#wick x isobel

[fics-not-tragedies]

Redemption: Chapter Six

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven

Surprise! I've been on a binge writing roll for the last couple of weeks, hope you like it!

Words: 2107; Warnings: not much except for some angsty bits; Summary: John and Isobel receive a surprising visit at the Continental.

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John raised an eyebrow, his posture shifting as he sat back, the tension already creeping in like smoke from a fire he couldn’t quite see.

“What kind of problem?” he asked, his voice low but heavy with an edge, the kind that came when he was preparing for something he wasn’t quite ready to face.

Isobel looked between them, the familiar unease creeping back into her chest. She had barely begun to process the raw emotions that had surged between her and John, and now, just like that, everything was back to the surface. What now? Her mind raced, but Sybil’s steady gaze told her this wasn’t something simple. This wasn’t the usual trouble they found themselves tangled in.

Sybil glanced over her shoulder, as if to make sure the room was still secure, then stepped further inside. She lowered her voice, and it was a note of caution that drew Isobel’s attention.

“We’ve got company,” Sybil said, and there was a certain weight to her words. "Not just any company.”

John stood abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the space like he was mentally calculating a thousand variables. He didn’t need to be told. He could feel it—the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. The Bowery King wasn’t just any visitor. He was a force. A dangerous one.

The door behind Sybil opened just slightly, enough for the sound of heavy boots on the floor to echo into the room.

John’s jaw tightened. He didn’t have to see him to know who it was. He felt the presence before the man even fully entered.

And then he did.

The Bowery King stood in the doorway, tall and imposing, his figure cloaked in shadows. His broad shoulders and weathered face were framed by the dim light spilling from the hallway, his sharp eyes scanning the room like a predator sizing up its next move.

Isobel’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t seen him in years, not since everything had gone to hell with the New York underground. The Bowery King had always been a mystery to her—fierce, calculating, and dangerous as hell. She didn’t trust him. No one did. But his power was undeniable, and his reputation preceded him, long and ugly.

“Wick,” the Bowery King’s voice rumbled, low and dangerous, almost a growl. His eyes flicked over to Isobel, then back to John, his gaze narrowing. “We need to talk.”

John didn’t move for a moment, his fists clenched at his sides. There was no warmth, no affection, no greeting in his expression. Just cold, hard indifference. He knew the Bowery King didn’t show up unless something big was happening. Something bad. Something that required all their attention.

“What is this about?” John finally asked, his voice unwavering despite the tension building.

The Bowery King’s lips twisted into a faint, almost sardonic smile. “Business,” he said, almost casually, though the weight behind the word was anything but. “But we’ve got a bit of a situation. And it’s one you’ll want to be a part of.”

John’s gaze flicked to Isobel, then back to the Bowery King, as though weighing his options. He wasn’t one to get involved in the King’s dealings unless absolutely necessary. He had enough on his plate—too much, in fact. The life he had built was precarious at best, and he didn’t need anyone coming in to stir up the pot.

But this was the Bowery King. No one could ignore him, no matter how many walls they built around themselves.

“I’m listening,” John said finally, his voice hardening.

The Bowery King stepped further into the room, the door clicking shut behind him with an almost final sound. “It’s the Russians,” he began, the name alone drawing a sharp intake of breath from Isobel. The Russian syndicate had always been trouble—cold, methodical, and unforgiving. They didn’t leave loose ends, and their reach stretched farther than anyone was comfortable with.

“They’ve been poking around,” the Bowery King continued. “And we can’t ignore them anymore. There’s a bigger play in motion, one that could topple the whole system we’ve worked so damn hard to set up. And I need someone who’s not afraid to get their hands dirty to help me clean it up.”

Isobel’s blood ran cold. She glanced at John, but he was already locked into the Bowery King’s gaze, a dangerous determination settling over him. John Wick didn’t back down from anything. Not from the Russians. Not from anyone.

The Bowery King’s eyes flicked between them, an almost calculating look in his gaze. “I’ve got a lot of people on my side,” he said, his voice dropping lower, “but you, Wick, you’re the only one who can take care of this. You’ll want to hear what I’ve got to offer.”

John’s face was a mask of steel, unreadable as always, but Isobel saw it. She saw the flicker in his eyes—the conflict, the temptation. It was impossible to ignore the pull of this kind of power, the dangerous allure of a fight that could change everything.

And deep down, she knew what this meant. She knew the weight of the decision John was about to make.

It was the same decision he had faced years ago when everything between them had started to unravel: loyalty, ambition, and survival. The stakes had always been high, and they were about to get higher.

The Bowery King took one final step forward, and the room seemed to hold its breath. “So what’ll it be, Wick?” he asked, his voice sharp, dangerous. “Are you in?”

John didn’t answer right away. His mind was already racing, calculating the cost of this choice. He glanced at Isobel, a silent understanding passing between them. She wasn’t sure what his next move would be, but she knew this: whatever happened next, nothing would ever be the same.

John stood frozen for a moment, the weight of the Bowery King's words sinking in. The air around them seemed to thicken, the tension palpable as he fought to push through the layers of uncertainty clouding his mind. He knew what this meant. He knew that getting involved with the Russians again would drag him deeper into the abyss he’d barely managed to crawl out of. And yet, he also knew that there was no walking away from this kind of invitation—not from someone like the Bowery King.

Isobel’s eyes never left his face. She could feel the conflict surging through him, could see the internal battle playing out in the way his jaw clenched and his posture stiffened. The temptation was there, unmistakable in the way he held himself, the pull of something darker than anything she had ever witnessed in him.

She had always known John to be a man of control, of precision, but she could see it in the way his hands curled into fists at his sides—something about this was different. He was close to tipping over the edge, and she wasn’t sure whether he even wanted to be pulled back.

The Bowery King’s presence loomed in the background, like a shadow too large to ignore. “I don’t have time to waste,” he said, his voice carrying an air of finality. “The Russians are moving fast. They’re already circling, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. You, Wick, are the only one who can stop them.”

John finally exhaled, his breath sharp, the tension in his chest starting to unravel. His gaze flicked to Isobel again, and for a brief second, their eyes locked—two souls, both tangled in a web of past choices and lost time. She could feel the pull between them, the unspoken bond that still lingered, even after everything that had happened. But there was also a fear in her eyes. Not for herself, but for him.

“Are you sure about this, John?” Isobel’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it cut through the room like a knife. “Once you walk down this path… there’s no coming back.”

John didn’t respond immediately. His mind was still spinning, thoughts racing with memories of the blood, the violence, the deals that had always come with a price. He had walked away once. Could he do it again?

The Bowery King, sensing the hesitation, pressed forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. “She’s right, Wick. Once you make this decision, there’s no going back. You’re already excommunicado. But I’ll tell you one thing—if you don’t act, it’ll be your neck on the line when the Russians come for you. They don’t forget. They don’t forgive.”

The words landed like stones, each one settling heavily in the pit of John’s stomach. He had spent so long trying to escape this life, this endless cycle of violence and betrayal. But there was something unyielding about the Bowery King’s presence, something that made it impossible to ignore.

And then there was the undeniable truth: John had always been a man of action. A man of few words, but of calculated, lethal decisions. The Russians were a threat, and he couldn’t allow them to grow unchecked. They were too dangerous, too capable of causing chaos on a scale even the Bowery King couldn’t control.

John’s eyes flicked back to Isobel, her expression a mixture of concern and resignation. She didn’t want him to get involved in this war. She didn’t want him to lose himself again in the chaos of the underworld. But he could see it in her eyes too—she knew that this was his fight. She knew there was no stopping him, not when the stakes were this high.

“I’m in,” John said finally, his voice steady, devoid of hesitation. “But I need a promise, King. If I do this… I do it on my terms. I won’t be your pawn.”

The Bowery King’s lips twitched upward in a smile, the faintest hint of approval. “You’ve always been a man of terms, Wick. I can respect that.”

Isobel’s heart sank as she watched him. The decision was made. The path was set. And she wasn’t sure whether she should feel relief or dread. Relief that he was taking control of the situation, that he was standing up to the Russians once and for all. But dread, too, because she knew what it would cost him—what it would cost them.

“You don’t have to do this, John,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a moment, she saw it—the man he used to be. The man who had loved her fiercely, who had fought beside her in ways she could never forget. But that man was becoming a shadow now, a memory that was slowly being erased by the weight of his choices.

“I don’t have a choice, Isobel,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a kind of quiet resolve. “Not anymore.”

The Bowery King stepped forward, his eyes flashing with a predatory gleam. “Good. We move tomorrow.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the door, leaving John and Isobel in the heavy silence that followed. John didn’t look back at her, but Isobel could feel the distance between them grow, like a wall being built brick by brick.

When the door closed behind the Bowery King, the room was empty except for the two of them.

Isobel stood there for a moment, her chest tight, her thoughts racing. She had lost him once. Could she bear to lose him again? Could she watch him walk down this road, knowing it would change him—knowing it would tear him apart?

“I’m not doing this for you, Isobel,” John said, breaking the silence as he turned toward her. “I’m doing it for us. For the people who can’t protect themselves.”

She shook her head, a bitter smile crossing her lips. “You can’t save everyone, John.”

His eyes softened, just for a moment, but the hardness never left his posture. “I’ll try anyway.”

And with that, the decision was made. There was no turning back. The war was about to begin, and it would consume everything in its path.

Isobel could only watch as he walked toward the door, the weight of the world on his shoulders. And she realized, with a sinking feeling in her gut, that she had never really known how to fight for him—not like this.

As the door closed behind him, she was left standing in the quiet aftermath, the heavy knowledge settling in. The past was never truly gone. And no matter how hard they tried to move forward, the ghosts would always be there, waiting for them to face them once again.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Cold Comfort

Astarion x F! Dark Urge

18+ animal death, self harm, death, fear, hurt/comfort, roughness, oral (f!), fingering (f!), masturbation (m!), implied trauma, tenderness, aftercare, touch sensitivity/aversion, durge going through it, karlach being the best

Finally reaching Moonrise Towers, she finds her urge overtaking her, taking an innocent life. Astarion seeks to keep her company through the long night...

-

All three of them staring in cold shock, her back bristling in pleasure in front of them. Her foot retreating from the little thing. The crunch of her heel still loud in their ears.

Her control of her bloodlust had been tenuous at best. Able to control herself enough to not kill Isobel, but beyond that struggling. A dark slackening smile coming over her face, her posture pulling higher.

Only hours earlier commanding the goblins to take their own lives. Z'rell's impressed smile as one plunged a knife into his chest.

He only hoped she could continue to aim it away from them.

Shadowheart gripped her own sleeve in an effort to steady herself, eyes brimming in tears staring at the crumpled cat. His eyes darting to Karlach's. Her's equally alarmed but shaking her head quickly. "Wait." She mouthed.

And she was right, the wicked body in front of them softening back into her again. A gasp from her, a low mournful wail as she looked down at the still animal.

"I-" She wavered, hand poised to reach out for the little corpse. "I was just trying to remember..."

"What is wrong with me?!" She wailed, closing her eyes tight. "Gods help me." A whisper, a calling prayer.

Astarion was glad Karlach was there, stepping forward. Putting a strong hand on her shoulder, leading her gently away. "Come on soldier," She urged kindly as they stepped quietly back into the towers. Shadowheart taking up at her side, hushing reassurances into her.

It had been a quiet camp that night. Those not at the tower picking up on the sharp mournful energy coming off of them. At least Shadowheart had the tact to wait until she was out of earshot to catch them up. Only Gale shooting her obvious scared flitting glances.

