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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years ago

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New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise. Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote. That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”. Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May. Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability. Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized. Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns. He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath. He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought. Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker. Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up. From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?”

“No’ really. Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.” Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond. “I ignored her. Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed. Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture. Massive coronary. I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie’s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable. The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah. I dinna think I’m tae blame. I ken it. I was the only surviving son, ye see? In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations. I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da. Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it. I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer. It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra. She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile. “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file. The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months. The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards. They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms. Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny. She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping. Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp! Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks. Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on. She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room. Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach. The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust. With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store. The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp. She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork. Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response. Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly. “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like. Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses. He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window. With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask. Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday. Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge. Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.

Not Fraser, then. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather. Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile. That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages. A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie. What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood. “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets. A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean. Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess. Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie. It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp. We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie. You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either. An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier? Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach. My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?” She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland. Seemed tae suit ye, is all.” He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is. When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way. A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last. “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye. Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy. Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed. Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth. “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach. Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken? I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly. Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough. Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts. A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment. Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no. Not exactly. I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.” It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’. I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile. What a precious child. “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued. Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living. Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried. She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie. I’m certainly going to try.”

#my writing #outlander

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years ago

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The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

This is for the lovely @sequinsmile-x on her birthday. I started reading her stories back in December and was a huge fan from the beginning. Fast forward a few months, and I am somehow lucky enough to call you my friend. For all the pep talks, the inspiration, and the laughs- you have been a bright spot of 2021. But I stand true to my word if harm ever comes to Theo Hotchner, you know what’s coming your way ; ) Happiest of birthdays, my friend! Enjoy every moment and all the cocktails.

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

The Day After Thanksgiving

The fragrant aromas of hazelnut and vanilla waft through the air as Aaron precariously grips two full mugs of coffee in his hands. He sidesteps a few toys and a pair of shoes that were somehow missed in last night’s cleanup as he carefully ascends the stairs. The coffee threatens to slosh over the edge of the mugs and stain the hardwood floors; he slows his steps and tiptoes past closed bedroom doors. He avoids the squeaky floorboards - he knows exactly where they are by now - and kicks another stray toy against the wall in his haste to get to Emily before she wakes up.

Coffee in bed is a sacred routine for them, one they haven’t abandoned even balancing the demands of three children and two grueling careers. It’s one of Emily’s little pleasures, an act so simple Aaron can’t deny her whenever he gets the chance. That alone is how he found himself awake before the sun rises, rearranging the various pyrex containers of Thanksgiving leftovers to locate the coveted bottle of Emily’s favorite creamer in the fridge. It was wedged behind the cranberry sauce and macaroni and cheese they made for Nora, who vehemently refused to eat turkey. Of course, she’d eaten maybe five bites of her specially prepared dinner before she’d crawled into Emily’s lap in the middle of dinner. Yet it still brings a smile to his face; it’s their first holiday season as a family of five - something they never expected, something they’ll never take for granted.

Read the rest here or on ao3

When he shoulders the door open, Aaron finds her awake, feeding Leo. She holds him at her breast, her head tipped back and her eyes closed. She senses his presence innately, attuned to the softness of his steps as he steps over the threshold of the sanctuary of their bedroom. Emily’s face stretches into a brilliant smile when she sees him, but it doesn’t hide the exhaustion that paints her features.

“He’s awake again?” Aaron sets the mug on the nightstand and kisses her cheek then the top of Leo’s head. “I thought you’d at least get another hour of sleep.”

“He had other plans,” Emily murmurs, lovingly shifting their son in her arms. “He’s almost done.” She reaches for the coffee with her free hand, lifts the mug to her lips. “Thank you for this.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Aaron watches her finish Leo’s feed with unabashed awe. There’s nothing but adoration in his eyes, amazement at how she handles motherhood with an abundance of patience and grace. There have been ups and downs, tears. arguments and fights, her nerves stretched thin and his worn down. But these moments make it worth it, ones he wouldn’t trade. He leans down to take Leo to give her a break. The little boy’s eyes are already closed, contentedly asleep once again.

“You’re spoiling me.” Emily says with a grateful smile. She rests back against the pillows, eyes closing again. “What was I thinking when I agreed to go Black Friday shopping with JJ and Garcia?”

“Might be good to get out of the house. Away from the chaos.”

“Into a whole new kind of chaos. Garcia means business. I’m afraid of her ambition.” Emily rolls her eyes at the thought of the shared document Garcia had sent to her and JJ - essentially a shopping itinerary, with all the best deals and discounts clearly marked.

“You say it like you’re surprised.” Aaron gently places Leo into the bassinet before crawling back into bed with his wife. “It is Garcia we’re talking about.”

“Maybe I’ll learn my lesson next year.” She snuggles against him, seeking a few extra moments of peace.

Christmas Tree Shopping

It’s scarcely a week after Thanksgiving when Aaron caves to the persistent demands from Nora and Jack, unable to hold them off any longer. Less than an hour later, as the sun starts to go down in the early December sky, the Hotchners find themselves at an idyllic Christmas tree farm in Loudoun County. They’re not the only ones, as families make their way through the maize of evergreen, the air thick with the cloying, yet not unpleasant, scent of pine needles.

“We’re becoming those people,” Aaron grumbles good naturedly, Leo strapped to his chest in a baby carrier. “Jack, please watch your sister!” A few feet ahead, Nora runs excitedly through the trees, clapping her tiny mitten covered hands with joy. But Jack looks just as excited and takes off behind her as they search for the perfect one. It’s a tradition he never had growing up; one he’d only ever heard stories about from his classmates as he swallowed an emotion he only identified many years later as jealousy.

“What kind of people?” Emily carefully picks her way through the grass, her hand enclosed in his. Her head falls onto his shoulder every few feet; they quietly murmur to each other in broken sentences, interrupted every few seconds by one of the kids, yet it’s a language they’ve mastered over the last few years. Glances and smiles, words that speak volumes, little touches here and there.

“Those Christmas crazed people. Pretty soon we’re going to have an inflatable Santa on the lawn or something.”

“Don’t say that too loudly.” Emily gives him a quick kiss, stopping for a moment to adjust Leo’s hat to cover his tiny head. “Nora said one of her classmates has one. She’s already talking about it.”

“Great.” Aaron rolls his eyes. “I bet Garcia has one we could borrow. Probably more than one.”

Emily laughs, lightly smacking him on the shoulder as Nora grabs her hand. “Mommy, Jack and I like this one!” They all stop in front of a tree on a corner. It’s bigger than Aaron anticipated - he has visions of vacuuming pine needles for the next four weeks - and slightly lopsided, with uneven branches and a few gaps in between. Certainly not what you might see in a magazine, and in no way picture perfect, but Nora and Jack are beaming, their cheeks flushed pink in the chilly early evening air.

“Oh, you mean you two finally agree on something?” Emily quips, letting Nora drag her around the base of the tree, listening as their daughter explains where she wants to put her collection of superhero ornaments. “Who would have ever thought?” But when her eyes meet Aaron’s, it’s clear they’re thinking the same thing too.

It’s perfect.

A Lesson In Gift Wrapping

“Damnit,” Emily swears under her breath as the wrapping paper seemingly shreds in her hands. How does Aaron make this look so easy? With her bottom lip between her teeth, she folds another piece of paper around the box, trying to mimic the process she’s seen him do so effortlessly time and time again. It’s not quite enough paper to wrap around the box, and she shakes her head in defeat.

“Of all the places I looked, I didn’t think I’d find you here.” Aaron’s baritone voice shakes her from her trance. He’s leaning in the doorway of the guest room, an amused but loving smirk on his face. The remnants of the day are there - a hint of shadow on his chin, tie loosened and sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“Thought I might get some of this done.” She looks up at him briefly before her attention goes back to the mess of wrapping paper, twisted balls of tape, and gift bows. “There’s a lot still left to do.”

“Did the North Pole finally accept your elf application?” Aaron teases lovingly, pushing the door open and side-stepping a large pile of gifts that still have yet to be wrapped. “Looks like we’re a little behind schedule this year.”

With a roll of her eyes, Emily pushes a piece of hair out of her face. “You’re home earlier than I expected.” She glances at the mess around her with a sigh, and her voice softens. “Leo needs to be fed when he gets up. I need to pick up Nora from school and Jack will be home in an hour.”

He immediately catches the tension in her voice. As the early days of December melted into weeks, the never ending hustle was clearly starting to get to her, especially since cases took Aaron out of town most of the workweek. Evenings were full of obligations - practices and errands, weekends packed with as much family time as they could manage. All the rest was pushed to the side, a never ending list of chores that was only added to, never subtracted from.

The team had spent almost a week in Bethlehem Pennsylvania, ironically called the Christmas City, searching for an arsonist that had the entire city on edge. Perhaps the nickname was an eerie coincidence yet nonetheless it was a grueling case. Since he’d gotten home he could sense the stress emanating from her, curling like fog around her. She couldn’t hide it from him; she couldn’t hide anything from him. And while he didn’t ask, he somehow already knew. “I asked Garcia to pick Nora up to give you a break.”

“What about dinner?”

“It’s already been ordered.” Aaron says easily, settling beside her on the floor. “Pizza sounded good.”

Relief floods her face. “Pizza always sounds good.” She kicks the abandoned box out of the way to wedge herself against him, lacing her fingers through his. “We’ve missed you around here.” It’s honest, an understated relief that only years of intimacy can bring. Her head finds its way to his shoulder; she leans against him.

“We’re finished until after New Years.” Aaron holds their hands up to the light, staring at the bouncing reflection of their wedding rings. “You have me here until January.”

“Lucky me,” Emily says dryly.

Aaron picks up a stray ball of abandoned wrapping paper and chucks it at her. “What do you say we finish wrapping these together?”

“I say,” she begins slowly, eyes darting between the neatly made bed and his own. “We take advantage of having the house to ourselves.”

He makes her come three times before they hear Garcia’s car in the driveway, and twice more after the kids are in bed, for good measure.

A Deal With The Devil

The name that appears on the screen of his ringing phone is one Aaron can’t ignore. It’s terrible timing, but he’s not at all surprised. His mother in law had an uncanny knack for calling at the most inopportune moments.

“Hi, Elizabeth,” Aaron says hastily, pressing the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he wedges the final plate into the dishwasher. He barely got to the phone in time before it went to voicemail, and something tells him she’s only a little miffed about that fact. Elizabeth Prentiss has an abundance of patience for her grandchildren, but not much for anyone else, he’s come to learn.

“Good evening, Aaron,” she says crisply yet not unkindly. In the background he can hear the mellow crooning of Bing Crosby. He imagines Elizabeth with a glass of wine in one hand, a thick book in her lap. “Is Emily around? I tried to reach her earlier. She didn’t answer my call.”

“She’s giving Nora a bath.” He glances upward, the muffled squeals and giggles coming from the bathroom just loud enough to hear from downstairs. At least things have calmed down since dinner . He decides not to mention it’s already been quite an evening around their house, thanks to unfamiliar vegetables and a long day in preschool. “Is there something you’d like me to pass along?” Of course Elizabeth would call on the one night this week he isn’t away on a case.

“Actually, Aaron, maybe you can help me,” Elizabeth presses, and he knows whatever she’s about to say is something that’s already caused a disagreement between her and Emily.

“I can try,” he offers tentatively, choosing words carefully. The very last thing he wants to do is get caught between their fires. It’s never ended well for him.

“You sound tired, Aaron. Are you not sleeping well?”

“We have three kids, Elizabeth,” he counters back. “I haven’t slept well in years.”

He hears a soft laugh on the other line; for a moment he has to remind himself he’s not talking to his wife. Sometimes the similarities between them are uncanny, much to Emily’s chagrin.

He’s wrapping up the call, assuring Elizabeth they’ll figure out a plan that works for everyone yet doesn’t add any additional stress, while simultaneously cleaning the rest of the kitchen when he hears soft footsteps on the stairs.

“You’re on bedtime duty.” Emily appears behind him, leaning against the counter with an exasperated huff. “She’s in a mood tonight.”

Aaron comes to stand behind her, circling both arms around her waist. Her hips fit snugly against the cradle of his own; he rests his chin over her shoulder to nip at her ear. “I just made a deal with your mother.” He doesn’t miss how she tenses against him, a combination of frustration, annoyance, and exhaustion seeping through her body. It’s the first time they’ve been alone all day. He presses a palm against her chest, feeling the beat of her heart under the warmth of his hand.

“She called again? I let it go to voicemail earlier.”

“Just now. She wanted to talk to you. Luckily, you’re off the hook, because I talked to her.” He kisses her neck. He swipes at a few stray bath bubbles that have somehow found their way into her hair. Of all the versions of Emily he’s loved over the years, this Emily might just be his favorite.

“Let me guess. She wants us to come to her for Christmas Eve dinner instead of her coming here.”

“Something like that.”

“Does she not understand we have three children?” Emily grumbles. “I’ve been over this with her. She’s not the one who has to put them to bed on Christmas Eve, you know. It’s a whole different kind of chaos.”

“I think we can figure it out, Em.” Aaron chuckles. He holds her a little closer, voice reassuring and calm. “I made her a deal.” She noticeably relaxes, her body melding against his. Proximity is one of their love languages, the subtle touches an endless source of comfort for them both.

“ Mommy!” Nora’s voice is an insistent, urgent interruption, one they can’t ignore. “Mommy!”

Emily sighs in defeat, the moment of peaceful bliss abruptly over.

“I’ll go,” Aaron says immediately, leaving a trail of kisses down Emily’s neck. “I haven’t seen you sit down all day.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” She presses her hips into his teasingly and turns her head to kiss him. It’s a promise of later, another little luxury they still manage to make time for.

“No, but you can show me once the kids are asleep.” He reluctantly lets her go as he heads in the direction of the upstairs.

“Only if I don’t fall asleep first.”

Visiting Santa

“This is not the smartest idea we’ve ever had, clearly,” Emily mutters under her breath as the crowd around them seems to thicken before their eyes. The mall is packed, full of shoppers and families lined elbow to elbow around a colorful, elaborate display to meet Santa. There’s fake snow everywhere, teenagers dressed up as elves supervising the line and a kids’ rendition of a Christmas song blasting from speakers. “What were we thinking?”

“The same as everyone else in Northern Virginia, apparently.” Aaron finds the small of her back through her coat, rests his hand there gently as Emily pushes the stroller a little to soothe Leo. “Not like we had much of a choice, sweetheart. I’ve been gone all week. When else were we supposed to do this?”

“I could have taken them myself one night.” She looks annoyed and rightfully so, as one of the elves announces it’s time for Santa to take a fifteen minute break.

“And miss all this fun?” Aaron jokes. He’s doing his best to hide his own annoyance, yet the flex of his jaw is a tell-tale sign that Emily spots immediately. “Not a chance.”

They’ve been in line for over a half an hour, and will be for at least another half hour. Beside Aaron, Jack grumbles under his breath and rolls his eyes without even looking up from his Nintendo Switch. He’d obliged reluctantly, partly because Aaron had promised him a new video game if he didn't complain. And from where Nora is nestled in the safety of her mother’s arms, she presses her cheek against Emily’s shoulder. “What if we miss Santa, Mommy?”

“We won’t, honey,” Emily soothes, catching Aaron’s eyes over their daughter’s head of dark hair. It’s the third time she’s asked the question, her dark eyes widening as Santa waves to the crowd before disappearing. “He’s just taking a break.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Aaron mutters under his breath. “Even Santa is over it.”

When they finally emerge from the mall almost an hour later, with three cranky children in tow, Emily passes over the photograph to Aaron. “This is an awful picture,” she snickers behind her gloved fist. It’s true. It was taken at the worst possible moment - seconds after Leo started screaming, Nora’s attention anywhere but the camera, and Jack’s eyes closed. “This is even worse than last year’s picture. We can’t actually display this anywhere, you know.”

“We can give it to Dave. He’ll love it,” Aaron jokes as he tucks the envelope under his arm. “Trust me.”

Twas the Night before Christmas

“Move over, Nora!” Jack elbows his sister squarely in the stomach in an attempt to crawl over his sister to get closer to Aaron. “You’re taking up too much space.”

“Ouch, Jack! Daddy, Jack is being mean!”

“There’s more than enough room for everyone,” Aaron says neutrally and cheerfully. It’s clear he won’t pick a side. “Santa doesn’t want to hear the two of you fighting on Christmas Eve. Last time we checked the radar, he was headed to the United States, wasn’t he?”

From where she cradles a milk-drunk Leo in her arms, Emily stifles a laugh in her fist. She makes a mental note to thank Garcia for showing it to the kids earlier that evening. It’s been the only thing to keep them from completely losing their minds with excitement ever since.

“Nora, why don’t you come sit over here next to Mommy and Leo?” He pats the sliver of space between his thigh and Emily’s, covered in matching flannel pajamas as Emily shifts over.

“Okay, Daddy,” she beams, scrambling off the couch and making a point to stick her tongue out at Jack along the way.

“Nora, apologize to Jack,” Emily cuts in smoothly with a sharp look at her daughter.

The little girl pouts even as guilt spreads across her face. “Sorry, Jack.” She breaks off a piece of the frosted cookie in her hand - the one she isn’t supposed to have on the new couch - and hands it to Jack. “Here.”

“Is everyone ready?” Aaron asks once Nora is settled and Jack has stopped kicking his feet underneath one of the many blankets flung around the couch. “No one needs anything?” He grins at the insistent pleas of both kids, hushes them quietly to avoid waking the sleeping baby on Emily’s chest. “Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house…” He begins, as a silence falls over them all.

Emily watches him read, transfixed by the sight of Jack and Nora completely engrossed in the story they’ve heard dozens of times, as if they never have before. Sometimes it still doesn’t seem real that this is their life now. She would have laughed ten years ago if someone predicted her future.

“A happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.” Aaron closes the book in his hands, looking between Nora and Jack. “I think it’s bedtime, what do you think?”

There are grumbles from them both as they trip over each other on their way towards the stairs, not without frequent peeks over the shoulder to see if in fact Santa somehow materialized behind them.

“Maybe Santa will bring us a puppy, Jack!"

Christmas Eve

“You think they’ll be disappointed when none of these presents bark?” Emily jokes once they’ve finished setting up the pile of gifts. There’s a bottle of wine between them, and It’s A Wonderful Life plays in the background on low.

“I told them Santa doesn’t carry pets on the sleigh.” Aaron tucks his arm around her and brings her into his chest, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. “Said it was too dangerous.”

“Did they buy that?”

“Seemed to.” He shrugs. “We might have some explaining to do if Allison and Shane end up getting Jude a puppy, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” In the easy silence the movie stretches on; they share sips of wine and leftover cookies and murmur soft whispers over the final few minutes.

“I love this part,” Emily murmurs as George Bailey reunites with his family in a joyous, tearful reunion and the opening measures of Auld Lang Syne begin to play. She doesn't look away from the screen.

“You love this whole movie,” he teases gently. “You always have.”

“You don’t?”

“I have other favorites. But I’ll always watch it with you.”Outside, the snow has started to accumulate; it’s already formed a blanket of white across the grass, and is covering the trees. It doesn’t look like it’ll be stopping anytime soon.

