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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 2 years ago

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Angel of God, My Guardian Dear Chapter 11: Matt

Rating: Explicit (18+, MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: While speaking at a local school for visually impaired youth, Matt runs into his childhood best friend, with whom he lost touch almost 20 years prior.

Warnings/Tags: None.

Word Count: ~2,900

A/N: Shirtless Matt at the beach. 'Nuff said. 🥵

"It was really nice of your aunt to let us use her car," Matt said a couple of hours later as he and Y/N headed to the beach.

"Yeah, it was," Y/N replied, "but I'm extra glad she did because then I could take you where I really wanted to."

Matt smiled. "Which is where, exactly? We've been driving south for over an hour, so I'm assuming we're off the mainland."

Y/N took one hand off the wheel and linked her fingers through Matt's. "You would assume correctly, my love. We're in the Keys, heading to Islamorada."

Matt furrowed his brow as he quickly translated the Spanish. " Islamorada … 'purple island'?"

"Yep, or 'Island Home', depending on which origin story you believe. The first story goes that Islamorada was named by Spanish explorers who were amazed by all of the purple here. There's tons of purple flowers and purple sea snails, and at sunset, the horizon even has a purple hue."

Matt nodded. "That really is a lot of purple. So what's the other story?"

"That it was named after a ship that had been built here called 'Island Home', but that the name sounded better in Spanish."

Matt chuckled. "Ah. Personally, I think I like the purple story better. It's more romantic."

Y/N gave his hand a little squeeze. "Yeah, I like that one too."

"So do you and your aunt come to the Keys often?"

"Mmhmm." Y/N let out a light laugh. "Actually, one of the first places Aunt Ruth took me to was the Hemingway House in Key West. Not gonna lie, I thought it was pretty damn cool at the time."

Matt grinned, picturing teenage Y/N geeking out over Ernest Hemingway's manuscripts and writing instruments. "I bet."

"We'd visit a lot of museums and go on a lot of picnics and hikes and stuff like that," Y/N continued, "especially when I first moved here. After I started college though we didn't have time to do as much, although we still try to at least get in a picnic at the beach or hike at one of the parks whenever I visit if we have time."

"So is this island your favorite?"

Y/N huffed out a happy sigh. "Yeah, it is. The second I set foot on the sand at Anne's Beach I knew I wanted to share it with you."

Matt smiled softly at her. "I'm glad we're getting the chance."

Y/N squeezed his hand. "I am too."

She made a turn into a parking lot. "We're here."

Y/N parked and cut the engine off. "It should be pretty quiet since all of the tourists are either in Miami or Key West and most of the locals will be at other beaches since the water's really too shallow to swim in here. It'll likely mostly just be windsurfers or people picnicking like us."

Matt nodded as they got out of the car. "Okay. Good to know."

Y/N opened the trunk and got the cooler and tote bag with their things out. "Would you mind carrying the tote bag?"

"No, of course not." Matt took it from her. "Need me to get the cooler too?"

"Nah, I got it." Y/N grabbed the cooler and took Matt's hand in her free one. "Come on, sweetheart, this way."

She led him down a small stairway to the sandy shore below, then walked a little to their right. "Okay, this should be good. What do you think?"

Matt tilted his head, listening for conversations between the smattering of other beach-goers, then nodded after determining that they were far enough away to not be a bother. "Yeah, this is good."

Y/N spread the blanket out and they sat.

She unzipped the beach tote. "So the first thing we need to do is to put on sunscreen. We definitely don't want to get sunburned."

Matt nodded, then pulled his shirt up and over his head. "Right."

He smirked as the sound of Y/N's heartbeat picked up. "Like what you see, angel?"

Y/N huffed out a breathy laugh. "Uh, yeah . Let me just say that if teenage me had seen teenage you shirtless at the beach I definitely would've had a difficult time keeping my feelings for you a secret."

A chuckle rumbled through Matt's chest. "Mmm, wouldn't have been fair, though, now would it?"

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, an adorably confused tone in her voice.

Matt reached out and trailed his fingers across one of Y/N's bare shoulders. "I still wouldn't have been able to admire you in a swimsuit… at least, not in public, anyway. Can't guarantee I wouldn't have wanted to drag you off somewhere private so I could… 'see' what it looked like."

He could feel the heat radiating from Y/N's face even through the hot Florida sun. "Jesus, Matt," she breathed out.

Matt smirked. "And you know, it's probably a good thing you're in a tank top and shorts, because I honestly don't know if I'd be able to handle not being able to admire you in a swimsuit now , either -- not to say I wouldn't like to privately admire you in this too, of course."

His smirk spread into a full-blown shit-eating grin as Y/N swallowed audibly. He still couldn't believe that she had always returned his childhood feelings for her and admittedly loved riling her up so he could bask in the evidence of her mutual attraction to him. "So, sunscreen?"

Y/N took a sharp breath. "Oh, uh, yeah."

They quickly took care of any exposed skin on their fronts, then Y/N moved behind Matt. "Want me to do your back?"

Matt nodded. "Sure. Thanks, angel."

Y/N pumped a few dollops of sunscreen onto her fingers and rubbed her hands together a couple of times. "Let me know if it's too cold."

Matt nodded again. "Okay."

He arched into Y/N's touch as she started gently rubbing the sunscreen into his skin, starting with the back of his neck and working her way down his back and shoulders. "Shit, that feels good."

Y/N huffed out a light laugh. "You know, if you ever want me to give you a massage or do some skincare on you, I'd be happy to. I'm sure I can find some massage oils and facial moisturizers that won't be too overwhelming for you."

Matt groaned under his breath as she continued downward, her thumbs applying a comforting pressure to his spine. "I'll probably take you up on that offer soon. This feels heavenly."

"Okay. Just let me know when."

"Will do."

Y/N finished applying sunscreen to Matt's back. "Okay, all done."

Matt took the bottle of sunscreen from her. "Here, I'll get your neck and shoulders."

Y/N moved back in front of him and turned her back to him. "Thanks, Matty."

Matt pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her neck, smiling against her skin as he heard Y/N's heart flutter. "Mmm, love you."

"Love you too," Y/N replied, turning her head and giving Matt a quick kiss on the lips.

Matt warmed up some sunscreen in his hands and carefully applied it to the back of Y/N's neck and shoulders, taking extra care to not get any on her clothes. "Okay, you're all set."

Y/N handed Matt a moistened towelette to wipe his hands with. "Thanks, sweetheart."

"No problem, angel." Matt gave her another kiss then began pulling containers out of the cooler, pausing to read the Braille labels on each one before opening it and setting it down on the blanket, arranging everything before grabbing 2 bottles of water.

He handed one to Y/N. "Here you go, sweetheart."

Y/N opened it and took a small sip. "Thanks, Matty."

They spent the next hour eating and basking in the sunlight, just enjoying the peace and serenity of each other's company, then packed up the containers and set them back in the cooler.

Matt sat back and stretched his legs out on the blanket. "I get why you wanted to bring me out here. It reminds me of when we'd get the yard to ourselves at St. Agnes -- except with the added sound of the ocean."

Y/N sighed, sounding completely at peace. "Yeah, me too. I'm glad you like it."

Matt took Y/N's hand and gave it a squeeze. "And speaking of getting the yard at St. Agnes to ourselves, that reminds me… want to read for a bit before we take our walk?"

"Yeah, sure." Y/N pulled her phone out of her pocket and tapped at it. "Let's see… ok, so in keeping with the theme of us finally getting to do things we didn't get to do together as teenagers, I figured we could finally read the book that we were supposed to start right before I moved. Locked in Time, by Lois Duncan."

Matt tilted his head. "Yeah, I remember that title. Remind me what it's about?"

"It's about a girl who moves to this creepy plantation in Louisiana to live with her dad and new step family and weird stuff starts happening."

"Oh, right, yeah, I remember now." Matt nodded with a grin. "That was during your 'spooky horror book' phase where we read nothing but R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike novels."

Y/N huffed out a laugh. "Hey, I never heard you complain!"

Matt shook his head. "That's because I didn't have a problem with it. I liked mostly everything we read, especially those books of spooky short stories you would check out of the school library every couple of weeks."

"Oh, yeah." Y/N laughed again. "I think I single-handedly kept those books in circulation."

She shifted to cross her legs. "Wanna get comfy?"

Matt nodded and turned to lay his head in her lap. "Sure. Thanks."

"No problem, sweetheart. Okay, this one's pretty short so it shouldn't take too terribly long to finish -- probably just a couple of days depending on how much we get through out here reading."

Matt shrugged. "I'm not in a hurry if you aren't."

"Well, there's one other place I want to take you but we're not on a time limit -- well, not yet, anyway." Y/N cleared her throat. "Okay, so, Locked in Time, by Lois Duncan. Chapter 1 -- " When I look in the mirror, the girl I see there is pretty. I know that sounds vain, but I don’t mean it that way. When you’re seventeen and a half, being pretty comes with the territory…"

Matt really hadn't been exaggerating when he had told Y/N that she had been his favorite audiobook narrator -- even the professionally-narrated audio versions of Matt's favorite books from when they were kids weren't quite as captivating as they had been hearing them being read by Y/N for the first time.

A content rumble went through his chest as Y/N absentmindedly started running her fingers through his hair.

"It still seemed like springtime, a fragile season of cool, sweet mornings --" Y/N cut herself off with a giggle. "You are such a cat, you know that? You're literally purring."

Matt grinned. "Says the one who's petting me."

Y/N lightly tapped him on the nose then continued stroking his hair. " Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah -- ' It still seemed like springtime, a fragile season of cool, sweet mornings and pale lemon sunlight. It was the last I would see of that sort of weather'."

Matt could picture the novel playing out like a film in his mind as Y/N continued narrating the story, from Nore meeting her new step family, becoming suspicious of her new stepmother… and her new stepbrother's attempt at murdering her.

Finally Y/N paused. "Okay, I think this is probably a good stopping point for now… Oh gosh, yeah, we've been reading for two and a half hours straight."

Matt sat up. "I'm enjoying the story so far. It's very descriptive."

He stretched, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the tiny bit of stiffness that had gathered while he had been laying in Y/N's lap.

Y/N put her phone in her pocket. "Ready to go take that walk? Limber up a bit before the long ride home?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah, sounds good."

He gestured to the cooler and tote bag. "Did you want to put this stuff in the car before our walk?"

"Actually, yeah, that's not a bad idea," Y/N replied.

Matt pulled his shirt back on then they gathered their belongings and put them back in the trunk of Ms. Y/L/N's car.

Matt held his hand out to Y/N with a grin as they headed towards the boardwalk. "Do you mind if I hold your hand? I might need you to guide me."

Y/N laughed and took it, intertwining her fingers with his. "No, Matty, I don't mind at all."

Matt took in his surroundings as they strolled hand-in-hand down the boardwalk. He could hear the birds calling from the trees, taste the salt in the sea air, and smell the freshness of the ocean, but the only thing he cared about was the sound of the steady heartbeat of the woman he loved standing next to him, the taste of her lips as she pressed them to Matt's own, and the smell of her natural scent as Matt held her in his arms.

He could feel Y/N looking at him. "Whatcha thinking about?" she asked.

Marry me, Matt thought.

Instead he shook his head. "You know how you once asked me if I missed being able to see, and I told you that if I had the ability to see one more thing, just for a moment, I wished that I could see the sky one more time?"

Y/N gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Yeah."

"I changed my mind."

Y/N let out a sigh. "You'd want to see the ocean, right? Yeah, I totally get it."

"Uh uh." Matt shook his head. "I'd want to see you."

Y/N suddenly stopped walking as her head turned towards him. "What? Matt--"

Matt took her other hand in his and turned her to fully face him. "No, wait, just hear me out. I already know you'd be just as beautiful as I picture you, but I figured if I knew for sure what you looked like… I'd maybe be able to picture what our children would look like one day too."