Sitting silent, her legs pulled up to her chest at the edge of the fire. Arms rested on her knees, staring into the flames. Eyes exhausted and dark.

He wanted to say something, turning conversations over and over in his head. Gods he was her lover, shouldn't he be consoling her? Coming up dreadfully blank, he compromised to sit near her. Within reach if she wanted to seek him.

Finally, they all shuffled off to bed. Some shooting consoling words towards her as they retreated. The fear pulsing in the air.

Only Karlach coming over and kneeling down next to her, planting a warm kiss on her forehead. "Get some rest if you can, love. I'm right here if you need me."

Her mouth pursed into a strained smile, nodding. Patting Karlach's arm in thanks.

Karlach's eyes caught his again as she rose. Shooting a look down at her then back to him, urging. Come on man.

He nodded, kicking himself. She needs him, or at least it seems like she does. If only he could figure out how to do this.

Gods maybe Karlach should be her lover.

The sound of the crackling fire and soft snoring surrounded them. Her eyes still staring into the flames, reflected back in her green eyes.

"You should get some rest, Star." She whispered, so quiet he could barely hear. "I'll take first watch."

His eyebrows knitted together, was she sending him away?

"Darling, I'm fine." He assured. "I can stay out here all night. In silence, if that's what you need."

She didnt respond, eyes still dancing in flames. I guess that's not a no? He thought.

"I'll be back, I'll fetch a book to occupy us." He rose to feet, heading quietly towards his tent. Gods why was he so bad at this? Charming, seducing, misleading. That was his bread and butter. Shouldn't consoling fit in there somewhere?

He paged through a few different options, kneeling in his tent. Relented to take two or three thin tomes. Stop being so precious.

Pushing open the flap of his tent his eyes were drawn to her silhouette.

Standing now, arms limp at her side. Head looking down at something, silent. A coiled energy on the air.

He drew forward, silent steps. Instinct. Eyes picking out what she was looking at.

A log had fallen out, bright with embers. Still red hot and smoldering. Sitting at her feet.

Before he could comprehend what was happening she dropped. Falling down kneeling into the log. Nothing but a low restrained groan leaving her as the flesh of her knees burned.

He dropped the books, rushing forward. "Gods, dont!" He exclaimed, pulling on her shoulders. Calling out her name in a frantic gasp. Pulling her off of her punishment.

She fell back with him, her back meeting his chest. His eyes automatically drawn to her knees, red and angry. Burning and bleeding.

"Why did you do that?!" He asked, despite himself. Looking wild into her eyes.

Hers finally breaking their dead cold reverie. Filled with grief.

"Because I deserved it. I deserve more." She choked. Eyes tear brimmed, desperately searching his.

"No, no." He whispered, cupping her face. "You weren't in control. That wasn't you."

"How do you know that?" She shook her head. "What if that is me? What if it's always been me? It never leaves."

Hiccuping, her eyes left his. "What if I've been pretending this whole time? Living a fantasy. All of this a beautiful dream." Shivering, eyes closing. "Gods, I feel it everywhere. Something is coming, it's not here yet but it's on it's way."

He was at a loss for words, a raw piece of her laid bare that he had no inkling of. Was this what she felt all the time? How could she be such a leader with all of this in her head?

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For everyone." She whispered.

"Maybe I should get Karlach," He murmured, turning his head to call out for her.

"No!" Her arm gripping his sleeve. "Please. I cant... I dont want her to know how bad it is."

He felt a pull in his chest. Hearing the words she wasn't saying. That she wasn't scared to tell him.

"You know," He started softly, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I understand more than you know. I know what it's like to not be in control of your own body. I've done things under Cazador's control that I can never take back."

She looked up at him, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. "I'm so afraid. All the time." She whispered.

"I know, my sweet." He sighed, pressing his forehead to hers. "As am I."

"Thank you." She breathed, hand coming up to cup the back of his neck. Relaxing into him. "For understanding. It gets so lonely."

He suddenly wanted to kiss her. Knuckles caressing her cheek. His eyes closing as he remedied the distance between them.

She whimpered quietly, her mouth so soft and warm against his. A gentle tremor in her body.

He wrapped his arm around her back, his hand pulling the nape of her neck, pulling her deeper into him. Needing her as close as he could get.

She leaned into him with the same need, moaning softly. Her hand gripping the front of his shirt. Opening her mouth to his tongues request against her lips.

He groaned softly, she was a really good kisser. He knew she had no memory before the nautiloid but something's you cant forget, he supposed.

He needed her in his tent. Now.

Scooping under her knees and her back he lifted her. Carrying her to the far entrance of his tent. Tried not to preen at her little gasp.

The flap falling shut behind them, red tinted darkness enveloped them. Her eyes on his as he laid her down quickly on his bedroll. Her hands already pulling her camp shirt over her head.

He would usually tease about how eager she was being, but he felt it too. An urging, a desperation. Feeling as if they didn't get it out now they never could again.

He unlaced her trousers with shaking fingers, her hands pulling his shirt from his leathers. Pausing his work only briefly to raise his arms as she pulled it over his head. The sound of heavy breathing and pulling fabric.

She leaned up, his flesh free for her. Her lips meeting his throat. Kissing slow hungry pulses into the sensitive skin.

He moaned quietly, eyes pulling shut. Finally getting her damned trousers off, pulling them and her underclothes in one motion down to her shins.

She hissed in pain, pulling away from his neck. Shit, he forgot.

"I'm sorry, darling." He whispered, leaning down to kiss softly around the angry skin of her knees. Running a hand up her plush thigh. So soft. Lamb's ear.

"You're okay." She hushed, smiling gently down at him. Taking his chin in her hand. "Come here to me."

He returned to her mouth with reignited fervor. He was always the one talking between them but her voice. Her voice did something to him. Low, smooth, smoky. He wanted to hear it all the time.

"Tell me what you want." He urged against her mouth. Their limbs tangling desperately. Her body a furnace against his. Gods he could just lay like this, melting into her endless heat.

"I dont want to think. I dont want to have any room for thoughts in my head." She hushed against his mouth. "I want you to be the only thing inside me."

A thrill ran down his spine, his length throbbing. Nearly mad trying to get his leathers off. His breath a hot pant against her neck.

His fingers trailed down, pinching one of her nipples softly. She mewled against the curl of his hair. Legs opening wider.

He slotted between them, needing no further invitation. His mouth nipping and kissing at her soft skin as he moved downwards. Catching one of her peaks in his mouth.

She bucked, a low whine leaving her. "There, please there."

He smiled into her. Lapping and twisting his tongue against the hard mound. Humming approval.

She squirmed under him, hand carding into his hair. Her eyes finding his, face flushed.

He looked at her through his lashes, nibbling and rolling his tongue. Delighted by her head falling back, her hand gripping his bedroll under them.

His hand trailed down, feather light. Slipping over the curls of her center. Pushing gently between her folds.

"Gentle or hard?" He urged, voice low. Switching to her other breast. Licking long strokes.

"Hard." She moaned, bucking her hips trying to get him to push in.

He plunged into her, already soaking and gripping his fingers. "Hells," He cursed quietly. Feeling precum already leaving his tip.

He pumped inside her roughly, hypnotized by the sight. His pale hand pulsing back and forth, glistening wet to the base of his fingers. Her cunt opening to him, the slight tremor in her pelvis. Plush thighs wrapped around his thin waist.

He leaned his head down, catching her engorged clit in his mouth with a groan. His hips rutting into the blankets under them.

She moaned into her hand, trying to muffle her sweet calls for him. He knew it was unwise, that they still had a whole camp around them, but he wanted to make her scream.

He suckled down hard, hand slamming inside her. Adding a third finger.

She arched and gripped his hair. Little choppy moans choked out of her.

He experimented with his mouth, watching her. Finding the paces, the techniques that made her twist under him.

He did one long pulling suck with his tongue flat on the underside of her clit and saw her eyes flash to his. Hands coming to brace herself at her side.

There. He thought, smiling against her. Doing it again, slowly. Watching the tremor rise from her pelvis like rippling water.

She was close he could tell, her breath a strained gasping. Head lolling, all hips and clenching pulls on his fingers.

He did that same pull with his tongue, fast and mean. Fingers a blur inside her. Other hand coming to snap down on the soft flesh of her ass. The sound making his cock throb, hips grinding.

She pushed his shirt into her mouth in one final desperate moment. Her orgasm ripping through her, a muffled shrieking mess. Hips rising high, fucking herself against his mouth. Only the whites of her eyes visible.

He supported her hips in both hands, only his mouth now. Suckling down hard on her, fucking her through her orgasm. His chin, his jaw coated in her sweet cum. Gods he felt feral. So so hungry.

Tongue pulsing merciless he watched as she climbed again. Gripping her ass as she tried to get away. Moaning hot into her cunt. No he wasnt done yet.

She whined a handful of cries into his shirt, hips bucking. The fabric falling from her mouth. Eyes meeting his, wide and blown out. "Astarion, I-"

He groaned, eyes pulling shut. His name, so often said with disdain or disapproval, sounded so sweet from her. He wanted to hear it again.

He buried his face in her, nose pressed against her clit, tongue fucking into her.

"Astarion, oh Gods!" She whined, trying to twist away as her whole body shook. Her second end hitting her, far harder than the first by the looks of it. Clenching in fast pulses around his tongue. Great tremoring jolts across her body. Strained pleading mewls that directly stroked down his length.

Far too near his own end to even entertain the idea of entering her, he fucked roughly into his fist. One, two, three strokes and he was gone, his hand still soaked in her cum too much. Hitting him like a hammer against the base of his spine. Her cunt muffling his loud whimpering, his hand still holding her up to him shaking. Fingernails digging hard into the flesh of her ass. His spend dripping down his fist.

A great spreading warmth from his pelvis, a delicious exhaustion moving into his limbs. He let her down gently, cleaning his hand, wiping his face and flopping face down next to her. His breath a heavy gasp.

She giggled as she looked over at him. "You alright?" She asked, smiling at his dramatic display.

"I'm going to need a while to recover, sweet thing." He murmured into the blankets.

"No rush," She called, fingernails scratching lightly across his scalp. Oh. That felt really good. His eyes closed, nearly purring.

Seeing his reaction she brought her other hand to him. Straddling his back and scratching along both sides of his scalp.

He moaned, her fingernails lighting up pleasure trails along his head. Oh Gods, he's never felt something like this. It was almost better than the orgasm.

She sat on the base of his spine. Scratching little perfect circles. Stopping to rub his ears softly. He moaned low into his arm, the sensation close to arousal.

Moving her hands into a massage she kneaded his scalp. Moving down to his neck, his shoulders.

Her strong hands finding that knot that he always kept in his left shoulder, he melted into the bedroll. His hand, flat at his side, grabbing onto her ankle for support.

No one had ever done this for him before and he didn't know what to do with himself.

He felt like he was being unwound, his body a tapestry that she had found the end to. Pulling in long sure strokes.

Aware suddenly that he was quietly crying, her face coming down to kiss behind his ear. "Do you want me to stop?"

He nodded silently, face scrunching up. Trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Okay," She whispered kindly. Dismounting off of him, pushing a curl of his hair behind his ear tenderly. Turning to redress herself.

He desperately wanted to ask her to stay but he felt so vulnerable, afraid to ask. Afraid of what that would mean.

She pulled his blanket over him, her eyes all tenderness. Her trousers back on, searching for her shirt.

"Mine. Take mine." He urged, already falling. His eyes so heavy.