“This never gets old,” Emily says from where they’re snuggled together on the couch, staring at the Christmas tree and the falling snow out the window. It’s been their tradition to do this since having Nora - set up presents and watch the movie.

They watch the falling snow in silence once again, their fingers linked, heads bent together, enjoying the few extra moments of peace. It’s only when Emily’s eyes drift shut does she realize just how exhausted she really is.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Aaron murmurs as she opens them. “There’s one thing left to do.”

“We did everything. We even answered the note they wrote for Santa. We forgot that last year.” Emily stretches as she stands, her limbs aching. “It’s time for bed, Aaron. I’m so tired.”

“Not quite yet, sweetheart.” Aaron is reaching behind the decorations on the mantle for the small hidden speakers, flicking a button. “I think you’re forgetting something.”

“What?” She yawns, not even bothering to hide it. “It’s so late.”

“You remember,” he says, holding out his hand as the music starts.

Emily rolls her eyes good naturedly, remembering just what he means. “Really, Aaron?”

“One dance, sweetheart. Please?”

“I'm tired.”

He rolls his eyes. It’s a line she’s used many times, yet for some reason, she always gives in. In fact, she’s stepping into his arms before she even stops talking.

“That’s what you always say.” He takes her hand and wraps his other arm around her back, drawing her in close. “Yet you always end up right here.”

“Because I love you,” she whispers, following his steps as he takes the lead.

Some soft Christmas jazz starts to play, a sultry sounding medley that might just lull her to sleep. “This is the song you picked?” Emily rests her head on his shoulder as he sways them in time to the music. “You couldn’t have picked anything more lively?”

“Shhhh,” he murmurs, his hand bracing against the small of her back as he dips her down and brings her back up. “Just go with it.”

So she does, letting him move them both around the living room in a series of smooth, even steps. When the music stops, they still for a few blissful, silent moments. Still wrapped in each other’s arms, they’re close enough together to feel the other’s heart beating in sync. “Merry Christmas, Emily. I love you.”

“I love you too, Aaron. Merry Christmas.”

#hotchniss #domestic hotchniss #happy hotchners #wsne universe #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #birthday fics and Christmas fluff #Christmas in July #for you my dear friend sequinsmile_x #I hope you enjoy

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sfb123 · 3 years ago

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Thank you for the tags, @ao719 @queenrileyrose & @kat-tia801!

I did a lot of writing this week, I received so many requests from the Simping Softness Prompts, and I’m still working through them. Feel free to send more, I’m having a lot of fun with them!

I’ve also jumped back into some old WIPs that started as one shots, and are now going to be at the very least, mini-series. Here’s what I’ve got to share today:

Ballerina Girl 2

(I was going to use the Golden Ticket I earned from writing the first one, but it has taken on a life of its own, and is now a multiple part series)

Liam heard the door to their hotel room open and he rushed out of the bedroom to greet his wife. His excitement quickly turned to concern when he saw her worried expression. “Love, what’s wrong?”

“Why the fuck did you agree to let me do this?” She walked right past his outstretched arms, dropping her bag on a chair before collapsing onto the couch.

“What happened Riley? Are you ok?” He hurried to her side, sitting next to her and bringing her close.

“Of course I’m not ok! I can’t do this anymore, get up on stage in front of all of those people and do that.”

Liam laughed, relieved that it was only a small bout of stagefright that had his queen so worried. “Love, you’re going to be fine. I’m sure your rehearsal didn’t go that poorly.”

“Are you seriously laughing at me right now?” She pulled out of his embrace, “You weren’t there Liam, you didn’t see how bad I was.”

“Well that’s because you told me not to, and I wasn’t laughing, I just...”

“And thank god I did!” She interrupted, “Don’t come to the shows, I can’t have you see me like that. It’s too embarrassing, for me and for you.” She stood up and stormed into the bedroom

***

Untitled Liam x Riley Ask

(So excited for this ask, I knew pretty much immediately it was going to be more than a one shot. No clue when it’s going to come out, but I wanted to throw out a teaser.)

3 Weeks Before

Drake stormed into the royal quarters, finding Riley and Liam sitting on the couch talking as Eleanor colored on the floor in front of them. “Seriously, Brooks?”

“Uncle Drake!” Eleanor jumped up and ran toward him, hugging his leg.

“Hey kid.” He patted the top of Eleanor’s head with one hand, while throwing a box at Riley with the other. “I’m not your errand boy, don’t have stuff sent to my house.”

Riley caught the box, eyes going wide when she saw the return address. “Yes! They’re here!” She yelled as she ran into the kitchen.

Liam and Drake shared a confused expression before Liam followed his wife. “What is it, love?” He came up behind her, placing an arm around her waist and kissing her shoulder.

She cut through the tape with a pair of scissors and placed them down, before opening the box with a grand flourish in front of Liam. “Ta-da!”

***

Untitled Thing

(This is an idea I had, and I’m not sure what I’m doing with it yet, it’s going to be some kind of either ongoing or mini series.)

She smiled and squeezed his hand before turning the knob and guiding him into her childhood bedroom. He looked around slowly, trying to take in every detail. The pastel green walls bordered with hand stenciled ballet slippers, the yellow and white gingham curtains, and matching sheets. The furniture set was older, off white with decorative gold inlay around the edges. “This furniture is beautiful.” He mused, running his finger along the edge of the dresser.

“Yea, it was my mom’s when she was growing up. When I graduated from my Little Mermaid sheets, and got to design my ‘grown up room’ she offered it to me, and I loved the idea so I designed the room around it.”

Liam approached her, placing his hands on her waist. “That’s a sweet story, love. I hope one day, we are blessed with a daughter so that you can pass them down to her as well.”

“Really? We wouldn’t have to use some ancient royal furniture that has been in your family since the beginning of time?” Riley’s eyes went wide.

“No, we are building our family, and your traditions and heirlooms are going to be just as much a part of that as mine.” He kissed her on the nose before motioning to the painting behind her. “What’s that?”

Whatcha got @phoenixrising308 @sincerelyella @txemrn?

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writermuses · 3 years ago

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ALL OF THEM

You know it’s long because this is like over a decade now of OTPs and BrOTPS. It’s a lot a lot lot... So, under the snippity snip it goes. 🎁 🎄 ☃️

From Aurélie to Adele:

Aside from the fact that Elie got her bestie’s little ones enough clothes to replace their entire wardrobes (seriously, she’s been shopping all year someone reign her in) and Lachlan a handpan, she gave Adele clothes and jewelry from her travels and a year’s subscription to the Seed Bank Box so that she can garden and grow her own flowers and veggies, either as a way to relax or do something fun with the family.

From Henrik to Eittie:

It is time for Eittie to be fully converted into a Bostonian. Henri had custom home and away jerseys made for her for both the Bruins and the Red Sox, though he’s sure she was more excited to get a few more plants and some cute new pots for her plants that she’d mentioned needed repotting. His family also spoiled her with dozens of gifts from gift cards to the bookstore, clothes (most of which is Boston-weather ready and themed winter attire), framed pictures from the times she’s joined the Oliwas for holidays, and cute little custom labels with her plant names she’d mentioned.

From Lachlan to Adele:

Lachlan had matching frames made with the years they’ve been together embossed on them. Each contains the paint sample strips with their scribblings on them. His parents, who often take on the kids so they can go on dates, run errands, etc. helped the kids make her ornaments using the handprints of the little ones and the coloring skills of the older ones (paint by number and such) and they continued the tradition of passing along a family ornament. This one was a ceramic ‘C’ with gold detail that belonged to Lachlan’s great-great grandparents.

From Matthias to Alessandra:

Matt had never thought himself to be some eternal optimist, especially after his prior failures in marriage, but he’d always hoped that Aless would come back to them. When she was gone, he’d missed hearing her tell him all the things they got into together while he was away for work. Whether it was a story Brie made up or a retelling of Brie’s day from her point of view lovingly told through her mother’s eyes. So, he’d kept journals and, even when on a trip for work, he’d made a point of either calling at bedtime or having his mother or brothers ask her on his behalf. Each day she was gone was written in the hard cover journals, a little date and a variety of pen colors that . He stacked them up and wrapped them with golden bow. The small card had a winter portrait of a little cottage full of light and covered in snow. “While you were away, every story of every day.”

Other gifts from Micah gifts more typical; a beautiful pearl and diamond bracelet, new home office furniture, and some cashmere sweaters, hats, and scarves. His parents brought her a new dining set. His eldest brother welcomed her back with a new longboard, teasing her that her newfound surf skills probably need brushing up, to which Matt joked back that even as a novice she was already ten times better than he’d ever been- not an unfounded diss.

From Aubrianna to Alessandra:

Brie picked out a “pretty dress” for Aless that she found running through a department store. Matt agreed it would look great on her, so he didn’t say it wasn’t a dress. At school she made her a reindeer ornament with her handprint and popsicle sticks. The snowman shaped card that was also clearly made in school, perfect little circles cut out by her teacher and overly glued cotton balls placed on top reads, “To: Mummy Buon Natale! Love Brie” with a backwards ‘e’

From Micah to Alessandra:

Micah gave all family members a stocking ornament engraved with the Cartwright ‘C’ monogram. Inside the her ornament is a picture of her with Matt and Brie on one of their Sunday dinners.

From Nathaniel to Caria:

Nate’s really really bad at getting gifts, but his secretary knew how much he liked her and insisted he figure it out. So he got her a MacBook Pro, iPad Pro, Apple Watch, and iPhone 13 Pro Max. It’s all a bit selfish, but he only spends about 1/3 of his time in D.C. and he misses her too much. So, Nate logic, Caria can now have all of her services sink easily device to device so that their long distance dates and video calls all easily move from any device she has available and charged. Oh to be young and in love in 2021. Sidenote: He did fill her stocking with so many yummy snacks and cute floral watch bands. He also got her a few of his favorite books.

From Cosmo to Caria:

A little card that came with a small bundle of snapdragons read “Have a pawsome Christmas! A donation has been made to K9s for Warriors on your behalf. Love, Cosmo”

From Octavius to Eittie:

In not-so-teasing fashion and true to Tavi’s hatred of shopping and having “stuff” he bought Eittie a leather backpack and stuffed it with what he deemed travel essentials. Travel shoes, thick jeggings, cute undies, mace, two compression shirts, snacks, first aid kit, Swiss Army knife, travel water filters, socks with wool inside, secret pocket with fake papers and cash... I mean what? At least he put a bow on it.

From Pembe to Adele:

To her new friend, Pem sent Adele and Lachlan a new dining set she designed with their monogram. For the kids, she made a tea set our that’s quite more thick and durable than the ones she makes for use and decor.

From Tadgh to Eittie:

After she showed up in Barra, they swapped numbers to keep in touch a little. He sent Eittie a copy of Selene’s book and a draft copy of his own collection of poems about Lene with a note that read: Happy Christmas, Graveyard Girl. I hope that this will answer some of the questions I couldn’t answer that first time we met. Wishing you and yours a happy and healthy new year, Tadgh, Selene, & Sorcha

From Tadgh to Selene:

Tadgh made her a rocking chair, ottoman, and little side table. The top of the side table has inlaid sea glass under epoxy resin so that it’s a smoothed over surface. The lip of the side table holds a verse from a newer poem of his:

Happiness in every sense of the word: Like the sunrise warms a winter night, I feel its limbs tingle across my skin Like a crashing wave sprays ocean to a cliff, I taste its smile on my tongue Like the wind rustles through spring fields, I smell its presence on my clothes Like fire consumes what was lost and gone, I see its hope alight around me Like mountains shake to bring new life, I hear the its laughter in my home It’s you, my happiness.

From Teague to Eittie:

None of this should be a surprise but everything is red and any detailing is gold form the wrapping to the gifts themselves. Dresses, shoes, lingerie, toys, flowers. There’s silks, satin, velvet. It’s all very over the top and probably didn’t seem like it was that different from other gifts he’s given her, just a lot at once. He did make her a Christmas dinner and stocked their bar with various types of whisky.

From Thaddeus to Rosie:

On Christmas Eve everyone opened their now-a-Winston-Watson-tradition-gift from Thaddy: matching family onsies. This year it was all of the dogs from the sanctuary for the year with little Santa hats or reindeer ears on. He’s not the best at gift giving, so he likes just doing this one silly thing and spending the rest of the time just doing what he prefers: acts of service.

#hernameiswritinwater #ship: rosieus #ship: gunpowder and whisky #ship: sea glass saga #ship: firecrackers #ship: wait to see you like a mile long train #ship: clear eyes full hearts #ship: lachladele #ship: shipping up to boston #christmas2021

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iwach4n · 4 years ago

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i said I'd do it and now it is simp time because punk yamaguchi is the only thing on my mind rn. general hcs for now but perhaps i will do a boyfie hcs for him as well

also yes this is sorta badly written and obnoxiously long its mainly just me rambling all my ideas

punk third year hcs

his confidence has grown drastically since the beginning of first year, especially when it comes to volleyball. but the end of second year and the holidays before third year starts are when he really starts to come out of his shell and experiment with his style

his hair comes first. he doesn't have time to get a haircut for a while, and so he ends up tying it back as a temporary thing. except its no longer temporary because he really likes it

he only does it for volleyball and when he's studying at first, just to get his hair out of his face. sometimes when he goes out on errands.

but he leaves it up after morning practice once, and suddenly he's getting Looks. he would have missed all the blushing stares of the girls (and probably a few guys) if tsukishima hadn't pointed it out to him

his face has become a bit more defined and masculine recently coz puberty, and although he still has pretty soft features, tying his hair up shows off a sharp jawline

he's a bit awkward about all the attention he's getting at first! like he really doesn't know what to do with it. but he slowly manages to take it in his stride (tho he'll still get blushy if anyone outright compliments him on it)

buying a leather jacket on impulse is really the turning point for him. he loves the more confident vibe it gives him, which in turn makes him even more confident

he buys more clothes like that to match it, and by the time third year starts he's decked out with a whole new wardrobe

when the new first years start on the first saturday practice, they're already a little nervous because karasuno has a pretty intimidating rep.

but when they see this guy with long hair, a leather jacket, big boots and ripped jeans unlocking the club room? shaking

that is, until he notices them and starts talking

he literally just smiles and they know they're fine. just immediate 'cool older brother' vibes

he's absolutely great as a captain, he helps out all the new kids and keeps tsukishima and kageyama from being too mean or intimidating

one day, yachi asks if she can paint his nails. he agrees and loves it and now he constantly has his nails painted. they're black more often than not but sometimes he switches it up with random colours. because of the volleyball they're always chipped but it just adds to the whole vibe

tanaka invites noya and all the third years (like the year below them you know what i mean) over to his house to catch up. when yamaguchi shows up he does a visible double take, but before you know it he's giving him an undercut and noya's dying his hair black

he's now a lot more scary at games. not only is his style more evident even without the clothes, he's also spent years watching his teammates intimidate their opponents and he's picked up a thing or two

while hinata, tsukishima and a handful of the younger ones are actively insulting the other teams, yamaguchi can't really make himself do that and knows that as captain he should reign them in

"leave them alone guys, we don't have time for this"

but his confident stare and tiny smirk sends shivers down their spines too

the minute they get round the corner, everyone's clapping him on the back and cheering about how he 'totally made them piss their pants', while he just laughs awkwardly

the first time he does something like that, he genuinely feels bad about it and almost apologises. but sooner or later he just finds it kind of funny

at some point, tsukishima finds some rings that akiteru used to wear (akiteru had a low-key eboy phase in my mind but thats another story) and gives them to yamaguchi. its like a gateway drug to jewelry for him honestly

rings? yes. chains? you bet. bracelets? fuck yeah.

soon enough, he's got a couple of piercings too. he starts off with a few in his ears, but then he gets a lip ring and eyebrow piercing too and he looks sO GOOD

he's pretty much got fangirls at this point. and one thing they love is how he looks really punk and hot but whenever they talk to him he's super sweet and awkward

he forgets to take his lip ring out before a game once and they l o s e t h e i r m i n d s

audible groans from the stadium when ukai reminds him at a time out

(honestly me too i can't stop thinking about how hot he'd look with a lip ring)

(i've been trying so hard to keep it together and not just yell about him this whole time but it's so hard. i'm breaking down man. i've got a crush on punk yams send help)

ukai is also his go-to for advice on piercings, and the man lives for it. he's watched this kid grow from a nervous smol babie to a confident punk child and he's more than happy to take him under his wing and share what he knows

if there's one group of people he knows he'll never be nice to if he ever saw them again it's his old bullies. he’s moved past them but looking back he gets kinda mad

well, one day he’s walking out of saturday practice with tsukishima and sees an awfully familiar group of guys walking down the road, talking about the school, and about “doesn’t that really weak freckly kid from elementary go here?”

well, speak of the devil

remember how they were intimidated by tsukki before? oh how the turntables.

i wouldn’t say tsukishima has a ‘soft boy’ style, but he opts for slightly preppy clothes like button up shirts, knitted sweaters, that kind of thing. and he usually wears lighter colours (beige, light blue, a muted yellow, ygm)

meanwhile, yamaguchi is here with all his black clothes and piercings and newfound confidence, and the way he’s looking at them is honestly a bit terrifying

“t-tadashi?” “who the fuck let you call me that?”

tsukishima is genuinely impressed. probably the first time he’s heard him swear not out of frustration

its a bit of a staring contest until one of the new first years runs up and calls him captain and asks him if they’re getting meatbuns (he totally carries on daichi’s tradition of treating the team to them prove me wrong). he’s back into nice senpai mode when he says he’s buying, but the bullies now know he’s also the captain and it just increases the air of authority he’s got right now

they keep staring each other for another minute or so, and tsukki’s getting concerned because god knows what this kid’s gonna do

but he suddenly just starts walking past them, no fucks given

“come on tsukki. these assholes aren’t worth our time.”

those bullies are left having an existential crisis in the street because that was mildly terrifying and also the last years treated him well damn (puberty hit him like a freakin BUS)

I WAS GONNA END IT THERE BUT I NEED TO TALK ABOUT TATTOOS

while he’s still in high school, he can’t get any tattoos done professionally, but he definitely messes around giving himself stick-and-pokes

they’re all quite small and simple - little stars and smiley faces on his ankles and arms

would probably let the team try their hand at it on him. as a result he has some deformed splodges, something that is just barely recognisable as a volleyball and a couple freckles on his legs joined up like a dot-to-dot (he asked yachi to do a crow on his bicep because she’s the best at drawing but she was too nervous about messing it up)

he’ll also try giving the team some if they want to (though not first years coz to him they’re literal babies). hinata tried to get the third years to have matching ones but tsukishima didn’t want to be associated with them like that and yachi was a bit scared to so they didn’t end up doing it

when he’s old enough, he gets a few proper tattoos, but they’re all quite small and simple. he probably seriously considered getting a big design on his neck (kind of like this) but he ultimately decided against it

in conclusion yamaguchi is punk in third year and my heart is going absolutely crazy over him

(jesus christ this turned out long)

#haikyuu #hq yamaguchi #yamaguchi tadashi #haikyuu yamaguchi #yamaguchi #hq tadashi #haikyuu tadashi #haikyuu yamaguchi tadashi #hq yamaguchi tadashi #haikyuu headcanons #punk!yamaguchi #punk yamaguchi #yamaguchi headcanons #karasuno #anime #manga

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mistabullets · 5 years ago

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could i please request hc’s for 4taro and bruno with a s/o that likes to sew and cook? essentially just a traditional domestic housewife

With Traditional and Domestic Housewife HC’s

Jotaro Kujo

You know the idea that when seeking relationships, men go after people who are like their mothers? That’s honestly Jotaro with you. Eventually he grew up and came the appreciate his mother more. Sure, she can come off as too passive and somewhat childish... but Jotaro comes to realize what a wonderful woman she truly was.

