suburban area in boston, of the old hill owned formerly by choi granger; who was recently found suspiciously deceased in the driveway of his residence. apparent witnesses in the weekly sunday newspaper state that there were ghosts and other such paranormal beings around the area over the weekend of the fifth of august, as they could hear sobs for help within the trees.

granger hill was something unlike any other, as some lifelong villagers say, due to the suspicion and unpredictability of mr. granger himself. it had all started around 1965— the year that mr. granger moved in, fresh to the small area of merely six-thousand people.

he was tall and stocky, with dark eyes that everyone he had met said that they saw the devil staring back at them when they looked directly in them. he wore old worn overalls, a black long-sleeve underneath— even in the summer heat— and gloves that none of the villagers remembered him taking off. locals said he held secrets beneath those dirt-stained gloves and that's why he never removed them out in the public eye.

even as a child, he was someone that nobody wanted to be around, as just his presence was enough to drain someone’s soul for the next six months. maybe it was his fault, maybe it was someone else’s, or maybe, he was just made like that. maybe, he was simply made with a heart that was cold as ice, a stare that could send someone into a panic, and a personality that nobody wanted to get to know, except for his wife, that left him alone even after her death.

that, too, was something nobody could quite understand or piece together. how did granger, one of the worst people known to this town, have a wife? how was he able to meet someone who loved hi, no matter what. nobody saw his wife much, they only knew that her hair was jet black and her cheeks had no color.

soon after their marriage, though, she was found in the woods.

that being said, with the mysterious death of his wife and the appearance of granger as a whole, he was an unsettling topic all by his lonesome, but the property in which he lived both on and around was something indescribably horrifying.

in the spring of seventy-three, a couple went on a romantic old-style picnic date within the woods of granger hill, and came out completely different people. after their picnic, the woman, coretta anderson, was placed into a psychiatric asylum due to uncontrollable anxiety, and her boyfriend, dylan russo, was rumored to have moved far out of town and hadn't been seen since.

it was also rumored amongst the town that an old man in the late 1800s still haunts where he was hung in the woods, near where granger’s wife was found, as you can see his visible figure at dawn, and a little girl who was viciously killed years after the older man can still be heard singing in the distance if listened to close enough.

months after the rumors surfaced, more than five decomposed bodies were found in the mess of the trees. nobody knows if they are the two of those who were rumored, or who they might've been. it was a closed case, and not a single person was asking questions about it.

there were so many unanswered questions about mr. granger, his life, and his home; now put to a perpetual halt due to his death.

the people wondered what caused the mans death, though; he was in perfectly good health and seemed to be better than he had ever been before. now, with choi granger dead and the entirety of the community together and asking why, the hill was renamed granger's deathly hill.

now, after forty-nine years of the mystery going unsolved— four teens find themselves venturing to the troubled land, hoping for a good explanation to ease their worries.

taglist: @taking-a-footnote-in-your-life, @lostwonderwall, @lomlolivia, @sturniolomads, @kylespencersvocalcords, @stxrniqlo, @sophialimass, @loonielol, @siriusfahey, @getbillzoned, @kjd55, @ceceswritings, @dancingintheedark, @yoongoboongo, @kissesforkills, @dabwoos, @iloveneilperry, @im-a-matt-girl, @zebonos, reach out to be added!

masterlist | previous © iluvmatt, 2023.

#sam and colby dupe!#one month later hello #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets smau #sturniolo triplets fic #sturniolo triplets thriller

186 notes · View notes

willtheweaver · 25 days

Text

WIP tour tag

TY for the tag @theink-stainedfolk @the-golden-comet @autism-purgatory

Well, there are plenty of places in A Feather in the Forest that the curious would like to visit:

Fernstan village- The most central of the five villages, this is a place of spectacular natural beauty, located in the center of a sheltered valley. Inside the walls, one is immediately drawn to the Hall of the Elders. The biggest building, it is the central meeting place of the village. Next to it, unmistakable are the Guidestones. And of course, one cannot overlook the Proving Glade. I mean, you couldn’t if you tried, as the glade crowns the hill that is the highest point of the village.

Outside, the Forest itself a haven for nature lovers. Spring and Autumn are the best seasons to travel, as summer heatwaves and winter snow storms can make for a less than pleasant experience.

The wall- This is only for the most daring of adventurers. Taller than the tallest trees, it runs from the southern dunes all the way from the mountainous heights of the north, cutting off the forest from whatever lies beyond. Near its base lie hints of a people who came before, such as the Warning Stones and the Cenotaph. All fascinating stuff, but don’t linger for too long. An invisible sickness hangs on the air, striking those who spend long periods of time near this place. If you go, I’d recommend bringing a spare set of clothing so you have something to change into after your trip. Oh, remember to burn your contaminated garments and get a thorough washing before you change.

I would not recommend going east of the Boundary Stones. Look, I know that means limiting yourself to only a third of the forest, and that there are so many fascinating places outside the boundary. But it’s just not worth angering the Roost Lords. Trespassers are not tolerated, and woe be upon you who finds themselves in the territory of one of the more belligerent Lords.

Looking for a guide? Inside the village, your best bet would the village chief, Opal. If she is unavailable due to important business, ask around for her grandfather Playa. For exploring the forest, ask any of the hunters or border guards: they would be more than happy to show you around when they are not on duty.

Tagging @somethingclevermahogony @melpomene-grey @moltenwrites @illarian-rambling

@kaylinalexanderbooks @leahnardo-da-veggie @whatwewrotepodcast @ominous-feychild @thecomfywriter

@lavender-gloom @drchenquill and open tag

#tag game #open tag #writing #creative writing #writer #writers #writers and poets #writing community #writer on tumblr #writeblr #current wip #the crow and foxfolk series

10 notes · View notes

cowboybarzy · 1 year

Note

I know he's from there, but could you please do a Boston blurb with Matt Boldy??

may or may not have a new crush and me spending the summer in Boston I’m def gonna keep an eye out for him lol

word count: 512

come along the world trip

📍boston, massachusetts with matt boldy

"No, no, you need to try it," Matt said and pushed through the crowd of people to get to the stand. You followed closely, holding onto his hand so you wouldn't lose him.