She smiled, pulling his camp shirt over her head. It fit her perfectly, the ruffle plunging into her cleavage.

"Heavenly," He sighed before falling into a deep trance.

-

She pulled the hem of the collar into her nose as she left his tent. His scent hitting the back of her throat. Bergamot, citrus, lavender. Intoxicating.

Arranging his fallen books into a neat pile next to the entrance.

She returned to the low burning fire, pulling her knees up to her chest again. Sighing. Gods she would've stayed if he had asked. Stayed for days.

Picking at the burned edges of her ruined pants. The hot angry skin on her knees a welcome reminder. He did not need someone like her staying in his tent.

A strong hand clapped down on her shoulder, fiercely warm. Already leaning into her as Karlach sat down next to her.

"Couldn't sleep either, soldier?"

"No," She sighed, head resting on her hot shoulder. "Sleep is overrated." Decidedly didn't mention her pacing around camp the last few nights. Always the first to offer to be watch. After Alfira sleep was her enemy.

"How's Fangs?" She asked quietly, appraising his shirt on her.

"Okay, I think. He's asleep at least."

"You know, you two are good for eachother. I think he likes you." She teased. Knocking her knee against hers.

"I kind of wish he didn't." She hushed, fingers picking at the frays on her pants. "I dont even know what I am. How could he like something that doesnt have a name."

Karlach said her name plainly. Repeated again when she looked at her. "You have a name. And we love you."

Finally breaking she sobbed, burying her face into Karlach's shoulder. Her warm body enveloping her. Holding her shaking form anchor until morning.

~

[alexesguerra]

Witches: A Compendium Witches: A Compendium Contributor(s): Illes, Judika (Author), Denny, Frances F (Foreword by) ISBN: 9781578638574 Binding: Paperback Pub Date: October 07, 2024 Author: Judika Illes Physical Info: 0.7" H x 8.0" L x 6.1" W (0.6 lbs) 240 pages Publisher: Weiser Books "Witches: A Compendium maps the landscape of witchcraft and occult practices, past and present. Within these pages, you'll find clear descriptions of magical practices and tools, animal familiars, inspirational witch figures . . . and even witch-related sites around the world to star on your Google Maps. This book will serve as reference, guide, and inspiration to anyone curious about the magical arts." --from the foreword by Frances F. Denny Witches explores what a witch is and the different ways to be one. Judika Illes presents the history, mysteries, and diverse natures of witches from around the world. Featuring a who's who ranging from famous--or infamous--historical witches such as Tituba, Sybil Leek, Aleister Crowley, Isobel Gowdie, and Countess Erzsebet Báthory (widely known as the Blood Countess) to popular literary, cinematic, and TV witches such as Endora, the Scarlet Witch, Melisandre, Storm, Agatha Harkness, and the Wicked Witch of the West, Witches also offers travel tips for witches and a guide to the tools of the trade such as brooms, wands, cauldrons, and mirrors. Biographical Note: Judika Illes is a lifelong student, lover, and practitioner of the magical arts. She is the author of numerous books devoted to spells, spirits, and witchcraft, including Encyclopedia of Spirits, as well as Pure Magic, Daily Magic, Encyclopedia of Witchcraft, Encyclopedia of Mystics, Saints, and Sages, and Magic When You Need It. She has been a professional tarot card reader for over three decades and is a certified aromatherapist. A native New Yorker, Judika teaches in the US and internationally, live and virtually.

[masons-cigarette-lighter]

Jamie Goes Rogue (pt 1)

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles (AU)

Characters: Jamie Watson, Mason, Adam du Mortain, Nate Sewell, and Detective Isobel Greystone (Iso belongs to my girl @megan-the-canadian)

Pairings: Jamie x Mason

Rating: mature

Warnings: swearing, lots of angst

Word Count: 2190

Summary: Jamie decides it was a bad idea to re-join unit bravo and leaves--again. 

Context: In this AU, Jamie Watson was the fourth member of Unit Bravo before Felix. She went rogue due to...disagreements with Rebecca and Adam, and despite her amazing friendship with Nate, and her “thing” with Mason, they weren’t enough to keep her around. However, she recently rejoined the team (not without protest from certain parties) to help her dear friend Isobel with the trapper bounty placed on her head. 

Edit: So the text thread scene here is -technically- written backwards to simulate scrolling. For example, if you got a notification saying you got a match on tinder 5 minutes ago, and then got a discord notification 1 minute ago, the discord notification would be at the top of your screen. So in this story, Mason’s texts were sent the earliest (from what she read, there could have been more under his), and the 7+ missed calls from Nate are at the top because those calls are what she is getting as she’s scrolling. I had my roommate read this after I posted it and that concept went over her head, so I thought i would explain. Sorry for any confusion!

“You’re reckless, uncalculated, and immature! If I had any say regarding your “re-introduction” to Unit Bravo, I’d have you caged for going rogue in the first place! I’ve never seen anyone so ungrateful in my life!” Adam boomed at Jamie. Their sparring match had spun completely out of control and was now a full out brawl. She dodged a punch and came up, seething, “Why would I be grateful for another chance to be constantly disrespected, and threatened with my life when I even slightly disagreed with an order from my commanding agent,” she sneered. They really brought out the worst in each other. Jamie went to punch him with enough force to break a human’s jaw, but whiffed it instead, catching his elbow to her nose instead. 

“See? If you think before you swing, you might land some h-” 

Jamie’s knee made contact with his ribs, and she seized the moment of surprise to punch him square across his stupid face. He stumbled back, and Jamie started to take her hand wraps off. She was done. 

However, Adam, having just gotten the wind knocked out of him, was not. He growled in frustration and ran at Jamie, only to be stopped dead by both of her hands meeting his chest and pushing him away.

 “I am done!” Jamie shouted before turning to storm out of the training room. Adam scoffed at her and said, “You’re done? Of course you are. Anytime someone holds you accountable for anything you do, you run away like a coward. Running and dodging is all you’re good at,” 

Jamie stopped at the door and whipped her head around to meet his icy glare with her razor sharp, violet eyes. She smiled. Not a warm smile, a wicked, cunning, dangerous smile that showed off her small pointed incisors.

“You know nothing, of what I am capable of,” she spoke low, venom dripping off of every word. “If you did, you would be wise, and bite your fucking tongue,”

Jamie slammed the door behind her and started stomping down the hallway to her bedroom at the warehouse. Rejoining Unit Bravo was a a stupid idea and she knew it. She could have run when she was found out in Wayhaven, she should have. She should have shoved her feelings about Isobel and the bounty on her head away, and not have even gone back to her apartment that night. She was stupid to think anything would change, but she hoped anyway. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

She heard a door open behind her, and knew Mason popped out to follow her down the hall. She could smell him. Cigarette smoke, rain, and a hint of Suave for Men. Damn was she going to miss-

No. She cut her own train of thought off. She had to stand her ground this time. She was leaving and she wasn’t coming back. Not ever. She couldn’t succumb to her feelings now. 

She flung open her bedroom door, turned, and slammed it behind her. She waited to hear the sound of her door against it’s frame, but only heard Mason catch it and let himself in.

Damn he’s fast.

Jamie rolled her eyes and began looking for her suitcase. “Get out,” she ordered without facing him. He ignored her, and instead sat on her bed facing her back, admiring how she looked in her athletic attire. 

“What happened?” 

Jamie yanked her suitcase out of her closet and slammed it down on her bed, purposely barely missing Mason’s hand. 

“Aren’t you supposed to have hyper sensitive hearing? I said get out,” said Jamie, this time with a little more force behind her words. Mason shrugged, and smirked, “Selective hearing,”

Jamie was ignoring him, and throwing her belongings into the suitcase, using supernatural speed to do so. Sure, this might be a waste of her limited daily supply of magic, but she was desperate to leave. 

“What happened?” he asked again. Jamie still ignored him, continuing her rapid and messy packing. Mason furrowed his brow at her. What could he possibly have done to make her mad this time? He stood up, and placed himself in front of her suitcase. She ran straight into his chest and stumbled back, now even more irritated than before. 

“What’s going on, Jamie? What are you doing?” he asks, crossing his arms and planting his feet.  Jamie huffs and pushes past him, “I’m leaving,” she says. There was a tinge of hurt in her voice that she didn’t want there, but he probably didn’t notice. She wasn’t going to invade his privacy by reading his mind to find out. 

He did catch it, he felt and heard his heart rate rise. 

She doesn’t mean it, she’s bluffing and throwing a tantrum to make a point. She’ll be here tonight with a cup of tea and a bag of blow pops like nothing ever happened. He thought in an attempt to calm himself down. “What happened?” he demanded for the third time. Jamie zipped her suitcase and slammed it down onto the floor, the loud noise made Mason cringe slightly. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask Adam?” she sneers before pushing her way past him towards the door. 

“That’s what this is about? You and Adam are at each other’s all the time, that doesn’t mean you have to leave,” Mason says, reaching out to catch her arm. He misses when she whips around to face him, her face scrunched with anger. Her hair, black as a starless sky, barely missed his face when she spun around, causing a gust of coconut, and campfire to flood his senses. He was momentarily intoxicated.  

If she wasn’t being fucking insane right now I’d-

 “That’s not why I’m leaving!” she yells, snapping Mason out of his trance. His eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. 

“I’m leaving because Adam is a mindless buffoon with head too far up his own ass to listen to anyone else, Nate treats me like I don’t know how to control myself, Rebecca treats me more like a child than her ACTUAL child, I’m the butt of all of Felix’s jokes, and you” she drives her finger into his chest. 

“I am done being your fucking cum dumpster, Mason,” 

Jamie didn’t need to read his mind to know that stung. 

She spun around before he could see the tears well up in her eyes, walked out the door, and started down the hall. She heard him take a few steps toward the door when she was about halfway to the exit of the warehouse. She knew she couldn't see him again, so she picked up her suitcase and bolted out the exit in a panicked sprint before he could stop her. 

She ran away. Again. She ran forever, until she couldn’t run anymore. This was the third time she had run away from any sort of family she had come across. Maybe Adam was right. Maybe this was all she really knew how to do. The fearless girl she masqueraded as was a sham. A bamboozle. A lie. 

She shook the thought off and blinked the tears back and looked up at the scene in front of her. She had sprinted all the way to the big city outside of Wayhaven. She nodded and tried to focus on finding someplace warm to rest for the night. She couldn’t risk running out of magic and losing the glamour that hid her terrifying appearance to the human world. 

Jamie checked in to the nearest hotel using the emergency cash she had left, and a stolen debit card. That night she would gather her thoughts, and make a plan. She didn’t need to be a member of Unit Bravo to protect Isobel. She could solve this whole bounty issue by herself, without the need to ask for permission from Rebecca, or Adam or anyone. Jamie was meant to work alone. No emotional liabilities. No sexual ties to anyone that would turn into emotional ones. Just her.

The buzzing of her phone brought her out of her thoughts as she got on to the elevator. 

Shit.

She mentally scolded herself for bringing her phone simply out of habit. She answered the call from Nate, then immediately hung up so he couldn’t leave a voicemail. 

The elevator opened up to her floor, and she walked out, her phone buzzed again with another call from Nate, she didn’t answer it this time, she simply pressed the red button and ignored it. In doing this, she saw the tons of missed calls and unread text messages from her now ex coworkers. Jamie put her phone in her pocket, and pulled out her room key to stick in the card reader on the door. 

Smells clean.