So it’s no surprise when Jotaro met you, you probably share a lot of traits with Holy. You’re your own individual but he can see your caring and maternal nature shine. And it doesn’t help that you like to partake in more traditional feminine things, like cooking, sewing, doing chores, and having taken up a hobby in the arts, like painting or performing.

You don’t particularly mind the lifestyle of being a housewife and letting Jotaro be the breadwinner. You busy yourself with keeping the household in order. Returning the favor, you’ll always make Jotaro his breakfast, a bento for lunch, and dinner is always ready when he comes home. He appreciates your homemade cooking very much!

Jotaro has some unique attire. Sometimes they rip from old wear and you take it upon yourself to sew it back together while he’s away. You even make some outfits for him, including the hats. You worry that they may be too ridiculous but Jotaro is always seen leaving with one of the custom made hats. They always fit perfectly to his liking.

You’re the type who will always say goodbye to Jotaro at the door. While he didn’t like his mother doing this, he learns not to take things for granted. He’ll always lean down and return your gestures and kisses. There’s always a light blush dusting his cheeks despite his usual stoic visage. He attempts to hide beneath his hat. You’ll just giggle and kindly say goodbye.

When he returns home, there’s always the mouthwatering smell of dinner. Sometimes, the aroma is quite nostalgic. Well, surprise! Holy has lended you a few of her recipes, her go-to ingredients, and a list of Jotaro’s favorite food. It’s little recipe book that she gave for both you and your husband but more often, you’re taking advantage of it.

You’re aware of the fact that Jotaro is working toward a doctorate degree. You give him space and time to study in his office. You’ll bring him coffee throughout the day. Usually, you know before Jotaro if he’s exhausted and runninng a fever. Constantly, you’re reminding your husband to take better care of himself, dragging him to the bedroom to rest.

But you’re aware your husband works hard to provide for both of you. You may ask if he feels overwhelmed and check up on him mentally. But he’ll brush away the idea of you possibly picking up a part-time job to try to help (unless you want to, of course). Jotaro does appreciate your concern and kisses your head. “I’ll provide for you and take care of you, dear.”

Bruno Bucciarati

Imagine not only being a housewife, but a housewife to an Italian mafioso? It may be more intense for you and Bruno. But you’re willing to provide for each other and support your amore through whatever. Of course, that’s by taking care of the domestic sphere, sense Bruno would rather not risk you working and have you possibly hurt by someone.

While you respect Bruno’s wishes, you reassure him you can take care of yourself while running errands out in public. You always have a cautious eye when you go to the grocery store or need to send out some mail. Bruno has taught you some basic self-defense, even insisted you carry a gun around for a worst case scenario. But overall, it’s not too bad.

Bruno never had a chance to be a mammoni. While you know your husband is a grown man, you can’t help but spoil him. You like look your best for him, make him plenty of food for him (and his underlings on the special occasion they come over), and buy some his favorite wine. You want this home to be a secured and safe place for your husband and his familigia.

Speaking of familigia, Bruno’s underlings are going to consider you the designated mom friend. And truly, you do act like everyone’s mother, even Abbacchio to some extent. Trish and Giorno will be a breath of fresh air whenever Narancia, Mista, and Fugo are doing whatever nonsense. And in return, the boys are going to be protective of the capo’s wife.

Some nights, you’re greeted by the sight of Bruno, barely a scratch on him. Other nights, however, he is battered, bruised, and bloodied. You sigh but attempt to greet Bruno with open warms and help clean himself up along with his clothes (at least you know how to get blood stains out). Sometimes, there are days where you’re worried sick for your caro.

Bruno realizes your concern. But honestly, you motivate him to come home and see his bellissima. He tries to make it up to you, by lavishing you with designer’s clothes, making sure your needs are met, and trying not tell you much about his line of work. Bruno would give the world to you if he could. He hates making you so worried and scared for his safety.

He eventually wants to retire from the mafia once Giorno has adjusted being the don. Bruno will find a way to leave the mafia and take you to his hometown, remote and safe. He take up the career of a fisherman and would want to start a family with you. You would be fine being a fisherman’s wife. You want children one day. You don’t want to be constantly scared.

However, you also remind Bruno of your marriage vow. You know what you were signing up for when you said yes on your wedding night. While you would like a simple life, you have adjusted well into being a mob wife. Bruno softly smiles, holding you close and kissing you. “I just want you to be happy.” But you already are, just being with Bruno.

#my writing #sfw #jotaro kujo #bruno bucciarati #headcanons #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo #golden wind #vento aureo #diamond is unbreakable #part 4 jotaro kujo #violence mentions #Anonymous

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xempasuchil-love-blog · 4 years ago

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Lost on you - chapter 4

Uma was in the ocean. By the seven seas, she loved the feel of the water covering her, her extended tentacles and her hair floating free. She felt more powerful than ever, the freest and happiest person on the world. The water was clear, and Uma could see corals, a stingray swam past her and pulled herself off to follow it. She felt a tug on her neck. Uma looked down, frowning, and noticed her necklace shining brightly. It seemed to want to tell her to swim faster, to get away from there. Then she saw a large shadow approaching with speed. It was very late when she realized that it was her mother. She began to swim quickly and agilely, wondering if she could escape, if she would find a way to get back to dry land before she reached her. "Ungrateful stupid, come here!" Ursula growled, "you have something that belongs to me!" Uma held the necklace tightly in one hand, continuing to swim, until she felt a hand grasp one of her tentacles. Another of her tentacles whipped the hand, but Ursula did not flinch. She was so much bigger than Uma, she grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to snatch the necklace from her. Finally, Uma felt her cord being ripped from her neck and her mother smiled triumphantly. And suddenly she was drowning. It was not possible. She could breathe underwater; she was a sea creature. What was happening? The water flooded her lungs, suffocating her, pulling her down, and as her vision blurred, she heard Ursula's hideous laugh. "Hey Uma, it's okay, it's okay!" Harry's soft voice enveloped her the moment she woke up. Uma struggled for breath, still feeling the water inside her lungs, her chest hurt, and she was having a panic attack. She clung to Harry and let sobbing sounds roll out of her throat and drift into the boy's skin. Uma felt Harry's hand stroke her hair. She was fine, she was in Auradon. “It was just a nightmare, lass. You'll be fine." And Uma believed him because she had never had reason to mistrust Harry. After that she didn't want to go back to sleep. Harry and she saw the starry night and witnessed the wonderful spectrum of colors that were painted in the arch of heaven as it dawned.

"I heard that you are going to train your crew this afternoon," Jay's voice snapped Uma out of her reveries. They were at lunch, the tray full of food in front of her. Those nightmares were starting to wear her down. She couldn't help but feel uneasy at the prospect that her mother was looking for her. Or maybe they were just dreams brought on by her past and that was it. It could be that Úrsula was far, very far; after all, she had never cared much for Uma. She didn't think she wanted to know about her now that they were free. "Did Gil tell you?" She asked, looking for her friend. She was next to Harry and they both had that mischievous look that they had every time they planned a prank or something. "No, Aziz actually told me," Jay replied, "and from what I see, the rumor has already spread throughout the school." Uma sighed. "A pirate does not stop being a pirate." “So… I want to ask your permission to take the team to observe. They have improved a lot, but I would like them to see your crew, so they may find a bit of their inner toughness. " Uma laughed, a lively laugh that caught Harry's attention without her even noticing. Gil had to punch his arm so he could remember how to breathe. "The little princes learning from the pirates? That would be interesting. Fine". Bonny and Desiree approached the table with the lunch trays in their hands. Instead of wearing some of the things that Auradon (and Evie) had provided them, they wore their pirate clothes, said “good morning” to Uma with smiles on their faces and she could tell they were happy. She looked around the table, realizing for the first time that everyone looked different today. She might not have noticed it because she was thinking about Ursula, but her crew was more like the old crew that hung out at the Chip Shoppe. Gil and Harry planned mischief, Bonny and Desiree looked like strong and confident girls, Gonzo and Jonas played cards. A feeling of pride washed over her. This was what she had fought for, which was why it was worth being outside the barrier for so long. Seeing her people being able to be themselves, happy. She had to behave at the level of a captain. "Okay," she said aloud, drawing her people's attention. "Let's make this lunch interesting, do any of you have dice?" That seemed to cheer them up even more. Uma knew they loved to play dice, they often did it when they were lounging around the Chip Shoppe while she waited tables. Back then, Uma used to watch over them without their noticing, always on the lookout for any argument or fight to break out, although she knew that Harry could control them. She couldn't stop taking care of her people. Gonzo pulled dice from his pockets and they all gathered closer together at the table, laughing, cheering, and gambling. They hadn´t a lot of money, but they could gamble on things like doing someone's homework for two weeks, the two-day dessert slice, or their crew duty shift. This time, Uma didn't look from afar, but instead she joined them, playing fiercely. She blushed when she beat Harry, and everyone demanded the award to be some kisses. Uma knew they were happy to see them together, so she indulged them, much to the delight of the crew. Laughter rang out as Harry took a few seconds to breathe again and Uma swore she could see Gonzo's hand reluctantly depositing a bill in Desiree's hand. On the Island, Uma had once cured each of them, fed them and tried to clothe and protect them. Her crew was not, as many believed, just a group of guys running her errands. They were her siblings, they were her family.

Uma felt the force of her title of captain run through her the minute she touched the hilt of the sword. It wasn't her own sword, and it had a kind of point that couldn't hurt a fly, but it felt good after all this time. It was as if a part of herself came back. "Feels good, huh?" She asked aloud, knowing that Harry was behind her. When Uma held a sword, it was as if her senses were heightened to the maximum. Harry leaned closer and Uma felt a shiver of pleasure run through her as he bent his head and kissed the curve of her neck. Her skin burned where Harry's lips touched it. "No better than this," answered her first mate. Uma bit back a groan that would have been totally inappropriate and turned, sword in hand, to face Harry. For a second, they held their gaze. Desire, love, devotion, that was what Uma found in his eyes. Harry saw the same feelings in her gaze. And suddenly her gaze became playful, provocative, and impetuous, and Harry managed to stop the blow she launched with her sword. Uma didn't stop, she led him to the center of the amphitheater. Practice had begun, but none of the other pirates raised a sword. The captain and the first mate always met first, it was their tradition.

Harry recovered, and suddenly nothing else in the world mattered. It was just him and Uma, slashing, dodging, attacking fiercely, their breaths racing, the sound of metal colliding with metal. Uma had that typhoon in her eyes that made her unpredictable, erratic, and dangerous as the sea, her turquoise hair moved behind her like waves, and she was slippery and agile like fish. This was who she was, a pirate, a sea witch, and Harry found himself overcome by her beauty and power. How could he be worthy of this goddess? He knew that if she asked him to throw his sword to his side and kneel in front of her, he would do so without a second of hesitation. Maybe there was something crazy in it, he always had that weakness, even on the Island, although he knew how to make the winds go in his favor, he gave him that air of madness that everyone had feared. Because no one could be crazy enough to show his deepest weakness on the Island, only him. Uma dodged another of her slashes and suddenly found her sword against his neck. She smiled, breathing hard. Their faces were so close, if she leaned a little more, he would kiss her... "What is my name?" She asked him. Harry melted completely, letting any survival instincts leave his body, knowing that Uma would never hurt him. "Uma," he whispered, his voice low and husky with desire. She smiled shamelessly and winked at him. She pulled the blade of the sword away from Harry's skin and gave him a quick kiss where she had been pressing. "I won," she turned to the crew, who viewed her with the same respect that they had had on the Island. "Gonzo, Bonny, up front." Harry forced himself to move his legs and stay away, but always close to her. It was his duty as first mate to take care of her, so he supervised the perimeter. Jay was in the stands, watching, next to the team, but they weren't the only ones. Apparently, the novelty of Uma practicing with her crew had spread quickly around the school, because there were so many people there. Harry saw Jane, Carlos, Evie, and Doug watching, also Celia and Dizzy were there, Princess Audrey, who was staying a bit away, Lonnie, along with some girls, and Chad. He also saw boys from the Island, and boys and girls from Auradon, who looked really surprised. Harry knew that fencing training was the closest they had ever come to true sword fighting, and yet they would never have seen pirates practice. They didn't follow rules, they played dirty. At that very moment, he saw Bonny hit Gonzo with her elbow, destabilizing him enough for her to make him drop his sword. Bonny was distracted for a second to high-five with Desiree and Gonzo recovered, attacking with strange, quick blows, which the girl defended by hitting his side with force with the flat part of the sword. Then Uma demanded that Gonzo respond, yelling at him where to attack, although at the same time she told Bonny what her weak points were and how she could protect them. Uma never physically intervened in the fighting, she only gave advice and they followed it. Then it was Gil and Jonas's turn. Gil used all the strength he had, which was a lot, to launch the first cut. He was always like that, he never waited for the opponent to attack first, because on the Island that was a death sentence. He never attacked lightly first, he was always direct and fast, but not that agile, so Jonas started to get the upper hand. Uma yelled at Gil to pay attention to his feet, his steps could betray him, making him fall and giving Jonas an advantage. The next second, exactly what she had said happened, so Gil seized the opportunity and tripped his opponent to the ground. Before Jonas could recover, Gil got up and pointed the sword at his neck. Uma nodded at him, acknowledging that he had done well. Harry would often hear surprised exclamations or shouts of support from onlookers. Even Jay looked at Uma with renewed respect and maybe even a little fear. Harry couldn't help but feel proud for her. At last, these people saw her as something more than Úrsula's daughter or the girl who had put a spell on the king. After everyone practiced in pairs (Uma clashed with Desiree), they started joint practice, where basically everyone slashed at everyone. Uma beat Jonas and Bonny first, then Harry knocked Desiree off balance and in the end, it was the two of them again. The last meeting was short but intense. Uma wasn't thinking anymore, she was in her captain mode, but Harry knew her completely, so this time he was able to match her movements and was about to beat her when he decided there were too many peepers, so he wouldn't take away his captain's victory. He dropped his sword at Uma's feet and held her by the shoulders until he saw the swirl of her eyes slowly fade away. She came to, realizing where they were. She released the breath she was holding and turned to smile at her crew. “Nice work, guys. Work on what I told you.”

”Aye, captain.” Practice was officially over. Uma turned to go to the corner where they had left their things, looking for a bottle of water. She drank in long gulps and then passed it to Harry, who drank too. "I really missed this," she told him. Harry nodded. “Maybe we all missed who we were there, huh? Remind me to tell Bestie that maybe the transition would be easier if we can do things that we were used to." Uma looked at him proudly. "That's a great idea, Harry. I think you're right; we can't forget who we used to be." Uma finally caught her breath and raised her voice for her crew to hear. "Now, I want you to wash up and I'll see you at dinner, understood?" She couldn't help but feel her heart warm as she heard his familiar chorus of: "Aye, captain!"

“Okay, so this is the plan. Mal and Ben are coming back tomorrow from their honeymoon and I think we should greet them with a quiet and festive picnic on the beach. Everything is arranged, the food, the decorations, I just need to know who will go ”, declared Jane at dinner that night. Since it was Friday, they had done this thing of putting all the tables together so that the pirates, the Core Four, and Auradon's friends like Jane, Doug, and Audrey were all having dinner together. “Of course we will go, Jane. I want to see Mal and Ben now! ”Evie screeched, and Uma had to avoid wincing at the sound. "Sure, why not?" Said Audrey. Jane looked at Uma. "What do you say, will you guys go?" Uma sighed. "Any excuse to be near the sea." Jane began to chatter about her wonderful plans for the lovebirds' welcome, but Uma was already beyond the conversation. In fact, she was daydreaming about sea ponys.

I also leave here the link to the story in AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30691319/chapters/75732848

#harry hook x uma #uma daughter of ursula #harry hook #Descendants fanfiction #auradon #uma x harry #ursula

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orionwhispers · 5 years ago

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Beware Of The Dogs - Part II

(A/N - here is part 2!!! almost 12,000 words lol. i hate myself. so much alfie fluff and also a little smut(?) dare i say, not really but i tried. i hope you enjoy it, there will be more parts!!)

PART I

PART III

The first taste of freedom was intoxicating.

Your flat was small, with smudged paint and charcoal coloured fingerprints along every wall and a pipe that dribbled stagnant water onto the carpet, but you adored it, because it was yours. You consumed the city like it was medicinal, desperate to see everything and anything. Your insatiable thirst reminded you of bittersweet memories from your childhood, like greedily drinking from the tap with John on a summers morning after spending every moment from sunrise running around the fields. You felt younger and lighter, a sensation so unfamiliar that you mistook it for a sickness at first, before you realised that you were finally free, like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. Your whole body felt electric, the spark that had dwindled inside of you suddenly reignited, you awoke every morning with a sense of purpose, slipping into your work heels and skirt like they were a new skin.

You always were careful though. You introduced yourself as “Rosie Smith” to anyone who asked, the alibi becoming second nature and slipping off of your tongue like sweet wine whenever you needed it. You felt like you could be a whole new person, you weren’t even sure what was real and what was fantasy, the big city engulfing you and dragging you under. You had heard people say that London was too overwhelming, that they couldn’t make themselves heard, but you loved that. You loved that no one knew your real name or who your family were, you loved that people skipped over your face in the street and let you drown in the crowd. You hung around backstreets and ran through alleys, never staying in one place for too long, you were always cautious, because you knew that all it would take was one sighting from a stray Blinder and your game would be up.

You didn’t plan to stay in London. You knew eventually that the Blinders would expand their company to the capital and it would only be a matter of time before you would be sniffed out by the hounds and dragged back to Birmingham by the scruff of your neck. Edmund had an opening lined up for you down South, and you were planning on saving your pay checks for a cottage to call your own, but before you knew it you found a reason to stay.

Two months after you arrived, Edmund sent you on an errand. It was November, the sky was a vibrant blue, the ground icy and the harsh wind was licking at any exposed flesh. Weeds grew from cracks in the pavement, leaves dripping with dew and the trees were almost entirely bare, naked branches swaying above you. You pulled your coat closer to your skin, blowing hot air onto your hands as you made your way down the street. You were in Camden, a part of the city that you had left unexplored, and you repeated Edmunds hazy directions in your mind like a mantra.

You had visited a quaint bookshop, with plants lining the windowsill and novels stacked crookedly on top of one another, the smell of dust and paper filling the room. Edmund had been on the phone with the owner for weeks, bargaining a price for some first edition Jane Austen’s that had arrived, but by the time you had got there, the woman informed you that they had already been sold.