He could hear Y/N's heartbeat speed up. "You want to have kids with me?" she asked in a small voice.

"Well yeah, I mean…" Matt paused. "When I said I want to build a life with you, I meant it, angel. I want everything."

He smiled softly, already imagining the pitter-patter of little feet running around them. "We'd need to get a much bigger place first though."

Y/N huffed out a watery laugh. "'Much' bigger? How many kids are you planning on us having?"

Matt shrugged. "Just a couple, but we'd also need a guest room for your aunt when she came to stay, and maybe an office."

He could hear Y/N chewing on her lip."I was thinking about moving back to Hell's Kitchen once my lease is up anyway," she hedged, "so I could… maybe start looking? Just to see if there's anything out there?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

Y/N trailed her hands up Matt's chest. "And just for the record, I've always imagined our kids looking like their handsome dad, because between seeing you and seeing pictures of your dad I can definitely tell that the Murdock genes are strong."

She leaned up and gave him a kiss. "No matter who they look like, I think we'll make some beautiful babies one day."

Matt laughed. "Definitely."

Y/N stepped back and took his hand once again.

They continued their stroll down to the end of the boardwalk, then turned around and headed back in the other direction.

Once they had gotten back to the car, Y/N grabbed another bottle of water for each of them from the cooler. "Okay, we should probably get going. We have one more stop and I want to try to get back to the mainland before it gets too dark."

Matt nodded. "Okay."

They climbed into the car, bucked their seatbelts, and soon were back on the road.

Y/N re-linked her fingers through Matt's as they headed back towards the mainland. "You hungry?"

Matt nodded, lunch having been several hours behind them. "I could eat."

"Good, because I figured since we had a nice picnic lunch that I'd also treat you to a true southern Floridian dinner. There's this wonderful restaurant in Key Largo that Aunt Ruth and I go to whenever we come down to the Keys. Their seafood is freshly caught every day and is processed at the restaurant itself."

Matt smiled. "That sounds great."

He gave her hand a squeeze. "Thank you for today, by the way. I had a really great time."

"I'm glad." Y/N squeezed his hand back. "And I did too."

They fell into a comfortable silence, Matt thinking back to their conversation on the boardwalk and what he had really wanted to say.

He knew without a doubt that Y/N was still the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with and he didn't want to have to wait to be able to call her his wife.

I've got some plans to make.

#lotmf writes #AoG Masterlist #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x yn

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genericmain · 1 month ago

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Self shipping tags because I said so

These are my ships on my blog, and what the emojis mean.

Songbirds //🐻‍❄️🎸🧡

Xinyan x Blogger not a S/I. Very recent but I've honestly started viewing her like I would an IRL partner.. So I'm a bit iffy on sharing. I could talk about her or with her for hours though. Song bird is a favorite nickname of mine, that no one's ever used. If Xinyan and I formed a band, we'd be the song birds!

Love eternal // 🐰🐉💛 - Zhongli x S/I

My longest running ship, since well before I came out. He's been here through so much, so while it's hard to explain our relationship now, he's my husband. (Also, he's fictional, so I'm not gonna give him up, idc. He's been here for like. 6 years y'all.)

Thunderstorms // 🐰⚓️🖤 - Beidou × S/I

Self insert is an anemo bunny character (similar to the yokai and adepti in game, but from a family similar to Diona's where they just have those traits and no one really knows why. That's what spurred an interest in being a librarian. Lisa suggested they travel to gain more knowledge, and thus the travelling librarian was born.) Their element might change, but their home city won't! They're from mondstat! S/I uses he/him strictly in the way Arle uses Father.

Best Bros // 🐰🐮🤟 - Itto × S/I

This is a purely platonic ship, with Itto taking on a big brother role. I don't think it needs more explanation than that, honestly. Just best bros! Itto doesn't 100% get the pronoun thing but he does his best anyways. Itto is as he would be in canon, so he uses He/Him.

Night Skies // 🐻‍❄️⭐️💙 - H X me (not S/I)

H is a fictional other created by me explicitly to ship with, because there's been overlap with fictives & fictional others in the past - This is also my only non-sharing F/O as I created her - So I don't want to give too many details about her. Night skies is kind of an inside joke for us. H uses she/her pronouns.

The unknown // 🐻‍❄️🔮❤️‍🩹 - Asra × Me

Asra started off as my first F/O and became a fictive back in 2020. They've been here a long time, and are canon deviant. Asra uses he/they pronouns, and still practices magic, but they can be extremely protective. Sometimes to a fault, so we agreed that the ❤️‍🩹 heart fit best. We've been through a lot, but they're still here. They're also my only queerplatonic partner in the bunch! Our relationship can only really be defined by us, and it's unique from the others in a way that's difficult to explain. The unknown is the name we picked because our magic is so unpredictable and we can't know what our future holds.

Rare pairs - The ones I don't see as often

Snowstorm // 🐰❄️🩵 - Kaeya × S/I or me

This one is hard to define because it's kinda situationship-y. Snowstorm stems from the anemo thing and Kaeya being Cryo. He's semi canon, with the only change being that he's nonbinary // genderqueer if that makes sense? Unclear if he is or isn't a fictive at this time.

Royaltea // 🐻‍❄️☕️💜 - Nadia × S/I

Nadia from the Arcana × S/I for the arcana. They get up to a lot of mischief and I just think it fits. No real name system for the arcana.

Gingerly // 🐻‍❄️🐱🧡 - Portia × S/I or me

Gonna be real haven't had very many chances to explore this for a variety of reasons, but Gingerly is in reference to this being one of the gentlest most comfort self ships I have, and also to both of us being gingers. Portia is again from the Arcana but I kinda felt like I couldn't selfship with her for a long long time, and I want to reopen that idea and kinda confront it head on. Not sure what we are, but she deserves her own tag.

Hexedtech // 🐻‍❄️🦈🌸 - Jinx × Vi × Me

Familial ship. Our family is a little messed up, sure, but we look out for one another and they're actually very supportive. They might have a strained relationship, but ours are decent enough that they get along for me. They both help in different ways. Didn't realize I was adopting these two as family until I started season two, and went oop. I kinda forgot sorry, sisters. She/her for Jinx, He/They for Vi because they don't vibe with she/her. Jinx doesn't really care, but most people just use she/her.

I'll do my best to update!

#my ship tags #my self ship tags #authors self ship tags

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itsawhumpsideblog · 3 months ago

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For America's Bright Starry Banner, Book 1

If you'd like to be added to a tag list, let me know! Content notes: sad goodbyes, past physical abuse and resulting injuries The lyric that starts this chapter is from the song that inspired Patrick's character. It's "Honest Pat Murphy of the Irish Brigade", another one with a dozen variants. This is the one I grew up hearing, because we had this tape in our car (back in the stone age when cars had tape decks- and I'm not as old as that makes me sound). https://youtu.be/LKVk8ScYA-w

"Says Pat to his mother, "It looks strange to see

Brothers fighting in such a queer manner,

But I'll fight till I die if I never get killed

For America's bright, starry banner."

~Honest Pat Murphy of the Irish Brigade

Our lives in New York were hard sometimes, as Patrick's mother had hinted in her letter of so long ago that they would be, but they were good, too. I got work with Patrick at the docks, unloading ships, and in a way it was like old times. We spoke more English than we had at home, but luckily we had found rooms in the same building where the Murphys lived and now, instead of running next door, we were forever running up and down stairs between apartments, which wasn't so different at all.

It was the fall of 1860 and Patrick and I were 17 when I really became aware of the politics of my new home country. I had gotten into the habit of reading the newspaper over the summer. If I managed to have a few extra pennies I bought it from one of the newsboys on the street, or scrounged old editions out of the garbage when money was too tight. There was talk of rebellion in the southern states if Abraham Lincoln was elected. I wasn't overly concerned with the politics of the thing, but Patrick followed them closely.

"If the South secedes, Micheál, there's going to be a war," he said very seriously one evening.

"They won't, though," I replied. "It'll never work to just leave a country like that- think of Ireland and the British."

Patrick just shrugged. "It worked for the Americans once before," he pointed out, "And it could happen again, if Lincoln's elected."

"Do you suppose we'd have to go in the army?" I asked.

Patrick shrugged again. "Don't know. I think I'd have to go. I've been here too long I suppose," and he laughed. "I don't think I could watch the country fall to pieces now."

Patrick, as usual, was right. Lincoln was elected that year and was inaugurated March 4th of 1861, just four days before Patrick's 18th birthday. Patrick was immensely satisfied with the outcome and considered the inauguration his birthday present.

As Patrick had predicted, the Southern States had begun to secede right after the election and just a week after the inauguration, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, South Carolina and Texas were calling themselves the Confederate States of America and had written their own constitution.

Everything happened fast from then on. In April, the Union arsenal at Fort Sumter, in South Carolina, was fired on by the "Confederate States of America" and the war began in earnest. My birthday was later that week, and Patrick joked that his birthday present might have been the inauguration, but that mine was the war. Of course, I thought, it stood to reason that Patrick would have that luck.

Naturally we weren't content to stay home and miss the excitement, and one afternoon Patrick and I left work and went to join the militia.

We found ourselves in a long line of men standing in front of the recruiter's table as the recruiter, who looked rather surprised to see such a gathering, went through the line methodically, asking for birth dates, names, heights, hair and eye colors. We were nearly to the front of the line when all of a sudden Patrick, who had been lounging and looking bored, stood straight up.

"Hey!" he called. "What the devil do you think you're doing, boy?" I looked curiously to the young man stepping up to the table, and realized with a start that it was Declan. There was fire in Patrick's eyes as he marched to the head of the line and collared his brother.

"What the devil are you playing at?" he asked again. Declan looked sullen. His jaw stiffened in the same stubborn manner Patrick should have recognized in himself, and he burst out,

"I'm enlisting and you're not going to stop me."

"Of course I am," Patrick insisted. He turned to the recruiter. "He's only sixteen," he explained and gave Declan a much more gentle push towards the door. "Go home, laddie. I'll be there soon."

"Fine," Declan spat and left.

Patrick and I looked uneasily at each other as he joined me again in line. At last it was our chance. Patrick stepped up to the table and the recruiter looked him up and down.

"Name?"

"Patrick Murphy," Patrick said confidently, his familiar accent ringing through the room as the rest of the line looked on. Something about Patrick made other people stop and watch him.

"Age?"

"18 this past month." This passed without comment as the recruiter wrote down the information.

"Where were you born?"

Patrick gave the name of our village. "In Ireland," he clarified.

"Occupation?"

"Dockworker."

"Hair?"

"Red," Patrick laughed.

"Eyes?"

"Green."

"Height?"

"Near six feet."

"Can you write?"

Patrick nodded.

"Sign here," the recruiter said tersely, and with a flourish Patrick picked up the pen and signed his name. Then it was my turn. We went through the same routine.

"Name?"

"Michael O'Sullivan," I said and glared at Patrick when he laughed. He was like Mother- unwilling to get used to the Americanization of my name. He never called me anything other than Micheál. The recruiter, however accepted my answer but when I stated truthfully that I was 18 he looked at me strangely. Shaking his head as though unable to believe it, he wrote that down too and moved on.

"Where were you born?" he asked me, in the bored tones of one who had asked the same questions a hundred times. I answered with the name of the same village as Patrick and he looked at us more closely for a moment before moving on.

"Occupation?"

"I work at the docks."

"Hair?"

"Black."

"Eyes?"

"Blue."

"Height?"

"Five feet, nine inches."

"Can you write?"

"Sure, I can." I signed my name as Patrick had done and we were officially enlisted.

When Patrick and I arrived home, not much later, we were the property of Abraham Lincoln himself for the next three months. We had our orders to report in two days to board a train to, as far as we could guess, march south to end the rebellion in time to be home when our enlistment ran out.