She tossed her suitcase on the bed and layed down next to it, pulling her phone out to ignore another call from Nate. She also couldn’t help but scroll down the stream of the text messages and missed calls littering her locked screen. 

-7 missed calls from: Nate-

Rebecca: Jamie, this is Agent Greystone. Please call me immediately, we need to talk. 

-Missed call from: Rebecca-

Nate: I know you know I’m calling. Please call me back and talk to me. Please. 

Nate: Iso just came back from your room. She says all of your things are gone. Please tell me this doesn’t mean what I think it means. 

Buzz.

Ignore. 

-3 missed calls from: Isobel-

Isobel: Why is all of your stuff gone? Is this what “she’s gone” means? Call me. 

Isobel: I just overheard Mason and Adam screaming at each other, and I heard Mason say you were gone. He sounded pretty mad about it. I hope you two aren’t fighting, because I’ll kick his ass 

Buzz.

Ignore.

Isobel: Never mind I’ll just go check myself, and I totally won’t use some of that super sexy perfume you had on the other night

Isobel: Is the tea kettle in your room? I can’t find it.

Mason: I saw you take your phone. I know you are getting these calls. Listen, you don’t need to come back, but can we at least talk about this? You know where I’ll be. 

-4 missed calls from: Mason-

Buzz.

Ignore.

Mason: I would say I couldn’t believe you were leaving again, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at this point. At least you said goodbye this time. 

Mason: I know you couldn’t have gone far. I’m standing out in front of the warehouse with your blow pops if you want them back. 

Mason: This is stupid. Quit throwing a fit and get your ass back here. You have work to do, and we need to have a conversation. 

Mason: You left your blow pops. 

Buzz.

Incoming call from: Isobel.

Tears spilled over from Jamie’s eyes and her scrolling was interrupted. Her finger hovered over the green button, wanting to assure her closest friend that she wasn’t abandoning her, just working from afar. She clenched her eyes shut, pressed the red button, and turned her phone off completely. Jamie knew Rebecca, and she knew that the second she answered the call, they would ping her location, and she would be captured. There was no way she could fend them all off in the state she was currently in, she needed to sleep. Jamie stood up from her bed, opened a window, and chucked her phone out onto the busy street below. The phone barely missed a windshield, but instead shattered to the ground, and was run over multiple times.

Jamie didn’t get ready for bed that night. She just crawled into bed, in the same clothes she had been training in that day, and drifted to sleep. 

When she was finished with her plan, all of them would kiss the ground she walked on for cleaning up their mess. Iso would be safe, and Jamie could finally disappear for good. 

Jamie shivered and snuggled down into the covers even more when she felt an aching absence at her back. Mason was never there when she woke up, but he had been there as she fell asleep almost everyday now. 

I’m alone. 

No one was there to see her silently admit her growing feelings for him. No one had to see the tears slowly streaming down her face. Part of her regretted what she had said to him.

“I am done being your fucking cum dumpster, Mason,”

It was true though, she was done. She wanted, no she deserved more from him, but admitting that would mean the high probability of him rejecting her completely. She would rather have part of him instead of none of him at all. None of that mattered now though, she was gone for good, and  she knew that whatever conversation he mentioned in the last text messages he sent would be him letting her down easy.

“You know there’s nothing more here, right? I don’t think I ever lead you to believe otherwise. If I did, I’m sorry,”

Jamie shuddered at the thought, and buried her face into the soft hotel pillow. 

How fucking pathetic. 

Jamie decided that she would allow herself a silent moment of weakness tonight. She was tired, and lonely, and pissed, and there was no one to witness it and hold it against her anyway, so who the fuck cared. 

Tomorrow she would pick herself up, and get back to work. It was these thoughts that pulled her into a dreamless sleep that night.

[seoulnotes]

Luce in altis   |   ix. A Familiar Face

S Y N O P S I S | Passed down from centuries worth of history, the remnants of a hatred between two kings reside in a small village that serves as a border between their two feuding kingdoms. y/n lives in that village and must seek aid from one of the kings. Her trust is tested when she learns of the king that is truly wicked.

C H A R A C T E R S | Kim Taehyung, Park Jimin, reader (y/n) ; (mentions of other members)

G E N R E | fantasy, romance, drama — royalty au ; PG-15

W A R N I N G S (chapter specific) | none

W O R D C O U N T | 4.8k

All parts here

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The following afternoon as Isobel had said, a seamstress arrived at the palace. She had brought many samples of fabrics with many colors and patterns.

I spent hours with the seamstress, instructed to stand still for some time while my measurements were taken and then picked different fabrics for tunics, trousers, dresses, and on and on.

My eyes landed onto a certain sheet of fabric that was brought by the seamstress. Flowers were embroidered onto the gray tulle but only along the bottom as if fading away towards the top. Unconsciously, my fingers rose to graze the fabric, taking in the texture of the flowers with their beadings that stood out amongst the tulle.

“My lady, do you like the fabric? It is more elaborate; we don’t usually use it for day dresses,” she explained.

“No, it’s fine, I was just looking.” It would be ridiculous to have any plain day dresses made from that fabric and it looked too expensive to just simply waste for that.

“I’m finished for today. Since we spent enough time gathering your measurements, the styles you prefer, and the fabrics, as the pieces finish, they will be sent to the palace.” She bowed and began to pack her sketches and fabrics.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

“It was my pleasure.”

I felt like all I had to offer lately and especially at Hemera were thank you’s. I didn’t have anything besides what Jimin had provided me with as his guest.

That night Jimin had asked if I would dine with him alone or choose to dine in my chambers by myself as it was not usual for his entire court to dine together each evening. I agreed to dine with him since I was not fond of being alone during a meal. It would only remind me of my missing family and of the meals I had at Erebus.

I was surprised that he didn’t choose to dine at a grand table for dinner, but a private dining room.

“Do you dine by yourself here?”

He nodded with a half-smile. “It’s more comforting than a grand table by myself since I do not have family or others to dine with.”

The dinner was in fact as simple as the act of a king dining alone privately. It was not the large display Taehyung had at his dinner with guests rather something like sliced honey bread served on a plate along with vegetables and veal.

I was given a goblet of wine along with the meal.

“Do you have any intentions of courting anyone?” I was unsure of the appropriateness of my question, but I had already asked before I could rethink myself.

Jimin didn’t seem bothered thankfully and answered with genuineness. “When you are a ruler of a kingdom, it is hard to seek the true intentions of those who are around you. When you are busy reading their intentions, it becomes hard to make space in your heart for love.”

I nodded, half understanding what he had said. I can feel sympathy, but I was not a ruler and could not empathize with him. I did feel bad for the lonely position he had been dealt with.

“If I intend on finding a queen, I will want my marriage to be out of love, not out of an alliance.” The corners of his lips turned as he gave a self-deprecating chuckle, “Although, that is quite hard.”

We had such genuine conversations when we spoke and I much favored them to the conversations I had with Taehyung. He knew how to carry them well and most importantly, in these conversations, I felt like I was speaking to a friend who knew me well rather than a king who had the power to have me gone within seconds.

Soon, I felt a wave of fatigue cross me. We had long finished dinner but had spent a while talking about anything and everything that stemmed from our conversation. Jimin was speaking of a time when he was a young boy, centuries ago, when the kingdom was still one.

I did not know how our conversation had drifted there, but I was glad to hear of stories of a happy childhood.

Unfortunately, my fatigue was strong and I was not able to hear all the words; they were muddling together and my eyelids threatened to shut from heavyweights.

“Are you alright, y/n?” From my tired eyes, I could see the concern in his eyes.

“I just feel a bit tired, maybe since it is late. Perhaps, our conversation may continue another time?” My voice was dragged on, tongue barely curling enough to form proper words.

“Yes, you should return to your chambers and rest.”

I don’t know how, but it was black the moment I had hit my bed. Was I that tired?

I woke up to the beautiful daylight of Hemera, but a sour feeling on my tongue. My tongue felt like I had spoken words of betrayal; it tasted bitter, yet I had not eaten anything yet.

My mind fluttered back to last night’s conversation. I had spoken on Taehyung briefly, but it was nothing incriminating. I still felt like I had said something I was not supposed to.

Was I too drunk from a single glass of wine and let my mouth run?

I shook my head at the thought. I didn’t own a single detail in which I could betray him in any way. He had his own secrets that he had made sure to keep from me.

When a knock came to my door, I realized it was probably Isobel and my suspicions were confirmed when she peeped her head in.

“Good morning, your highness,” she bowed briefly at the door. “I hope you are well-rested. His Majesty had asked if you are rested enough to see more of the capital.”

It seemed that he had noted my fatigue last night but this morning, I was more than well-rested. I was hungry to explore more of the city.

“Of course.”

Although the seasons were still winter, it was like a completely different scene at Hemera. It was one thing I had failed to really take in until my second day at Hemera. With winter bleeding into the spring that was soon to arrive, the bitter cold was not there to bite, but rather a slightly chilly breeze one might experience during autumn. At the same time, I knew Erebus was much colder than here.

Interestingly, Jimin has dressed in extremely casual clothing, far from the embroidered tunic and jackets he wore. Instead, he adorned a simple white shirt and black trousers, neither with any decoration. The shirt wore loose on him and was tucked into the trousers.

My dress was along the lines of his clothing as well. The long dress was a plain off white with bell sleeve; the only decoration being the belt that tied at my waist. I wasn’t sure where this dress appeared from because it was not from my own clothes.

“How is it so warm? In Erebus, the weather was freezing the day we left.” We walked along a street which Jimin had claimed to be their famous street of crafts and many visitors of the kingdom came seeking a craft from this street whether it be clothing, art, or pottery.

“We’re much farther south. Our winter seasons are not as extreme. It’s great for the most part, but I miss the snow sometimes.”

Just as he finished speaking, we were steered around a corner. I spotted the bookstore and Jimin must have noticed my line of sight changing because his hand grasped mine as he pulled me towards it.

“I used to hate reading, but came to love it once I came to Erebus.”

“There’s a library at the palace since you like to read,” Jimin noted.

With a failed attempt at refusing, we were walking out of the bookstore, me an edition of “Through the Looking-Glass” in hand.

“If you had it in your library, I could just read it from there.” I couldn’t help the pout in my voice.

“I don’t, I swear! That’s why I bought it, I want it in my library,” He raised his hands in surrender.

“Thank you anyway,” my lips returned to a grateful smile.

“Anyway,” he drew out and I steered my focus to him, “what do you think about another ball?”

“Are you asking for my opinion for an event for your kingdom, Your Majesty?”

“Well, I’d like to know since it would be a ball in your honor,” he responded, hands tucking into his pockets.

“Why for my honor?” My brows furrowed in confusion.

“For one, you weren’t enjoying the ball at Erebus so I’d like for you to experience a different one. One here. Also, you’re my guest. My brother hosted a ball in my honor so I want to return the favor while you’re here,” he explained.

“You don’t need to,” I waved my hand. “It would be a lot of work and you’re already doing more than enough just showing me the capitol.”

“How about it would be my honor to host a ball?” He suggested, an eyebrow-raising to jokingly challenge me.

“Well, I don’t have a dress,” I responded.

“I’ll handle that,” a smirk curving on his lips because he knew he got me wrapped in his plans. “I guess it’s settled,” he clapped once in satisfaction, “a week from today, we’ll have a ball!”

I could only shake my head with a smile rising to my lips.

“Do you have anything, in particular, you’d like to see? To be honest, I ran out of ideas,” Jimin asked the next day over breakfast.

The spoon in my hand swirled the tea and then I remembered, “I believe I was owed a tour of the palace library.”