Quincy Market was always crowded, but especially during the summer and near the Clam Chowder stands. You were visiting Matt's family in Boston during the summer break and when they found out you never had Clam Chowder before, they took the first opportunity to take you. After a tour of the city, you landed at Quincy Market for a late lunch.

You waited in line with Matt until it was your turn to order. He ordered and payed for the both of you then dragged you outside to find a better place to sit and eat.

"So?," Matt asked after your first bite.

"Fishy." You laughed, but actually enjoyed it after a few more bites. The bread helped a lot.

"Ok, what's the next stop on our tour?"

"We have a few options," he replied. "We could go to Beacon Hill or to the Back Bay and go shopping or-"

"I saw a sign for an aquarium over there," you said excitedly with an eager smile. He could read your face easily and nodded while rolling his eyes.

"Yes, there is an aquarium just down the block."

"Can we go?" You gave him your cutest face. "Please?"

"Fine. You did eat the Clam Chowder with a straight face."

"What? I liked it!," you protested, trying to keep a straight face.

"Sure." He nodded and stood, reaching for your hand.

"I did!" Your voice dropped when you knew he saw right through you and you both laughed. He wrapped his arm around you and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Babe, I see right through you."

"I'm sorry. I like my fish alive and far away from my mouth with a thick sheet of glass between us." You laughed again and wrapped your arm around his torso.

"Well, let's go check those out then."

**********

"Look at that one, it looks like you," Matt giggled, pushing his finger against the glass to point at an ugly fish swimming toward you.

"Hey!" You pushed into his side. "Well, this one looks like you." An even bigger fish with huge eyes and a wide mouth with crooked teeth came swimming from an other side, stopping in front of your boyfriend. Your phone was already out so you snapped a quick picture of the two of them, unable to contain your laughter.

"Rude. But hey, you're the one that has to look at and kiss this ugly face." You scrunched your nose.

"Ok, I take it back. You have a pretty face." You gently patted his cheek and pressed a kiss to the other. Before you you pull away, he moved his head so his lips landed on yours. "Trying to make out in the fish aisle, huh?"

"It's dark in here, no one will know." He stole another kiss, lingering for a few moments. "Now let's go see the turtles."

#matt boldy #matt boldy fic #travel with me summer 23 #matt boldy imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #hockey fics #minnesota wild

77 notes · View notes

cooking-with-hailstones · 4 months

Text

Dandelion, into the wind you go

Read it here or on AO3! Thanks @sulkybender for beta-reading.

Canon compliant, slice of life Zukka:

Training Aang at the Fire Lord’s beach house should probably feel weirder than it did.

And sure, while everyone else had made plenty of comments about how bizarre it was to be hiding in plain sight under the Fire Lord’s roof, Zuko felt more comfortable here, with these people, than he had ever felt when he visited Ember Island with his family.

They had fallen into an easy routine: meditation and firebending training in the morning as the sun rose, earthbending drills with Toph in the afternoon, and then a dinner break before an evening of waterbending with Katara. Sokka and Suki, as the resident non-benders who were not responsible for Aang’s training, spent their time sparring and doing weapons drills. Zuko often joined in, partly to stay out of the way of earthbending and waterbending training. They also seemed to have appointed themselves the Fun Activities Committee. So far, this had included sand-castle building contests (handily won by Toph, though Aang put up a decent fight), body surfing on wavy days, or shopping in town.

“Come on, guys!” Sokka grinned as he grabbed Zuko’s hand and pulled him out of the courtyard. “Tonight’s sunset is going to be gorgeous. Let’s go!”

Zuko reclaimed his arm once the whole gand got outside. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“I figured the beach would be as good a view as any?”

Zuko flashed him a grin. “I can do you one better. You all up for a short walk?”

“Have I mentioned I love how much you smile these days?” Sokka laughed, poking him lightly in the ribs, and Zuko’s grin was immediately replaced with a furious blush. “Show the way, o fearless leader!”

After a short hike up the hill, they came to a west-facing cliff overlooking the bay that sheltered the Ember Island beach. The hilltop was covered in dandelion blossoms, all gone to seed this late in the summer.

Katara settled herself underneath one of the scrubby trees near the edge of the cliff, smiling as she attempted to brush the tenacious seeds off her skirt.

“I’ve seen these flowers all over the place in the Fire Nation. What are they?”

“They’re called dandelions,” Zuko replied. “They’re a pretty common weed around here, and they’re the bane of every gardener’s existence.”

Sokka brushed his fingers over one of the round seed heads. “I like them! They’re fluffy. Fluffy is good in my books.”

“My mother liked them too.” Zuko admitted.

“Really? She wasn’t too prim and proper for a common weed?” Katara joked, a grin tugging at her lips.

“No, she was always… a little unusual for a Fire Nation lady.” Zuko ruffled the back of his hair self-consciously.

“Seems like that runs in the family.” said Toph, flopping onto the ground next to him.

“Well I for one think that Zuko is the very model of a proper Fire Nation lady.” said Sokka, casually draping an arm across Zuko’s shoulders. Zuko tried, and failed, not to freeze at the sudden contact as the rest of the gang laughed. Sokka’s nonchalant physical touch was something Zuko would probably never get used to. He took a deep breath, trying not to think about the erratic heartbeat that Toph could undoubtedly pick up on.

Sokka let his arm drop, misinterpreting Zuko’s rigid shoulders as him not wanting Sokka’s touch at all. Not wanting Sokka to be close. The other boy scooted closer to Suki and let his head drop into her lap. Zuko swallowed, and looked back towards the setting sun.

“She actually used to tell us a legend about the spirit of the flower. If you pluck it after it goes to seed, and make a wish while you blow the seeds away, the spirit might grant you its favour and make your wish come true.”