We were in high spirits until I opened the door of my apartment and realized that nobody was inside. A little more cautiously, we went up to the Murphys apartment and opened the door to find our families sitting there waiting. Declan looked daggers at us both as we came through the door and our mothers had clearly been crying. Maura was staring determinedly at her sewing and Bridget and Colleen were nowhere to be found.

Patrick's Da, who had taken it upon himself to be father to my sisters and me as well, was staring out the dirty window to the street and when he turned and we saw the look on his face, I felt Patrick brace himself for the impact.

"What have you done?" Mr. Murphy said in a terribly quiet voice, and I heard Patrick gulp air.

"I've enlisted," he said more steadily than I would have done. I added, too loudly in the silent, still room,

"So have I." I heard my mother sob and out of the corner of my eye I saw Maura brush her hand quickly across her eyes.

"Micheál, I've lost your Da," Mother burst out. "I can't afford to lose you, too."

"Mother, nobody's going to die," I protested. "I'm not, sure, and Patrick's not either, so don't worry!"

She shook her head. "You can't get out of this, can you?"

"No!" I exclaimed. I was about to say more when Patrick poked me. I quickly closed my mouth and Mother just shook her head and that was the end of the conversation. Somehow, no more was said about the war that evening, or about our enlistment.

In fact, nothing much was said about it until the morning we were going to leave. I didn't sleep much the night before and when I woke for breakfast with Mother and my sisters, the mood was sullen and sad. Very little was said over the meal, until I rose to go.

"I should-" I began awkwardly and Mother began to cry. I could see from their red eyes and the way Bridget wiped her nose that it had been a long night for my family.

Maura came around the table and gave me a hug. I realized with a start that though she was still four years older than I, she was now much shorter.

"You be careful, Micheál," she said. "And write us." She choked up and hugged me tighter. I took a long look at Bridget, too, as she hugged me. She was taller than Maura, like I was, though she was only 16, and I was suddenly sorry that I was going to miss the next three months with them. Surely it wouldn't be any more than that, and three months wasn't so long, I thought, to comfort myself, and at last turned to Mother.

I had been most worried about saying goodbye to Mother, but when the moment came she held up well and I was relieved.

"Be careful, my son," she told me and then, kissing me, added simply, "Until we meet again, Micheál." She held me at arms length and looked at me so tenderly that I had to look away or start crying myself and after a moment Mother smoothed my hair back and kissed my forehead one last time before she let me go.

I couldn’t make myself speak and I waved and tried to smile as I walked out the door. I felt better when I met Patrick on the street, however. I could see that we weren't the only ones saying goodbye to our families at that moment, and the flying flags and crowds of people in the streets restored my spirits. Just like that, I was excited for the adventure which I was sure we were about to have.

When I think back on it, I realize: We had no idea.

After hours of hurrying up in order to wait, we were at last marched through the streets of my beloved adopted city to the train station to go south. Patrick and I marched side by side, grinning. We were about to start off on the adventure of a lifetime. It was crowded when we got to the train, and Patrick and I milled around with the rest of the newly-minted soldiers waiting to board it.

Near us, a woman with an accent from Dublin was tearfully bidding her son goodbye.

"Be careful, Teddy," she begged, wiping at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Come home safe to me, you hear?"

"I will, Mother," the boy replied, sounding embarrassed. She hugged him and then he submitted to hugs from a group of girls, apparently his sisters, and a very small brother. At last, after second hugs from most of the sisters and a third from the little boy, he tore himself away from his family to a chorus of, "Bye, Teddy! Write us! Come home soon!" I grinned at the look of relief on his face.

Patrick and I, when we finally stepped onto the train, found a set of benches that were empty and next to a window, looking over the platform where crowds of people waved to their loved ones about to leave for the war. We sat next to each other and relaxed at last, but we had only been there for a minute or two when a strangely familiar voice said from my elbow, "Micheál?" and I turned around in surprise. A tall, skinny young man was standing next to me, running his fingers through his brown hair.

"Jack!" I cried, jumping up to shake his hand. "Where did you come from?"

"I could ask you the same," he laughed and then looked at Patrick, sitting on the bench and watching us curiously. "And is this Patrick, himself, the famous Patrick Murphy?"

"That I am," Patrick grinned, standing to shake Jack's hand.

"Patrick," I said, "Jack Lynch, seasick all the way from Ireland to the New World. Jack, Patrick Murphy, the apple thief." They had both heard stories of each other, and laughed. Jack sat down across from us and after a second another boy sat down beside him.

"I didn't think I'd ever make it on this train," the boy said, in an Irish accent like we all had. It was the boy from the platform, the one with all the sisters and he looked around after a second, as if he'd just noticed us for the first time. "You don't mind me sitting down here, do you?" he asked. We shook our heads, amused. I liked him already.

"Name's Ted McGrath," he said, pronouncing it the Irish way- McGraw- and again there were handshakes all around. We introduced ourselves and settled back into talking about the war, and what we expected from it, and about all the heroic things we planned to do.

"I tell you, we'll have those rebels running back down South in a week- at most," Ted declared. "When they let us Irish boys at it, we'll show them down in Dixie how things are to be." We laughed and agreed. All President Lincoln really needed was us.

"They'll promote us, sure," Jack chipped in.

"Captain Patrick Murphy," Patrick mused and nodded. "I like the way it sounds. With Lieutenant Micheál O'Suilleabhain by my side."

"Michael," I said automatically and the three of them laughed and shook their heads.

"You can take the lad out of Ireland, but you can't take Ireland out of the lad," Patrick joked. Jack and Ted laughed and I rolled my eyes. It was then that we noticed the boy standing quietly at Ted's elbow, looking uncomfortable.

"Can we help you with something?" Patrick asked kindly and the boy colored up.

"Begging pardon," he said with an accent that matched Patrick's but was thicker- perhaps he had come more recently from Ireland- "but could I sit down? The other seats all look to be full."

"Of course," Patrick said, gesturing to the seat opposite himself, next to the window. "Ted, Jack, shove over and give the lad some room to breathe."

The younger boy looked grateful and sat as far in the corner as he could squeeze himself.

"And what's your name?" Patrick asked the newcomer.

"Rory Coleman," he answered, ducking his head.

"If you don't mind me asking, Rory, how old are you?" Ted wanted to know.

"Near eighteen," Rory replied in that frightened voice.

"How near eighteen?" Ted asked dryly.

"Nearer seventeen," Rory amended, blushing and then when Ted raised an eyebrow, he admitted, "Sixteen."

"That I'd believe," Ted said, satisfied.

"Will you tell anyone?" Rory whispered, looking around anxiously.

"Not a soul, right lads?" Jack assured him, looking seriously at us. We nodded, but Patrick looked uncomfortable.

"I've a brother your age, Rory," he said. "I didn't let him enlist and I know you didn't ask me but I think you'd be better off at home."

Rory frowned a little and, blushing, worked up the courage to ask, "What makes you think that?"

Patrick looked startled. "You're too young for the army, that's all. We'd all be better off at home, only the rebels have started this and it's up to us to put a stop to it. But you're too young. We're all of enlistment age."

Jack colored a bit and chuckled. That was when I remembered that he wasn't eighteen yet and I laughed, too.

Rory shook his head and looked down at his feet. "I wouldn't be better off at home," he said, so firmly that we let the matter drop.

We slowly went back to joking around, with Rory sitting quietly watching us and laughing sometimes at something we said. Soon enough we had talked ourselves out and exhaustion overtook us. Ted, to our amazement, leaned over and folded his arms on his knees and, laying his head on them, went to sleep. Rory leaned against the side of the car and watched the distance speed by. Jack whistled under his breath. I looked around at everyone else in the car and wallowed in boredom.

We reached the train depot at Washington, D.C before dark and were herded out to set up tents.

"All right, men," the officer in charge shouted at us. "You'll collect your blankets and a day's rations and sleep here tonight. Tomorrow you'll get your uniforms and start learning to be real soldiers. Dismissed!"

We collected what we needed for the night and set up next to each other, the five of us in two tents. We talked about how difficult it would be to sleep, and we were right. The ground was hard no matter how I lay on it, and everywhere I tried to put my head there seemed to be a rock. I could hear the other boys tossing and turning, and it was hours before I was ready to be asleep.

Then, the next morning, we were awoken for the first time by reveille. It was a sound I would get used to someday, but on that morning, waking up fully dressed and with a red mark where my face had been pressed against a rock all night, I couldn't remember when I had been more exhausted. It was worse than my long hours at the docks- at least in New York, or at home in Ireland, I had come back to a real house at night and slept in relative warm comfort.

I got up anyway and hauled Patrick out of the tent. At the sound of the bugle he had merely smiled in his sleep and turned over.

"Wake up," I grumbled at him, shaking his shoulder. "Come on, lazy."

After a moment his eyes opened and after another split second they focused and he sat up quickly, then stood and left the tent.

"Well," he commented, stretching, "that wasn't so bad."

"Speak for yourself." Around us, men were coming out of their tents, yawning in the crisp spring air and stretching. Fires were started and coffee was put on to boil. After a moment, the flaps of the tent next to us were thrown open and our new friends made their way out.

Jack looked around at the field full of white tents and campfires and grinned.

"We've made it boys," he said and Ted, stretching his arms over his head and yawning, nodded. Rory, following behind them, said nothing, a shy shadow, but he gazed with those solemn eyes out over the tents and gave a satisfied nod.

Soon, our fire was started and we were eating the hard biscuits we had been issued, and drinking some coffee that Ted had made. We were just waking up enough to start wondering how we would know what to do next, when a bugle call was sounded and a sergeant came through yelling, another sound we would soon get used to.

"That means fall in! And that means you, and you and you," he informed us at a roar, shoving men into place and kicking dirt on a fire that one man had been putting fresh wood on.

"You've got to get going, laddie!" the Sergeant replied to the stunned look on the man's face. "You've no time for that! We've things to do!" The man must have decided that it would be futile to argue; he stood up and headed off with the rest of us, shaking his head.

As you can imagine, our attempts to fall into some kind of formation were not met with approval.

"What the hell kind of a formation is that? You're in the army now, not back on the farm digging potatoes! Stand up straight there! You, get your hands out of your pockets!" Ted moved his hands to his side, looking furtive and the Sergeant laughed. He paused for a moment in front of the five of us, who stood shoulder to shoulder. "Mary, Mother of God," he sneered. "They've enlisted children." He looked strong Ted, the tallest of us, up and down. "Do you shave?"

"Yessir, I've been shaving a few years now," Ted replied. The sergeant shook his head.

"How about you?" he barked at Rory, and Ted moved closer as if to step between them. "Stand still at attention!" the Sergeant snapped, and turned back to Rory. "Well? Do you?"

"Yes-yessir," Rory stammered quietly, probably lying. The Sergeant snorted, but he left Rory alone. Harsh, he could be. Cruel, he wasn't and it didn't take a particularly discerning mind to sense Rory's fear.

"You likely looking lads are going to be fitted out in uniforms like real soldiers," the Sergeant yelled. "You'll go over to that tent and pick up one of everything they've got and then you'll trade until you've got what fits you. And if those bastards at the quartermaster's give you any trouble, you tell them Sergeant O'Malley'll have their hides and if they still gives you trouble, you come find me and I'll deal with it myself and you can be sure there'll be no more trouble, then. Right! Dismissed!"

Reeling slightly from the ordeal and trying to figure out what to make of our Sergeant, we meandered over to the quartermaster's tent. There was a wait, and then each of us was loaded down with shirts, drawers, pants, a pair of shoes, blankets and the like; everything we could carry and possibly more- Ted ended up carrying Rory's shoes after he dropped them for the third time- and we were sent back to our tents to put them on.

With no women around for miles, we changed right there in front of our tents, exchanging brown trousers for sky-blue and civilian hats for army issue caps. Patrick struggled with a shirt twice the size he needed, while Jack laughed over a pair of pants that came past his knees, but not much farther. We looked around after a moment and realized that Rory was nowhere to be seen.