“Said who?” He brought a cup of coffee to his mouth with a teasing smile.

“Says you, Your Majesty.” No amount of holdings I had was able to stop the tease in my tone when I mentioned his title just to get a laugh.

So, I was left in awe as Jimin led me through the double doors revealing behind it the library. The walls were lined with shelves of books nearly two stories high which were only accessible with a ladder than ran along the walls.

“Wow,” my mouth left hanging agape.

After a few moments, Jimin was beside me and in his hand was the copy of “Through the Looking Glass” that he had bought yesterday.

“So, what made you like reading when you went to Erebus?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t realize that reading could take you away from reality.”

“Reality?”

“I guess the marriage wasn’t really what I had planned,” I revealed. In my mind, I was weighing whether or not to reveal more, to reveal why I was really at Erebus and what had taken place at my village.

“And reading took you away from that?”

I nodded. “Jimin, what do you think about the village between your two kingdoms?”

Why did I just ask that?

Taehyung’s voice rang in my head. A task that required me to look for mere humans of a defenseless village…

It would be better to see Jimin’s view beforehand right?

“It’s a shame that they have to be caught between all of this,” he said. “Why do you ask all of a sudden?”

I paused for a moment, attempting to wind up an excuse because clearly, his answer was not enough to compel me to give my true reason. “The festival happened recently; I was just wondering since it was on my mind,” my voice trailed off and I prayed that it was a good enough excuse.

Jimin seemed to have bought it as he nodded his head in response. “Yeah, a few months ago. I wish I was able to help the village with poverty, but the village is neutral land between our kingdoms. I can’t do anything.”

His hands secured behind his back as his gaze grazed passed shelves as if in deep thought with himself as he spoke.

I felt myself believing what he was saying. He had no reason to be telling me this if he hadn’t meant it.

Changing the subject, he asked, “Dinner tonight?” A faint smile on his lips.

“Of course.”

I found myself growing increasingly tired as nightfall came for days to come. Whenever I was at dinner right past nightfall, I would feel the heaviness on my eyelids and my mind beginning to grow lazy and losing attention easily.

Jimin noticed himself.

“Are you okay? You seem to easily tire recently. I’m going to send for a palace healer tomorrow.” Concern laced his voice and was present in his eyes. A frown took hold of his lips as he reached out a hand to grasp my arm gently.

“I’m not sure. I just feel like I have no energy to stay awake past certain times.” It was hard to muster the energy to even speak my words.

Jimin stood from his chair and wrapped an arm around my waist, helping me from my chair. “Here, I’ll walk you back to your bedroom.”

I only mustered the strength to nod. “Thank you,” my words came out in breaths.

Just like the past few nights, I entered the arms of sleep the moment I was in my bed. The last thing in my sight before my eyes shut was the worried frown on Jimin’s face.

As Jimin had stated the night before, a palace healer arrived in the morning following a concerned Jimin. The anxious king seemingly couldn’t stay still as the healer took my pulse. I felt perfectly fine when I woke up, but when night fell, especially after dinner, my energy disappeared into thin air.

I was sitting in bed having a healer examine me as if I was truly unwell with something.

“Her pulse is not weak, Your Majesty. There is no sign of illness.”

“Then why does she have such a lack of energy?” Jimin sounded annoyed at the lack of a diagnosis.

“I’m sorry, I am not able to tell if it is a condition I have not heard of before,” the healer bowed apologetically. Honestly, Jimin looked like he was ready to bring about punishment and I understood why the healer was frightened by his demeanor.

“It’s fine. I may not be resting enough,” I added to try and smooth over the healer’s lack of diagnosis and calm the irritated king.

“You’re dismissed,” Jimin waved a dismissive hand towards the healer.

The healer took another bow before leaving.

“It might be my fault,” I mustered a smile towards the displeased king.

“I’m going to send for herbal teas or something. It isn’t right my guest is feeling unwell in my palace,” he took my hand, letting his thumb gently sweep across the back of it.

“Thank you.” I was grateful he was placing so much care in a subject that was not as important. “Needn’t worry yourself over such an insignificant thing. It could be anything really, like getting used to the change in seasons so suddenly,” I suggested.

It really didn’t concern me as much as it seemed to concern Jimin.

“It’s just not settling that this is while you’re in my care. I couldn’t possibly return you in this state back to your home.”

Right, home. It was a reminder that I was technically still visiting this kingdom.

Taehyung wouldn’t care if I was on my death bed anyway.

“I assure you, the fatigue is gone by morning when I awake.” I offered a gentle smile.

Jimin sighed. “It could be the beginning of something more serious. At least drink the tea I send for later.”

I had no choice but to oblige to his request because God knew that he would just continue down the path of concern.

I had not seen much of Jimin for the next few days except when we met for dinner in which he would appear in the library where I was nose deep in another book or in my room, hands tucked behind his back and a smile on his face as he invited me to dinner.

Isobel didn’t ask in his place anymore.

The fatigue was not as frequent, only occurring sometimes and not every night as before. It settled Jimin’s worries.

Tonight was the night of the ball. Just as I had experienced at Erebus, the palace was in complete chaos. Even though I was the only guest from outside of the kingdom here, it seemed the decoration was just as elaborate.

“Your highness, I have your dress for the ball,” Isobel arrived in my bedroom with a white box in hand. She placed it down onto the coffee table and I rose from the bed to open it.

When I lifted the lid from the box, it revealed the familiar fabric with gray tulle and embroidered pale pink flowers.

My mouth went agape as my fingers glided across the fabric, through different flowers. Awe ran through me for a few seconds, how was this possible? How could Jimin possibly have the dress made?

“How could he have…,” I whispered to myself.

“His Majesty had ordered it from the seamstress that had come earlier this week,” Isobel responded.

I grasped the dress and pulled it from the box. It revealed a ballgown, full in the skirt as the flowers gathered at the bottom and dispersed as it reached the waistline. The dress had straps falling from the shoulder and the top focused on the flowers as well.

“It’s beautiful.” My eyes struggled to remove themselves from tracing through the dress over and over again.

“The ball will be in a few hours, do you want to begin preparing?”

I nodded, feeling eager to try on the beautiful gown.

Just like that, I was thrown into a flurry of activities beginning with bathing and ending with the dress being laced by Isobel and jewels being placed on me. Half of my hair was braided and wrapped around the crown of my head while the rest flowed down my back.

A knock came from the door.

“Come in.” I folded my hands together in front of me and waited. I knew it was Jimin who was behind the door.

The door opened to reveal a royal king, dressed like a true king, and standing like a true king. Jimin strode in, a smile gracing his lips. He wore an ivory suit jacket, the collar, and cuffs laced with gold trimming. Just beneath peeped a white dress shirt. Above his brow was a grand crown I had not seen much of.

I had not realized the gold crown had a jeweled sun in the center, but it only stood to represent the power he embodied.

Even a humble king didn’t miss the chance to dress for the occasion as rings adorned his fingers and a single earring hung from his ear.

“Beautiful,” Jimin spoke as he approached me.

The single word drew me from my thoughts and warmth to make its way to my cheeks as I bowed. “Thank you.”

“Shall we?”

He extended an arm for me as I took hold of it.

I didn’t know if I met Jimin’s standard of regalness, but he didn’t stop when we entered the ballroom allowing all eyes to fall upon us.

The similar feeling of self-consciousness fell onto me. I was definitely not the same flawlessness as them, but walking in with Jimin gave me a feeling of comfort.

People bowed and addressed their king as we walked by.

I wasn’t aware I gave away my thoughts until Jimin tipped his head over and whispered, “you look magnificent, don’t let any looks take that from you.”

Again, my cheeks felt warm and I ducked my head out of habit. I didn’t want to reveal the blush on my face. “Thank you, Jimin,” I replied, grateful.

His words kept some of the insecurity at bay.

“I think you’ll find our balls enjoyable,” he commented as he reached for two flutes of bubbling wine and handed me one.

“I’m already enjoying this much more,” I revealed.

“Then I’ve partially completed my mission tonight.” He took a sip from the flute, a satisfied smile on his lips.

My brows furrowed. “What mission?”

“Well, first, make sure you attend a ball and actually have fun,” he began. “Then, a waltz in much better music.”

He had remembered my note about the music from Erebus’s ball.

I felt a strike of courage as I asked, “then the waltz?”

“Would you do me the honor then?” Jimin picked up on my question as he plucked the flute from my hand and placed both glasses down before extending a hand to me with a curt bow.

“Of course, we’ve got to complete your mission right?” I took his hand as he led me towards the center of the ballroom.

As though the orchestra had known, another song had begun to play. Jimin was right, the music was better.

I realized I was not as terrible as when I had first danced in Erebus. Even though it was only the second or third time, my footing had gotten better.

We took a few steps before I remembered.

“How did you have this dress prepared?” He couldn’t have known about the fabric.

“The seamstress mentioned the fabric from when she came to take your measurements and I thought you’d like it for the dress,” he said, a clear smile due to how well received his choice was.

“I love it.”

With that, Jimin released a hand to spin me from him and pulled me back to him which caused me to release a laugh.

“I’m glad you did,” and this time, we were closer than before, his voice next to my ear. “Who knows how upset I would be if you didn’t,” he joked.

It felt more intimate, more intimate than we had ever been. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy this closeness and feared my heart was starting to fall for Jimin. Yet, I had to remind myself that publicly I was betrothed to Taehyung and had yet to dispel that.

Before I had a chance to distance myself to stand as an upcoming monarch of a different kingdom, Jimin moved first. It was clear there was displeasure on his features, a slight frown was on his lips and his eyes flitted around the room.

“I want to show you something.”

I allowed his hand to slip into mine and tug me from the ball. He led me down a hallway and into a room.

“Where are we?”

“Somewhere that isn’t the ballroom.”

“Why?”

“To be honest, I apologize for the way my people may have been treating you.”

I knew what he was talking about yet my brows furrowed in confusion. “What made you say that?”

“In the ballroom—,” he started. He didn’t have to finish.

“They were watching us dance,” I finished for him. “It’s alright, I understand I’m the outsider here.” I kept my tone casual because I had faced more discrimination at Erebus than simply people giving me strange looks.

“It was still discourteous,” he interjected.

“No, it’s fine. I mean it.” I gave a small smile. “I promise.”

“I’ll try to keep the impoliteness at bay.”

“So I assume that there wasn’t really something for you to show me,” I gestured to the room we were in. It was another empty bedroom in the palace.

“Actually,” he drew out.

I realized our hands were still intertwined as his thumb gently ran across the back of mine. He pulled me towards a pair of glass doors. This was something new that I had not noticed before.

“I intended to apologize, but this room also has a balcony with an amazing view,” he said cheekily.

“I’m jealous Jimin, I was not given a balcony in my room,” I teased him.

Leaning against the rails of the balcony, silence settled. We could only hear the gentle howling of the wind and the rest of the capital with all its lights in the distance.

“How about dancing here without prying eyes and impolite frowns?” Jimin suggested.

“In the silence?” I gave him a strange look although there was no refusal in my tone.

“The better.” He extended a hand which in a split second, I placed my hand into. His other hand fell below my shoulder which allowed my arm to rest upon as my hand landed on his shoulder.

In the silence, we waltzed. The only sound came from our shoes shuffling as we moved.

“You were right,” I said with an amused smile.

“I’m full of good ideas.” His mouth curved.

We paused in the dance and my heart began to race. With the moonlight cascading over the side of his face, I was able to finally see the king before me. It was different from whenever I had seen it before.