You scuffed your heel onto the solid ground, frost sticking to your shoe. It was the first task your boss had sent you and you would be returning empty handed, it might not have been your fault but you still felt defeated. You made your way back the way you came, through the park with big looming trees. You were amazed by the vast sapphire sky above you, and the flame coloured leaves that fell on the ground. You were certain you had never seen colour like it before, Birmingham seemed like an eternal grey, and you were engrossed by the spectrum around you. You were so distracted that you didn’t even notice the dog bounding towards you until it was too late, and his massive mud covered paws slammed onto your dress.

“Cyril! Cyril! Down boy! Bloody dog.”

You heard him before you saw him, his voice raspy and gruff. You were entranced by the dog, he was huge, with fur the colour of amber and big hazel eyes that followed your every move. You knelt down to his level, not that you had to go far, and rubbed the fluff on the back of his neck, watching his tongue loll happily. Your knees prickled at the sensation of the cold ground and you felt dampness soak the fabric of your dress, but you didn’t care.

“Oi! Cyril, off mate. Get up you big lump.”

The dog relented, leaning into your touch and sighing, his back leg twitching with glee. A large hand wrapped under his thick leather collar, pulling him back gently but firmly and the big dog fell onto his haunches, paws skidding across the frost tipped grass. You glanced up at the figure that now stood before you; tall and solid like the oak trees planted in the dirt all around you. Surprise made you gasp, bitterly crisp air shocking the back of your throat, so cold it almost tasted metallic in your mouth. Before you could say anything, he offered you a large hand, olive coloured and calloused, and you took it without hesitation. He hoisted you to your feet with little effort, the dog sniffing at your heels, his tail wagging with such force that you wondered if he might take off. You looked up at the man, trying to keep your gaze steady and cool, but his presence was unsettling. He was very handsome. Not in the traditional way perhaps, not like the clean cut boys from back home with sharp haircuts and shaven faces, he looked strong, powerful, as if he could command attention with just a look. He’d certainly captured yours. Your stomach was tight, blush rising to your cheeks as you glanced at him, an unwelcome fever brewing inside of you, you felt ridiculous, small and meek beside such an alluring man. You couldn’t help it, he was unlike anyone you had ever seen before, with his wiry beard and strong nose and rose coloured lips; even the tall hat on his head and the tattoos that marked his fingers, they were all intriguing to you.

You smiled up at him and shrugged softly, toying with the hem. “Its OK. If anything I think he improved the design.”

He was silent. He watched you, his eyes unwavering as he studied your face with such intensity that it made you shiver more than the cold chill of the breeze.You desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, but he remained impassive, his sea glass coloured eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn’t quite comprehend. It seemed as though he was inwardly debating something, his eyebrows furrowing.

You were about to make a hasty excuse and leave, the prickling thought that you were behaving like a child stinging your skin like nettles. You wondered if you looked impossibly young and immature compared to the rest of the women in the city that this handsome stranger probably surrounded himself with, but before you could conjure up words, he opened his mouth, seemingly overcoming the battle he was having in his mind.

“Where are you headed?”

His name was Alfie. You introduced yourself as Rosie and told him that you were heading back to work in Highgate. His accent was thick and unusual to you, but somehow it made you feel at ease, somehow familiar. You wondered if your accent was strong to him, wondered if he could detect the “brum” inside of you, and you hoped he didn’t ask about your past, for some reason you didn’t want this stranger to know anything bad about you.

The two of you walked side by side along the cobbled path that ran through the park, it was quiet, almost empty except for the odd dog walker or couple. A low fog had formed around your ankles like the tide, and you watched Cyril chase some squirrels into the bushes, a rumbling growl emitting from his throat. You were mostly silent, your hands shoved into the pockets of your coat for warmth, clenching and unclenching your fingers from nervousness. Alfie seemed to be mulling something over in his head, his lips moving ever so slightly. Only after you had walked about fifty yards did you notice the cane in his hand, his fingers wrapped around a brass lions head adorning the top and the ever so slight limp in his gait.

“So, what do you do?” You asked eventually, your frozen breath lingering in the air for a moment.

“I own a bakery.”

You stalled for a moment, looking him up and down, pupils flittering on his fine jewellery and expensive three piece suit. He mirrored your gaze, mimicking your movements, his cane thumping suddenly on the solid ground. You smiled suspiciously and raised your eyebrows, not even giving yourself a moment to think before you asked incredulously, “How much bloody bread do you sell if you can afford a Patek Philippe pocket watch?”

As soon as the words came out of your mouth you regretted them, but you didn’t miss the spark of curiosity that flickered across Alfie’s eyes and the twitch in his upper lip. Damn Tommy and his affinity for designer brands.

He toyed with the golden chain tucked into his waistcoat, stroking his thumb across the expensive hardware and pinching the dial.

“You’ve got a fine eye.”

“My dad was a collector.” You lied. The only things Arthur Shelby Sr collected were empty bottles and spots on his liver, anything he owned that was worth something was quickly pawned for cigarettes and alcohol.

Alfie looked you up and down, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and you hated how your stomach flipped. “Right, right.” He smiled. Your comment had obviously knocked him off guard, and you could almost see his mind whirring, trying to figure you out. “So, what are you then, some kind of jeweller?”

“No. I’m a secretary, I work for a publisher. I only started a few months ago.” You couldn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, since arriving in London privacy was the one thing essential to you and your camouflage, but something about this mysterious stranger had you spilling your secrets. He had an aura about him that intrigued you, attracted you like a bee to sticky, warm honey.

He swung the cane from the ground, tilting the end towards the street that curved in front of you, using it like he would a pointed finger. “That new one up by the butchers? My mate was in there last week.”

You smiled, “Yes, that would be the one.”

He whistled suddenly, and Cyril’s large caramel head lifted from where he had stuck it down a rabbit hole, the big dog lolloping back to you both immediately. You stroked his velvet ears gently, as his body rammed into your knees and Alfie watched you, his eyes trailing you up and down once more. “So what brings you out to Camden? A woman like you shouldn’t be in a place like this.”

You stopped, “A woman like me?” You didn’t try to sugar coat your tone,

He held up his hands and you noticed the rings adorning his fingers, so close that you could cut your teeth on them. “I mean no offence, right,” He leant in slightly as if he was telling a secret, the heat of his body hitting yours. “But Camden is a bad place filled with very bad men.”

“It seemed perfectly safe to me.” You quipped. “Besides, I’ve dealt with my fair share of bad men.” You faltered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, you only recovered when Cyril nudged your palm and licked the tips of your fingers, begging for crumbs. “I wasn’t there for very long,” you added quickly, wanting to change the subject from the truth you had let slip. “My boss sent me out looking for first editions, but they were all sold when I got there.”

He nodded, sucking his tongue, the ghost of a smile at the edge of his mouth. “You’re not from around here are you?” He asked finally, and you were close enough you could see the outline of his lips as he enunciated his words, and you traced them, familiarising yourself with every dip and divot.

“You can tell?” You pulled away, not allowing yourself any more time to drown in him, you felt small and young and stupid beside him, watching him like you were a child, but what you hated more was the ache in your chest when you pulled your gaze away.

“I would have remembered a face like yours.”

You felt heat rise to the tops of your ears, and could only imagine the colour of your cheeks. You kept your eyes trained anywhere but him, following a magpie dart into the bare branches of a tree, ebony coloured feathers glistening under the milky blue sky. You had reached the end of the path now, stood beside the iron gate that led back into the street. You listened to the roar of the cars and the people around you, but neither were a match for the thumping of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears.

You could feel him watching you as you stepped onto the pavement, stood at the top of the road that would separate the both of you. You spun on your heel so you were facing him. You dared to look up and meet his gaze, noticing the scarring and texture on his cheeks that you hadn’t spotted before, his features flourishing in the sun, no longer able to hide under the shadows of the trees.

“I should head back to work.” You said, first to break the silence that had formed between you like a sheet of ice. There was no awkwardness, but rather unease, neither of you knowing quite what to say to the other. You had never been in a situation like it, never felt so nervous in front of someone who wasn’t blood, and little did you know that Alfie was feeling the same, observing you under the pale light and wondering how you left him so winded.

“Let me walk you to the office.” He insisted, voice thick and raspy.

You appreciated his offer, and truly wanted nothing more than to spend as much time as possible with him, but the voice inside your head reminded you that he was a distraction you couldn’t afford to have, not right now anyway. “No, thank you, but I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

He shook his head, starting to protest but you held up your hands, silencing him with your movements and the soft look in your eyes, he rolled his own in defeat, pursing his lips. You moved closer to him, filling in the gap that separated you, the icy breeze and the recklessness of your actions making goosebumps rise along your spine.

He smelt like leather and cedar, warm but musky, and you thought if you closed your eyes you’d be stood beside the wood burner in the house you grew up in, watching the firewood crumble into ash. You had never been this close to a man who wasn’t related to you, the only time you could recall was when you were fourteen and Harry Miller from your arithmetic class asked you to the pictures. You lied to your family for the first time that night, telling them you staying at Isabella's for dinner after school. You can remember the smell of buttery popcorn and half chewed toffees as you sat sucking on a liquorice whip, your shoulders brushing ever so slightly against Harry’s cotton shirt. Your hands were slick with anticipation and nerves from your rebellion, but the film hadn’t been on for more than five minutes before the doors swung open and you heard John and Arthur hollering your name under the flickering lights.

But you were alone now.

You could sense his eyes roaming across you, so delicate and intimate it was almost as if he was running his fingertips across your skin. You felt so alive and it terrified you, how could somebody you had spent less than an hour with make your whole body feel like it was catching alight? Before you could think you stretched out your hand, Alfie hesitated, a smirk on his lips as he covered your palm with his own, the warmth and the spark that ran through your blood almost making your knees buckle but you ignored it as you looked up at him.

“Goodbye, Alfie.”

“Goodbye, Rosie.”

That night he infiltrated your dreams. You woke at midnight after hours of tossing and turning and sat on the windowsill, watching the stars. The air was icy and you pressed your back against the old radiator, the dull warmth soothing you as you tried to get the constant thoughts of him out of your mind. For the first time in a long time you were focusing on someone who wasn’t a sibling, for the first time you had a tight coil your stomach, knotted like a rope and you felt strangely hopeful. But as soon as the thoughts came you pushed them away, you weren’t in the right place to let anybody in, everything you had worked so hard for could come crumbling down around you if you weren’t careful, you couldn’t afford to risk it all. So with a heavy feeling in your chest, you pulled your blanket over your eyes, settling into the cheap mattress and willing yourself to sleep, ignoring the tall, handsome man who tried to climb inside your mind. You couldn’t be distracted.

The next morning you woke up late, your head throbbing from exhaustion and your eyes blurry and sore. You let the cold air wash over you like a wave as you ran down the street, boot laces untied and top messily tucked into your skirt. You were panting by the time you reached the office, swearing as you rattled the doorknob and it whined in protest, you finally got it open, tumbling across the doormat and smiling hastily as your colleague Elizabeth’s head snapped up.

You didn’t notice the package until after you had made a steaming mug of coffee, inhaling the nutty aroma and letting the heat hit the back of your throat. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with red string, nestled on top of the paperwork you had been meaning to sort out. You frowned in confusion, looking up at Elizabeth with a furrowed brow.

“Oh, right, I forgot to mention it, sorry. A boy dropped it off for you this morning.”

Your mind immediately filled with storm clouds, rampant thoughts running through your brain like wild horses and you briskly ran into an empty office, shutting the door behind you so you could tear open the surprise in peace. Bile rose in your throat, there was no note written on the top or return address, and all that did was enforce the sickening feeling that somebody had found you, somebody bad.

Your fingers were shaking as you manipulated the wrapping, tearing off the ribbon and smoothing down the sides, your heart pounding and your mind immediately thinking the worst. You were expecting a threat, your over active imagination wondering if you had been sent a severed body part as a warning, but as you unwrapped the present, your heart stopped for an entirely different reason.

There were books. Six of them exactly, in pristine condition, the covers vivid and exciting, begging you to open and devour them. You hesitated, not daring to run your finger along the spines despite them pulling you like a magnet. It took you a second but realisation struck you like a stream train. They were first editions. Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, authors you adored and admired. You felt your adrenaline spike, like when you ate too many sweets as a child, that nauseating kind of elation that spread throughout your entire body. Edmund was going to be thrilled, you tentatively opened the cover of “Oliver Twist” a story that had always reminded you of your own family, and watched as piece of paper fluttered onto your shoe.

“I hope you can find some use out of these - Alfie.”

The next time you saw him was on a Friday, after work. The sun had set, the streetlights burning yellow, and the night air so cold it cut like a knife. You had stayed late and twisted your key in the lock, your fingers growing numb, trying to move as quickly as you could before you froze on the spot. You were dreaming of getting home, slipping out of your shoes and crawling into a hot bath, you could practically hear the tub calling your name. You turned around, rubbing your hands together, preparing yourself for the bitter walk home, but you jumped in shock as you saw a silhouette watching you under the pale light.

“Alfie!” You muttered, recognising his features and trying to keep your voice steady despite the surprise bubbling inside of your throat. In any other circumstance you would have been scared, terrified of being alone in the dark with a man you barely knew, but looking at him, you felt nothing but a calm wash of ease flow over you. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped closer, the familiarity of his features striking you in the gut, rendering you speechless just like the first time you met. Luckily for you, he filled in the silence that surrounded you both.

“I was waiting for the shop to close.” He said, his eyes darting across your face and towards the locked office behind you, if you knew him better you would dare to say he seemed apprehensive. “I wanted to walk you home.”

You swallowed quickly, your back growing warm and your toes curling together, suddenly feeling lightheaded and dizzy. “You wanted to walk me home?” There’s a hint of bewilderment in your voice, the only men who have walked you home - beside from your brothers- had been Blinders ordered to keep you safe, stealing any independence you had from a young age. You had always loathed those escorts back home, the men eyeing you as if you were a criminal, ready to run as soon as they looked the other way. You hated losing control and being forced to put it into the hands of whoever Tommy deemed suitable, and as much as you hated to admit it, you felt a gentle twist in your stomach at Alfie’s gesture. It seemed genuine and kind, something you weren’t used to.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be walking alone at night.” The words left him as quickly as running water, and it took you a minute to digest them, fiddling with the keys in your hands like they were a puzzle waiting to be solved. There was no malice or condescension in what he says, and you could see the ghost of a smirk on his lips, and as you looked at the innocence on his face, you could feel a hammer being slammed against the walls you have built around you.

“Are you flirting with me?” You asked finally, quirking a brow and looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“You finally noticed?”

You laughed, soft like snow hitting the pavement and Alfie felt his heart stop. The sky was jet black and these cold months seem to make everything darker, ebony surrounding you like the ocean but as your eyes met, a spark ignited between your bodies. He felt himself unconsciously drawing closer to you, the unfamiliarity of what he was about to do no match for the attraction that connects the two of you.

He brought his thumb to his mouth, scratching the chestnut coloured hairs that decorated his upper lip, flitting his eyes to the ground and tightening his grip on his cane with his other hand, using it to level himself. “Look, the other day in the park, right? I don’t usually do things like that. Well actually, I never fucking do it.”

You frowned, “You mean, you’ve never asked anybody to walk with you?”

“No.” He interjected, the truth of what he’s saying evident on his face. “Look.” He continued, eyes looking everywhere but your own. “It’s just not me, and I honestly had no bloody idea why I did it.”

You sucked on your tongue, taking in everything he said, not knowing what you should respond. Wondering if you’re imagining the magnetism that flows between you, wondering if you’re about to be made a fool and leave with your head hung and your tail between your legs. But whilst your mind fills with dark clouds, Alfie continued.

“But, truth be fucking told right, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your eyes snapped up and connected with his, and the urgency makes the both of you smile, connected by your mutual unease at the situation you have found yourself in. He has never opened up to anyone, let alone a girl he’s known for less than a day, and you’ve never been as close to someone as you are now. A moment passes, and given that you haven’t run for the hills, Alfie took it as a good sign and turned back to face the street, gesturing with his arms.

“So, where are we headed?”

Your first date was at a bar in Camden. Alfie picked you up in his car at eight, swallowing thickly when you opened the door and came out in your finest dress, his pupils blown out like he had done a line of snow. You talked all night and into the morning, drinking glasses of rum and champagne in a gold and blood coloured booth at the back, away from any prying eyes. He listened to everything you said, hung on to every word, and any break in the conversation was filled with soft looks and timid smiles. He was so burly and big and unlike anyone you had ever encountered, hard around the edges but melting in the middle when he looked at you, whilst you were so beautiful and sweet and gentle and unlike any woman he had ever encountered in the smoke of London. When the sun finally rose again and the fatigue was setting in he drove you home, promising to take you out again and you climbed up the stairs like you were in a daydream, squealing with happiness after you watched his car turn a corner and vanish down the road.

You always met up at twilight, somewhere dark and secluded where you could both be alone. It was perfect for you, you needed the privacy, you couldn’t imagine what would happen if your family found out you had begun seeing someone, let alone a man like Alfie. As you got closer, the guilt in your stomach constricted your insides like a python, you despised the lies that came out of your mouth whenever he asked about your family or your past, you hated the way that you erased your family as if you were ashamed of them. You reminded yourself though, as Alfie smiled at you, with wide teeth and shining eyes, that you were doing it for his sake, his protection, but a month or so after you had first gone out, you realised just how little he needed your help.

Maybe you had been naive, maybe you had been so wrapped up in your infatuation that the warning signs had turned into butterflies but you ignored the omens from the start. You were a smart woman, and you had grown up with enough cloak and dagger that you should have seen the signs as they unravelled around you, but you were too swept up in emotion to care.

The first time you noticed something wasn’t right was at work. Edmund had thanked you profusely for the books, running his hands across them as if he was in a trance, fingertips gently tracing the spines. He asked you where you had found them, and you told him that you had been sent them as a gift.

“Well, that’s brilliant.” He said, “You must tell me who, I need to write a thank you letter.”

You nodded, smiling to yourself, “I’ve already got it covered, I don’t have an address though, would you be able to help?”

“Certainly. I’ve lived here my whole life. I might know him.”

“His names Alfie, he owns a bakery and - ”

You watched Edmund pale like he was draining a pint of bitter, his obvious discontent evident on his face, and he held the books limply in his palm as if they had transformed from something magical to evil in mere seconds.

“Edmund are you alright?”

He ignored you, walking around you and shutting the door to his office, peering into the hallway to check you were alone. You were about to question him once again but he opened his mouth first, silencing you with a look that could cut through leather.

“How do you know Mr Solomons?”

You frowned, “We met that day you sent me into Camden, he walked me back to the office.” You spoke as if it was the simplest thing in the world but the way that your boss regarded you made your body twist together, worry constricting your airways.

“I know it’s not my place.” Edmund started, his voice barely above a whisper but his words held as much conviction as a punch in the gut. “But you must be careful - ”

“He was perfectly nice, I mean...” You didn’t dare tell him that you had been seeing Alfie for weeks now, the information you had already wanted to keep private suddenly seeming forbidden.

“Rosie. Promise me you will be careful? You can’t trust men like him. He’s dangerous.”

You wanted to ask Edmund who the hell he thought he was policing you as if he was your father, but the way the older gentleman ran a hand through his greying hair and chewed on his lip you stopped yourself from protesting. “I knew I never should have sent you out that day.” He mumbled, and you tried to pry more out of him, but the conversation was over as quickly as it started and he held up his hands and left, leaving you confused and alone.