"Rory, lad?" Jack called, looking around, and from inside their tent a voice answered,

"I'm in here."

"Why?" Ted asked, but Rory said simply,

"I'll be out when I'm dressed." He could evade a question better than anyone I had ever met.

"But why-" Ted began and pulled the tent flap back and looked in.

Then he stopped cold. His eyes widened and, curious, we gathered around too and one by one fell silent.

Rory stood inside the tent in his army pants- he had been lucky enough to find a pair that fit him, more or less,- but with his shirt off. He was staring at the ground, but we were staring at him. We could see across his back and up his shoulders, and disappearing into the waist of his trousers, a web of fine pink scars and a few open red cuts. His right shoulder was a massive blue bruise and there was a healing cut on his chest.

Ted stepped over and put a huge hand on Rory's shoulder. "Lad, what happened?" he asked quietly, a tone of voice we had not yet heard from him.

Rory looked up then, meeting Patrick's eyes. "I told you I wouldn't be better off at home," he repeated in a shamed whisper. Patrick just nodded.

"How old is that cut?" Jack asked. Rory shrugged.

"Maybe a week, now. The cuts on my back are newer."

"He should see the doctor," Jack said sounding shocked. "Come on, Rory. Let's go find him," he continued in a kind tone. Rory shook his head.

"I'll be fine- I always am," he said.

"How can you march like that?" Patrick demanded and Rory shrugged again.

"I've learned, is all," he said, his face burning, and we never got a chance to press the issue because the call came again to fall in and we were bound to obey. Ted, being Ted, took matters into his own hands.

Before Rory could put his shirt on again, the Sergeant could be heard standing right outside our tent bellowing.

"Sir!" Ted called, stepping out of the tent. He had Rory by the shoulder still, and pulled him along. "Sir, Coleman can't keep drilling, sir."

"Why not?" the sergeant asked absently, and Ted simply turned Rory forcefully around. I half thought that Rory would faint; his ears had gone totally red and he was biting his lip. I had never seen anyone look so ashamed, and to this day the sight has never been equaled in my experience.

"I'm inclined to agree with you," the sergeant said evenly. "All right, Coleman, go see the doctor about that and come back to duty when he gives his approval." With that, the sergeant walked briskly off and we scrambled to gather our gear and follow him- all except Rory.

We drilled late into the afternoon, and by the time we were finished I was nearly asleep on my feet. We went back to our tents when we were dismissed, grateful not to be on guard duty that night, and ate dinner quickly and without enjoyment.

The next day began in the same way- we woke up uncomfortable from a night on the ground and went for drill. Today, though, something was different- when we formed up on the drill field, there were ten boys, a few of them not older than I was, standing there in neat grey uniforms. They were coolly sizing us up and just knowing that they were watching made me feel inadequate. I tried to stand as straight as I could at drill, to march as sharply and handle my gun as competently as it was possible for a man to do, but they still found fault with every step and breath we took. It was a long morning, but in the afternoon I could feel the improvement, just a little at a time.

That evening, we sat up late around the campfire. I wasn't as tired as I had been the previous day, and I wondered whether I might be getting used to sleeping in that tent. Though I was lucky enough to have a nice cot back in New York, it wasn't as though I had slept on one all my life. I thought of our room in the boarding house before we left Ireland.

"How's your back?" Patrick asked Rory as he wandered back from the sinks.

"I'm better, thanks," Rory said, ducking his head. He had been, by all appearances, working pretty hard although he was supposed to be resting. There was always enough firewood and when we came back from drill Rory had usually begun supper. We were grateful, but we wondered whether he was taking care of himself as he should.

"You wouldn't believe the fun you're missing," Jack told Rory sarcastically. He explained how drill was going and what we had been up to. "And you're lucky enough," he finished, "to be excused from duty and miss all of this exciting work we're doing."

"I'm not sure lucky quite covers it," Rory said dryly. Jack simply shrugged; perhaps that was so.

"I came from Ireland with my family five years ago," Rory said quietly and instantly we stopped moving, stopped talking, nearly stopped breathing in order to hear the story. Typical of him, it was tersely and quietly told, no extra details, no elaboration. "And then my mother and father died. I was in an orphan home, until they sent me out of the city on the Orphan Train. I went to Western New York. I was thirteen, then, and I was almost too old, so I was chosen first. They thought I would be helpful on the farm." Rory shrugged with his good shoulder, and then continued, slowly, "I did everything I could. And, when I couldn't, they whipped me. Last week, I spilled soup. I forgot to brush the horses in the morning. I tried to run away. Then I ran away for good, in the night. And I came to the army." He fell silent and the story was over.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Ted breathed. I realized that I, too, had been holding my breath. There was a long silence which Rory, being Rory, did not break. It was Jack who finally spoke.

"You're here now," he said, clearly casting about for something to say. "And you'll never have to go back." Rory nodded in relief.

We were silent for a long time, deep in thought, and sort of shocked by Rory's revelations of that evening. When the signal sounded, we wished each other good night and simply went to sleep.

We drilled under the watchful eyes of those little grey-coated taskmasters day after day. Rory's back healed and when he joined us again we were surprised to find that he seemed to know what he was doing. At least, he knew his right from his left, which many of the recruits did not. Still, his gun was nearly as tall as he was and he was a slight boy. Strong, it was true, but not quite big enough to haul his gun along with any amount of equipment. I often saw the Sergeant watching him at drill as he sweated and struggled to manage the gun and the marching all at once.

One day, the Sergeant pulled Rory aside, which we had been expecting, and then, to our surprise, asked Jack to come as well.

"Boys," he said to them, "We all know neither of you should be here. If I'd been your recruiter, you wouldn't be." Jack looked amazed- he'd thought he was passing for eighteen perfectly well- and when he opened his mouth to protest, Sergeant O'Malley held up a hand. "It's no use boy, I know what I know." Jack closed his mouth and looked sullen.

"I think," our Sergeant continued, "that we can strike a deal that'll serve both our purposes. You'll stay with the army and I won't be worrying about Coleman tripping over that musket every time he picks it up. What would you think of drumming?" he asked, looking at Jack, "and you," he said, turning his stern gaze on Rory, "do you think a fife might suit you?"

Jack and Rory traded looks and Jack shrugged. "I don't see why not," he allowed. "I don't know how to play, though."

"That's just fine," Sergeant O'Malley said. "We'll get you a drum and then some lessons. A few of the men here know what they're about. Finding a fife teacher will be more difficult, but let's see what we can do." He started off, leaving Rory and Jack standing still, and when he realized they were no longer following, he turned around. "What are you waiting for? Come on, never put off until tomorrow what could have been done today." With that, he turned briskly and kept going, Jack and Rory jogging to keep up.

By the time they got back to camp, we were sitting around the fire, cooking supper and dying of curiosity.

"What was that all about, then?" Patrick asked, and then noticed the instruments. The drum, strapped around Jack's neck, was hard to miss and Rory took his fife out of his pocket and held it out to show us.

"We've been detailed as musicians," Jack explained.

"Can you play at all, either one of you?" Ted asked bluntly.

"Not a bit," Jack said. "In fact, I haven't tried it out yet."

"Come on, then," we encouraged him. "Let's hear you play something." Jack picked the sticks up clumsily and beat a little bit on the drum until somebody from the next fire, his face safely obscured by the dark, yelled peevishly,

"Shut up that drumming. Hasn't today been bad enough yet?" With a hearty laugh, Jack stowed his sticks and set the drum behind him so he could lean on it.

"How about you?" he asked Rory. "Suppose you can get a sound out of that thing?"

"I think I can," Rory said with a quiet confidence and to our complete shock, he put the fife to his lips and played "Lorena" so sweetly that I felt my jaw drop.

"Rory, you can play?" Patrick asked, though the answer was obvious. Rory just nodded and blushed.

The same voice from the next campfire called back, "Drummer, you ought to take a few lessons from your friend there. We'll hear that again any day, laddie." Rory fairly glowed.

Masterpost

#historical whump #whump novels #whump #slow burn whump

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exols-silver-christmas · 1 month ago

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No apolgies needed.

A snake biting it's own tail.....that's a good way of putting it.

As for this^^ there's been some interest in a more interactive community, as evidenced by those who've commented and replied, so we start there. Sort of a "if you build it they will come" type of deal. We try and spread the word and if it doesn't work at least we tried.

To that end....I..and I'm terrible for just jumping in feet first, but I've already started putting together sort of community focused hub blog to go hand in hand with the Tumblr community I applied for the other day after a couple of people mentioned it.(I have no idea how long they take to be approved which is why I jumpstarted that particular process, but I haven't heard back yet.) I figured there were enough good ideas to be starting with and hey! no time like the present? So uh yes...that's kinda already in motion. Blame the adhd.

So to combine the things people were suggesting: I used your suggestion of a transit blog and event blog combined. A one stop shop for all of exols needs. The blog could track a specific tag and add everything in the tag to the queue...maybe once or twice a week to minimize the amount of work needed. It'd have the directory...which...if it's submission based to be put on it just send a dm or an ask (i also really like the idea you said of blogs having an about me post that could be linked) of ...it shouldnt take too much effort to maintain...adding a few links here and there after the initial rush wouldn't be a big hassle and updating it every six months...would really only involve checking the links and the time stamp on the blogs latest post.

It would have a library masterpost, where we could compile fic or even all fan creation masterlists; again submission based for ease of maintenance and checking the links work once every 6 months or so. The monthly event masterposts could also go in here.

I also thought a resource post would be good. Links to the offical group media accounts and the members personal ones. Maybe some links to make finding thier acting appearances easier, there's a good blog out that that's compiled many of the videos and I have a few google doc links saved for the downloaded lives that got saved. And whatever else a new or old exol might need to find. (Ideas?)

And as for events...I mocked up a calendar....subject to change of course but just something to get an idea of things and a starting point. I figured a poll for things like day and time to run events wouldn't go amiss.

But the events I tentatively have blocked out are

The monthly prompt, drop it on the 1st of the month and have the deadline set for the last day of the month to be included on the months masterlist. (Wondering if there should be a minimum requirement? Or just so long as it includes the prompt?) [This would help generate new content]

Weekly thematic prompts that are at least tangential to the monthly prompt, for those that want to do shorter drabbles or quicker fanart edit pieces. [Another way to get people back into making things]

Book club! People can submit fics they'd like for participants to read, a poll to decide which one and at the end of the month we could discuss them. Could also include shorter works ....we'd just do a couple of them instead of just one. [Would divide into shipping fics and reader insert/oc] [this would get people talking about our writers and thier work maybe even encourage them to comment more]

Art Gallery Night. Similar to book club but fanart and edit focused people wouldnhave the opportunity to share thier favourite pieces and what they enjoyed about them, what draws them to it etc. [Again something to spark discussion between blogs. Still contemplating logistics]

Workshop Wednesdays. This one heavily depends on how the tumblr community function works, but the idea behind it is to metaphorically gather and share about our ongoing fan creation projects, or ask for advice from other creators or share a life hack that you found that works. That sort of thing. [Would hopefully help to motivate people to continue or even pick up creating.]

Exo watch alongs. What it says on the tin, we'd have a poll on what to watch and every one watches it together and talks about it as it goes on. [Another idea to get people talking to each other.]

Holidays and birthdays. Have a valentines day exchange for example or spooky stories at halloween etc. People can share posts about the member whose birthday it is.

Sleepover Saturdays. This is kinda similar to something....I think it was @prettywordsyouleft used to do. Again logistics would depend on how the tumblr community function works, but the memes and tag games and the questionnaires and mad libs etc that @ffff7777 suggested would go here. Just an hour or so of fun once a week. People could submit stuff like uquizzes they found or made and whatever we don't use could go towards the next week's activities.