I noticed the way his eyes were twinkling in the moonlight and how they shaped with the smile he wore. I liked that smile a lot.

His eyes found purchase on my lips and I couldn’t help but mirror his actions, allowing my eyes to fall to his. The intention was there.

He leaned in then his soft lips were on mine. It was not a long kiss, rather a short one filled with enough emotion. It was clear where the intention of the kiss had come from. I kissed back to my own surprise and allowed myself to lean into his body with my hands finding their way to behind his neck.

He returned by circling his arms on my waist, pulling me flush against him. For the first time, I felt my flutters inside my chest and that warm feeling that made me want to seek more. For the first time in a while, I had felt safe and I felt safe in Jimin’s arms.

We were both surprised when we separated. I assumed my pupils matched his, dilated. I don’t know if the sudden kiss opened a door of trust for me, but I was compelled to tell him. “Jimin, I have something to tell you.”

His eyes encouraged me to continue and I was about to, mouth opening to tell him about my family and village who was taken away until there was a knock on the door that pulled the opportunity right from beneath my feet.

We escaped from each other’s arms and distanced ourselves. “Come in.” Jimin brought his authoritative tone back.

I’m sure my eyes grew wide and my heart plunged into my stomach when a familiar face appeared in a whirlwind of white.

It was a man that resembled the guard in my dreams of my village in the dungeon. The same nasty scar was beside his right eye.

I shook my head slightly. No, it was just someone who looked like him. He was a soldier, of course, he had battle scars.

My dreams were definitely not real.

A more unsettling feeling came when my curiosity surfaced. Was it possible?

I was nauseous immediately at the consideration. I had to be mistaken. My dreams are not real. They cannot be.

Why did this person resemble someone from my dream? I swallowed and began to reason my thoughts. This was a possibility, someone in my dream could look similar to others in reality.

My eyes were on the upper arm of the man’s armor searching for his crest. The fear settled. It was not the same crest from my dream. No bleeding moon. It was rather a sun with crossed swords below it. It certainly had to be the royal guard’s crest.

The guard eyed me strangely before clearing his throat.

“Pardon me, Your Majesty, it is time to discuss the guests from the continent and their stay.”

“Yes, I will meet you in the cabinet room in a moment. You’re dismissed.”

After the guard left, Jimin turned his attention from the door. “I’ll see you later?”

I had been too distracted by the thoughts of the guard to fully regard the nervousness in his tone and nodded.

I barely noticed him leaving the room.

Even though the chances were small, I couldn’t settle the thoughts that urged me to consider the possibility that this was someone from my dreams. And if he had been real, were my dreams real?

I shook my head at the thought.

Foolish, they were foolish. There was nothing besides a simple resemblance to someone from my dreams to point me towards the insane idea that my dreams were entirely real.

a/n

lowkey a little bit of filler and i hate some parts i wrote, but i really wanted more development with jimin’s character and y/n & his relationship which is how this chapter came to be, hope you enjoy reading it though! :)

[also really sorry to say this but i kinda dug myself into a whole of writer’s block for this series and might (potentially but not sure yet depending on the outlook of the next two weeks) put this series on hiatus or have the next chapter be posted in longer than the two weeks marks between chapters :( it’s just been tough to write the next chapter because i’m not really sure how i want to write it and i love this series too much (and it needs the justice) to just force myself to write it and have it written terribly. i really hope it doesn’t happen though]

yours truly, Selene ♡

[bcastful-archive]

“Noone ever says yes to the flamethrower... Well except that one time my daughter in law did. Though if my son ever asks, it never happened.” Penelope tapped her nose and smiled at the memory before she focused back on the problem at hand. “Are you completely sure don’t just want me to eat him? It’d save everyone a lot of trouble if I ate him. Though he’d probably give me some wicked heartburn.” 

Penelope was a magnificent little weirdo, but she also had a tendency to both think outside the box and also at times she would just know things. Her gift had always been unpredictable, but she knew that there was a reason she was supposed to be helping Nadya. If she was patient, the reason would eventually reveal itself.

 “I don’t think it’s you. I mean, you do tend to seem kind of... mean sometimes. But I talked to Isobel last night, and she suggested that maybe this asshole has them under some kind of compulsion. I mean it is awfully convenient that he was able to completely turn your coven’s rhetoric around. Either it’s good old fashion brainwashing or some kind of spell.” The vampire didn’t know that much about magic, but it was just another moment that having a witch for a daughter in law came in handy.

“Besides that, I’ve been cozying on up to on of his right hand men. And yes it’s exactly as boring and gross as it sounds. But I managed to take photos of some of the more important looking documents when i was left alone in his office.” She pulled out her phone and handed the device to Nadya.

@iustusetpeccator from x

[alystayr]

Playlist musicale 2019 (1/2)

Liste des chansons (playlist 2019 - part. 1)

Mise à jour : 30 juin 2019

playlist 2019 (part. 1)

playlist 2018 (part. 2), playlist 2018 (part. 1)

playlist 2017 (part. 2), playlist 2017 (part. 1)

playlist 2016 (part. 2), playlist 2016 (part. 1)

playlist 2015

0-9 #

A

A Perfect Circle - So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish (2018)

AC/DC - For Those About to Rock (We Salute You) (1981)

Air - La Femme d'Argent (1998)

Alice In Chains - Angry Chair (1992)

Alt-J (feat. GoldLink) - Last Year (Terrace Martin Version) (2018)

Arcade Fire - We Exist (2013)

Archive (feat. Band Of Skulls) - Remains Of Nothing (2019)

Asaf Avidan - Over You Blues (2010)

B

Joan Baez - Diamonds and Rust (1975)

Balthazar - Bunker (2015)

Band of Horses - Wicked Gil (2006)

The Beatles - Helter Skelter (1968)

Beirut - The Rip Tide (2011)

Björk - Army Of Me (1995)

Frank Black - Los Angeles (1993)

The Black Keys - Lo/Hi (2019)

The Blaze - Queens (2018)

Bon Iver - Holocene (2011)

David Bowie - The Stars (Are Out Tonight) (2013)

Dave Brubeck - Take Five (1959)

Jeff Buckley - Last Goodbye (1994)

Kate Bush - The Man I Love (1994/1927)

C

Francis Cabrel - Samedi Soir Sur La Terre (1994)

Cage The Elephant - Ready To Let Go (2019)

Bertrand Cantat - Les pluies diluviennes (2017)

Lewis Capaldi - Bruises (2017)

The Cardigans - Erase / Rewind (1998)

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds - O'Children (2004)

Chubby Checker - Let's Twist Again (1961)

Cigarettes After Sex - Crush (2018)

Gary Clark Jr - This Land (2019)

Leonard Cohen - Avalanche (1971)

Vladimir Cosma - Les compères (1983)

The Cramps - Human Fly (1983)

The Cranberries - All Over Now (2019)

The Crystals - Da Doo Ron Ron (1963)

D

Dick Dale & The Del-Tones - Pumpkin and Honey Bunny / Misirlou (from Pulp Fiction) (1994/1962)

The Dead Weather - Hang You From The Heavens (2009)

Depeche Mode - It’s No Good (1997)

Détroit - Sa majesté (2013)

Dido - Take You Home (2019)

Dire Straits - Private Investigations (1982)

The Dø - Anita No! (2014)

Peter Doherty & The Puta Madres - Who's Been Having You Over (2019)

Lou Doillon (feat. Cat Power) - It's You (2019)

Dolly - Fin d'époque (1997)

Bob Dylan - Knockin' On Heaven's Door (1973-1995)

E

Eels - Tremendous Dynamite (2009)

Eiffel - N’aie rien à craindre (2019)

Eiffel - Ne respire pas (2002)

Eminem - Lose Yourself (2002)

F

Mylène Farmer - Sentimentale (2018)

Florence + The Machine - Hunger (2018)

Foals - Exits (2019)

Foo Fighters - All My Life (2002)

G

Peter Gabriel - Growing Up (2002)

Serge Gainsbourg - La Javanaise (1963)

Garbage - Stupid Girl (1995)

Genesis - Dancing with the Moonlit Knight (1973)

The Good, The Bad & The Queen - Merrie Land (2018)

Macy Gray - Sugar Daddy (2018)

Greta Van Fleet - Highway Tune (2017)

H

Françoise Hardy - Tous les garçons et les filles (1962)

Ben Harper - Diamonds on the Inside (2003)

PJ Harvey - This Is Love (2000)

Hole - Awful (1998)

Buddy Holly - Peggy Sue (1957)

David Holmes - Rodney Yates (1997)

I

IAM - La fin de leur monde (2007)

Imagine Dragons - Natural (2018)

Indochine - J'ai demandé à la lune (2002)

Billy Idol - Dancing With Myself (1981)

Les Innocents  - Jodie (1987)

Interpol  - If You Really Love Nothing (2018)

Iron Maiden - Fear of The Dark (1992)

J

Jean Michel Jarre - Robot’s Don’t Cry (movement 3) (2018)

Elton John - I'm Still Standing (1983)

Joy Division - Transmission (1979)

K

The Kills - Black Balloon (2008)

The Knife - Heartbeats (2003)

Cecilia Krull - My Life Is Going On (from La Casa de Papel) (2017)

L

Lake Street Dive - Mistakes (2016)

Mark Lanegan & Isobel Campbell (cover The Gun Club) - The Breaking Hands (2012)

Led Zeppelin - Dazed And Confused (1969)

LP - One Night In The Sun (2018)

M

M - Lettre infinie (2019)

Madness - One Step Beyond... (1979)

Ibrahim Maalouf - Beirut (2011)

Madrugada - Hold on to you (2005)

Manu Chao - Me llaman calle (2007)

Massive Attack - Angel (1998)

Mercury Rev (Feat. Norah Jones) - Okolona River Bottom Band (2019)

Metallica - Fade to Black (1984)

Miossec - Nous sommes (2018)

Moby - Extreme Ways (from Jason Bourne) (2002)

Tom Morello (feat. Gary Clark Jr. & Gramatik) - Can't Stop The Bleeding (2019)

MorMor-  Heaven's Only Wishful (2018)

Giorgio Moroder - Midnight Express Theme - The Chase (1978)

Mudhoney - Touch Me I'm Sick (1988/2013)

Muse - Madness (2012)

N

The National - Hairpin Turns (2019)

New Order - Blue Monday (1983)

Nine Inch Nails - March Of The Pigs (1994)

Nirvana - Aneurysm (1991)

No One Is Innocent - Charlie (2015)

Claude Nougaro - Paris Mai (1968)

O

Agnes Obel - Riverside (2010)

Les Ogres de Barback - P'tit coeur (2019)

J.S. Ondara - American Dream (2019)

OrelSan (feat. Stromae) - La pluie (2017)

P

Pink Floyd - On The Turning Away (1987)

Placebo - Protège Moi (2003)

Planes Mistaken For Stars - Fucking Tenderness (2016)

The Platters - The Great Pretender (1955)

The Police - Every Breath You Take (1983)

Portishead - Sour Times (1994)

Elvis Presley - All Shook up (1957)

The Prodigy - Firestarter (1997)

Q

Queen - Love Of My Life (1975)

Queens Of The Stone Age - The Lost Art Of Keeping A Secret (2000)

R

The Raconteurs - Sunday Driver (2018)

Radiohead - Paranoid Android (1997)

Rag'n'Bone Man - Human (2017)

Rage Against The Machine - Take The Power Back (1991)

Ramones - I Wanna Be Sedated (1978)