You made your way to the bakery on a Saturday, Alfie had changed the time of your date from the afternoon to the evening claiming that he was busy with work, but your insatiable need for the truth overpowered the rational part of your brain. It wasn’t hard to find. You retraced your way back to where you had first met, through the park and along the canal, arriving at a bustling market. From there you simply asked for directions from a very hesitant vendor, only promoted with a twenty you shoved into his palm. You would be lying if you said that the hairs on the back of your neck didn’t stand up as you made your way deeper into an alleyway, surrounded completely by men who watched you with greedy eyes.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you noticed the similarities between the bakery and the business back home, the same boat yard with its stagnant smell and looming crates, the workers whose hands were dirty and eyes were distant and the darkness that surrounded you like a robe. You thought about turning around and running back, the knowledge that the perfect bubble you have created would shatter like glass if you continued, wanting nothing more than to stay in your candy coated daydream you had made, but you knew that you had to do this.

You were ignored for the most part as you made your way inside what you assumed was the warehouse, the smell of baked goods and dough hitting you like a steam train. It was a good cover, the first floor completely filled with men rolling and kneading batter between their palms, cases of rolls and loaves packed and ready for shipping, but you knew that it was all false. The men here were heavy set and covered with tattoos, as unconvincing in their aprons as they were likely to break out into song in front of you.

A man spotted you, his head snapping up and voice tight and prickly. “You can’t be back here! Oi!What are you doing?”

You opened your mouth to apologise and ask after Alfie, but before you could a distinctive stentorian voice echoed through the room like a rumbling carriage and you followed it, chasing it down a hidden set of stairs. Your curiosity was piqued, you were nervous but filled with determination to find the man whose voice surrounded you like the ocean, and you smiled as you saw the tops of his curls jutting out from above rows of barrels and kegs. You almost called out his name, but a sharp strike of something metal made you stop in your tracks, the sound so carnal and sickening that you stay rooted on the spot, concealed in the shadows.

“What the fuck are you lot playing at? I’m paying you all good fucking money right, and all I ask for is a bit of fucking respect!”

You lifted your head, trying to angle your vision and get a better view. There were about a dozen men, dressed like militant workers but with their heads bowed in shame. They were lined in a crescent, all cowering from a figure in front of them, strong men shaking like lambs being brought to slaughter.

“That fucking shipment right,” He continued, “It was very valuable and all you fucking pricks had to do was make sure it got there on time, now you’ve made me look like a mug. Am I a fucking mug to you?”

“Boss... I...”

“Shut up.” The voice was so familiar but something inside of you prayed for it to be a case of mistaken identity, especially when another blood curdling thwack echoed around you, and the slump of a body hitting the floor made you gasp. The movement of your inhale made a stray bottle fall from next to you, green glass sparkling as it cracked and shattered onto the floor, the noise making every head snap towards your hiding spot.

You swore you could feel a million eyes on you but any attempt to flee would be futile, having captured the attention of almost every man in the room.

“What the fuck are you all looking at?”

He stepped out from the murk, blood splattered on his white cotton shirt like some kind of abstract painting you could never understand. His hair was loose, tousled from his hands, chains and rings adorning his fingers, catching the light ever so slightly. He looked raw, not hiding behind an expensive suit or lavish grandeur, you would have thought he would have looked softer like this, almost exposed in front of you, but if anything it made him look more powerful, almost... frightening.

It took him barely three strides before he saw you, he was still mumbling under his breath, wiping his hands on a handkerchief in his pocket, the fabric slowly turning red. He lifted his head up, spotting you instantly and faltering, stopping dead in his tracks, his face pale, his eyes glassy. He blinked, softening ever so slightly, he opened his mouth and almost choked on the air, turning away as if he couldn’t bear to look at you.

“Ollie.” He said after a minute, and you watched a boy of about Finns age stand by his side immediately, “Take her into the office, alright lad? Let me finish up here.” His words seemed controlled, but you could hear the tremor of anger in his voice and you feel your knees buckle, reminding you of waiting outside the headmasters office when you were a child, waiting for the inevitable punishment.

Ollie approached you, much kinder looking than the rest of the men you had seen working here, and he gently beckoned for you to walk down the final few steps. He guided you into the vast warehouse, his hand hovering behind your back, but never quite touching it. Everyone’s eyes were still on you, questioning and domineering, but you kept your head held high as you passed them. Alfie’s body was blocking most of your view, but you couldn’t help the bubble of surprise that rose in your throat, some kind of strangled squeal escaping when your gaze dropped to the floor, and Alfie spun around immediately.

The man was lying on the ground, probably only a handful of years older than yourself, a pool of crimson laying around his crown like some kind of fucked up halo. Alfie’s eyes never left yours, he swallowed thickly, running a hand over his face as if he could restart his vision and you would no longer be in front of him, safely tucked away at home, away what you had seen. Ollie didn’t hesitate, finally grabbing the small of your back and pushing you forward, down a long corridor and into an office, slamming the door behind the both of you.

Back in the warehouse the tension was thick like a cloak, Alfie’s breathing short and tight, rage coursing through his veins, adrenaline bubbling inside of him. The men kept their eyes trained on the floor, sensing the anger inside of their boss, all of them terrified of being the one who bore the brunt of it.

He cleared his throat, the sound low like a rumbling wave. “If I catch any one of you fuckers looking at the girl - even fucking thinking about her, I will cut your cock off and feed it to my dog. You see her you keep your head down and keep fucking working. Is that clear?”

A chorus of agreements circled around, Alfie was less than satisfied, wanting to drill his message in everyone’s fucking skull, but the thought of you waiting for him, perhaps scared of him, was enough for him to leave his subordinates and find you.

It was silent for a few minutes, you attempted to control your breathing and the unsteady pace of your heart whilst Ollie awkwardly scratched his curls, shifting his weight every couple of seconds and you watched his sock falling down his leg with his movements, a welcome distraction.

“So you’re the girl?” He asked, his voice raising an octave, plucking up the courage to try and out a face to the stories that had been clouding his mind for the past few weeks.

“The girl?” You enquired, tilting your head.

“Yeah. The girl.” He repeated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “The one that Alfie can’t stop...”

Before he could finish the sentence you were dying to hear, the door rattled and swung open, the sound of Alfie’s boots filling the room before he did.

“Fuck off, Ollie.”

You wanted to scold him for his language towards the boy, but that thought quickly dwindled as you felt his presence behind you. Ollie didn’t scurry away like you imagined he might, obviously used to his boss’s harsh tone he instead bid you farewell, smiling kindly as he left the room. Alfie was behind you, not knowing how to approach, not wanting to startle you yet afraid of the silence that surrounded you. You kept your gaze on the mess of papers and files and folders all across the desk, so different to the calm and cleanliness of Tommy’s office, the contrast overwhelming.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He tried to keep as many expletives out of his mouth around you, but his resolve was wearing thin. He walked around the desk, chewing on his upper lip, avoiding eye contact with you and trying to keep his cool, despite the millions of questions he wanted to ask.“You shouldn’t be here, right, how did you even find it? I mean...”

“It’s a distillery!” You interrupted, much more enthusiastically than you had planned, the pieces finally slotting together. His love of rum, the barrels and kegs, the shipyard and the fake bakery, suddenly everything made sense. It was a brilliant cover, and his cunning scheme gave you a newfound respect, and you looked up at him admirably whilst he stared back at you, dumbfounded.

Alfie exhaled loudly like he was deflating, his whole body slumping until he practically fell into his chair, exhausted like he had done laps around the park. He had to admit that he was impressed, and his attraction to you had grown stronger knowing that you had sought him out, and had sussed out his business significantly faster than any of the coppers had, but now this meant that you were tangled up in his web of danger, after he had tried so hard to not let you get involved.

Twisting his neck slightly, he could feel the droplets of stray blood staining his skin, their message loud and as repetitive as an alarm, warning signs telling him to let you go. He had been foolish, he had let you get close, since the very first time you laid eyes on another he knew he was in trouble, and yet the usually artful man had allowed himself to act like a commoner.

“You should go home.” He said, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together as he mulled over his words. “I can have one of my lads drive you.”

“What?”

“You should go ‘ome.” He repeated, “Forget everything you’ve seen today,” He cleared his throat. “Look, I’ll give you something, for the trouble yeah?”

He rummaged around the top drawer of his desk and you gawked at him incredulously, “You’re trying to pay me off?” You asked, your tone false and high pitched.

“How much are we talking?” He continued, ignoring you entirely and sorting through notes in his hand.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask me that.”

He rifled through the money, fingers moving at an impossibly fast pace and his eyes following the movement, knowing that if he looked at you he was at risk of crumbling. You moved around the wooden desk so you were on the same side as him, slamming your hand onto the edge of the oak, letting the noise speak for you.

He sighed, placing the bribe on the table, halfway between both of you.

“I’m not taking that.” You said, turning your nose up at his ridiculous offer.

“You should.”

You moved closer, and you noticed every time you inched towards him he shifted backwards. You looked at the splatters on his shirt, ruby red like the jewels that adorned his rings, something oddly beautiful despite the brutality. He could feel your eyes on him, knew you were looking at the grim reminder of just what kind of man he was, the kind of man that didn’t deserve something as heavenly and innocent as yourself. Unbeknownst to him you were thinking the opposite, if anything you felt like your connection was strengthened, joined by the sinful things that seemed to follow you like a menacing shadow. Perhaps you were being stupid, you had left Birmingham to get away from the melodrama of your family and here you were wanting to get tangled up with someone potentially just as chaotic, but watching him under the pale yellow lights in his office, you wanted nothing more than to be close to him.

He was trying to push you away, but he had already anchored himself to you. There was something familiar about his actions, the attempts to pay you off and wallow in self pity. You hadn’t come to London looking for anything, but you had found each other, and after years of letting others make your decisions you dug in your heels, you would no longer let your choices be moulded for you, it was your turn to get what you wanted.

“I’m not scared of you.” You said finally, the heat of your gaze and the warmth of your words making him look up, his tongue in his cheek.

“I’ve done bad things.” He argued, and you moved closer, your belly filled with butterflies. You were acting impulsively, edging towards him like the low tide, as if invisible magnets were pulling you towards him. He was following you closely, he prided himself on his ability to be one step ahead of his enemies, but with you he was at a loss, his head swimming when he looked at you for too long, drowning in your aura.

“You were in the war, you couldn’t help it.” You replied.You were almost touching him now, and he pushed back in his chair slightly, allowing you to slip in between his legs, resting on the edge of his desk. The feeling of the wood in your spine the only thing stopping your whole body from going numb from adrenaline.

“The wars ended.” He countered. He wanted to touch you. You were radiating white hot, and he wanted to let his fingertips ignite as he felt your flesh. This wasn’t like at the clubs, there was no noise, no distraction, you weren’t dressed to the nines but you looked just as beautiful, and he wanted to feel the pulse of your heart as he pressed his lips to your throat. You were intoxicating his thoughts, so small and meek and gentle and yet you had him trailing after you like a puppy.

“Not for everybody.” You said, opening your legs a little, letting your knees touch his, an action so delicate yet the effects hitting you both like you had been doused in ice cold water.You were fully clothed and hardly touching and yet you had never been this intimate with someone before, heat contracting from both of your bodies, your words soft like smoke.

“You should leave, it’ll be safer that way.”

You leaned in and you felt him open his mouth to speak, to tell you to stop, but the smell of you and the closeness of your skin made any rational thoughts dissolve inside of him. You had kissed a few boys before, all young and immature and all just a way to anger your brothers, and you were worried you were going to feel inexperienced as you pressed yourself against him, but you didn’t want to keep thinking, you wanted to feel him.Your nose brushed against his, the curls in his beard coarse against your soft skin, his breath on your neck. Your eyes met, his pupils dark and frantic, and you smiled softly and he swore his heart burst, so you pushed yourself onto him, your mouths meeting, and he felt like you were resurrecting him. You slipped on to his lap, and he ran his hands through your hair, any protests or logical arguments for why you should both stop vanishing, melting into one another, warm and soft but also desperate and greedy, like addicts desperate for another hit. You pulled away far too soon for his liking, resting your forehead against his, breath levelling, the rise and fall of your body against his electrifying.

“I’m not going anywhere, Alfie.”

—-——————————————————-

You had always been a fan of summer, loving the heat and the late nights and the wildflowers that bloomed all around you, but you would have happily traded in all those summer evenings for the first winter you shared with Alfie.

It was cold, blisteringly so, leaving you with numb fingers and frost bitten toes but your insides were gooey and warm like melted chocolate, your body ethereal and light. There was no label on your relationship and that suited both of you, but after that magical kiss you shared in the silence of his office it was obvious that the two of you were bound together. Alfie wanted to keep you safe, he was essentially putting a target on your back every time he looked at you, every time he felt himself being drawn to you, but he couldn’t be the bigger man and let you go. He had hazy memories of love, being a teenager and kissing a school friend in a back alley, but those memories were shattered on the front line. As he grew older he preferred visiting a brothel and taking out his frustrations there, he didn’t have time for a relationship, couldn’t allow himself a weakness, but something about you had expelled the lock from around his heart, one he didn’t even know was clasped shut.

You kept your relationship a secret. Alfie knew Camden like the scars that littered his palm, and you’d meet at dusk, roaming through his kingdom without any qualms. To you he was a beautiful enigma, handsome and unpredictable and quick witted, and you longed to uncover all of his secrets. He could be guarded, to his workers he was thunderous, his voice echoing around the walls long after he had finished his rants, but to you he was quiet, wanting to drink in all the words that left your mouth, rather than speak himself.

You’d meet in the morning, walking Cyril through fields when the grass was so icy it hardly moved beneath your boots, Alfie pulling him away from chasing the ducks into the freezing water. His coat would rest on your shoulders when he walked you home from work, leaving the bakery long before he was due to just so he could guide you through the streets, your hands brushing together under the light of the moon.

After hours he led you around the distillery, voice filled with pride as he showed you his magnum opus. He would offer you his rum, feeling like his mouth might tear in half as he laughed when you choked on the flame coloured drink, pulling you into him and tasting his work on your lips, your innocence mixed with his sin. You’d sit in the back room of the warehouse, knees pressed together, him looming over you, his broad shoulders touching the smallness of your own, listening as you talked, his heart racing like he had downed dozens of pints.

Maybe a month or so later, those bitter mornings grew colder, and soon the sky was filled with clouds, thick snowflakes falling onto the streets and covering the pavement with a blanket of ivory. You had been with Alfie, Cyril at your heels, watching the deer run through the park, watching them leap and canter across the heath. It had been snowing lightly, but it wasn’t long before the sky darkened and the gentle dusting turned into a flurry, the wind whipping around you, melted snow covering your clothes. You squealed lightly, Alfie wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer, his large body shielding you as Cyril mimicked the deer and attempted to eat the falling droplets. You felt like your whole body was alight, could feel the strong muscles of his stomach as he cradled you, a sense of of comfort and security that you had never experienced before.

“C’mon,Pet,” he muttered into your cheek, hot air against your skin. If he wasn’t holding you so tight you swore your knees would buckle and you’d drop to the floor. “Let’s get you home, you’ll bloody freeze to death out here.”

You both turned on your heels and started the walk back, Alfie slowly intertwining his large fingers with yours. It was a foreign feeling for both of you, Alfie not remembering the last time he had locked hands with someone, but your delicate palm against felt so right it was as if you were meant to be moulded together, like the ivory sculptures he had seen at an art gallery years back. The thought made him falter momentarily, gripping his other hand tighter around his cane, the only affection he had had for years.

You had barely reached halfway, your feet sinking into the snow and the cold attacking any bare flesh you had exposed, before the path in front of you was nothing but a blur of white. You had never seen anything like it, it was beautiful and pure but also unnerving, the streets you had familiarised now unrecognisable, Alfie’s hands in yours the only thing keeping you steady from getting lost yourself.

Alfie stood next to you, running his tongue along his cheek and across the ridges of his teeth. Inside his head was a whirlpool of thoughts, all so strange and unfamiliar he was certain that if he said them aloud they would burn his tongue, but something about the way you felt beside him made him want to fight his usual instincts.

“We can’t go any further, right, we’ll turn into snowmen. Carrot nose and all.” He tried to keep his voice steady, his finger gently touching the redness of your frost bitten nose, feeling himself tighten when you smiled shyly up at him. “Come back to mine.”

————————————————————————

Alfie’s house was nothing like you imagined.

London was so different from Birmingham, it was more advanced in so many ways, the architecture was beautiful and revolutionary, and everywhere you looked was filled with tall buildings and towering structures. You knew he made a lot of money, you could see he ran his business with a firm hand and was obviously reaping the rewards, but you weren’t attracted to his wealth. You liked his artfulness, his dedication, you liked that he never apologised for the man he was, and most of all his underlying kindness that only appeared around you.

Nevertheless you were expecting a flat, probably on the highest floor, overlooking the city below. Perhaps filled with expensive furniture and modern art that decorated the walls, a doorman that required identification before you could leave the reception, but the reality was so much better. He lived in a cottage, just outside of the city, a small walk from the bakery but just far away enough that the noise and bustle stilled for a moment.

Everything was covered in white, but you could see the faint outline of a pebbled path leading to the front door. There was a line of flowerbeds either side of you, filled with overgrown green plants, their leaves drooping from the weight of the snow. The roof was thatched, something you hadn’t seen often and the brickwork was intricate and delicate, and ivy grew along the walls, climbing towards a window.

“It’s beautiful.” You said.

Alfie turned to look at you, finding himself smiling at your childlike wonder. He was rummaging in his pocket for his keys, Cyril impatiently scratching the front door, the big dog grumbling quietly. Alfie stilled. He liked watching you, your face red from the cold, eyes wide, taking in your surroundings. He looked at his house, he had bought it years ago and only used it as a place to eat and sleep, but even then he spent most nights at work, hunched over his desk. It wasn’t a symbol of his accomplishments, he wasn’t a man who dreamt of a manor or mansion, to him he preferred his wealth in other ways, power and order, but seeing you gazing up at it, he took a moment to take it in, appreciating his home in a way he hadn’t before.

He found his key, twisting it in the lock and pushing the door open. He held it for you, letting you walk in first, Cyril at your heels, the warm air cradling your body. You stood on the doormat, wiping your winter boots and trying to dislodge the mound of snow that had settled on your heels as Alfie brushed past you quickly, pulling off his shoes and rubbing his hands together.

“Right, I’m gonna go and put the fire on, alright Dove?”

You tried to not let the effect of his pet name show on your face but your whole body felt as if it was grinning, the term of endearment warming you up quickly. You nodded, tentatively undoing the buttons of your coat, trying your hardest to stop water from dripping onto the floor.

Alfie obviously noticed your struggle, pointing to a door at the far end of the hallway. “The loo is just down there, so you can freshen up and whatnot.” He cleared his throat, “And there’s a drying closet for your wet things and such in there too, you can’t miss it.”

With that he disappeared into a door on his right, and you noticed droplets falling from his jacket to the floor, leaving splotches along the wood. You flexed your fingers unconsciously, feeling goosebumps at the base of your spine, and you rapidly followed his directions, locking yourself in the bathroom he had mentioned.