Potentially? Like....a lot of the exo content I see crossing the dash...when I see it...it's all older posts. I have recently developed a habit of checking the original timestamps on things and if you ever look....we have posts still making the rounds that were originally posted from 2017, and that's just the oldest one I've seen lately.

This isn't a bad idea at all, anything that helps alleviate some of the mental labour is a good thing imo. Another option would be to take submissions for prompts and use those to power the polls.

Yes! It was during one of their concert ments! One of thier live streamed ones...it kinda became a bit if a meme at the time...but he was teasing exols about thier phones and posting to social media and he specifically mentioned posting to Tumblr. So yeah our precious leader knows about us. As for the analytics....it's a real possibility especially when you consider that back when Tumblr was hosting celebrity ama, side note does Tumblr still do those? I haven't seen a notice for one in a while. Anyway, the websites been used in the past as part of movie or music promotions, Dennys had a Tumblr blog as part of thier marketing strategy until like 2019. TikTok might be the most popular social media atm but that doesn't mean companies are gonna disregard all other sources of data. Truthfully it's probably just a matter of percentages.

Anyway. Like I mentioned above...I've got a jump start in organizing things, as for help it'll be a matter of potentially finding a few admins to help run the events themselves, because there's definitely gonna be days id miss simply because of work, and to get people to help spread the word to the active blogs out there. Honestly it might be a good idea to reach out to some of the popular writers and see if they'd be willing help out and promote the idea once the blogs details are polished.

And I don't know if I've said this yet, but thank you, to you and to everyone else who's thrown in ideas. I'm starting to have hope again for our fandom, I know I definitely feel much more enthused being proactive about things. So thank you for the help and input.

So I can't be the only one who's noticed the decline in fanmade exo content here on Tumblr. We've gone from a fandom who's new posts could be measured in hours to a fandom who's posts have days....to weeks....to months....to even years for some specific tags.

We have had 6 solo album comebacks this year, 3 fancon tours, 2 solo concert tours, a myriad of festival concert appearances, youtube videos, magazine shoots, instalives, etc. Yet if you go to the exo tag it's mainly populated by archive blogs. And the nude bots, which....that's a whole other problem on its own. I digress. My point being, the tags, at least from what I've seen (I admit I haven't looked into the shipping tags) are being filled by the same handful of blogs yet given the high amount of source material, no one seems to be doing anything with it beyond archiving it.

Again this could just be because I didn't delve too deep or too far back, but it does have me wondering if part of the reason participation this year was down was simply because there's hardly anyone left.

There's been instances in the past where others have attempted to inject new life into the fandom so to speak, with....varying...level of success. The exo revival project being the first and most successful that comes to mind. I'm wondering what everyone else's thoughts are on the matter and if holding new fandom events might be a way to involve more people year round because I really do want to continue holding this event next year but if things keep going the way they have been there won't be anyone signing up.

Let me know what you think, ideas you might have, reblog this and tag your mutuals to get them involved in the discussion. I have a few ideas that I've pilfered from other fandoms, watch alongs. Fic bingo. Theres valentines exchanges. Fandom sleepovers. Heck I'd set up a Tumblr based scavenger hunt if I thought people would play. Like....we dont have to be monoliths in a placid sea of we don't want to. Fandom can be fun. It should be fun.

#exo #baekhyun #minseok #chanyeol #jongdae #junmyeon #yixing #kyungsoo #sehun #jongin

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shadowsinger11 · 4 years ago

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Inspiration

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Requested by anon: Could you do a Fred Weasley imagine where he falls in love with Harry’s younger sister. (Maybe a after the war where he lives)

Word Count: 3.3k (my hand slipped oops)

Genre: Fluff, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining etc.

Warnings: Slight innuendo, Fred being cute and hot simultaneously

Tags: @self-ship-love @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hufflexpuff @neovannii @jenniweasley @elf-punk @heart-of-tempered-steel @itseatyourdamnapples

Message me if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

Ottery St Catchpole, Devon, England, July 16, 2000

It was a chilly Sunday evening. The summer air buzzed with excitement and the tender aroma of magnolia as tiny white and pink petals were gracefully falling from the huge cherry trees, carried by the light breeze. Twilight painted the horizon in liquid gold and fiery red, soon followed by mellow shades of dark blue that brought countless sparkling stars.

It was getting the slightest bit colder, but it did not matter; nothing else mattered but the loud cheers and cheerful music, celebrating the official bond between a Potter and a Weasley under the wide night sky.

You couldn't have been happier for your older brother, Harry, who was currently dancing with Ginny, his now wife - now and for the rest of his, hopefully, but not really likely, peaceful life. For the longest time you've been wondering how he'd always manage to get into trouble even as a small First year with no experience in the wizarding world whatsoever. Or, perhaps, that was the exact reason as to why evil-battling and rule-breaking were such common practices when hanging out with him.

However, there was no fighting that day. There was no room for worry and fear when the entire Weasley family and their loved ones were gathered on the clearing in front of the Burrow, chatting, laughing, dancing, singing, drinking, celebrating and living for what seemed to be the first time since Lord Voldemort's fall. Danger was practically nonexistent in that blissful moment which was frozen in time, once having looked agonizingly distant and impossible to hope for. But that dream was no longer just a foolish fantasy to heal wounded hearts. It was there, and it was happening in the most beautiful way imaginable.

And suddenly, all those clichés of a married life weren't even clichés. They were simply humble wishes of people who had witnessed far too many horrors in such a short period of time, and only craved stability among the massive chaos. So when you glanced at Ginny, a twirling blur of flaming red hair and a gorgeous wedding dress, you didn't feel the need to comment on how banal the color white was. You genuinely smiled, admiring the pure, exuberant joy, visible in her eyes and scarlet cheeks. Harry looked just as, if not even happier than his wife, dancing in the ridiculous but wholehearted way that only he could, and old memories of him winning the golden egg, training Dumbledore's Army and kissing Ginny in the common room for the very first time flooded into your mind.

It had truly been a long time since you had seen Harry careless and free like that.

You yourself had spent an ungodly amount of hours preparing the yard for the ceremony all day; rearranging chairs, decorating, making sure everything was going by schedule, only to then dance your tired feet off, and though you wanted to continue having fun with Hermione, Luna and the rest of the girls waiting for you, you really needed a break. And a drink.

Excusing yourself to leave the particularly interesting conversation you were having with distant Weasley relatives, you slipped off your black flats that, despite looking absolutely stunning, hurt your feet terribly after an entire day of fussing over the color of napkins and flower bouquets. Barefoot on the grass, you walked over to a chair next to a table which seemed to have been occupied, but judging by the mostly empty glasses and plates, the guests weren't coming back anytime soon.

You tossed your shoes aside with a sigh and rushed to rub your aching toes, hissing from how sore they were.

How has Ginny been dancing like that for hours?

"Enjoying the party, I see?" a familiar deep, slightly husky voice commented, causing you to look up.

It was none other than Fred Weasley, dear friend from childhood, staring down at you, his ever-present charming smirk resting on features and hands shoved into the pockets of his dragonskin suit. But it was his flaming red hair that made your eyes widen - it was carefully smoothed back, shining under the moonlight like liquid iron.

Fred's eyes still contained their famous, loveable mischief, except now slightly tamer and calmer. His firm biceps had visibly grown in size, stretching out the fabric of his coat just a bit to give you a prominent silhouette that caught you off guard.

It had been two years; he had changed so much.

And you were afraid to admit you had too.

You blinked in surprise, processing his uncharacteristically sophisticated appearance before realizing what he had asked you.

"Would've enjoyed it far more if my legs weren't killing me," you groaned half-heartedly and leaned back on your chair. "What's with your hair?"

"What's with your feet?"

"I asked you first," you cut him off. "I bet Ginny is responsible for this."

"Actually…" Fred trailed off, and, whether on purpose or not, ran a hand through the ginger locks to keep them in place, unaware of how you suddenly wished the hand doing the graceful motion wasn't his. "Mum insisted that I looked my best. What can I say, it's not like George and I usually listen to her, but we thought we'd make an exception this time; our sister doesn't get married every day. But honestly, Ginny couldn't care less about how we looked as long we showed up."

"So like usual, you mean?" you giggled. "Showing up is an achievement for you even if you're underdressed?"

Fred beamed, pearly white smile complementing his formal outfit. You wondered if he used that exact smile to effortlessly allure costumers and business partners at work.

He rested an elbow on the table as he leaned forward.

"Come on now, darling. I know you find my messy hair irresistible either way."

His cockiness only caused you to laugh, though Fred was quick to spot the flash of nervousness in your eyes; it brought him immense pride to know he was the one to turn you from confident to adorably bashful and flustered in the matter of seconds.

He was looking at you intensely, expectantly waiting for you to deny his flirty accusation despite your shyness.

"Nah, Weasley. It only reminds me that even at twenty-two you still do not know how to use a comb."

Fred's eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline, mouth agape. For the first time, he actually needed a second to form a reply.

"Didn't see that coming, I give you that. Courageous one, you are."

Your heart fluttered with joy and you openly grinned, shrugging in half-hearted humbleness.

"Perhaps I am."

Speaking to him felt unusually energizing, as though you had jumped headfirst into a chilly lake. It was unfamiliar and it set your nerves on fire, causing your stomach to twist and turn with sensations that left you dizzy, but unbelievably thrilled. And you wanted more of it, you wanted more of him.

"Fancy a drink?" Fred offered, already pouring champagne into a glass before handing it to you, and you keenly took it.

"Thanks, I've been thirsty with all the preparations I was doing."

"Is that why your legs are killing you?"

"Exactly, I've been running around all day, making sure everything was in order… you know, a lot of organizing and the like."

"It must hurt quite a bit then," Fred commented with a pained grimace. "But I absolutely get you, Georgie and I are just like that when it comes to the shop. It's a lot of accounting if I'm being honest, though I admit he's way better at it. We need to be completely precise; we can't allow any mistakes."

"Woah," you laughed. "Control freak much?"

He wettened his lips, never breaking eye contact.

"Perhaps I am."

You tilted your head to the side, gaze piercing into his in hopes of finding out what those gorgeous brown eyes were hiding. The tiny playful flames in them were eloquent.

Shifting slightly in your seat, you smoothed out your bridesmaid dress and raised your glass, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips.

"Cheers to us control freaks then."

Fred mirrored your smug expression and your glasses met with a clink. The bubbly liquid tingled your throat, undoubtedly refreshing you and cooling you off. You glanced at the people dancing in the centre of the clearing and giggled - Ginny had apparently thrown away her white shoes long ago, bare feet stepping elegantly on the grass.

"You see, I'd like to chat a bit more with you, but I'm afraid it's a bit too loud here. What about we go to the pond across the field?" Fred suggested, pointing at the woods behind his back. You had visited them countless times when staying with Harry at the Burrow during holidays years ago; the tall trees and the glistening waters had never ceased to bring you comfort.

The noise started to become bothersome, and you felt it even more necessary to continue your conversation somewhere private, the unknown causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Fred's presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, or the sensation of anticipating a tidal wave to crash into you in less than a second. It was wild and the tiniest bit terrifying, but oh so tempting as it pulled you in.

"I'd love that, but… you know," you grinned and playfully swang your sore feet. "Can't really walk."

But this didn't at all seem like a problem to Fred Weasley who only shrugged and stood up, "You don't have to. I'll carry you."

"Merlin, no! Please, it's not necessary."

Fred frowned, but his confused expression was soon replaced by an amused one.

"You said it yourself that your feet hurt like hell. And even if carrying you around isn't necessary, it doesn't mean I don't want to."

You attempted to tame the butterflies.

"No, no! You seriously don't have to, I promise," you frantically protested as you held up your hands in front of you to reassure him, but he only gave you a weird look. "I can walk on my own. I'll be too heavy for you."

"There's only one way to find out."