“Wow, really?” Aang sat up from where he’d been lounging, his robes already covered with seeds. Zuko had the fleeting thought that an airbender might have a distinct advantage when it came to blowing seeds. From the boy’s furtive glance over at Katara, Zuko had a pretty good idea of what his wish might be.

“I have no idea.” Zuko shrugged. “But it’s a cute story.”

“Let’s all make a wish!” exclaimed Aang. He leaped to his feet in the way only an airbender could, carefully plucking several of the fullest, fluffiest flower heads and passing them around the group. Once everyone had been allocated their flowers, Aang turned back to Zuko.

“Okay Sifu Hotman, now what?”

“What do you mean? You just make a wish and blow the seeds away.”

“No prayer? No offering to the spirit? Just make a wish and go?” Aang looked puzzled.

“I… No?”

Sokka butted in. “I think the spirit is probably just happy that we’re spreading the seeds around and making more gardeners’ lives miserable. Hey Suki, wanna see who can blow their seeds the farthest? Aang, no, airbenders not allowed in this competition.” Aang visibly deflated as Sokka and Suki readied their dandelions and Toph sucked in a breath that would give an airbender a run for their money.

Zuko paused, contemplating the flower in his hand. There was a wish, half formed, barely on the edge of consciousness.

It wasn’t something he could let himself wish for.

The fluff of hundreds of seeds soon filled the air, as they all plucked more and more flowers and made more and more ridiculous wishes.

“I wish for the firelord to fall into a heap of bison dung!”

“I wish I could become a master firebender!” (“Wait, really Toph?” “Well yeah it seems pretty fun.”)

“I wish a thousand delicious fruit pies would be accidentally delivered to our house!”

Zuko allowed himself a small smile, surrounded by the warmth and light of his friends. Even faced with so much hardship, even with the threat of the battle to come, they were all still kids. They could still laugh. They could still wish for things.

Zuko’s dandelion still hung limply in his hand.

The sound of laughter mixed with the ocean breeze, scattering the seeds far and wide across the island.

“Zuko, you’re not wishing for anything?” Sokka said, noticing Zuko’s dandelion seeds still intact.

“Yeah, come on Sparky, make a wish!” Toph prodded his thigh with her big toe.

Keenly aware of everyone’s eyes suddenly on him, he took a deep breath and blew the seeds into the breeze, following their drifts and spirals as they caught the last of the shimmering sunset.

“What did you wish for, Zuko?” Suki asked.

“... Peace” he eventually replied.

Toph lifted a sceptical eyebrow, which he studiously ignored. The rest of the gang nodded, their silly mood suddenly sober as they contemplated what they were fighting for. Peace, victory, safety, home…

Katara sighed, stretched, and the spell was broken. “Come on, we should get going before the light fades completely.” With a chorus of grumbles, groans, and shaking off dirt and dandelion seeds, they all clambered to their feet.

As they turned and walked back down the hill, Zuko hung back and plucked one more dandelion. With a tear in his eye that he would never allow himself to shed, he blew the dandelion seeds towards Sokka’s retreating back. Hardly daring to let himself even think it, let alone whisper it out loud.

Somehow… Please, let him know.

#zukka #zukka nation #ao3feed zukka #zuko/sokka #zuko x sokka #zukka fanfic #alta fanfic #yes this was inspired by a ruth b song #i'm not even much of a ruth b fan #but she writes great music for pining teenagers #i am not a pining teen #but i do love writing pining teens #Emily writes #my writing

8 notes · View notes

tomriddlehyperfixataion · 7 months

Text

The summer of 1942 - Tom Riddle x reader - P4

Tom got bored easily, it had always been one of his…faults, he supposed. And when he got bored, he derived to one of three things. Stealing, exploring, and finding someone to entertain him.

He hadn’t really decided what to do yet.

It had been a week now since his arrival at the Prothero home, and he hadn’t exactly done much yet. He had read all his books, did all his school work, cleaned his room three times, cleaned the bathroom, did his laundry(which, there wasn’t much), visited Viper, sat outside with one of his already read books, took some books from Mr. Prothero’s small selection, and had some entertaining spats with Prothero.

He was bored-oh so very bored. So he put on his shoes and wandered outside, squinting his eyes at the warm summer sun that rolled over his face. It was warmer out here in the countryside, bright too; unlike the muggy gloom of London.

His ears caught the sound of a shriek and he turned, seeing the shelter yard-some of the horde running about with the dogs-another teen holding a water hose and spraying everyone down-laughing as they ran about-spewing curses and laughter.

Tom just blinked and turned away, tucking his book and diary further into the crook of his arm and making his way up the hill by the main road-finding a shady spot under a tree and sitting under it-resting his books on his lap and looking around.

It was hard to deny, this place was quite peaceful-but he supposed that was the point. Tom ended up writing his thoughts and the past week's events in his diary, mostly complaining to himself about being surrounded by rowdy muggles and a spiteful mudblood.

“Well, don’t you look comfortable?” Tom looked up from his diary, narrowing his eyes at the shadow above him. Prothero, with her shirt sleeves rolled up to her shoulders, was smiling at him-only a slight taunt behind her grin. She was sweaty and had a snake in her hands- a corn snake it looked like.

“Oh I am, the shade is quite delightful and the breeze just makes this a perfect spot for a nap,” Tom sneered with a grin, his eyes on the little corn snake-who stared back at him. Prothero snorted, rolling her eyes. He was very much taunting her for working In the summer sun, while he was free to relax as much as he wanted.

“Uh-huh, well, if you ever get bored of not doing anything productive, there's always a spot open at the shelter.” Tom snorted at the suggestion, rolling his eyes, snapping his diary shut and grabbing his book. “And get dog shit all over me? No thank you.”

Prothero mocked his snort and stepped back, looking down at the corn snake in her hands, which had curled up in her palms-soaking up the warmth. “Suit yourself, don’t melt Riddle.” Tom just stuck his tongue out at her back-pausing when he did. What an oddly immature gesture he just made-he never stuck out his tongue. Though he supposed Prothero brought out that childish side of him-with how childish she acted sometimes.