You sat on the edge of the claw foot tub unlacing your boots, sighing once you pulled them off of your feet and realised your stockings were soaked through. You shrugged off your coat, your scarf and your winter hat, bundling them in your arms as you tiptoed across the oak, making your way over to the drying closet. You hung everything up, placing your shoes upside down the way Polly had taught you when you were a child, pushing the memory away as soon as it came.

You took a moment to catch your breath, looking into the mirror hanging above the sink. You wiped away a few stray flakes of mascara from under your eyes, and patted the apples of your cheeks, hoping for a natural flush of colour to replace the ashen tone the cold had given you. You realised as you caught your reflection in the glass that this was the first time you had been alone in a mans house, but more importantly than that, you didn’t feel scared or uneasy at all. If anything, you felt comfortable and the longer you spent apart the more you craved to be in Alfie’s presence. It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling, wanting to constantly be around someone, and you wondered if Alfie felt the same.

You slipped out of the bathroom and walked back the way you came, noticing Cyril through a gap in one of the doors, curled up fast asleep on a velvet dog bed. You pushed open the door to the living room, smelling fresh wood and smoke, Alfie’s broad back blocking the view of the fire you could hear roaring behind him.

Alfie felt your presence and turned around, a crooked grin on his face.“There you are! Was worried you had fallen down the bloody plug ‘ole.”

You laughed, rubbing your hands together, the warmth of the fire suddenly noticeable, the heat hitting your body. The room fell into a comfortable silence, Alfie moving to sit on the sofa, gesturing for you to join him. You fell onto him, resting your head on his shoulder and curling your legs underneath yourself. His hand moved to your hair, eyes watching the flames dance as he combed through your locks with his fingers, feeling the softness against him. There were a million things Alfie wanted to say to you as the quiet consumed you both, but the words were stuck in his throat like cotton wool. He wasn’t sure how to articulate himself properly, how to tell you that the last few months had felt as if the soot had left his lungs and that he could feel the rhythm of his heart once again, something that he had thought he had lost a long time ago. He was used to ruling with an iron fist, he knew how to chew someone out, make them submit to him, but handling you, something so delicate, was new territory for him.

He wasn’t great with words, so he didn’t use them. He lifted your head to meet his, cradling you in his large hands, so soft and pure and angelic under the roughness of his calloused palms. His lips met yours, kissing you in a way you hadn’t experienced before, desperate for the feeling of you. He tried to be gentle, he wanted to show his affection in the kiss, wanted to silence any doubts you might have, wanted to show you a different side of him, but you were deadly, the feeling of your lips and your hands and your hair as electrifying as the rum he would drink to numb his thoughts, his very own personal nirvana.

He stopped too soon for your liking, and you felt yourself pout, dragging your swollen lips against his, pleading for more, but one look at the want in your big eyes and he pulled back, shifting so the two of you were apart. You frowned at him, curious for the lack of attention, his eyes flitting around the room and far away from your own.

You moved closer, your hand shifting to his thigh, but pulling back when he jumped, hissing slightly at the feel of your palm against him.

“Alfie?” You asked, leaning up, brushing your lips against his once more. He tried to resist, but he couldn’t, opening his mouth and devouring you, your sweetness tainting his bloodstream. Your foreheads pressed together, and before you knew what you were doing you were in his lap, pressing yourself against him, unsure and inexperienced but full of desire, your hands moving to his hair.

You shifted slightly and Alfie groaned into your mouth, and the sound rang out like a gospel to you but an alarm to him, and he pulled back again once more.

“Pet… Pet, we should stop.”

You were breathless, your voice hoarse. “Why?”

His fingers tentatively grazed the edge of your face, pushing a stray hair behind your ear. “Because right, this is all moving too fucking fast and I don’t wanna do something you’ll regret later.”

“I’m not going to regret anything.” You said honestly. “I… I want this.” The desperation in your tone was embarrassing and you inwardly cringed, but you were being truthful, you wanted him.

Alfie sighed, running his hand over his eyes. “Look, I know that you’ve never done anything like this before, OK… and I don’t think it would be right if we carried on.”

His words stung and you pulled back, feeling young and foolish and naive. You knew you were inexperienced, but the fact that Alfie could tell you were a virgin made heat prickle along your body.

“You don’t want me?” You asked quietly, so soft like silk but soon turning to flames and scorching Alfie’s skin, turning him frantic.

“No I really, really fucking want you, right, and that’s the problem.” His voice was low, thick with lust that made him feel guilty yet urging him to continue. He felt starved of you, he wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything, but the risk was too great. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You glanced up at him, shaking your head. “You won’t.”

“I’m not good, dove, not good for you. You should be with a good man, a kind man.”

“Alfie.” You sighed, ignoring the protests in your head and instead crawling closer, settling between his open legs, watching as he took a sharp breath. “You are a good man.” You pressed your lips to his neck, around his throat and at the bottom of his jaw, your face brushing against his course hair. He had never been touched so delicately, you felt angelic under him, like some kind of messenger from God designed to make him weak, make him crumble.

He was done being patient.

His hands wove around your waist, careful but longing, running his fingers over you like you were sacred. “When I look at you I can’t think straight, and that’s bad news for a dangerous man like me.” He whispered into your hair, his words made you melt onto him, making him stiffen and cradle you, the feeling so euphoric.

Your eyes met and you smiled at him and he knew he was done for.

“Alfie, take me to bed.”

—————————————————————

The sun was setting, you could see the colours through Alfie’s window. Pink and purple coloured the sky like streaks of paint, the world going dark. Alfie was next to you, your head on his chest, and you felt warm and comfortable, your body alight. He ran his finger along your spine, liking the feeling of your skin reacting to his touch, goosebumps rising as he circled and traced patterns along your flesh.

He had never felt like this before, it wasn’t a simple fuck or a drunken mistake, and as he looked down at you, watching the slow movements of your breath, he realised that he had never let a woman sleep in his bed. He was fucked. He wanted you, needed you, he didn’t know why, but something had brought you together that day, he was sure of it. He never allowed himself to have a weakness, something that his enemies could manipulate and destroy, but you were like a drug to him, and he was a hopeless addict.

He wanted to tell you everything, wanted to say that you drove him mad and made him weak, but he couldn’t muster up the words, they felt ridiculous on his tongue and he felt like a child. So instead, he used the tactic that worked best, control. He knew he would never own you, you were not his possession or his property but he wanted you to understand that now you were bound to him, that he didn’t want you to leave, that he wanted you by his side.

“דו ביסט מייַן” He said, words running over you like warm honey.

You tilted your head, “What does that mean?”

“You’re mine.”

You blinked up at him, drowsy and content and happy. “And you’re all mine?”

He scoffed, his boyish tone returning, booming and full of life. “Course I am Pet, been yours since the very first time you fuckin’ looked at me.”

You both laid in silence, mulling over the sentences separately, bare skin against one another, an owl hooting in the distance. You relaxed, closing your eyes, your body aching and sore but in such a delicious way that you wanted to savour forever. You felt the bed dip, Alfie reaching over and slapping your thigh playfully and greedily, completely enamoured by you.

“Right, shall I put a cup of tea on, Rosie?”

Rosie. The name hit you like a slap in the face, making you feel pale and sick and faint. All of the lies you had told swam in your head, great white sharks of guilt gnawing at your skull. You had given yourself to this man, felt him above you, kissed his skin, giggled into his shoulder, moaned into his mouth. He trusted you, and yet he barely knew who you were. You looked at him, completely bare in the dim light of the room, so big and burly but kind and silly. You didn’t want to lose him, you didn’t want to be without him, you didn’t want your family destroying the one thing that finally made you feel something.

“Yeah, a cup of tea sounds lovely, Alf.”

#alfie solomons imagine #Alfie Solomons #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #alfie solomons oneshot

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sergeant-donny-donowitz · 5 years ago

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Oceans Away (DonnyxFem!Reader)

Requested by @cass-danvers

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tealaquinn @struggling-bee

Let me know if you wanna be added to the basterds, or OUATIH taglists :)

Donny blinked. How could it be? Could it really be you? After so many years? Across all the oceans? Over all the mountains, beyond all the valleys, the battlefields? How could it be that he saw you there, in the face of death, in the hall of Emmanuelle Mimieux's cinema, on the night of Nation's Pride's premiere. How? Then he remembered... his faint smile fading as he realized you were telling the truth. All along. Hans Landa introduced you to the basterds and to the spy.

At that moment, you saw right through their plan... And you smiled. Donny looked into your gloomy, joyless eyes, where he once marveled at the radiance of light and hope. Once, not too long ago. And he understood why it was all gone and forgotten when Landa introduced you as, "La mia fidanzata," His fiancee. The world crumbled around Donny as his eyes glazed over... Landa gave Donny and Omar their tickets back, and asked if they'd be gentlemen, and escort his fiancee to her seat, while he caught up with his old friend, Bridget von Hammersmark. Donny made Omar go back to the seats alone... Donny had some things he needed to sort out. Number one...where had the light of your eyes gone? ************************** Winter, 1939 Donny was uptown, running errands for his mother. He got cold, and had enough time to get into a coffe shop. There, behind the counter was a familiar face, though the name escaped his mind. You both graduated from the same high school a year before. You appeared, as if from thin air, in the middle of your sophomore year. Every now and then, Donny heard people talking about you. Gossip, mostly, about the strange, uptight Hungarian girl. ...Most of it was negative. He never really cared too much for gossip to begin with. He figured everyone was just being mean to the new kid, as usual, though he couldn't help but notice how much of it painted you as a liar. Still, he wasn't very intrigued by it... Just the pretty face standing alone, day in, day out, seemingly unbothered. And there, a year later, was the same unbothered, smiling girl. A ray of sunshine, he'd always thought. And yet, people treated you like you were from a world beyond theirs. "Y/n?" He remembered your name at the last second, and he smiled as he said... How could he forget? It was such a pretty sound, he thought. You looked up from the register, a little stunned that Donny Donowitz, was standing there, talking to you, even though he never had before. "Y-yes?" "It's nice to see you!" You smiled at him, though you were a little confused, you didn't mind seeing a familiar face, and being greeted so kindly for once. "It's nice to see you too." And just like, Donny became a regular at that old counter, every Tuesday, Friday, and Sunday afternoon, at 4 o'clock sharp, like clockwork. Every single time, it was a medium cup of black coffee, two sugar cubes, no cream or milk. Before you knew it, it was April, a drizzly afternoon. He came in as usual, greeted you with the same smile, made the same small talk, and politely asked for the usual...almost shyly, in fact. But no, you thought, each and every time. Donny Donowitz just wasn't the shy type... Or so you thought, until he finished his drink, as usual, and cleared his throat, which was most unusual. "Y-Y/n..." "Yes?" "Do you....uh....you...What time do you...get off of work?" You were a little off guard, and took a moment, but answered, with the same kind smile and warm eyes, "Six o'clock." "W...would you want to uh." He panicked...which you no doubt noticed, but woudl never admit for his sake. "Wanna get some coffee?" He immediately widened his eyes and clencehd his jaw in embarassment. You giggled, but nodded, "Sure." You leaned over the counter, "Except, tea is more of my...well cup of tea." He laughed, a little nervously, but full heartedly. And just like that, "Sundays at 6" became another one of your traditions. It wasn't quite a 'date,' and it never really felt like it... Though you wished there was more to it... And then it was summer, 1940. Donny broke tradition. He didn't kid you about getting coffee, and you didn't feel like tea. It was over 100 degres out, after all. He asked if you wanted to go out the next Friday night. He took you out to a carnival, and you got some lemonade instead. Then, it was every Friday night... Until one day, Donny was consumed by curiosity. Why didn't anyone want to be around you back then? He always asked you about Hungary, and you always told him. He never got tired of listening, and you never got tired of him....

But that night, he just needed to know. He'd imagined the blue Danube, and heroe's square, and couldn't get over the way you described Budapest. "So...why'd you leave?" You were silent for a moment, then shook your head with a sigh, "There are things in the world you don't understand yet, love." You sipped your lemonade, distracting yourself from the thought you inevitably faced: The lands you knew as a child were war torn and blood stained...and there was nothing you could do about it. Donny didn't quite understand. He chuckled,"Cause I ain't in college like you, that it?" You rolled your eyes and giggled, "No, it's because you're oceans away."

You led him to your apartment, "Won't your parents be-" "I live alone." You sighed as you unlocked the door. It was an odd, extra moment before you flipped the lights on. Donny noticed something even more odd, a brief somber shade in your eyes, just before your turned back to him, with the same familiar smile. He'd heard the news. Hungary had allied with Germany. You'd already heard... You already knew. "What's wrong?" "Nothing." Nothing Donny could understand, you thought as you slumped on your couch. "You can trust me, you know that." He crouched in front of you, and looked up at you. "Just tell me...Tel me everything." You sighed, "You read the paper, you heard the radio. You know what's going on in the rest of the world, with the war and everything." Donny nodded slowly, "Yeah..." "Well...that's why I'm here." He didn't quite follow. "My mother's Jewish...she sent me here, where it was safe." He looked at you, and bluntly murmured, "You're not telling me everything." You nodded, with the same conviction, "You're right." Donny asked again, though this time there was a twinge in his voice, signaling his hurt, "Why won't you trust me?" There were things that boys like Donny weren't ready to hear, things people like you knew to be true. Things the rest of the world didn't quite know... Nightmares that had not yet made their way to front covers or news flashes, but were on the front lines and in homes far across the oceans. Things you'd seen, but couldn't quite explain, even if you wanted to, So you did your best. "My family is what I guess you could call nobility, back in Hungary. To keep power, with Germany and all, my father arranged a marriage for me, and an Austrian man for when I was old enough. My mother sent me away. She knows that... She knew..." Your breath hitched in your throat with a teary knot. She knew. You knew. And now Donny knew... You'd be forced to marry a monster some day. On that day, the beaming bright joy in your eyes would be gone, all for nothing. All for diplomatic bullshit. All for an abomination called Hans Landa.

But there were things you still couldn't tell Donny. Not without proof. Who would believe you? Who'd believe that you'd seen the blood, the innocence? No one ever believed you before...

You'd seen things. You'd seen shadows following you. You were being watched and you knew it. The game was over. You'd lost... It wasn't safe for you. And if it wasn't safe for you, it especially wasn't for Donny. And you told him so. "It isn't safe here, Donny. Not with me, not here...Not anymore."

"What? But I-" You shook your head. "Whatever it is, we can...we can go to the cops, ok? We can go and-" It was much bigger than the Boston police department. "Stay out of this." "What?!" "The world is bigger than Boston, Donny. Scarier too." You looked at him, and spoke bluntly, "And you know nothing of it." "Wh...what's gonna happen to you?" He knew you, and he knew you weren't a damn quitter. "I need to go." "Where?" He wanted to know you were safe, no matter where you went, and that you knew that you had him to lean on. But you were past that. It was a matter of life and death...and if your suspicions were correct (and they were) Donny's life was in danger. "Anywhere. Anywhere but here. Anywhere, where no ne knows me, where I can't be found..." You put your book down... It really was over... "Sounds lonely." Donny smiled softly, as he looked up at you, love in his eyes, hinting silently that he would go anywhere with you. To the ends of the world and back, if you only said the word... But you didn't. You pretended not to notice. "Sometimes... Sometimes it might be... But life is lovely, Donny." You rested your hand over his, "You just don't know it yet... You haven't lived. I mean, really lived." He sat on the ground, looking up at you. He looked around the tiny apartment, and all the memories it held. His world was small compared to yours... Boston didn't hold a candle to Budapest. You'd seen it all, done it all. But you were wrong. He had lived. Donny had known what life was, what it was all about from the moment he saw you that winter afternoon. He was alive every second he spent with you. He wasn't in college like you, he didn't know the world like you did, but he understood.

He wouldn't follow... He didn't know where you'd go, and frankly, you didn't either. But he knew he loved you. You both did. And that was what hurt you both that night...that last night... That last time he saw your eyes, beaming with hope and starlight. ************************************************** "So this is where you've been all along, huh? Oceans away?" He smiled softly, and your heart melted as you sighed with a broken hearted smile, "You remembered." He looked down. It was cruel and unusual. It was ironic. He found you, oceans away. And as he held your hand, he felt an engagement ring around your finger. He'd lose you to Landa, and you'd lose Donny to an inevitable fate. One you had no knowledge of yet. And for once, Donny knew something you didn't. "Y/n, listen to me. It's isn't safe for you here."

You couldn't help but smirk a little. It was all too familiar. You'd learned to run and hide for years...but that was all over. You never really were safe. Not without Donny. And he learned that you were right. He hadn't learned to live, he hadn't seen the world the way you did until he went to war. He understood why you ran so far all those years ago... And he understood you were tired of it. But it hurt to see the gloom in your eyes, like cold charcoal, where there once was bright hope.

He smirked a little, as he rested his hand against your cheek, "I know you don't wanna marry that asshole." You rolled your eyes, as if that wasn't the most obvious thing in the world, "And I know you're up to something." Donny nodded slowly, and said, "You need to get out of here, kiddo...." You shook your head, without a word, without even a sigh. "I ran away once without you, my love. I'm not making that mistake again." He looked away for a moment, down at the ground, knowing that familiar thought that kept him awake on sleepless nights, thinking of you. His one mistake was not running and following you to hell and back. He wanted to live, really live again, and he knew he could only do that by your side. So he nodded. He gazed at you intently, knowing whatever choice he made, whatever words he said next, he'd have to stick to, and would change the world as he knew it. He had his mind made up. It was you and Donny against the world. "Wait outside. Outside the theater...Ya might wanna wait down the block, if I'm being honest." "But-" He shook his head again, "Do you trust me?" You pursed your lips, and looked up at him with a soft smirk. The tables had turned...but goddamn if there was anyone, anyone at all in that god forsaken world that you trusted, it was Sergeant Donny Donowitz. Your Donny... Your love... So you nodded.

Donny smiled and looked down at you as he wrapped his arms around you, and did something he'd wanted to do for years. He kissed you... And naturally...when he made his way to his seat, Omar queastioned him about the mindless smile and the red lipstck stains smeared over his lips.... Omar also couldn't smirk as he heard the explanation and the slight change of plans.

You waited across the street, and lit a cigarette as you waited, without an inkling as to what the hell was happening in that theater. You had no idea what the ungodly roar was coming from. Your hand shook slightly with nerves as you flicked at your lighter, and took a smokey breath. You looked up at the sky for a moment, for the first time in a long time, with hope. And in that brief glimpse that you looked away from the theater, all of history changed. Your life changed. Everything changed. Two figured emerged, like phoenixes, born into a free world at last, ready to take flight. Donny ran to you, taking you in his arms, spinning you around, kissing you... It was everything you'd both wanted. Donny looked to you, with that familiar smile, and felt alive the instant he saw the fire reflecting in your eyes... The same old light was back. Embers emerging from the dead coals, an ardent, aureate glow that kept him going all those years, and would keep him going for the rest of his life. As of that moment, as you and Donny gazed into each other’s eyes, you had your life, your love, and your world back...

And as you threw your ring into the hellfire, you took Donny's hand. Your heart was yours to give.