R.E.M. - Bad Day (2003)

Chris Rea - Cry for Home (2005)

Lou Reed - Satellite of Love (1972)

Rival Sons - Feral Roots (2019)

Dick Rivers - Pas de vainqueur (2014)

Cock Robin - The Promise You Made (1985)

The Ronettes - Be My Baby (1963)

S

Saez - Rue d'la soif (2017)

Nitin Sawhney - Sunset (2001)

The Score - Stronger (2019)

Eric Serra - My Lady Blue (from Le Grand Bleu) (1988)

Sex Pistols - God Save The Queen (1977)

Shaka Ponk - Killing Hallelujah (2018)

Sigur Rós - Brennisteinn (2013)

Emilie Simon - Fleur De Saison (2006)

Simple Minds - Alive And Kicking (1985)

Siouxsie And The Banshees - Israel (1983)

Skunk Anansie - Charlie Big Potato (1999)

The Smashing Pumpkins - Zero (1995)

Patti Smith - Summer Cannibals (1996)

Sonic Youth - Mildred Pierce (1990)

Soundgarden - Fell On Black Days (1994)

Regina Spektor - All The Rowboats (2012)

Bruce Springsteen - Western Stars (2019)

Still Corners - The Trip (2003)

Alain Souchon - Quand j'serais KO (1988)

Angus & Julia Stone - Heart Beats Slow (2014)

The Stooges - Ann (1969)

Supertramp - Cannonball (1985)

Survivor - Eye Of The Tiger (1982)

System Of A Down - Toxicity (2001)

T

Talk Talk - Such A Shame (1984)

Sébastien Tellier - La Ritournelle (2004)

Téléphone - Argent trop cher (1980)

Kate Tempest - Perfect Coffee (2016)

These New Puritans - Into The Fire (2019)

Hubert-Félix Thiéfaine - Confessions d'un Never Been (2005)

Yann Tiersen - Tempelhof (2019)

Thievery Corporation - Shadows of Ourselves (2000)

Tina Turner - What's Love Got To Do With It (1984)

U

U2 - New Year’s Day (1983)

V

Frankie Valli - Can't Take My Eyes off You (1967)

Suzanne Vega - 12 Mortal Men (2016)

The Velvet Underground - Femme Fatale (1967)

Veruca Salt - Volcano Girls (1997)

The Verve - The Drugs Don't Work (1997)

Le Villejuif Underground - Villejuif Underground (2017)

W

Weezer - Zombie Bastards (2019)

The Who - My Generation (1965)

John Williams - Hedwig's Theme (From Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone) (2001)

Amy Winehouse - Love Is A Losing Game (2006)

Wolf Alice - Don't Delete the Kisses (2017)

Woodkid - Run Boy Run (2013)

Shannon Wright - The Caustic Light (2013)

X

XTC - Making Plans For Nigel (1979)

Y

Neil Young - Southern Man (1970)

Z

Hindi Zahra - Stand Up (2009)

Zazie - Nos âmes sont (2018)

[caatalyst]

ISOBEL + BETRAYAL. / x / @cerbinwen

cRiEs i hope i’m remembering right, but i’m pretty sure you liked for a playlist?? as someone who also unlikes after a bit i’m aSsuMing that’s either what happened or i am literally losing my mind. if you didn’t like for one then i’m sorry but here u go anyway lmao

sO, i love them i know i’ve said that a million times but i just,,, clenches fist. love them. daughters of darkness, wicked ones, young volcanoes and raise hell are all on here because isobel truly feels she’s found a kindred spirit in betrayal, in the way that they’re both unapologetic in their “””villainy”””, although she would never call (or consider) it that. she feels at ease with someone on her level who shares beliefs with her on a fundamental level. heaven in hiding and casual sex are both on there because friends with benefits is a direction i can see their relationship going in especially because they’re both very “no strings attached” people. hit and run is here because just,,, imagining them killing people together truly gives me life. i am not a robot is kind of her relating to betrayal?? aNyways u got extra songs because i have too many thoughts about our evil daughters

[woolfcried]

SHIPPING GUIDE.

these are all the ships that i’m already interested in, but i’m open to others. i’m not including ocs on here (besides player characters) because idk who’s down with canon x oc. an asterisk (*) marks that that is the only ship i’m interested in for that character and likely won’t do any others. usually for married characters in canon

anya (anastasia):

dimya

arthur curry (dc):

arthur x mera*

arrietty trevelyan (dragon age):

arrietty x cullen

arrietty x iron bull

ari x sera

ari x josephine

ari x cassandra

ari x krem

sera (dragon age):

sera x f!inquisitor

sera x cassandra

dorian pavus (dragon age):

dorian x m!inquistor

adoribull

cassandra (tangled):

cassunzel

cassandra x rapunzel x eugene

celia bowen (the night circus): 

celia x marco

elphaba thropp (wicked):

gelphie

fiyeraba

glinda x elphaba x fiyero

zinda blake (dc):

zinda x helena

zinda x steve rogers

zinda x hal jordan

zinda x diana prince

zinda x steve trevor

plumette (beauty and the beast):

plumiere*

veronica sawyer (heathers):

jdonica (may be iffy about)

veronica x heather m.

katarina bishop (heist society):

kat x hale

christian (moulin rouge):

christian x satine

eliza doolittle (my fair lady):

eliza x freddy

barbara gordon (dc):

jaybabs

dickbabs

dinahbabs

starbat (starfire x babs)

ivybabs

harleybabs

harleyivybabs

babs x peter parker

yo yoji (the secret series):

cass x yoji

diane nguyen (bojack horseman):

diane x mr. peanutbutter*

elizabeth comstock (bioshock):

jackliz

nymphadora tonks (harry potter):

remadora

tonks x fleur

helga hufflepuff (harry potter):

helgazar

helga x rowena

helga x godric

leia organa (star wars):

hanleia

evaanleia

jynleia

cassian x leia

rowena ravenclaw (harry potter):

rowena x godric

rowena x helga

nerissa (the wolf among us):

bigby x nerissa x snow

ella (ella enchanted):

ella x char

evaan verlaine (star wars):

evaanleia

hanevaanleia

chris traeger (parks and rec):

chris x ann

katia anderson (professor layton)

katia x clive

tatsu yamashiro (dc):

kaboom

tatsu x harley

tatsu x jason todd

nino quincampoix (amelie):

amelino*

velma kelly (chicago):

velma x roxie

dahlia lombard/sole survivor (fallout 4):

dahlia x nick

dahlia x piper

dahlia x danse

dahlia x maccready

cressida cromwell/lone wanderer (fallout 3):

cressida x butch

annie hughes (the iron giant):

dean x annie

the boss (saints row):

gatboss

shaundi x the boss

kinzie kensington (saints row):

oleg x kinzie

viktor krum (harry potter):

vikmione

katie bell (harry potter): 

katie x alicia 

katie x oliver

katie x fred

katie x george

theta knight (the diviners)

theta x memphis

cassian andor (star wars):

rebelcaptain

sniperpilot

whatever luke x cassian is called

han x cassian

leia x cassian

garrett (quest for camelot):

kayley x garrett

briar beauty (ever after high):

briarbelle

marian paroo (the music man):

marian x harold

jim halpert/pam beesley halpert (the office):

jim x pam*

vera claythorne (and then there were none):

philip x vera

freddie lyon (the hour):

freddie x bel

evie o’neill (the diviners):

sam lloyd x evie

jericho x evie

marina of thrace (sinbad):

marina x sinbad

proteus x marina x sinbad

marina x proteus

milo thatch (atlantis: the lost empire)

milo x kida

lily wei (the secret series):

lily x owen

isobel martin (the night circus): 

isobel x tsukiko

isobel x marco

brigid tenenbaum (bioshock):

fontbaum

[fics-not-tragedies]

Redemption: Chapter Seven

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven

Yup, I'm on a roll, you can probably see it now 😋

Words: 2648; Warnings: not much except for some angsty bits and talk about pregnancy loss; Summary: John and Isobel finally talk about their true feelings and their past.

Readers tag list:

@geostarr​; @catsmieow​; @wickedlangdon​; @bodhi-black​; @bugalouie-blog​; @onebatch–twobatch​; @fandom-lover-4​; @mikaneonox​; @spadesandaces2342​; @harrisongslimited​; @hhighkey​; @i-cant-remember-my-old-login​; @sgt-morgan​; @coloursunlimited​; @childrenofthegun​; @weminiaturestrawberry​; @silverlambcaptain​;  @krazycags01​;

@moonlit-raven-haven​​; @girl-at-the-verge​​; @boopdedoop​​; @jardani-jovonovich-bitch​​; @ladyreapermc​; @mysticfluffyness​​; @zombiepandajfish​​; @kollover24​​; @greenmanalishi​; @persephonehemingway​​; @penwieldingdreamer​​; @iworshipkeanureeves​; @lovelycarose​​;

@allanawinchester​​; @babayagakeanu​​; @keandrews​; @tomorrowsanotherday​​; @weasleytwins-41​​; @witty-wallflower​​; @babayagakeanu​ @7kacey11​​;

Isobel sat at the bar, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass absently, the weight of her decision settling heavily in her chest. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch longer as the minutes ticked by. The door had barely shut behind the Bowery King when she turned to face John, who stood by the window, his back to her, his silhouette framed by the faint glow of the city lights.

Her heart was a storm of emotions—fear, doubt, determination—crashing inside her chest. She had been running for so long, but now, she could no longer pretend that she could walk away from this, not when it came to him.

She had always known this day would come—the moment when the ghosts of their past would drag them back into the darkness they had tried to escape. The moment when her loyalty to him would collide with the unforgiving world of crime and power.

But what could she do? She wasn’t the same woman who had left years ago. She had seen too much, lost too much, to turn her back on him now.

Finally, Isobel stood up, her feet moving slowly but decisively toward him. The air between them was thick, laden with unspoken words, memories, and regrets. She watched the way his muscles tensed when she approached, as if ready for something, anything, to happen.

She stopped just a few steps away from him. The space between them felt vast, but she crossed it anyway.

"John," she began softly, her voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside her. "I’m not letting you do this alone."

His head snapped to the side, his eyes dark and unreadable, studying her as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. There was a flicker of surprise, maybe even disbelief, before his expression hardened again. He took a step toward her, his hands folding into fists at his sides.

"You don’t have to," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "This isn’t your fight. It never was."

Isobel’s lips pressed into a tight line as she shook her head, her gaze unwavering. "It is now. I can’t watch you go down this path again, not without me. I’ll deal with the Russians with you." She let the words hang in the air, letting them settle between them like a promise.

John’s eyes narrowed, a war of emotions flickering across his face. There was a moment where she thought he might argue, but instead, he seemed to sigh, the fight leaving his posture. He moved closer to her, standing so close that she could feel the heat of his body, could hear the rapid beating of his heart.

"You’re too stubborn for your own good," he muttered, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place.

"I’m not going to sit back and let you face this alone," she repeated, her voice firmer this time. "I know this world, John. I’ve lived it. And you know damn well that you’ll need me."

There was a long silence between them, the kind that filled every corner of the room with tension. John looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, she could see the conflict in his eyes—the hesitation. She knew he didn’t want to drag her into this mess, but she could see the weight of the decision that loomed over him.

After what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice soft but filled with resolve. "I don’t want to bring you back into this life. It’s too dangerous, Isobel."

She didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. "I know the risks. But this isn’t about you and me, not anymore. This is about stopping them, before they burn everything to the ground." Her voice cracked slightly, but she held her ground. "We owe it to ourselves, and to everyone else, to finish what we started."