Eventually, Tom no longer felt like writing or reading, so he closed his books and stood, wiping his trousers clean before wandering about the field, the animals grazing within the fencing looking back at him when he got close enough-one of which was a large horse; brown and white with a long flowing mane. It was easily the biggest horse Tom had ever seen in real life, taller than the other horses around it too.

Tom froze as it rose its large head, its deep brown eyes staring into his soul. After a few moments, it huffed, strong and loud, and went back to grazing. Tom stared for a bit longer-and then shook his head, continuing to explore until he was bored, and he hadn’t even gone near the shelter.

Prothero collected curious things, stones, books of magic(from muggle imagination), bird feathers, blank books that were worn from age-waiting to be used, crystals, jewelry, leather cords(half of which were turned into bracelets), animal skulls, and many more things Tom could hardly name.

He was bored, but he had already explored the grounds, Prothero could only entertain him so much with their spats; and he was getting fidgety. So he took a few stones from Prothero's collection, and some of the leather bracelets-he wasn’t planning to keep them-he just…liked stealing things he supposed, and it would be entertaining to see how long it would take Prothero to notice her stuff was missing.

One hour, it took her one hour. Because one hour after he took those items-he noticed a few of his things missing. And he knew he hadn’t misplaced them, he was meticulous about his things-he had a list even, and he never put things in a place that he would forget about.

He found some of his books and his bloody WAND in her room(how in the bloody hell did Prothero get his wand?! He kept it on him at all times?!), with a huff and red cheeks-he took back his things and took a few more of hers, wishing he had the key to his room so he could lock it.

More of his things vanished; books, school work, socks, his bleeding trunk, his wand-again-, and even the few rings he had collected over the last five years(one of them being a gift from Malfoy).

Prothero looked all too proud upon the third day of this-thieving competition. He had most of her leather bracelets, all of the small crystals, a quarter of her books, some of those animal skulls(which he had to admit were kinda cool), and he had attempted to snatch her wand-but he had been unsuccessful, and he had to wonder how she got his wand(thrice now).

But she had all his books, all his work-his wand(AGAIN!!), most of his clothes(she wasn’t mean enough to take all of them), the sheets off his bed, his bloody diary, all his quills, pens, and pencils; she was leaving him with the bare minimum.

He would not be the one to give in, he would not lose, not so some-farm girl mudblood. But soon enough he had only a few pairs of clothes left; all of them winter wear. So here he was, sitting at breakfast wearing a long sleeve shirt and thick cotton pants, glaring at Prothero as she happily ate her food, his pencil in her hand as she doodled in a blank book.

He had rolled up his sleeves and wore her leather bracelets, showing off what he stole, which just made her snort and roll her eyes-her parents sighed at their new little spat-but at least they weren’t arguing. She stole an equal amount of his things that he stole from her-and since he didn’t have much, what little he stole from her ended up being nearly all his things when she returned the favor.

“you look…comfortable,” Prothero said as the day started getting warmer, the summer sun beating down on the house and field. Tom was flushed with heat and starting to sweat-but stubborn as he was, he refused to take off his shirt or ask for one of his short-sleeved ones back, he refused to show that he was bothered by it all. “I’m fine,” Tom muttered, sticking his hands in the sink-finishing up the dishes, baring his teeth a little as his sleeve drifted back down again.

Prothero just stared at him, and then held out her hand-glancing down at the leather bracelet he wore. Tom turned the water off and glared at her hand, and then realized what she was offering.

‘give me something of mine back, and I’ll return something of yours.’

A simple exchange.

Tom stared at Prothero for a long moment, and then he huffed, rolling his sleeves up further and turning away. He wouldn’t give up; he would not claim defeat.

As soon as he was up in his room-he took off his shirt, breathing sharply as his skin cooled instantly. He wasn’t stupid though, and if he wasn’t careful he might overheat and suffer from heat sickness. He had done it before-when he was nine-and he never wanted to do that again.

So he decided to stay in his room for the rest of the day, shirtless. But he had none of his books, no school work to review, his wand was gone again; he had nothing to do. He glared at the stack of books of Prothero’s that he had stolen, and rolled his head back, he hadn’t touched them since he first stole them-her selection would not be his taste but…he was bored, and he had exhausted all his other means of entertainment.

He took a book off the top of the stack and began to read, prepared to hate it. But what he found was not some muggle writing or muggle magic book-but a handwritten book, about magic, real magic. It was dated from September 1st, 1941 to June 20th, 1942, and filled with everything Prothero had learned from the past year. There were chapters devoted to each class; such as transfiguration, astrology, defense against the dark arts, care for magical creatures, ancient runes, history of magic, muggle studies(though that one had many notes of correction), charms, herbology, and potions.

Notes filled the blanks of each page, art between those notes; of potion reactions and ingredients, magical creatures, sigils of defensive spells, runes, quidditch rules, and house emblems; the book was just filled to the brim with knowledge-allowing Prothero to reread it at any point.

Tom read that book for hours, completely transfixed by the content within. Seeing her point of view on what they learned through the year was interesting, she took certain things differently than him-from basic charms to powerful offensive spells.

She was an extensive researcher, in a way that reminded him of himself, and the way he poured over books and books of every class he took-even if it only mildly interested him.

In the back of his mind, Tom resolved that he and Prothero were more alike than he thought, but he continued to read, and then he read the book from their previous year-their 4th year- and it was filled with all they learned in 4th year, and then he read 3rd year, then 2nd, then first.

The first was a bit rough, using muggle words to describe certain things and it was not as put together as the 5th book, but it was just as interesting for being written by a 11-year-old.

He almost wished he had been able to do the same-but he barely had the money to buy his diary as a 15th birthday present for himself, he would’ve never had the funds to buy enough blank books and ink to do such a thing.