#Donny Donowitz #donny donowitz imagine #donny donowitz x reader #Inglourious Basterds #inglourious basterds imagine #Quentin Tarantino

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canid-slashclaw · 4 years ago

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The Outliers - A Guild Wars Love Story

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapters 10 and 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16 , Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26 Chapter 27

The weekend had come and Kaleb was getting ready to see many of his comrades-in-arms once more. As he was helping Ulfgar with some of the preparations for the upcoming party, he remembered asking his old friend if he had taken Amalthia's ring size measurement.

"Hey Ulf. Have you, by any chance, had time to find out how big a ring will Amalthia need?"

The old norn stopped his work, smiled at his friend then waved for him to come forward. "Come, lad. I've something to show you."

The massive norn took Kaleb to the upstairs room he resided in during his off hours. When he saw the decorations in Ulfgar's sleeping quarters, he was amazed at the number of sculptures and paintings.

Ulfgar opened an ornate wooden chest then pulled out a small wooden box and handed it to Kaleb.

"Open it, lad."

When Kaleb did, he could hardly believe what he saw. Tucked inside the mahogany box was a large diamond ring with a solitaire, brilliant-cut gem.

"My gods, where did you get this? It's…" Kaleb was at a loss for words.

"Beautiful, yes? It was crafted from dwarven gold filigree and the stone was set by one of the finest jewelers in Lion's Arch. Take it, lad. It's yours to give to your love."

"I... I don't know what to say, Ulf. All I wanted was a measurement. I would have eventually found a ring."

"No, lad. The both of yas are like me own adopted kids. I want you to have it, and I won't take no for an answer." The old norn handed him the box.

Kaleb examined the diamond and marveled at its brilliance. "Where did you get this rock?"

Ulfgar walked over to his late wife's dresser and pulled out the tiara. Kaleb could clearly see that the largest stone was missing.

"Ulf. No. I can't accept this."

"Like I said, lad. It's yours. My dear Glorina would be smiling from the Mists right now if she saw a part of her go to you and your mate."

Kaleb bowed in respect to his long time friend then pulled out a bag of gold coins and handed them over. The old norn refused the offer.

"This is a gift, friend. Use the gold elsewhere, perhaps to buy Amalthia a fancy wedding gown," Ulfgar said with a warm smile.

"This is such an honor, Ulf. I'll never forget this. Thank you!"

"No, boy. The honor is all mine."

***

Evening came and several of Kaleb's Seraph army buddies arrived at the Jotun's Corpse to reunite with their comrades-in-arms once more. He had not seen his two closest friends in several months and having them visit their old haunt felt like old times.

"So you're a Lieutenant in the army now, right?" Kaleb asked his friend Cynthia.

"Yes, indeed. Made rank just a couple of weeks ago. So where's the misses?"

Kaleb looked at the front door and pondered. "She went on a few errands. She should be back at any moment."

Brad walked through the door as he held it open for someone else who was entering. It was Amalthia.

"Look who followed me in," Brad said as he turned to help her with some items she was carrying.

Kaleb and Cynthia immediately leapt off their barstools to help her out. Almost immediately, Amalthia was greeted by hugs from both Brad and Cynthia. Kaleb gave her a kiss then carried the items she had bought to their upstairs room.

"It's so good to see you, Ama. How've you been?" Cynthia asked.

Amalthia twitched her ears and smiled. "Just great! Kal and I have been crazy busy with expanding our little business venture."

"Yeah, I heard. Our folks heard about the way the two of you cleaned out that pack of undead over in Seaside Village. Nice piece of work there." Brad complimented her.

"Thanks. He and I work so well together. The coin we earn is just a nice perk."

Ulfgar walked up and boldly gave both Cynthia and Brad a big hug. "So good to see the two of yas again. No worries, all drinks are on the house."

"Ulfgar!" Both of them said in unison as they returned his hug.

"So you're Kaleb's new landlord? I knew that slob could never afford a place on his own," Brad said in jest.

"I heard that, bro. And who says I can't afford it... huh?" Kaleb returned the jab and laughed.

Ulfgar passed out the drinks as Kaleb and Amalthia snuggled close together and Brad and Cynthia did the same.

"I heard you guys have been knee-deep fighting the undead up in Sparkfly. Making any headway?" Kaleb asked.

Brad took a draught and shook his head. "It's a stalemate right now. Those Orrians are endless. It seems like every time we de-animate a bunch, at least two dozen more crop up."

A small, skinny, shaggy-haired young man came running into the bar shouting to the top of his lungs in a panic.

"A bunch of charr are heading this way. They've got weapons galore."

Amalthia looked up and cheered. "It's my warband!"

Kaleb looked at the young man. "It's okay, Flipper. They're Ama's friends... I least I hope they are."

She pointed towards the door and nodded with a smile as she waved to them once they entered. "Hey guys, over here!"

One by one, members of the Blade warband stepped though as humans in the tavern backed away in fear. The leader of the group, Krenesh, seemed to relish in their fear and made every effort to accentuate his menacing facial expression. Navina followed, acting indifferent to the people around her. Bogo and Tovu, on the other hand, made it a point to wave at everyone in the establishment.

"Greetings members of the mighty Blade warband. As owner and proprietor of the Jotun's Corpse, I bid you a warm welcome," Ulfgar said as he waved them over and offered them a selection of drinks.

Amalthia leaped off her seat and gave each member of her warband a traditional charr style handshake by grasping at the base of the forearm. She started with her leader; Krenesh then did the same for each one until she worked her way to Tovu.

"Hey. How did you make it into our warband?"

Tovu said sheepishly. "Nice to see you Amalthia. All of my bandmates were killed in a separatist attack. I was the only survivor. Thus, I became a gladium. If it weren't for Bogo, here, I would still be one too."

Kaleb, meanwhile, reached out his hand to Krenesh. "It's good to see you again, sir. I hope all is well with the Blades."

Remembering their last odd encounter, Krenesh only returned a half-hearted handshake. "Yeah. Couldn't be better. Is the beer around here any good?"

Navina shook her head. "Is that always the first thing you've gotta ask whenever you go someplace new?"

"Oh. Good to see you too, Navina." Kaleb saluted her as well.

She held up her stein returning the gesture. "Same goes for you, loverboy."

"Navi, I missed you!" Amalthia said as she gave her warband sister another hug and clanked her stein in toast.

"Missed you too, cub. So now you and this human are a permanent pair, right?"

"For as long as the other draws breath. Yup!"

As Krenesh began drinking from his mug, Brad approached him from the side.

"So you're the leader of Ama's warband? Name's Brad Pendragon - second in command and best friend to that joker over there," he said as he pointed in Kaleb's direction.

"Damn straight. Mine's Krenesh Howlingblade, but everyone calls me Kren. I heard you're pretty mean with a shortbow. Ranger, I take it?"

Brad smiled as he pointed to himself with pride. "Yup! Mid ranged is my specialty. In fact, I've got a whole team under me who covers that element of the battlefield. Most attackers are caught completely off guard by our strong midline defense."

"Don't listen to this guy. If given the chance, he will brag you ear off all day," Cynthia said as she reached out to the warband leader for a handshake. "Lieutenant Cynthia Waterstone, Thirty First Platoon - I'm in command of this loser here."

Brad looked at her in surprise. "Loser? Wasn't I your fiancé just a few days ago?"

"Like I said, loser." She had to rub it in further.

Kaleb overheard the conversation. "Woah. So you finally worked up the nerve and proposed to her?"

Cynthia laughed.

"Forget it. It was I who proposed to him!"

Brad tilted up his mug and swallowed. "That's what I like, a woman who is aggressive."

"She's your mate, then?" Krenesh asked.

Brad laughed. "I guess you could call her that. She's more like my boss."

Krenesh looked at him straight in the eyes and said in a much more serious tone. "Never let her out of your sight when in battle. I can tell you this from experience, there's nothing worse then... seeing something bad happen to someone you care about."

The charr staggered off with the mug in his hand. Amalthia noticed then walked up to Brad to fill him in on the details.

"Kren lost his closest mate in battle. He still gets worked up anytime subjects like this come up."

Brad bowed his head. "I'm so sorry, Ama. I didn't know. Please give him my condolences."

"It's okay. Navi just told me that Mia was expecting cubs when she was killed."

Navina rapidly gulped down a tall mug of ale while sitting alone at the edge of the bar. As she did so, a scrawny unkempt human approached her from the left side and asked in a leering voice; "um, what kind of drink do ya have there?"

The big female charr took another swig then glanced down at the strange looking little man.

"Alcohol."

"Um. What kind, exactly?" He asked in a sheepish voice.

Her gazed pierced his beady little eyes. "Who wants to know?"

"Lager?"

She shook her head.

"Mead?"

She growled.

"Um... Ale! That must be it!"

"You guessed right after your third try. That must make you pretty smart... for a human."

Flipper smiled upon hearing those words. "May I buy you a drink?"

Her gaze turned to a scowl. "Are you trying to hit on me?"

"Well, I uhh..."

"Cause if you were, I would claw your damn eyes out. Just because my warband sister is into your kind doesn't mean the rest of us are," Navina snarled as she took another draught of ale.

Kaleb saw what was transpiring and rushed in to intervene. "Flipper! What's up, my man!"

"Ohh. Hi, Kal. I was just offering this lovely lady a round of ale," the scrawny kid said nervously.

Kaleb put his hand on the boy's back and laughed. "Look, Flip. She's really not your type. Trust me on this. How about you run to the back and fetch us some fresh casks. Okay?"

"Wait, I was just..."

He was interrupted. "No buts... just go. After all, a thirsty charr is a cranky charr. Now run along."

Reluctantly, Flipper yielded to Kaleb's demands and headed towards the cellar.

Navina looked at Kaleb and commented. "You just saved that meat's life. Any longer and I would have had to wipe his remains off from under my boot."

"Flipper's not a bad kid. He just wants to screw anything that's got a hole somewhere between the legs. I've had to chase him out of the sheep pen on more than one occasion." Kaleb chuckled.

"What's with you male humans and sheep?" Navina shook her head in utter revulsion.

The two male charrs, Bogo and Tovu, noticed a large rectangular object hanging above the bar. Realizing what it was, Tovu asked in an enthusiastic tone, "I wonder what time it is?"

Bogo looked at a nearby cogwheel clock. "Oooo. It's almost time!"

"Hey. Bartender - anyway you can turn that thing on? Project Transmog is about to come on."

Ulfgar shook his head.

Why in the Great Bear Spirit's name did I allow that asuran to talk me into purchasing one of these things?

"Hold on. Let me find the control."

The two charrs looked at each other and grinned ear-to-ear.

Ulfgar found the remote and flipped on the device. Within seconds, the once blank rectangle was now filled with an image of a female sylvari preparing various vegetarian cuisines.

A human patron shouted out loud. "Put it on the Arena Channel. There's supposed to be a tar pit death match between the Twin Sons of Destruction and the Annihilators."

Ulfgar grumbled as he started flipping through the channels.

"Hello ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Bernie Lomax show. I am your host, Bernie Lomax. Today's topic - gods, do they or don't they actually exist?"

He flipped through to another channel.

This channel depicted a large male charr holding a blowtorch as he began welding together a part to a massive war tank. "Today on Heavy Thunder, we are gonna soup this baby up with five turrets and twenty..."

Ulfgar flipped the channel once more. Krenesh called out. "Hey! Leave it there! I wanted to watch that!"

Bogo and Tovu said in unison. "We called it first!"

Flipping the channel once more to a garden show then to a travel program, Ulfgar finally commented. "Y'know. It is this thing that will truly be the doom of Tyria."

The revelries continued into the early morning hours as Kaleb's and Amalthia's friends had become more acquainted with each other. By this time, Krenesh discovered that he had much in common with Brad and the two of them shared war stories until both were passed out from too much drink. Likewise, Cynthia and Navina found common ground in discussions involving the male species. Bogo and Tovu were beside themselves when Amalthia showed them the outfits that Ariyana had designed. Each of them gave their opinion on the style and composition of the garments as well as which one looked the best on whom.

Once the festivities had ended, both Amalthia and Kaleb were exhausted - not to mention, quite inebriated. Kaleb found enough strength in his body to hoist his passed out mate into his arms and lay her out onto their bed. As she lay prostrate across the sheets, snoring with drool dripping from the side of her muzzle, Kaleb couldn't help but smile. His mind, however, was clear enough to plan what he wanted to do the following day. He clutched the boxed ring in his hands for a moment then carefully slid it beneath the bed, safely out of her sight.

Tomorrow was going to be the big day.

(All chapters have been posted to AO3. Chapter 27 is posted here.)

#gw2 fanfic #guildwars fanfiction #tyrias-library #the outliers #kaleb and amalthia #charr #gw2 human

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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819

what is a food that you’d hate to be allergic to?: Omg SEAFOOD. Can’t live without it. If I was allergic to it I’d be that person who brings tons of antihistamines everywhere I go so I can power through when eating crabs and mussels and shrimp. I just can’t live a life of being forced to watch others eat seafood while I can’t lol.

what color was the last towel you used?: Light blue.

would you prefer to date someone taller, shorter, or the same height as you? Same height or a tad bit taller is fine; I’m not super particular when it comes to height.

when was the last time your nose bled? My nose has never bled before and I dread the day it happens for the first time, because I’m totally unprepared and blood freaks me out and I will highkey probably pass out for a bit hahaha.

how old are you turning this year?: I already turned 22 last April. Considering the circumstances, my birthday had surprisingly gone really well too.

what is your favorite thing to snack on while watching a movie?: French fries from Potato Corner. My go-to bucket size is Mega and I will typically request my order to be 1/2 barbecue and 1/2 cheese fries. I’ll feel super uneasy if I don’t have that exact order when watching a movie at the cinema.

swimming pool or hot tub?: So I had to look up hot tub because I wanted to know how it’s different from a jacuzzi, and holyyyyy crap I’ve learned something new - Jacuzzi is a brand of hot tubs, wtfreak my life has been a lie I thought it was a word!!! Hahaha in any case, I do prefer hot tubs more. I’ve always felt dirty hanging around in swimming pools.

can you swim well? I’m not able to perform any of the strokes like an Olympic athlete, but I can tread well and for a good amount of time.

what body part do you wash first in the shower?: Not really a part of the body per se but I’ve always washed my hair first.

who would you allow to read your thoughts for one day? No thanks, I find that too invasive.

what kind of first impression do you think you make? Cold and a little aloof, which isn’t too far off from the truth especially if I’m not approached first. If someone does talk to me for the first time, it’ll depend on their body language whether I’ll choose to continue to be reserved, or if I’d want to be bubbly and vibrant around them.

name your last reason for using a camera? My dad honked his horn as he parked in the carport to let us know he was home, and my dog ran up the screen door and sat patiently to wait for him to come inside, his tail wagging the whole time.

where was the last place you fell asleep other than your bed? Sometimes I’ll line up our dining chairs together so it can turn to some sort of bed, and I’ve been falling asleep on that often lately.

what are you excited about? To drink the rest of this milk tea my dad bought me :) He went out to run some errands and I guess he’s been hearing me talk about how I miss having milk tea, so he went out of his way to go to a Chatime and get drinks for me and my sister.

seven days from now, will you be in a relationship? Yes.

are you a happy person? My emotions are always all over the place. I’m never consistently in a certain mood.

when was the last time you laughed really hard & why? I was bored and missing normal life last night so I went through my uploaded photos on Twitter so I can see what I used to do before everything went downhill...and by doing that, I realized that I’m quite good at tweeting HAHAHA most of my captions made me laugh and my content/photos weren’t all that bland or bad either. Idk, this is one instance where I can confidently say that I’m funny hahaha.

what are you wearing? A UP shirt and a pair of shorts.

what do you want? For my college to post the official list of graduating students for this school year so that I can finally partake in the tradition of changing my Facebook DP to my senior photo. I REALLY love how my portrait turned out and I can’t wait for my loved ones to see it.

did you enjoy your weekend? It was okay I guess. My mom was annoyingly cranky throughout Saturday for no reason, but it mellowed out by the next day and that’s good enough for me. Other than that, it was just as uneventful as the last three months have been.

do you regret anything you’ve done recently? Just little stuff that I get over quickly like, “oh I regret making this coffee at 11 PM because it’s now 3 AM and I’m jumpy as fuck.” But no big regrets recently.

is there anybody you wish you could see? For fucking sure. I don’t even have to tell y’all who it is.

have you ever kissed anyone with a name that starts with j or m? Nope. I almost went out with an M, though.

how many people of the opposite sex do you fully trust? 2 3/4 lol. I trust Andrew 110%...and I mooooostly trust my dad. Not with every single topic under the sun, but I still trust him a whole lot nonetheless.

do you think you’ll be married in 10 years? I hope I will be by then.

what makes you mad most about girls? Definitely wanna avoid generalizing in this question but the way some girls will fawn over men is super hypocritical and that bugs me to no end. Girls shaming other girls for a range of things is also annoying, whether it’s over wearing too much makeup, not wearing makeup, choosing to abort, physical appearances, their diet, etc. Some really need to mind their own fucking business.

have you ever been given roses? Yes.

do you even like getting flowers? I love receiving stems or bouquets but I’m not obsessed with them in that I wanna get them regularly. Giving me flowers for Valentine’s Day or on our anniversary is more than enough for me.

what’s your favorite flowers? Peonies.

could you go out in public looking like you do now? No. I’d change my shorts.

who’s the first person you texted today? I haven’t texted anyone today.

would you move to another state to be with the person you loved? That’s a toughie...it would depend on the opportunities I have wherever I live in the present, and whether there are better ones where my partner is. I’m young and still building up my career, so realistically I’d wanna look out for myself first instead of clumsily jumping in headfirst for love lol.

how’s the weather today? It’s strangely warm and humid and uncomfortable, which is annoyinggggg. News has said that the wet/rainy season already begun, so I don’t know why the sun is still hanging around and being, again, annoying.

what color are your eyes? Really dark brown, almost black.

do you like poptarts? In my country we only get the same five flavors but my favorite out of all of them is chocolate fudge. I really wish we had a wider selection though :(

where will you be 12 hours frm now? Getting ready for bed most likely.

is it easy for others to make you feel intimidated? No. I’m usually the one who involuntarily makes others feel intimidated, oops.

do you know what you are going to wear tomorrow? Not exactly but it’s definitely gonna be one of the several tops and shorts I’ve just been repeatedly wearing at home since March.

are you on a desktop or laptop? Laptop. I haven’t used a desktop in ages.

does anyone hate you for no reason? I’m sure one or two people do, but I genuinely can’t care less.

what are you planning to do today? Finish my milk tea, maybe take another survey or two, eat the salted egg chips that my dad bought, and, if it cools down later in the day, take a quick nap.

play an instrument? I can play the recorder. I also memorize several songs on the piano, but the key word there is memorize lmao. I just know which keys to press due to watching covers over and over; but I can’t read notes, I don’t know which letters match which keys, have no idea what major and minor is, and I basically know absolutely nothing about using a piano.

would you go back in time if you were given the chance? Just to get closure from certain people or events. If I can go back in time I’d spend more time with my late grandpa, for one.

where did you get the underwear you are wearing right now? I’ve already forgotten.