Fred walked over to you and leaned down, one hand sneaking around your waist and the other slipping under your knees. You shrieked in terror, arms flying to clutch at his shoulders, and heat rose to your cheeks from the abrupt contact. Your chests were pressed together, and you were afraid he'd be able to feel your racing heart. His skin was warmer than you had thought, and it successfully fought off the night summer chill.

"Are we going?" Fred whispered down at you, lips so close to yours that you recognized the nuance of champagne in his breath, mixing unbelievably well with the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood of his cologne.

Not only is he sinfully attractive, but he smells heavenly too?

"Yes," you breathed and let Fred effortlessly walk across the meadow with you in his arms. They brought this new, odd, yet familiar sense of security, and you allowed your head to rest against his chest, nervous gaze wandering off into the distance in hopes of not meeting his. Nevertheless, curiosity eventually took the best of you, and your eyes would occasionally flicker to his, which were now completely black under the night sky. They could swallow you whole, you swore.

Minutes later, you found yourselves in the company of old, enormous willows which surrounded the pond you so vividly remembered from your teenage years. You thanked Fred as he carefully let you down, and took a few steps forward to look around and drench in the misty moonlight that enveloped the area. The waters were crystal clear and completely still, reflecting the moon and its majestic silver glow. The bushes had grown significantly over the time you were away, and you fondly looked back at the moments when you would pick up colorful wildflowers in the summer before your fourth year.

"Shall we sit?" Fred asked quietly from right behind your shoulder, and you followed him with a nod. You found a comfortable spot on the fresh grass to sit, a few feet away from where the water met the soil and moved back and forth ever so slightly.

"It's more beautiful than I remember," you noted, lips curled up in a barely visible smile. Fred hummed in agreement.

"That's why I always make sure to come here every chance I get when I return. But, unfortunately, that's very rare in my case."

For a moment, there was only the chirping of crickets and the soft bubbling of water.

Fred turned to you.

"Remember when mum used to call for us to de-gnome the garden and we'd hide here? We could stay in the bushes for hours before we eventually came back," he recalled, seeming deep in thought. It was an extraordinary sight; for once the playful spark in his eyes was more mellow, there was no cockiness seeping into the way he was holding himself. He was just Fred, the man who was currently thinking with so much adoration and love about his childhood, the most significant memories of it being marked by you.

You wondered, given you ever had the chance to spend with Fred as much time as your older brother did, if the charismatic prankster would have fallen for you like you had done. You wondered, given the chance you had let Fred get to know you better all those summers ago, if his heart would have belonged to you by now just like yours did to him.

Had you possibly missed your chance?

"Oh, I do," you sighed, the tension in your chest vanishing as warm nostalgia crept in like an old friend. "I also remember when I got this really bad nightmare that night. I was so terrified that you took me on a ride with your broom in the middle of the night to cheer me up."

"That's true! My parents don't know about it to this day," he replied smugly. "I can still hear you screaming like a lunatic."

You jokingly smacked his arm, "I was twelve!"

Fred's grin grew wider.

"Excuses…"

This only caused you to stare at him in disbelief and cross your arms, managing your most serious expression, but Fred was aware you were on the verge of failing to keep your stern facade. He squinted his eyes as a teasing attempt to provoke you, smile threatening to split his face in two.

"Alright then, that's enough about me," you announced, and Fred nodded in mock agreement as he studied your playful pretence. "If you're so much better than me, Mr Darcy, what else do you do aside from stealing ladies away?"

"Stealing their hearts," he said confidently, flashing you a seductive smirk, reserved only for special girls back in your Hogwarts days. You giggled, finding his antic utterly ridiculous, but you hated to admit that it still turned your blood into liquid fire. Fred apparently saw right through you, because when your eyes landed on his, they appeared completely dark once again, but, you suspected, for a reason other than the lack of light.

Your throat went dry, and you found it hard to swallow down the lump that cut your breath short.

He ran a hand through his ginger hair as he began to explain, "I'm kidding, you know. But to answer your question, George and I have been working on this potion that should be able to change the color of the eyes and hair. Fun for those who enjoy experimenting with their appearance, but it can also be useful to the Ministry. They're actually going to send a team of a couple of aurors to visit us next month so we can update them on our progress and negotiate the details."

"Wow! That's certainly exciting!"

"Is it? I mean, it probably is, but I've been having second thoughts lately if I'm being honest." He scratched the back of his neck, and you realised you had only witnessed him being anxious when it came to his greatest passion. "I'm afraid we might not be done on time, there's still plenty left to improve."

You put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, and said, "I'm sure you'll figure it all out eventually. Keep working as you normally do, try not to stress too much over the deadline, and even if things go wrong at some point, don't go too hard on yourself. It wouldn't take away any progress you've made so far."

Fred's body relaxed just a bit and he looked down at you. He couldn't deny the sense of serenity that he felt only when he was with you. Even as a careless young boy, he was able to pinpoint the way his midriff would clench every time you'd laugh at his jokes or ask him to play with you, without knowing what it all meant.

But now, as a grown man, he had a word to describe the bittersweet fire within.

"You know what?" He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "I could really benefit from having someone like you around to give me motivation."

"Motivation, huh?" you raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. Fred sneaked a hand around your waist and pulled you closer.

"Yes, motivation."

"Motivation for what?"

"Marketing strategies, work projects…" he shrugged nonchalantly, "...among other things."

You quickly caught on, suddenly becoming way too self-aware of the way you were practically cuddled into Fred's side, hand resting on his shoulder while his were wrapped around your waist. But his shining confidence seemed to rub off on you, because you asked.

"What's with you offering me a job all of a sudden?"

His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth as he took his sweet time devouring you with his darkened gaze. You didn't know whether you wanted to hide from it, or expose yourself even further to the way it burned its way straight to your core.

"Well…" Fred dragged out in his low, hoarse voice, and caressed your cheek with his thumb before slipping it under your chin to guide it towards his face. You could nearly taste the remaining flavour of champagne on his lips. "I've certainly been feeling…"

Fred went quiet as he got lost in the way you fit so perfectly in his arms; you had always meant to be there, he realised. His mouth crashed into yours, hands tightly gripping your waist, and you let out a gasp. Fred's lips were soft, although slightly chapped, and they moved gently but firmly against yours, turning you into their slave. Your palms naturally slid up his chest and he closed any remaining distance between your bodies by placing you to straddle his lap. The kiss was a dance of pushing forward and pulling back, two lovers having finally found their rhythm after years of living in fearful desire. You were positively drunk on his taste, on him, and you wished to never become sober.

When your need for air overcame the one for physical contact, you pulled away. Your chests were heaving with rapid, shallow breaths, hearts beating in synch like they had always done. You let a finger tenderly trace his cheekbone down to his jawline, then it came back up to draw different affectionate patterns on his face.

"What were you saying?" you asked, clearly out of breath. "How were you feeling?"

He fondly took your hand that was caressing his skin, and lifted it up to press feather-light kisses on your knuckles. His lips retraced their path until they reached the tips of your fingers, and he kissed those with the gentlest of touch.

You heart ached pleasurably from the way he was handling you with such care, much more than you ever believed he was capable of.

After minutes of worshipping you by the moonlit lake, Fred looked back at you as though you were his entire world. And replied with a smile.

"Inspired."

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader fluff #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley oneshot #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins #fred and george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagines #james phelps #oliver phelps

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lydiagrimborn1117 · 4 years ago

Text

He Lives Beneath

Tags: @mdoodlerfandomart

Prompt:"You have to trust me."

Summary: Hiccup has been a sailor on his father's pirate ship for quite some time, and every day his father talks to him about how he will make an incredible captain. One day when Hiccup's father's crew catches something in their nets, when Hiccup sees what they caught. His main concern isn't about being captain. His main concern, is keeping that something alive.

Authors note: Big thank you to @mdoodlerfandomart who allowed me to write this what I thought was going to be a short story for one of her drawings, but it turns out it may be longer than expected. But anyways big thanks to her and I will show her piece of art at the end. Hopefully if she's alright with it I can continue writing this story due to the fact I have plenty more ideas.

Hiccup stood on the main deck in shock. The crew had just lifted up the nets to see how much fish they had been able to catch for dinner, and while they had caught something, it was something so unbelievable. Hiccup's friends stood beside him as well also filed with bewilderment. His father, which happened to be the captain, was laughing excitingly among the crew. Everyone was in shock, they'd captured a merman.

"Well look at what we have here!" yelled one of the crew mates as they approached the net. The merman struggled to untie the rope net digging into his tale, the merman was in so much pain and was terrified. What would these humans to do him if they managed to locked him away? Would they run experiments on him? Torture him? Whatever it was the merman didn't want to be around long enough to find out. A couple of crew mates grabbed the merman roughly by his arms and dragged him to Hiccup's father, Captain Stoick.

"What should we do with em Cap'n," asked the crew mate. One of the other crew mates got closer to his face with a sinister grin stretched across their face.

"I say we sell him," suggested the crew mate "We could make good money off of him. What'd ya think Captain?" Stoick looked down at the scared creature. Stoick couldn't care less whether this thing lived or died, but the crew had a point, they could make extremely good money by selling him.

"Uh dad?" called out Hiccup "I have a suggestion." Stoick's eyes widened in surprise. What could Hiccup possibly know about merfolk.

"Speak up than," Replied Stoick. He may not care for the monster, but he did care about opinions. So he was allowing his son to speak his mind.

"Why don't we make him a performer for us? Every time we stop at ports to reload the ship we're there for a few days," explained Hiccup "he can make us money while we're there. People would go nuts to see a merman in person, Don't ya think?"Hiccup looked at the merman. He had tears streaming down his face, Hiccup felt bad he had to be going through this. Hiccup could only imagine how he was feeling right now.

"Not a bad idea Hiccup. We'd be making more money showing him if two more than one person than just a single one alone," began Stoick as he grabbed the merman by the chin "Not a bad idea at all."

"Great. Since I proposed the idea, I'll take care of him," said Hiccup. The men began untangling the nets around the merman's tail, as soon as his tail was free, the merman slapped away the two crew mates holding onto him and began crawling as fast as he could to the wall of the ship. Yet as he was climbing over, Stoick pulled out his axe and pinned down the merman's fin.

Hiccup gasped as the merman screamed out in agony. The axe had just about nearly severed the fin clean off the tail, and the merman held onto the wound sobbing. Hiccup rushed over and kneeled down next to the injured creature, as Hiccup's hand made it's way over to the injured tail, the merman made an attempt to escape Hiccup's touch. Yet as the merman did this, it only made the axe do more damage.

"I thought the point of keeping him is making sure he stay's alive, dad!" yelled Hiccup angrily. Stoick sighed in annoyance and pulled the axe out of the wound, not bothering to care if it hurt the merman.

"I only did it so he couldn't swim away. You'll thank me for that later."

A few days later, Hiccup was in his room looking at the merman sadly. Fishlegs was examining the wound on his fin, however the merman wasn't letting anyone get anywhere near him. Hiccup hated the fact the had restrain the merman just so they would see the damage done to his fin, but it was their only option. The merman was in a tank too small for him, yet it was all they could find for the magnificent creature.

"Bad news," advised Fishlegs. Hiccup looked at his friend filled with worry.

"What is it?" Hiccup asked as Fishlegs walked over to him.

"The fin needs to be amputated," began Fishlegs sadly "No matter what we do for him, he won't be able to swim normally again. Of course he's in a tank so it's hard to tell for sure, but that's all I can say for now." Hiccup nodded and told Fishlegs to leave. He had done all he could for now.

"Do you have any idea what that means?" the merman looked at Hiccup, eyes filled with confusion. Of course he didn't know what that meant. "It means we have to remove your fin."

The merman's eyes widened in fear as he started to shake his head. This couldn't be happening to him, if they removed his fi, everyone at home would see him as some freak. He'd be a reject.