Plus he didn’t have the artistic skill that Prothero had-several times he had expected the drawings to move-or jump out at him. some of them did-which impressed Tom, since the animation charm was actually quite difficult to do, even he hadn’t mastered it. There was a further version of it that was extremely difficult to do, Piertotum Locomotor; which was rumored to be attached to the armors before the great hall.

Tom indeed found a page dedicated to the charm in the 5th book, a suit of armor standing tall and strong in the right of the page-close to the binding. He had to wonder how much Prothero knew, if she could be just as knowledge hungry as he was-they were both from the muggle world after all, introduced into the wizarding world at 11 years old.

He would find one foolish if they didn’t research everything they could of a world they didn’t know-but had a blood right to. In the 2nd book, he found two pages dedicated to the basilisk-the king of serpents. Tom stared at this page for several minutes, absorbing all he could-there were notes in here not even he had found in his multi-year search for information on the chamber and its beast.

‘it is rumored that there is a chamber deep below Hogwarts, built by Slytherins founder, Salazar. Connected to that rumor-it is legend that there is a beast, a monster, within the chamber-placed by Salazar himself. A basilisk, the king of the serpents; with venom that can kill a grown man in just more than a minute and eyes that are rumored to instantly kill someone with just one glance-similar to the death curse. Theory; is the death curse derived from the basilisk eyes' power?‘

That was a very curious theory, and Tom was tempted to look into it when he could. But he was further pushed into curiosity by the page of the chamber, he didn’t know others wanted to know about it; much less a mudblood.

He snapped the current book he was reading shut as he heard footsteps running up the stairs-going towards his room. he looked at the window-it was already mid-afternoon, about the time Mrs. And Mr. Prothero would start making supper. And as of late-Tom had begun helping make it, out of boredom mostly.

He grabbed his shirt(which was really more of a jumper) and slid it on, leaving Prothero’s 5th year book on the bed and walking over to the door after hearing someone stop in front of it. he opened it before whoever it was could knock-a fist stopping right in front of his face-Prothero was wide-eyed and quickly reeled back her hand. “holy fuck you’re quiet,” she muttered, and Tom rose his brow at the curse, wondering what she wanted. “anyway-Moms starting supper, and wanted your help with the biscuits.” Tom slowly nodded again, and then followed Prothero’s gaze-landing on her books.

She was grinning when he looked back at her-and he hoped she couldn’t see the warmth on his cheeks as she chuckled. But she didn’t say a word, turning on her heel and going into the bathroom-taking a shower to clean herself from the long day at work.

Later that night-Tom found some of his summer clothes back on his bed, and in turn, he returned her bracelets and some of her books. A simple exchange; but he had the pride that she broke first.

….she took his bloody wand again.

-end of p4-

#tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #harry potter fanfiction #fluff fic

12 notes · View notes

allthewriteplaces · 11 months

Text

Magnolia In May - Chapter One

Hello, everyone! I have been working since May to create this fanfiction and now, I am here to share it with you all! 🤍 That being said, thank you for being so patient with me while I try and pluck up my courage and get over writer's block to post this.

My story takes place in between seasons 5 and 6, with a few changes here and there because yes.

Story summary: Jessie Bennet lives in the English countryside with her uncle, her aunt and her five cousins. But one day in May, an unexpected visitor shows up on her doorstep, one who's about to change the course of her life forever.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 4551

Chapter One

I first met Thomas Shelby a year ago. It was a supposedly ordinary day in early May, the time of year when spring made its debut in the form of warm, flowery breezes, budding leaves on the treetops and scattered rain showers throughout. The days were getting longer, the nights were slowly shrinking back away, and the sun was starting to make more of an appearance, a rare sight in England, considering it was under a seemingly near constant cover of clouds. Even in the winter, it always seemed to be cloudy. Cold enough to snow, but I hadn’t seen snow on the ground since I was small.

Because of the sunshine streaming into our bedrooms, me and the rest of my family had risen earlier than usual to get a head start on the daily chores.

Everyone had a job to do and we ran on a tight schedule, like a crew on the Navy ships, especially on the Holy days, when the main goal was to get everyone ready and out the door in time for Sunday Service. Today was Saturday, and while I would have been more than happy to spend a few more hours in bed, there was plenty of work to be done around the cottage.

I had spent the better part of my life here. Just before my parents died, my mother took my hands in her cold, clammy ones, I looked into her greying eyes as the hazy film began to cloud over them, and she told me I was going to live with my Uncle Albert, my Aunt Elizabeth, whom everyone else called her ‘Eliza,’ and my two older cousins, Sarah and David, in Warwickshire, the heart of the English countryside.

She said the cottage was surrounded by miles and miles of tall fruit trees, rolling hills and lush green fields and a lake nearby. She promised that it would be my sanctuary, my own paradise, somewhere I can let all of my troubles go.

Of course when I got there that cool, autumn morning, I was intrigued by the beauty of it all. The main road ran through orchards, past rivers and lakes, and continued onto the next town. Now and then, there were the occasional settlements where our neighbours lived and I could see the fires at night or could hear the lively music. I automatically sensed that this was where people came to get away from the stress of city life.

Aunt Eliza, that’s what I called her, had already had her fair share of stress, her first husband died from something called consumption, leaving her with my older cousins to raise by herself on a maid’s salary. She was a pretty and sensitive woman, but though I wouldn’t call her a fighter, she was strong in her own way.

She had this natural-born ability to put anyone at ease just by being in the same room as they were. That first night at the new place, when my homesickness was at its absolute worst, she let me sleep in the big bed with her so I would feel safe, saying. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

Eliza came from a big family and had been raised Protestant by her parents in Glasgow, but after she met Uncle Theo, her first husband, she had sacrificed everything they knew and loved, to give their six kids, including my mother, a better life. My best memories of them were when my mother and I drove all the way across the Highlands to visit them during summer holidays and at Christmastime.