have you ever kissed someone whose name starts with an r? No. I’m an R though, heh.

have you ever passed out? Yeah numerous times. I’m a big fainter, which just sounds so uncool lmfao.

are you easily confused? Yes I feel lost quite easily. I’m often the butt of my friends’ jokes because of this, but I don’t mind hahaha.

do you think you would make a good wife/husband? I like to think that I would be, but I dunno. I’m still insanely young and I know I’ll be a completely different person with different priorities, mindset, attitude, etc., by the time I get married. It’s too early to tell.

what’s your favorite kind of ice cream? Cookies and cream. Queso real is also a really good flavor and it was my favorite for some time before my taste shifted to cookies and cream.

do you like coffee? Love coffee.

do you like summer? I like it when I get to go to the beach or when my family books trips out of town or the country, but I reeeeeally could do without the hot and sticky weather. It’s definitely not my favorite period of the year.

where were you at 8am this morning? I was asleep for half of it, then by 8:30 I was up and scrolling through Facebook.

do you fall for people easily? No. That is one thing I can’t do as a demisexual haha.

everything happens for a reason? This is usually my mindset, yes. It helps me process and accept circumstances better and much more quickly.

have you ever dated someone more than once? Yup, Gab and I have broken up before.

who have you texted in the last 24 hours? No one. Not really big on texting these days as I’ve been using Messenger to contact people throughout the quarantine.

what color nail polish is on your toes? My toes are never painted.

do you find members of the preferred sex confusing? People of any gender have the potential to be confusing. < This.

what are you listening to right now? Right now all I can hear is the work being done for the new house that’s being constructed in front of ours, so I’ll hear the occasional shoveling of stones and trucks coming in and out of the construction zone. The last music I listened to was the Presto from Summer of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons because Portrait of a Lady on Fire always makes me feel things.

how has the week been? It hasn’t been horrible, I’ll give it that. I’ve been revisiting my old fandoms out of boredom but it’s turned out to be a lot of fun; my mom brought home cupcakes at the start of the week; I had milk tea today; and we just had Kimi groomed this afternoon so his fur is all gone and now he looks like a giant rat.

is there something you wish you could tell someone but can’t? I wish I could have respectful debates with my Duterte- and/or Trump-supporting relatives, but I know that’s impossible.

what are your biggest turn offs? People who: can only hold shallow conversations, are disrespectful to those in the service industry; are casually homophobic, racist, sexist, transphobic, and/or fatphobic; take their religion way too seriously; and neglect their pets.

favorite shirt to wear? My CM Punk Best in the World shirt, without a doubt. I’ve been wearing it semi-regularly for nine years and have absolutely no intention of throwing it out.

favorite drink? Depends on my mood and the occasion. If I’m studying I’d wanna have coffee with me, if I’m casually dining at a restaurant I’d be happy with iced water, etc.

last person to say ‘i love you’ to you? Gab.

would you kiss the last person you kissed again? Yeah, but when that’s gonna happen again I still have no idea...

what’s your favorite color gummy bear? I always find myself reaching for the red ones.

what is the nicest part of the opposite sex’s body? I don’t consistently stare at a certain part of a guy’s body.

have you ever run into a dishwasher? No, those aren’t common here.

ever had a song sung about/for you? Nope.

is there a baby in the room with you right now? No, not technically. But I do consider my pets to be my babies. < Same. Kimi, now a giant rodent, is walking around the living room at the moment but he never strays too far from me.

where do you sing the most, in the car, the shower or other? CAAAAAAAAAR. This is a big reason why I miss driving, I haven’t been able to belt out in a while.

what is your favorite thing that is green? I don’t own a lot of green stuff since it’s my least favorite color...buuuuut I do have a printed flowy dress that I just love to wear, and it’s mostly olive green.

what did your last text message say? It’s an automated text from a vet clinic I went to last December telling me that I should bring Kimi back for a checkup. I appreciate the gesture but I’m not going back there after how condescending the vet was acting towards me.

what is the way to your heart? Acts of service has been my love language for the longest time.

what do you smell like? I smell nothing off of me now but I do know that I don’t smell unpleasant, because if I did I would’ve noticed it immediately and would feel more conscious.

what’s in your pocket? I don’t have any.

anything in your mouth? Not right now but I’ve been sipping milk tea with pearls all afternoon.

ever hurt yourself playing wii? Only after my first day of playing Wii Sports. It was like a workout for my tiny 10 year old body and I woke up all sore the next morning.

do you have freckles? No, not a common feature here.

what’s the last movie you saw in the theater? Knives Out.

ever jumped/fallen/been pushed in a pool with your clothes on? Noooooooooo. I feel like that’s super uncomfortable; I’ve always entered pools with a swimsuit or bikini. My glare is usually enough for people to understand that I wouldn’t appreciate being thrown into a pool while I still had clothes on.

are you wearing any clothes that you wore yesterday? Technically. I took a shower in the evening and changed into the clothes I’m wearing now, but that was in the evening so it’s not like I wore them all day yesterday.

name a song that you know all the words to: Every single Paramore song. Guaranteed.

what’s the last thing you watched on tv? If we’re really going with a physical TV, the last thing I watched was Descendants of the Sun when I used the Netflix app on our TV. The last series I watched in general was Friends.

what can you hear right now? Two fans whirring in the living room.

did you feel better or worse or the same yesterday? I’m slightly better today. I’m glad Kimi has finally been groomed since his fur had knotted up in the last couple of weeks. Plus I also have milk tea today, and that’s always a winner :)))

are you close to your siblings? With my sister, but we treat each other like buddies and are more of the tough-love type. We banter more than anything and we don’t hold heart to heart talks.

do you bite your nails? No we have a nail cutter at home that I use. If I’m going through a period of heightened anxiety I will bite my nails though.

do you like your feet? Uh, I guess. I’m not complaining about them? but I’m also not attracted to feet. Mine are just there and I’m fine with them.

do you sleep well at night? For the most part.

#survey #surveys

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vulpinmusings · 5 years ago

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Letters from Buxcord 2 - Razorback

After much delay, my RPG group returned to our Monster of the Week campaign for our second mystery. This time, Ash and his new companions look into strange happenings surrounding a rich family and an old slaughterhouse.

Samantha,

Any doubts I had about sticking around Buxcord are well and truly squashed now. It’s only been about a week since the Santa-squatch incident and I’ve already squared off with something much bigger and purely magical.

It started just a couple days after Christmas. I was trawling about town for more details on local legends in the hopes of finding some common sources or threads to follow, and wound up at Bayou Boating, the main tourist attraction in this small town. They had a list of “local cryptids” posted on the wall, but it included several creatures that, unless the names apply to different mythics than they do in Taryn, do not tend to live in or around wetlands. The one person on staff at the time – it is the off-season for boat tours – proved to be less than well-informed about the one local legend I asked him about. People occasionally go missing in the bayou after foolishly going out there on their own at night.

Well, I can’t really put all the blame for my not getting a lot of info on the clerk. I‘d only asked a few questions before I experienced a major pulse in the magic fields. It was almost a textbook example of the ripples caused by an inexperienced Mage casting spells beyond their ability. The pulse carried some lingering effects of the original spell, as I had a brief vision of a grinning shadow floating over the bayou. I set off in search of the source, but as messy as the spell had been it was also far enough away that the magic settled and the trail grew cold before I got more than a block.

Nothing else happened for a few days, until I crossed paths with Nollthep and Lea again. I hadn’t really seen either of them since the Santa-sqautch, and the simple fact that Nollthep was not in his shop and was asking after somebody should have tipped me off. Whatever that fellow is, he seems to work for some higher being and has little to no personal needs outside of running errands for his “Boss.” Lea is normal other than her instinctual persuasion magic, but her paths and mine just hadn’t crossed in the last week.

At any rate, we three happened to meet up at the local park where Lea was performing with some small-time Punk Rock band that sings in Spanish. That’s… I think the language matches best to Iberrian. Anyway, Lea’s singing was infused with a mesmeric effect that had everyone (except yours truly, naturally) in love with the whole performance despite her not knowing the language or the words very well. Nollthep wandered up to us after the show was over, asking everyone he came across if they knew of any Wiccans or anybody named Clemonte. When he got to Lea and I, his questions turned to the topic of whether or not humans need blood and hearts to live.

I don’t think I need to say how concerning that was, but I didn’t get a chance to press for details before our attention was stolen by a group of local law enforcement suddenly taking off in response to a call from a “Clemonte mansion.” That got Nollthep’s full focus, of course, and Lea finally recalled that the Clemontes were a wealthy but reclusive and disliked family in Buxcord. She alluded to some previous encounters with them that had left her particularly soured, but she agreed to lead us to the house.

The Clemontes live on a hill on the southern outskirts of town, with their driveway reaching all the way to the base of the hill. As mansions go, it wasn’t all that large, but the fountain in front had the ostentation of true Old Money. The butler who answered our knock at the door sealed the impression, and he would have turned us away on principle if Lea’s magic hadn’t kicked in and scrambled his senses enough to make him tolerant of three random gawkers intruding on his employer’s private business.

I don’t want to become to reliant on that kind of manipulation, but without the reputation I’ve got back home I might not have much choice for a while…

The police – a sheriff and two deputies to be precise – were in the living room questioning a young woman and paid us little mind as we peeked in for a look. The reason for the call was glaringly obvious: a disemboweled corpse had been hung on the wall over the fireplace with a graffiti-style pig’s head and the words “I’m back” scrawled in blood below it. A most disturbing sight, although only Lea showed any physical reaction. I, of course, am too experienced to let my revulsion get in the way of solving a problem, and Nollthep is too inhuman to even have a visceral reaction to such sights.

The sheriff and pair of deputies who were on-site were surprisingly fine with the three of us stepping in and asking our own questions. I’m hoping that it was just them thinking that we must be welcome since the we’d gotten past the butler, but it’s too early to rule out general incompetence yet. The girl was Sophia Clemonte and the corpse had been a security guard at the Clemonte slaughterhouse and had no reason to be in the family mansion. Sophia was shook up by the corpse, but she was more concerned about her younger brother, Cyril, who was missing. The police told us that the rest of the family were upstairs, so we decided to go up and interrogate them while the police were still busy getting Sophia’s story.

The Clemonte parents are named Archie and Penelope. Archie’s a bit of a boor and seems to hate magic on principle, while Penelope had the aura of someone with the talent for magic, albeit one she hasn’t used in many years thanks to her husband’s influence. From Archie, we got an explanation for what the message painted on the wall could have meant. About twenty years ago, an employee at the slaughterhouse had suffered a psychotic break after being fired and killed several people before committing suicide. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get more than that out of Archie before Lea insulted him and he told us to get out.

On our way out, we decided to check in on the last Clemonte, the eldest son Zachary. I didn’t get any sense that he’d inherited any of his mother’s ability, and he was callously unconcerned about the whole scenario and intent on heading out for a little walk despite all common sense.

Penelope caught up to us at the top of the stairs and, now out from under Archie’s gaze, opened up a little more about her history with magic as we headed back to the crime scene. She used to practice the Wiccan traditions, but gave them up years ago and hid her books away. Young Cyril had shown an interest in those books, and Penelope had given him one of the less dangerous tomes to look through. I convinced Penelope to show me where she’d hidden the rest of her books, and she took us to a surprisingly large room hidden behind a secret door in the kitchen. The room was full of not just books but all kinds of the stuff you typically find in the collection of those who follow ritual-based magic traditions. There was a book missing from the shelves, but it wasn’t the book Penelope had loaned to Cyril. Penelope said the missing book was primarily about summoning and controlling spirits.

(Be sure to clarify that I’m not talking about Spiriter Warlock stuff here when you relay this to the M’Dales. They’ll probably have a conniption otherwise.)

The sheriff had already had the corpse body-bagged when we returned to the sitting room, but I took a crack at searching the spot where it had been hanging, in case there was any lingering magic I could trace. I got more than I bargained for; somehow, I managed to briefly link myself to the mind of an otherworldly entity (other than Nollthep) for a few seconds. Demonic seems like an adequate adjective. I had to sit down and catch my breath, and Lea charmed the butler into bringing us some coffee while Nollthep went to search Cyril’s room and one of the deputies was sent out to bring Zachary back. Nollthep came back with the missing tome, and we discussed whether or not to let Penelope know about it. We opted to keep her in the dark until I’d had a chance to look through it.

After much too much time had passed without either Zach or the deputy returning, I felt a ripple of powerful magic underlaid with that same sense of the demonic and led the group outside to see what was up. Standing by the fountain, holding Zachary up like a stuck pig and with the deputy lying broken at its feet, was an 8-foot tall humanoid figure dressed like a butcher and wearing a leather pig mask that was bleeding from the seams. Reacting quickly, I wrapped the figure up in a Tangler while Nollthep produced a stack of playing cards and flung them one by one at the figure, as expertly as myself but without any spells attached. The thing barely reacted.

Lea ran over to try and save the deputy, but her magic betrayed her, draining life out of the man rather than putting more in.

I tried to engage the creature in conversation, just to establish that it wasn’t sentient, and then tried to see how it liked a bullet in the head.

Did I mention I acquired a revolver shortly after the Santa-squatch incident? It’s not my style, but without Carmilla around to handle the non-magical aspects of combat I have to make do.

Not that the bullet did any good in this event.

Nollthep tossed the spellbook to me and told me to try to find a counter-spell to whatever had summoned pig-head while he kept it busy. I quickly found a likely looking spell and started Weaving it together to the best of my ability. I hadn’t gotten far, though, before pig-head sensed the gathering magic and fled via dematerlization.

So, I learned that in this universe, evil spirits can sense when you’re trying to counteract the spell that summoned them to the mortal plan and can just get out of range before you’re done. That’s an unwelcome complication.

Once the dust had settled, an ambulance was called in. By some miracle, the deputy was still alive. Zachary, on the other hand, was missing all his internal organs as well as having bled out.

In the course of informing the Clemontes and the sheriff about what had happened in the driveway and some of our suspicions, Nollthep and the Sheriff got into a bit of an argument about whether or not magic is real. I could have gotten involved, but I was occupied with more important matters such as studying the spellbook and only rejoined the conversation when Nollthep left the room for a private conversation with Penelope and I overheard the Sheriff mention to Archie that there were reports of strange noises at the old slaughterhouse. Over Archie’s protests, the sheriff insisted that everyone stay put until the morning and left his remaining deputy to keep an eye on us.

Once the Sheriff was gone, I made it clear that I did not intend to wait around or leave the case in the hands of people who didn’t even believe in the existence of magic. I tried to conjure a basic mage-light to convince the deputy that I knew what I was talking about, but wound up with a tiny fireball instead. It was sufficient to convince the deputy, at least. Nollthep came back from his business with Penny and, naturally, agreed to accompany me. To my surprise, Lea also wanted to come along, because she figured that since I’d chased pig-face off once, the safest place to be was at my side.

It was a long walk to the slaughterhouse. It must have been abandoned shortly after the incident twenty years ago, because the place was empty and full of rusted equipment. I felt the presence of pig-face as soon as we entered the building. We decided that since pig-face had a… particular theme to him, we should start our search in the pork slaughtering section. The plan was to locate pig-face and figure out how to restrain him so he couldn’t escape while I cast the banishing spell on him.

In the pig area, we heard the sounds of actual pigs in the preparation pens and went to look. The things we found were mostly identical to normal pigs, but their eyes and teeth were more human than porcine, and they were munching on offal that included at least one intact human hand. Nollthep, working on the assumption that the pigs were sapient, attempted to cast a translation spell on himself and wound up just speaking gibberish and apparently losing his ability to comprehend Lea or me for several minutes.

Then we saw pig-face up in the rafters, holding a blood-soaked mallet. Nollthep produced his throwing cards and put some actual magic into them that briefly set fire to pig-face’s sleeve. The beast dropped down on us and walloped Nollthep. As I Wove a lightning bolt, Lea ran for cover behind me. She grabbed onto me briefly and, in that brief moment, the magic fell into place with my normal natural grace. The lighting struck pig-face, then arced off him and unlocked one of the pig pens. The pig-thing inside charged at Nollthep, but he swatted it up and into another pen with ease.

Pig-face came after me next, and I threw up a barrier to try and stop his mallet. I must have miscalculated, because the blow shattered the shield and knocked me back a bit. Could have been worse, I guess, but still…

Nollthep pulled out a chain of tied-up handkerchiefs and tried to tie pig-face up with them. It held for a few seconds, but not nearly enough time for me to even start the banishment. Lea suddenly ran off into the heart of the slaughtering area, and pig-face chased her once he broke loose. I got him in a Tangler, but it barely held him long enough for Nollthep to club him once. I heard Lea say something about finding the meat grinder that pig-face had first died in as I ran to keep up with the fight. I pushed past Nollthep and, in a bit of foolish desperation, tried to tackle pig-face and flip him off the walkway and into the machinery. You can probably guess how well that went. Pig-face had me by the neck and dangling over the suddenly active grinder before I could regain my balance. Nollthep whipped his hankie-chain around the specter’s arm to try and haul me out of danger, but pig-face resisted the pull and tossed a knife at Nollthep with his free hand. Then Lea found a meathook and chucked it at pig-face, and I was falling toward a mass of whirling blades and serrated rollers.

Reflex kicked in and I cast my Transport spell without thinking about how it would need to be adjusted. By pure luck, the spell not only worked but deposited me safely on the walkway away from the fight. As I made my way back to the action, I saw that my companions were in a bit of a panic thinking I’d just died (Nollthep apparently thought meat grinders just magically transmute flesh into meat or something and Lea didn’t see what happened). Lea’s grief was so great she actually summoned a big root up through the walkway and into pig-face’s arm just as the creature made a move to throw Nollthep into the grinder after me.

As for myself, I was starting to get annoyed. I’d cheated death by pure luck and pig-face was proving to very, very bothersome. Simply restraining him was no longer an option for me. He had to suffer a bit.

So I set him on fire. It didn’t do much on its own, but Nollthep threw on some sort of powder that exploded and knocked pig-face off the walkway. The creature threw the hooked chain from its belt and caught Nollthep by the shoulder, but I broke through the rusted chain with a simple Breaking before Nolly got pulled in after pig-face.

For reasons I don’t quite understand yet, being subjected to the same form of death a second time proved to be enough to end pig-face’s return to the physical world. Once he’d been thoroughly ground up, that persistent, buzzing sense of his presence vanished along with the human-toothed pigs. The gore they’d been feasting on remained, however. I took the hand I’d seen earlier for the police to check, in case it happened to have belonged to Cyril Clemonte. Nollthep went into a panic when I mentioned that theory and he swiftly dug through the viscera looking for anything that could be a heart. Once he found something, he vanished in a blink, presumably to deliver the goods to his Boss.

Lea and I returned to the mansion just long enough to tell the deputy what to expect when the cops went to the slaughterhouse and to hand over the hand. I then made sure Lea got home safely before returning to my hotel room.

When I arrived, I found a card on the bed. It invited me to visit a Madam Weaver, who apparently knows something that would be of use to me.

How useful it will actually be remains to be seen, but you may be seeing me or these letters sooner than I hoped.

With guarded hope,

Ash

#MOTW #Vulpin plays

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