The creature looked up in fear when he heard a creaking noise come from the top of his prison. The tank may be glass, but it had a wooden rim and wooden lid, meaning Hiccup could easily pry open the tank with a crow bar. As Hiccup pushed down with as much force as he could, he kept his eyes on the merman who was still scared and confused.

"You have to trust me," softly demanded Hiccup. He didn't want to frighten the merman anymore then the crew already had. He was still here only because Hiccup said they should use him as some circus freak. That was his new purpose now he supposed. As the lid separated itself from the tank, Hiccup moved to the other side and placed the crowbar in position.

Hiccup was surprised to see that the merman was helping him as well. This meant Hiccup was getting somewhere with the frightened being. Once the lid was off of the tank, the merman slowly began to stretch his arms and tail.

"You can't take my fin," came a deep voice. It took a minute for Hiccup to register that the merman was talking to him.

"We have to," started Hiccup "You heard my friend. You won't be able to swim normally again either way, you'd be suffering." the merman shook his head as more tears streamed down his face. The human had made a fair argument. He'd have to assume that he has no choice.

"You can call me Hiccup by the way," stated Hiccup as he headed to the door. Hiccup figured that the merman was hungry and needed sometime to think to himself.

"Viggo," Hiccup turned around in shock after hearing the merman say something again

"What did you say?" surprisingly asked Hiccup.

"My name is Viggo."

(Art below is @mdoodlerfandomart)

#mermay prompts #merman #vigcup #viggo grimborn #hiccup #whump #whump story #capture #how to train your dragon #race to the edge #rtte viggo #hiccup haddock

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rogue-durin-16 · 4 years ago

Text

THINGS NEVER GO AS PLANNED (Part II/VII)

"candy floss"

Summary: After Fred's death, George and Y/n lean on each other to carry on. This wasn't the most brilliant idea, though; George was pretty much in love with the girl, and Y/n— well, she had been dating Fred prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

Suggested by: @crispykittywitch

Things never go as planned: @sarcasticallywitty15 @beautyschoo1dropout @s1ut4georgeweasley @leovaldez37 @missmulti @weasleywh0r3s

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: grief, feels, brief mention of Fred x Reader ig?

A/N: I decided to name the parts bc why the fuck not so keep an eye on the titles 👀. This story is based off this convo and these headcanons. If you wanna be tagged in the next parts tell me, and enjoy <3

Prologue :the aftermath

Part I : sleepless nights

Part III: shock therapy

Part IV: wrong name

Part V: the perfect excuse

Part VI: the downfall

Part VII: apart

Epilogue: I still love you

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The moment the last group of customers decided it was time to call it a day and exited the shop, I left the till counter and grabbed my wand from my pocket, instantly turning the sign in the door so it could be read from outside 'closed'.

A sigh escaped my lips as I leaned against the multicolored wooden rail.

I was drained.

The shop helped our minds to get distracted and stray from the grief, yes, but it was also exhausting.

We had been subconsciously overworking ourselves to the point where it was borderline self-destructive.

It didn't help that I was throwing myself into comforting George, either. I could not be blamed for doing that, though; he was broken.

A part of me, the rational one, knew he would pick up the pieces and build himself up again, it would just take a lot of time.

There was another part of me, though, that depressed, drained part, that was beginning to think he would never heal by himself —maybe he wouldn't heal at all— but still held onto the hope that, if I tried hard enough, I would be able to mend what had been broken in him.

A terrible idea, really, because I started to dismiss in its entirety my own miserable, damaged state.

And George, ever the caring, sensible one, would have noticed that; he would have made me realize I was not doing nearly as well as I thought, he would have talked some sense into me, but he wouldn't— he couldn't, because George was lost in an ocean of grief, trying so hard not to drown that he wasn't able to notice I was trying to aid him from my very own sinking boat.

It also seemed to be working; he was more animated, slept more soundly, and his smile was a bit brighter even —at least the one he had for me.

"Rough day?" My eyes, which I didn't know I had closed, fluttered open at George's voice.

"Very."

He walked to me with a tinge of guilt in his face. "You know we can switch places, right?" I had been working as the public face of the shop since we had reopened, and George had taken on the task of doing the paperwork and shippings instead, showing up from time to time to help me and to let people know there was still a Weasley running the business.

I had been the one to suggest this, since I knew George had compromised with reopening only because of me, and he was clearly not ready to put up a sociable, positive attitude for dozens of people every day.

"Nah, it's fine like this." I assured him with a reassuring smile.

He measured me with his eyes for a second; I couldn't really tell if he saw through me or not. "So I was preparing the today's shippings," he rocked a tiny purple basket I quickly recognised in front of me. "I found this in the back of the stockroom."

"Are those—?"

"Candy floss cupcakes, yes." A year and a half ago we had bought five baskets of candy floss cupcakes from Honeydukes per George's request in order to unsuccessfully try and implement them.

"Are they even edible anymore?" I couldn't help but laugh.

"I hope so?" He chuckled too, tearing the film covering the sweets. "Thought we might as well finish them."

My eyes travelled from the basket to him and viceversa before stating, "well I'm hungry so..."

"Same here." He was the first one to pull out a pastel colored cupcake, though he handed it to me. "Wanna get food poisoning together?" Laughing, I gave him a nod as he grabbed his own cupcake. "At the count of three?"

"One"

"Two"

"Three." We said in unison right before taking a bite of our respective madeleines.

I frowned at its surprisingly good flavour. "Am I delirious or are they actually edible?"

"Dunno," he shoved the rest of his cupcake into his mouth with a shrug. "maybe we're just starving."

"Go big or go home, I guess." I finished my cupcake before leaning on the basket to pick another one. My head snapped up with my brow quirked when I heard a soft chuckle. "What?"

"Nothing." George shook his head, motioning at the stairs. "Shall we sit down?" I followed his lead, sitting on the stairs and waiting for him, who had stepped towards the drinks aisle to grab a couple of juice bottles, to do the same.

We stayed there, eating and drinking in a comfortable silence until the basket was empty and our eyelids threatened to shut.

"I think we should head back to the flat." He spoke, leaving the half empty juice aside so he could stretch.

"I'm gonna learn how to cook." I stated, getting up. "We can't get by based on most likely expired sweets and whatever is in the Leaky Cauldron menu."

"Aight." He mimicked my actions, picking up the stuff we left on the stairs. "We will learn the basics tomorrow." He got behind me and began to gently push in the flat's direction. "But now we're gonna get some sleep, miss."

I would be lying if I said my heartbeat didn't pick up when his hands landed on my shoulder blades and made their way to rub both my arms reassuringly.

I would be lying if I denied I leaned back when he did that, letting myself get closer to his chest.

And I would definitely be lying if I said I didn't crave going back to my room so I could cuddle him all night.

One Week Later

"—right in the cauldron, love." I pointed at the cauldron besides me, giving a sweet smile to the kid in front of me, visibly going to be sick thanks to the free sample of Skiving Snackboxes.

"Y/n!" I spun around at the loud calling of my name above the shop's racket. I was able to discern a long, red mane flowing fast towards my position right on time for the owner to wrap her arms around me.

"Glad to see you too, Ginny." I laughed, trying not to lose balance due to her enthusiasm. "How come you're here?" I questioned, pulling away.

"We heard you were open." Harry walked up to me, appearing from behind the girl, "And thought we'd pay a visit to our friends, right?" Ginny nodded, looking around while Harry gave me a quick, yet comforting hug. "Where's George?"

I motioned up to the small office, redirecting the couple's eyes to the second floor. "Doing paperwork—AH!" I jolted when a pair of hands tickled my sides, my head snapping to see the towering ginger standing behind me. "Speaking of the devil."

"I thought I saw Gin through the window," George explained, his hands lingering on my waist for long enough to his sister to stare, before pulling Ginny into a tight hug. "And came down to check if she was distracting my employee."

"You got her all bored here, mate." Harry pointed out, a light joking tone in his voice.

"And you're the one supposed to help with that?" George rolled his eyes dramatically. "Pfft... What a world we live in." With the said, he gave the boy a side hug. I heard Harry murmur an 'We missed you' before they pulled away with a pat on the shoulder.

My gaze landed on the youngest Weasley, whose welled up eyes were trained on her older brother's half smile. I only averted my eyes and waited for her to discreetly wipe away the unspilled tears while Harry and George catched up.

By the letters she had sent me, I reckoned the last time she had been near George, he had been lifeless; seeing a glimpse of who was once one of the most cheerful, funny and charismatic people in her life, was probably poignant to Ginny.

I hadn't realized she had moved closer until I didn't hear her soft voice. "Thank you." I offered her a confused smile, though deep down I knew what she meant.

Two Days Later

George was having one of those days.

We both knew it was coming soon; it had to happen sooner rather than later, since he had been in a surprisingly good mood for almost a week. I suspected seeing Harry and Ginny had brought back the events of the Second of May.

I suggested to close the shop for the day, since he was unable to move out of bed; he refused to do so, but I convinced him to stay in the flat and rest —it was Tuesday, anyway; I wouldn't have to handle many customers.

Due to that, when I saw Hermione, Ron, Bill and Fleur entered the shop, it was understandable that I hadn't become the happiest person in the world.

I greeted them, there were hugs, kisses, and even a joke or two, and when Bill asked about George, I excused him without giving much detail.

They understood.

Fleur was the one to restart the conversation, lightening a bit before requesting a tour for the shop, since she had not yet been there.

It was when we reached the love potions that Hermione, using the fact that Fleur was very much interested in the product, held my hand and pulled me aside.

"So... how are you doing?" The frown in her face, the fact that she was whispering, the squeeze her hand gave mine, let me know she had read me the moment her eyes met mines.

I sighed with a shrug.

"You can tell me." Could I? "No one's asking you to put on a happy face, Y/n." The girl assured me, her eyes digging into mines. "It's not just George, we all lost—" she shook her head at her own words before correcting herself. "you lost him too."

I lost him too.

I bit my lower lip to stop it from quivering.

The memory of Fred's broken smile as his corpse laid on the stretcher, that memory that haunted my dreams, appeared vividly before my eyes.

My lips started to burn with the ghost of that kiss he gave me before we split up, him with Percy and me with George; it hadn't been meant to be a goodbye kiss. It was meant to be a good luck kiss.

I covered my mouth to muffle a sob, and Hermione's arms were quick to be wrapped around me, reassuringly rubbing my back.

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

I saw them entering from Y/n's balcony; I wasn't emotionally ready to face them all at the same time, but when I didn't see them exit, I figured Y/n hadn't been able to dismiss them.

I decided I owed to them all to bite the bullet, so I threw on a shirt and the first trousers I grabbed, cleaned up a bit and left the flat.

With a deep breath, I made it to the second floor and mentally prepared myself to go down to the first one.

As I began to climb down, though, I noticed Hermione and Y/n talking in private, closer than the others to the stairs.

I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but all my senses were automatically focused on Y/n whenever we were in the same room; she just stole me away from reality.

"You lost him too."

Hermione's words visibly triggered something on Y/n.

'Something', as if I didn't know what they had triggered, as if I didn't know what— who was on her mind.

I guess he was always on her mind, though.

What was left of my heart shattered in a million pieces when she broke down to tears —for several reasons—. "I miss him." She whispered in Hermione's shoulder. "I miss him so much."

If I had any tears left, I would have cried my eyes out right there. Had I been so selfish that I had disregarded how she was feeling? So blinded by the light and love and warmth she was constantly giving me that I had forgotten about her grief? Was I that bad of a person, that I would have rather live in the illusion that she had not lost the boy she was dating?

My mind told me I didn't want any of those questions answered.

"George!" As Ron yelled my name in surprise, Hermione and Y/n pulled away, the latter rubbing her eyes while both of my brothers jogged upstairs to hug me. "Ginny told us you're open—"

"But Y/n said you weren't feeling well." Bill finished, squeezing my shoulder. "We only stayed a little longer for Fleur to see the shop."