Uncle Albert came into the picture shortly after Sarah got married and set off on her own path. The only trouble was, he was Catholic. The battle between Catholics and Protestants was rooted in history, and I wasn’t sure the reason, but it didn’t stop Eliza from falling in love with him. Like Romeo and Juliet, they went against their parent’s wishes and married in secret in a beautiful chapel. After which she eventually converted to catholicism.

Tension was high in the family once my grandparents found out about the marriage, it was common for disputes to start, sometimes from the smallest thing, and during those arguments, which seem so petty now, I would be sent to my room to play and asked that I play as loud as I could so I wouldn’t hear the fighting.

Eventually, I had enough and actually ran away from home. It was stupid, really, I shouldn’t have done it, but I just couldn’t stand it. It was Uncle Albert who found me, soaked to the skin and sick as a dog from being out in the rain for so long.

The only good thing about it, was that for once, they weren’t shouting at each other, they were all hovering over me and my grandfather was calling for a doctor. Me running away seemed to snap them out of it, if only for just a few minutes, I still remember opening my teary eyes and saying, “Why doesn’t anyone love each other anymore?”

That was when it hit them, just how much this was impacting me, a small child of ten years old, who was somehow trapped in the middle of this feud that had nothing whatsoever to do with me, and doing whatever it took in an attempt to stop it.

Tears were shed and everyone embraced each other. A truce was formed that day. No more yelling, no more shouting. And to this day, we still see each other around the holidays.

It was nearly six o’clock when I rolled over in bed, roused by the sunlight streaming in through the thin veil of curtains covering my bedroom window. The sky had taken on glorious shades of pink, orange and violet, casting shadows on the canopy and on the striped walls. I didn’t want to move from that spot, I wanted to stay in bed where it was nice and comfortable, but the second I heard three-month-old Violet, the baby of the family, babbling in her crib, I lifted the sheets back and rolled out, making sure the sheets were tucked in and there weren’t any wrinkles as I tucked the corners of them into the mattress.

Making my way out of my room, shutting the door tightly behind me, her little voice carried through the hallway. She wasn’t in distress or anything, she was only talking to herself. When I stepped into her room and peeked into her crib, she was laying flat on her back, eyes wide open and a bright smile on her face.

“Someone's wide awake, eh?” I said and her smile brightened.

Look, I know I wasn’t supposed to have a favourite cousin, but from the moment I had watched her enter the world -- it was the first time I’d seen a baby be born, ever, so it was all brand new to me, I felt this strong connection to her, and this overwhelming sense of responsibility to protect her from any sort of harm that might come to her.

Reaching down into the crib, I picked her up with both hands and held her against my chest, ensuring her head and neck were supported, seeing as how she wasn’t quite strong enough to hold her head up on her own just yet.

“Mama says we need to find your pink cardigan to wear. I believe I put it in the closet after bringing it inside, but I’m not sure.” I added in a calm, soothing voice as she yawned and nuzzled her head against my chest. I bounced her lightly on my hip and went over to the dresser, opening the middle drawer and pulling out her fuzzy pink cardigan as well as a new nappy.

“Jessie!” I turned to the doorway and saw Alice standing there with her hands on her hips. She looked so much like my aunt when she did that it wasn't funny. “Marie stole my hair ribbon again!”

“Did not!” Marie yelled, stomping her foot.

“Did, too!” Her sister yelled back. “You take them all the time!”

“Not this time!” Marie shook her head. She was on the verge of tears.

“Surrender now or suffer the consequences!!” Suddenly, the door burst open and Henry, who'd just turned six, started running around the room, followed by his twin brother, William. Both of them were still wearing their nightshirts, their hair was still spiky and stuck up in odd places, and as they chased one another around the room, they brandished wooden swords.

Like most boys their age, they were always running around the house with their toy cars, trucks and planes, or roughhousing with each other. Roughhousing wasn’t allowed indoors and there were strict rules, set by my uncle, as to how far they could go before they would be told to end the game to prevent anyone from getting hurt. Their sisters were always welcome to join in the fun, and sometimes they did if the game they were playing was interesting enough for them, but most of the time it was just the two of them, conjuring mischief.

“No! I won fair and square,” William argued, folding his arms across his chest, his voice raising in volume. He had a loud voice for a six-year-old and he knew exactly how to use it when he thought it was necessary.

“No! I won!” Henry insisted. “Admit it, you cheated!”

“I didn’t cheat, you did, you mongrel!”

“I’m not a mongrel, you are!”

“Mongel!” Marie repeated, pointing to Henry, then to William, then to Alice.

“Stop saying bad words!” Alice gasped. “I’ll tell Mama!”

“Oi! What did I say about calling your brother names?” I said.

“He started it!” said Henry, pointing a finger at William.

“And where did you hear such foul language?”

“Timmy Munson,” he replied, twirling the wooden sword in his other hand.

“Yeah,” said William. “He called his brother, Davy, that word last Sunday on the way back from Church. Then he wrestled him to the ground and got all muddy and dirty. His parents didn’t even bat an eye. They were too busy ”

That explains it.

Timmy Munson was nearly sixteen and was referred to as the ‘leader of the pack.’ or the town’s trouble maker by the adults around him. He swore, he smoked, he stole his father’s liquor and teased the girls at church something terrible, with the parents seemingly oblivious to what was going on, or decidedly ignoring his rebellious behaviour, hence why neither Henry, nor William were allowed to play with Timmy, and the girls weren’t allowed to speak to him.

My aunt and uncle thought he was a bad influence and they were right. There were rumours that he was dating Misty Bradford, Father Bradford’s daughter. At Church, we called all the leaders ‘Father.’ His daughter, Misty, was fifteen, not quite old enough to start dating yet, but Alice once told me that she heard her say that he was handsome, but also, that he was the sort of boy that would date you for five minutes and then as soon as a prettier girl would come along, he would leave you without a second thought.

On the other hand, I was glad that Misty was a sensible girl who wouldn’t fall to the temptations of the neighbourhood scoundrel, but on the other hand, I wondered if the reason why Timmy acted out was because it was the only way he got his parents’ attention. Maybe that was just my instincts kicking in, but if that was the case, I would certainly feel terrible for the poor lad. Even still, I wanted to discourage the boys from picking up such nasty habits and words.

“Right, well, just because Timmy Munson says something or does something, doesn’t mean you should, eh?” I said, gently placing my hands on William’s shoulders and looking him square in the eyes. He met my gaze unflinchingly, which told me he was really listening to what I was saying to him. “Don’t try to be someone you’re not just to fit in. You are a sweet and caring young man, and we need more caring men in this world nowadays.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Really.” I nodded my head in confirmation. “Besides, girls love boys who are sweet, kind and caring and who get along with their brothers and sisters. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

He nodded and tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I say, let’s call it a tie, then.”

William shrugged his shoulders microscopically. “Sounds fair,”

“Now shake hands. Like the good sports you are.”

They shook hands, laughing to themselves, signalling a truce.

“GAAAAAAH!” Violet shrieked near my ear, kicking her feet and looking at her brothers as I delicately pulled her arms through the sleeves of her nightgown, putting it in a basket so I could take it to the laundry tub and wash it later on.

I wasn’t sure if she was telling them to stop, or if she was taking a side in the disagreement. I placed her down on the bed along with her new clothes. Hearing her little shriek, both of the boys climbed up on the bed next to her. Henry nuzzled her tummy with his nose and William tickled her with his finger, making silly faces and noises. Her eyes crinkled and I could see the giggles bubbling up inside her, like the lava bubbling up inside a volcano and after a few seconds, she exploded into shrieks of laughter.

“Anyone puts a tear in your eye,” Henry vowed, “will live to regret it.”

“Yeah,” William agreed. “We’ll protect you. Like good big brothers.”

Good, I thought, That’s one problem solved.

Small disagreements were common among the four of them, and it was nothing I couldn’t handle, but it was too early for them to start bickering, and for some reason, I could feel this tension in the house, like something was about to happen, and they must have felt it, too, because normally, they were all well-behaved.

“Right, Marie, I’m going to ask you once. Did you take Alice’s hair ribbon?”

“No,” she answered, looking me straight in the eyes, which told me she was telling me the truth and that this time she was innocent. She had a habit of taking her sister’s hair ribbons when hers got lost, it was something that started a little

“Are you sure?” She nodded affirmatively and I addressed Alice. “Alice, Marie says she didn’t take the ribbon, are you sure it’s not in your room? Perhaps it fell out while you were sleeping. See if it’s in your bed.”

“Okay,” Alice said slowly and then quickly ran back to her room with Marie running after her. Soon, both of the girls returned, both wearing relieved expressions on their faces, though Alice appeared to be a tad more embarrassed than her sister. She glanced down at the ground, a tad embarrassed and then she met Marie’s eyes. “I’m sorry I accused you. I just thought that maybe since you steal my ribbons all the time that you stole this one.”

“It’s okay,” the younger one replied, accepting her sister’s apology and embracing her. Internally, I sighed in relief. Like I said, small disagreements were common, but nonetheless, I was glad that it was over and we could all continue on with our day as if nothing had happened.

“Alright, all of you go into your rooms while I finish getting the baby ready and then I will be in shortly,” I declared and the boys slid off the bed, bringing their toy swords with them. The girls followed suit, going into their own room. I turned to Violet, who was recovering from giggling so much. “Never a dull moment, eh, sweetheart?”

Trust me, making sure all of my younger cousins were dressed in clean clothes and had their hair combed before breakfast, was a lot easier said than done.

She babbled on while I dressed her and I sang an upbeat song. It didn’t take much to keep her entertained and knowing how to keep her engaged made it easier for me to wash and dress her. After a moment, I managed to slip the cardigan on, then taking her in my arms again, I brought her down to the dining-room where Albert was reading the paper.

“Isn’t it a little early for that, Uncle?” I asked.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, love,” he replied, setting his gin down and then taking the baby in his arms, lifting her into the air and bringing her down again, kissing her cheeks. “There’s my little princess.”

“You are not to drink that around the baby,” my aunt said, coming into the room and taking away the glass before turning to me. “Glad to see you’re wide awake, darling. How’re the children, they’re not giving you a hard time, are they?”

“Nah. We had a tiny dispute with a ribbon and swords, but it’s all sorted.”

“Jessie, what would we do without you?” she patted my cheek and then stepped back into the kitchen.

Smiling and with one child ready, I went to check on Alice and Marie. Alice was the oldest at seven years old and fancied herself to be quite grown up in comparison to her siblings. She was an exact replica of her mother -- curly red hair, green eyes and freckles dotting her cheeks and loved helping me with the chores like laundry, making the beds, and occasionally cooking.

She sat patiently on the chair in front of the mirror and her eyes met mine in the glass as the soft bristles of the brush swept across her hair. Adding a little bit of water to the brush helped to smooth out any tangles and maintain her pretty locks.

Marie handed me the red ribbons while I braided Alice's hair in two even plaits down her back. However, when it was her turn, she wasn't as eager to be in the same room as me. In seconds, she'd already darted down the hall.

“Come along, Marie.”

“No! I don’t want to!” She shouted in protest and sat down in the middle of the floor, kicking her legs as I approached her. This was typical three-year-old behaviour, according to my friends who were already married and mother's, and these days, Marie had resorted to these sorts of tactics whenever things weren't going her way.

Discipline wasn't exactly my forte. I tended to prefer negotiating or compromising rather than escalating the conflicts further by scolding. More often than not, it worked, but perhaps today the odds weren't in my favour.

Without saying a word, I sat down on the ground, not engaging in conversation or looking at her until she stopped kicking. She laid on her stomach, her whole body now limp on the hardwood floor.

“Now, Marie, is this the way young ladies behave?” I asked her, keeping my tone firm yet gentle. I was compelled to rub her back and soothe her, but coddling her and talking to her as if she were a baby would only encourage the tantrums or make them worse. “You don’t see your sister acting like that, do you?”