"Yeah, we'll come back tomorrow," Ron assured me. "So you can rest and..."

My brother's voice sounded further and further with each word; I felt myself drifting off, getting lost in my own mind and gravitating towards the same thought over and over.

She deserves better.

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niobiumao3 · 1 year ago

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I do think a full Pabu retirement isn't likely. More of a 'base we touch back to'; like Phee describes it, a home away from home. (Speaking of which, does this mean Phee's ship is her home and thus we get to see it in S3? We'd better. >:( )

There was a lot of time spent examining Tech as being able to function outside of being a soldier (despite constantly referring to himself as such), so unless they decide to drop that--which they might, they have before--if he comes back that would make the most sense as his through line. No more soldiering, except to help out now and again; instead he is doing <insert here>.

Crosshair, OTOH, I can see him jumping right back into the proto-Rebellion with Rex and Echo. He's going to be mad as hell. Also I suspect he'll be somewhat attached to Omega and I bet she will want to do that too.

I feel that Wrecker, like Tech, can go either way. Shep's comment about him fitting in so well on Pabu wasn't, IMO, just a filler line. I suspect it was meant to set up a mostly-retirement there for him. Of all of them, he seems the most likely to do so. (Tech will get too bored, he'll be running off with Phee on some hair-on-fire escapade within a week.)

Re: tags, not off base at all, IMO the Marauder is toast. I'm just glad we got her for two seasons of the three, and hope she goes down swinging and not in some ignominous way like CERTAIN OTHER BELOVED SHIPS I COULD NAME (*cough*Razorcrest*cough*).

I really want to know what the dynamic in the batch is going to look like once everyone is reunited and reconciled with each other after season three(1).

This doesn’t mean I think they’re never going to be whole or a family again, because I think they absolutely will be. And I’m not even saying that they’re going to all go their separate ways forever or that things between everyone are too broken because, well, this is the eucatastrophe franchise about hope and family, and in Star Wars nothing good is ever so broken as to be beyond repair. I think they’re going to be together, more or less. I even think we’re going to see them united in a cause to some extent.

But that doesn’t mean they’re going to be together all the time.

Part of the batch’s story so far has been a little bit of each of them coming into their own. Leaving the GAR and taking in Omega, or, in Crosshair’s case, staying on his own, has forced all of them to expand beyond their roles on the team. I’d argue that each of them is more themselves now than they’ve ever been, and I expect that trend to continue into season three. They’re individual people, and part of that means there are going to be times when one of them wants something different than the others do; and given the way the batchers tend to respect each other’s agency, I expect that when one of them wants something else, they’re free to go and come back as they please. And there’s something kind of powerful about that.

And then, of course, there’s the flip side of each of them becoming more themselves as the show goes on. Being more themselves, having to expand beyond their assigned roles, exploring the galaxy and gaining a better understanding of what they really like and want, means that when they are together, and if they choose to be together at the end of the series, it’s because they really want to be. And there’d be something really powerful about that, too. So I do think that we will see them together, emotionally at least, even if they’re not always physically in the same place (though I do think they’re going to end up physically in the same place a lot of the time).

But things are never going to be the same when they are together.

They’ve all been through too much. That sort of devil-may-care fratboy dynamic from the Bad Batch arc isn’t coming back. They’re all different people and, post season two, they’re kind of all living out their personal nightmare scenarios, and that’s going to change them even more. It doesn’t mean they can’t still work as a team; I’m betting they can. They might even work better as a team than before. And it doesn’t mean they’re relationships are going to end up cold or distant; if anything, I think there’s a chance these people are going to end up loving each other all the more fiercely in the end, because now they know what losing each other is like(2). They might end up stronger as a family and as a team in the end. Things might end up better than they were. It’s just not going to be the same.

1. I guess I should put an “if” in there, but I really do think that’s what’s going to happen.

2. I kind of think that we’re going to see them even a little more broken up than they are now before they get back together. Like. We might see a scenario where Echo and then Wrecker have to go off and do other things for a minute, and then Hunter ends up on his own for an episode and finally has that breakdown he’s clearly been staving off since about episode one.

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odissey061 · 5 years ago

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Motonari's route

Chapter(s) posted:

1. This freak won't have me

2. Kick him in the teeth

Please, teach me a better way to create link because I can't do it by myself

Chapter 3: This trick never worked at human's memory

Tag: @towa-no-yume @r-f-a-journalists

When I open my eyes the first thing I feel is an acute headache: the hands run through the hair until I discover a bump. I press it to see if I feel the pain and then I whimper like a baby: it hurts a lot. Why I'm so stupid? I take a look around me and I notice I'm in a cold and empty cell. The room is surrounded by three wooden walls and before me there's an iron grille. Here and there on the floor against the wall there are spooky chains that make me chill and smile nervously. At this moment I heard the rolling waves and I understand I'm on a ship.

Where I am? How many time has passed since my kidnap? I must return to the Oda right now! A lot of hours passed since I left Azuchi castle: I told to Hideyoshi I'd come back after lunch, so probably they have already noticed my absence.

I try open the door but, obviously, is locked and I look around to find something to force the look, but the room is empty, except the chain on the wall. Then I took a clip from my hair and, holding it tight in the hand, I pray:"At human memory this trick never worked, but, please, if there's even the littlest chance, make it happens". Great, now I pray to objects like they were gods!

I plug the clasp in the door lock but, as I expected, it doesn't work. Pushed by despair, I retry again and again, but after a large number of failed attempts and swears, finally I give up and I lean my back on the wall. A man appears in front of me: he's very tall and his body is made by tons of muscles, his eyes shining with malice. With a look I understand this man is a brute and he doesn't hesitate to use violence and if I had to fight against him, I'd probably die. "Who are you and why I'm here?" I demand, but he laughs dryly:"I'm the one who makes the questions here, little girl" and he opens the door. As he spoke, I recognize him as the man who kidnapped me. He enters in the cell and leaves open the door. I try to gain more time:"I understand why you kidnapped me: I'm very close to the Oda commanders and your boss wants information about them", Well, at least you are not stupid, that makes easier my work. So little girl, talk about your friends" he comments. "The problem is exactly about this: you see, I'm only their maid and I don't know anything about their future moves, so keep me here is useless" I lie and I walk towards the door. But the man grabs my hair, making me moan for the pain and yells at me:"You think I'm so stupid to believe you? I'm not a fool! In Azuchi people say Nobunaga brought you to battle on his horse His voice becomes lower, still being threatening:"If you don't tell me spontaneously all you know about them, I'll make you confess with the bad manners". And when he shows a bag full of torture instruments and I'm terrified. I don't know very much about torture, but I can imagine how much they'd hurt my body. I want to scream for help, but I know nobody will save me. My face gets paler. I know already how this will finish: this man will torture me until I speak, but I don't know anything, so he'll kill me for nothing. I'll die for anything!!

"I'm not his lover: I'm his maid and I have been staying in Azuchi for a few days. I don't know anything about them and if I knew something, I surely won't talk to you" I repeat using a quiet voice to not make him angrier. "Bad answer" he smiles sadistically, almost happy about my resistance and slaps me so violently to turn my head. "Try again, little girl, but the next time I won't so merciful".

"And if I don't confess what are you going to?" I bravely provoke him. The Oda forces helped me a lot and I won't betray them for my own safety. "I'll break all of your bones and if you won't talk, then I'll cut the tendons of your hands and your feet. If you still won't confess I'll remove your eyes, then I'll tear your ears and finally I'll cut your tongue" his threats scare me a lot, but I won't give up my loyalty. He takes from the bag a strange object and he places it near to my nails.

No no no no. Please, somebody help me!

I close the eyes too scared to watch, but at that moment I hear a new voice:"Yoshitoko, what are you doing here? I'm sure the captain hasn't told you to torture this girl since he is out to collect information with a few men. So I wonder: whose order are you following?". I open my eyes and I see a young man who's throwing diggers with the glare at the man in front of me. The newcomer is younger than this man, but somehow the eldest has to obey him. "The captain is still a child, quartermaster: if all of us wait for his command, we'd have alredy died. He doesn't know what to do and he's not able to keep the promise he made" he growls, "He's the captain, not you: he knows what's the best for us better than you. You are only able to hurt people and torture them, for this reason you won't be a captain. Now leave, Yoshitoko" The man speaks with a rough voice and I can feel the subtle threat he silently implies. I except a Yoshitoko's reaction, but he obeys whispering something.

Left alone, the young man is more relaxed walks towards me and I step back, so he reassures me:"I don't want to hurt you. I want to check your wound". I let him check my arm. I groan for the pain when he tries to move it. He looks more friendly than his colleague, so I try to ask:"Can you tell me who are you and how many days passed since my kidnap? Will you torture me again to seek information I don't have?". He sighs: "The arm is broken, now I call a doctor so he can help you better. Now you are on a pirate ship and you were kidnapped by Yoshitoko yesterday, following captain's order. Now the captain is away, but in a short time he'll be back and will decide what to do about you". "Earlier I said the truth: I don't know anything about Nobunaga's future plans. Keep me here he's useless" I whisper, "Even if you don't know anything you'll probably stay here as a political hostage to be used against your friends" the man explains my situation. The sadness overwhelms me to the thought I'll be used against my friends: I can't do this to them. "But as I told you is the captain to decide, so he could even release you" he tries to reassure me, but I have no illusions: if I were in his position I'll do the same. I even realize probably I won't be able to go back to my time. No way this will happen! The man says they wait for their captain, so it means the ship is still in the port: that makes my escape more easily. The man is inside the cell and the grill is open: all I have to do is run and don't be caught. But the pirate in front of me is still vigil even if he's more relaxed, surely is ready to catch me and even I'd beat him he'll give the alarm. No, escape at this moment is too risky but if I don't do it right now later would be impossible.

The only thing I can do is talk with the captain: I'm even ready to beg for my release, it's necessary. "The captain will be here in a few hours, so be more patient" he ends the conversation. "What kind of man is your captain?" I wonder, "The captain? Is an edgy man. He treats with respect his subordinates, but he doesn't trust anyone except me on this ship. Is the type of person who can be your friend but he stabs you in the back some minutes after" he responds. So he's a bastard and the possibilities he'd let me go are very low.

* * *

It's almost evening and Hideyoshi is worried: y/n told him this morning she'd have gone in the city until lunchtime, but she didn't come back. He asked around but nobody was able to tell him where y/n was. He alerted Nobunaga who decided to hold a war council to find her. Hideyoshi expresses all of his worry and Mitsunari takes word with a stern look on his face:"I'm quite worried as well, Lord Hideyoshi. We should look after her".

"Maybe she escaped after she went to war, after all, was her first time on a battlefield. I won't be surprised" Mitsuhide suggests with his cunning tone, but a more careful eye can see a glimpse of worry. In the past days, he went to some places with a very horrible reputation and in a red light district and he noticed a lot of Portuguese men who acted too much secretive for being simply merchant. They were really cautious: they gazed around before speaking with someone and once Mitsuhide risked revealing his true identity. Just today he succeeded to talk with a man after days of failures, but what he discovered was suspicious arms traffic. He didn't discover anything about y/n's missing. And the possibilities she's been kidnapped are not low. "My lucky charm is not a coward, Mitsuhide: she proved it during the war"

Nobunaga scolds him, "Then I suppose we should look after her" snorts Ieyasu. "As if you hadn't done it before, before" teases Mitsuhide: Ieyasu's contrarian reactions are always a delight for him.

"Lord Ieyasu is always so kind" Mitsunari praises him. Ieyasu scolds him:"I told you I wasn't searchi-", "Enough! Each of you will send your own scouts in the city to collect information" Nobunaga stops the discussion. Once the council ends, all the warlord obey to Nobunaga orders, sending men in the city and its surroundings with the order to search for y/n and arrest everyone look suspicious. But as time passes, nobody finds y/n.

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