She didn't answer me, but not because she was ignoring my question, but because she was considering the way she'd handled the issue. A few moments later, I tried again, hoping to get to the bottom of this.

“Do you want to tell me why you don't want your hair brushed?”

“It will hurt.” I heard her sad, muffled voice reply.

“Not if I use the soft brush,” I promised, then added, “what if I let you do it yourself like a big girl?”

That seemed to draw her attention and she sat up and nodded.

“You can wear red ribbons, too!” Alice added, doing her best to be helpful.

“Yay!” She stood, taking my hand and soon enough, we were back in the girls' room, showing Marie how to brush her own hair. Then I braided it for her and put the ribbons in. At the same time, the boys came in, dressed and with their hair combed.

“Well then, now that we're all dressed, shall we go down to breakfast?”

“Yes,” they all answered unanimously and I led the procession downstairs.

This time, it was the boys' turn to go to the henhouse to collect the eggs.

They stepped into the hallway, slipping on their jackets and boots and followed Albert out the back door. The hens could sometimes be unpredictable and that would frighten the boys so he would always supervise.

In the meantime, I would go to help my aunt prepare the biscuits and wash the strawberries and the girls would be in charge of setting the table. Alice carried in the forks and knives, while Marie was entrusted to carry in the napkins.

“Well done!” I said once I stepped in to check the progress. Both girls smiled proudly at their accomplishment and they grinned at the praise. When we all worked together as a unit, things ran smoothly.

Moments later, we all sat down at the table and held hands, bowing our heads low and closing our eyes as Albert led us in prayer, as was the tradition at family mealtimes. “Bless us, Lord of all Creation, and be with us as we share this meal. We thank you for our food and ask your blessing on those who prepared it. We thank you for the gift of our family. Amen.”

Even little Violet knew what to do, well, in her own little way, of course. She sat in her chair and raised her hands up high, clapping them and uttering an exclamation of joy. For what was supposed to be a serious moment, she sure knew how to lighten things up.

Topics of conversation usually involved upcoming and current events, anything Albert could gather from the paper, and plans for the day. I knew that I needed to do a bit more washing today and we needed to check on the chickens.

“Due to a close call with a fox last night, we need to go out in the backyard to check on the coop. I suspect some of the wiring has been messed with and so we might need to replace it. That will be our task today, boys,” he said, and then glanced at William and Henry, who nodded.

“Is the fox okay?” asked Marie, whose main concern didn’t necessarily match all the others’ who were more relieved that the fox hadn’t managed to carry off one of our hens. She was a very sensitive child and loved all animals, including those that some might consider pests.

Foxes were among the ones she cared about the most.

A few months ago, she heard one crying not far from the house and found that it was caught in a trap. She was distressed, tears streaming down her cheeks and breathing so fast, I thought she might faint.

“Please,” she said, hands folded together, begging. “We have to save it!”

“It would make a lovely coat,” William joked, but Marie didn’t find his attempt to lighten the mood the least bit funny. In fact, she was this close to smacking him across the face, and the Good Lord knows that she probably would have had my aunt not been present.

“They’re God’s creatures, too,” she said passionately, appalled by the injustice she was seeing before her and by the fact that her older brother, although he meant no harm by the statement, was mocking the poor thing. “Daddy, please, we have to save it before it’s too late.”

Fortunately, using a few tools from the garden shed, Albert managed to free the fox, but its leg was badly wounded. That is where my aunt came in.

She knew exactly what to do when it came to nursing wounded and baby animals back to health. She grabbed some gauze from the First Aid kit, placed it over the wound, and wrapped a bandage around the leg.

Of course it would be too dangerous to release it until it was all better, so it was agreed that the critter would stay for a couple of weeks. It was nice having her around. We called her Pumpkin, because of the orange colour of her fur and because we’d found her in the autumn, so it made sense her namesake would match the season.

Let’s just say it was hard for us to let her go, especially for Marie.

Now we sat at the table and part of me suspected that Marie hoped we would get another chance to look after a fox. Albert set down his knife and fork and nodded. “It looked as though he’d managed to free himself just in the nick of time, so yes, I would say he is perfectly fine.”

“And he will continue to be fine. As long as the little rascal doesn’t get into the coop again,” my aunt added with a light-hearted smile. “Right then…”

Just then, the telephone in the living room rang.

“Alice, could you go get that, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mama,” she got out of her chair, walking past Violet, who had now amused herself by looking down at her toes, and picked it up on the second ring, a second later, she called out, “It’s for you, Papa!”

“Who on Earth could be calling at this hour?” she asked, confused as he cleared his throat, setting down his napkin and then taking the phone from Alice.

He spoke in a low voice, so it was impossible for any of us to hear anything, but we all remained silent and still, that is until he came back into the dining-room, looked at my aunt and then nodded, as though conveying some sort of secret message.

“Help me clear the table, children,” was all she said and the younger ones did as they were told. There was that tension in the air again. It was even more palpable this time as she hurriedly turned on the tap and added soap to the mix. I immediately stood from the table and helped her scrub the plates and utensils clean.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. Behind me, the children continued to bring the glasses over. The only one who seemed oblivious to what was going on, was Violet, who was smashing her fists quite aggressively against the tray of her chair and shrieking loudly, in an attempt to get someone’s attention.

“I am expecting someone important,” Albert said, while my aunt immediately opened the cabinet for a bottle of gin. Before I could utter another word, he waved a hand towards the staircase in a dismissive and almost urgent sort of way. “Go upstairs and play in the Nursery. Neither of you are allowed to come downstairs until your mama and I say so. Understand?”

“Yes, Papa,” the children said softly.

“Who is coming over?” Henry inquired.

“Is it someone from work?” added Marie.

“Maybe it’s Grandpa and Granny,” said Alice excitedly.

“Off you go,” he said.

Without questioning him, I nodded and took the kids upstairs to the nursery, shutting the door tightly behind me.

~ To Be Continued ~

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x oc

17 notes · View notes