John looked down for a moment, his face hidden in shadow, and Isobel could feel the weight of his decision hanging in the air. Finally, he nodded, once, sharply.

"Alright," he said quietly, his voice heavy with acceptance. "We’ll do this together."

Before she could react, there was a loud crash from the back of the bar. Isobel whirled around, her hand instinctively reaching for the gun hidden beneath her coat. But it wasn’t a threat—at least not yet.

Sybil stormed into the room, her eyes blazing with fury. The door slammed behind her, and she stood there, chest heaving, her face a mask of disbelief and rage.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sybil spat, her voice cold and sharp. “The Russians? You two are planning to get involved with them?” Her words were laced with disbelief.

Isobel tried to move toward her, to explain, but Sybil cut her off before she could say a word.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Sybil continued, her hands trembling at her sides. “This isn’t just about you and John. This is about the community—the one that we’ve worked so hard to protect. The Russians… they don’t play by the rules. And if you’re going to cross them, you’re making us all vulnerable. You’re making us a target for The High Table.” She shook her head, her eyes wide with anger and confusion. “This is insane!”

John stepped forward, his face hardening as he faced Sybil. "We don’t have a choice, Sybil. This has gone too far. They’re already targeting us. If we don’t act, we’ll all be buried under the rubble."

Sybil’s lips curled into a sneer. "You’re a fool, Wick. You don’t understand what you’re getting into. The High Table doesn’t forgive. If you make the wrong move, we won’t just be fighting the Russians—we’ll be fighting the most powerful people in this world. Do you think The High Table will just sit back and let you cross them without retaliation?"

Isobel could feel the weight of Sybil’s words sinking in, the reality of their situation hitting her like a wave. She had always known that their world was dangerous, but Sybil’s words painted a darker picture—one where there was no room for error, no room for mistakes.

"Maybe we don’t have a choice," Isobel said quietly, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "Maybe there’s no turning back from this."

The words hung in the air, thick with the weight of the decision they were about to make. She had always known this moment would come—the moment where the past and the future collided, where loyalties would be tested, and consequences would be faced. But now that it was here, she could feel the crushing reality of it all. There was no going back, no walking away. The world they had entered wasn’t one that offered second chances.

Sybil’s gaze shot to her, burning with anger and disbelief. “You don’t understand what you’re saying,” she spat. “If you go down this road, if you get involved with the Russians—if you destroy everything we’ve built—you’re not just risking your lives, you’re risking the entire community. The order will collapse. The High Table will see us as a threat. And you, John..." Her voice dropped low, laced with venom, "You’ll be marking us for death."

Isobel could feel the fury and fear in Sybil’s words, but there was nothing to say in response. She had heard it all before, the warnings, the threats. But in her heart, she knew there was no other choice. If they didn’t act now, everything they had worked for would be lost, swallowed by the chaos that was already beginning to engulf them.

John didn’t say anything for a moment. He stood there, his back straight, his face carved from stone. His eyes flickered between Isobel and Sybil, but there was no hesitation, no sign of doubt. Just cold resolve. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and controlled.

“I don’t have time to worry about that,” he said, his words carrying a weight of finality. “I can’t afford to play it safe anymore. This isn’t about the community, or the order, or even the High Table. This is about survival. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep us alive. If that means crossing the Russians, then so be it.”

Isobel’s heart sank as she watched the door swing open again, Sybil storming out of the room with an expression of betrayal etched on her face. The harsh slam of the door echoed through the space, a punctuation mark on the fractured silence that followed.

The air in the room felt suddenly too thick, too suffocating. The weight of their words, their decisions, seemed to settle on Isobel’s chest, pressing down with a force that left her breathless. She had always known that this path would be dangerous, but hearing it laid out so plainly by John—so final, so unyielding—sent a cold shiver down her spine.

John didn’t move at first, his gaze still fixed on the door that Sybil had exited through. But his focus shifted back to Isobel as the seconds ticked by in the silence. There was an unreadable expression on his face, a storm of thoughts and emotions that he kept locked away. And then, without warning, he turned to her, his eyes softening just slightly, the hardness in his posture giving way to something more vulnerable.

Isobel felt her heart race, the familiar knot in her stomach growing tighter. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words were caught in her throat. She had carried this secret for far too long, the weight of it pressing down on her chest like a vice. Every time she saw John, every time they were together, the truth felt like it was strangling her from the inside out. She had hidden it so carefully, buried it so deep that she had almost convinced herself it didn’t matter anymore. But now, with everything falling apart, there was no more room for silence. No more space for lies.

Her breath hitched, and she finally met his gaze, her voice barely a whisper. “There’s something you don’t know. Something I’ve been hiding from you.”

John’s expression shifted slightly, the lines on his face softening, but his eyes narrowed with concern. His jaw clenched, and for a split second, the air between them seemed to crackle with tension.

"Isobel..." he murmured, his voice steady, yet laced with a trace of apprehension. “What is it?”

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She should have told him sooner, back when they were still untangled in love and hope, back before the weight of everything had crushed them. But she was afraid. Afraid of what the truth would do to him. To them. She had never wanted to hurt him, never wanted him to feel like he had failed her. But the secret was too heavy to carry alone any longer.

Her hands trembled slightly as she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I... I was pregnant, John,” she said, the words coming out in a rush, as if saying it quickly would somehow make it easier. “With your child.”

John’s eyes widened for a brief moment, but his face remained still, emotionlessly carved. He looked at her as if he hadn’t heard her properly, as if the words had only just registered in his mind. A heartbeat of silence passed between them, and she could see him processing, weighing her words, the shock creeping over him.

She swallowed, trying to steady her voice, but it cracked. "But I lost the baby, John." The words stung as they left her lips. Even now, years later, the pain of it felt as raw as the day it had happened. She felt the room close in around her, the walls pressing against her as if everything was suffocating her.

She hadn’t just lost a child; she had lost a piece of herself. And she had hidden it from him, buried it deep because she thought it would be easier that way. She hadn’t wanted him to see the rawness, the vulnerability that came with such a loss. She hadn’t wanted to shatter whatever fragile bond they still had.

“I—” She paused, her breath hitching again as the flood of emotions she’d locked away for so long surged to the surface. “I couldn’t tell you. Not then. Not when everything was already falling apart.”

John’s hand instinctively reached for hers, his fingers brushing over her trembling ones. His grip was firm but gentle, as if trying to anchor her in this sea of emotion that was threatening to swallow her whole. He didn’t speak right away, his expression unreadable. Instead, he studied her closely, his eyes searching hers for something—answers, perhaps, or maybe some sign of the woman he had known.

“Isobel…” His voice was soft now, a whisper laced with disbelief, with pain. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her heart broke all over again at the question. She had wanted to tell him, wanted to share the loss, but she was terrified of what it might do to him, of how he might react. There had been so much hurt between them already. The betrayal, the separation. And now, with everything else looming, how could she add this to it? How could she tell him she had kept something so monumental from him, when all he’d ever wanted was to be by her side?

“I thought…” she whispered, her voice shaky, “…I thought you wouldn’t be able to handle it. We were already drifting apart. You were so focused on everything else—the contracts, the business, the chaos. I didn’t want to be a burden to you. I didn’t want to cause you more pain.”

Her throat tightened, the words barely escaping as the weight of everything she had carried finally crashed down on her. She had buried herself in the lie that she was protecting him. But the truth was, she had been protecting herself, too. Afraid of the pain it would bring, afraid of losing him forever.

John’s grip tightened around her hand, and he exhaled slowly, like he had been holding his breath this entire time. “Isobel…” His voice was hoarse now, the emotion thick in his tone. “You were never a burden. And I… I would’ve been there. I would’ve fought for you. For us.”

Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over. She couldn’t look at him now, not when she knew how deeply she had hurt him, how deeply she had failed him by keeping this secret. She had kept so much from him, even after everything they had shared.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you. But I was so scared, John. So scared of losing you, of losing everything.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him, his hand stroking her hair, as though trying to calm the storm that had taken over her heart. His touch was warm, steady—like he was trying to put the broken pieces of her back together, even as she fell apart in his arms.

“I’m here now,” he murmured into her hair. “And we’re going to figure this out. Together.”

But even as he held her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over. There was still so much more to face. The past wasn’t something that could be easily fixed or forgotten, and the weight of what they had both lost—what she had kept from him—was far from healed.

And with the Russians looming on the horizon, with everything falling apart around them, she knew that this moment, this fragile sense of connection, would soon be tested in ways neither of them could ever imagine.

But for now, in his arms, at least for this brief moment, they had each other.

And that was all that mattered.

[dangeroussdames]

§ @balderrask cont from X  §

Balder heard the thud of the book hitting the table, but paid it no mind; Isobel usually tossed her books on the table when she was bored with them. She also paid no mind to her girlfriend adjusting her position. What did surprise her was hearing her chuckle and come up behind her. She gave a startled gasp when she nipped at her ear, and couldn’t help but grin; her eyes still glued to the screen. “Something on your mind?” She asked with a chuckle of her own.

“oh there are lots of things on my mind.” she murmured softly into Balder’s ear, catching her earlobe between her teeth once again and tugging at it gently. With another dark little chuckle her lips moved down the other woman’s neck in a trail of soft little kisses. 

“But don’t you worry about that my dear; you just ... concentrate on what you’re doing”  a wicked little grin spread across her lips as her fingers traced lightly over her lover’s sides, caressing the curves of her body. “Don’t mind me...” she purred, a delighted mischief in her voice; knowing just exactly how difficult a task she intended to make that.

[argonautsrpg-blog]

out of character information:

name: Christine age: 24 pronouns: they/them timezone: BST (GMT+1) activity level: fairly high -- I’m around on the dash every day, and do replies most days triggers: [redacted] past roleplay blogs: x, x, x, x

in character information:

skeleton name: -Murray full name: Flight Lieutenant Serra Isobel Murray faceclaim:  Dominique Tipper gender and pronouns: nonbinary, she/her  age and date of birth: December 26, 1999; 29 years old education: BSc in Physics with Astrophysics from Exeter University; Doctorate in Applied Mathematics and Theoretical Physics from Cambridge University (Newnham College) any requested changes to the current skeleton: none

personality:

+ creative: Serra Murray never met a problem she couldn’t solve, either through stubborn force or through working her way around the problem. she’s always been an adept thinker, quick to change directions and try something new rather than get stuck on an approach that wasn’t working. between that and her ability to grasp difficult and abstract concepts with ease, she’s always felt her best asset was her problem-solving. + patient/disciplined: once she sets her mind to something, she’ll see it through to its end, no matter how long it takes. her single-minded focus on a task is helpful for long nights spend calculating problems and long days staring at computer  screens to make sure everything is going the way it should be going. - stubborn/contrary: she doesn’t like to be told what to do, or to be questioned, and it can often impair her judgement. if someone tells her she can’t, it means, to her, that she must, no matter what the consequences, and that impulse has gotten her into trouble more times than she can count. - closed off: she’s never been the most open or the most personable person in her social circle, never had much in the way of close friends. and while the crew of the Argo have come to feel like family to her, she still has trouble expressing her emotions around them, sometimes, or fully opening up. x sarcastic: Serra’s usually fairly quiet, business-like, and too the point, but she has a wicked sense of humor that often goes unnoticed. sharp sarcasm used to be her best defense mechanism, and she often finds herself unable to help herself from it. x practical/realistic: Serra never expects anything to go perfectly. she’s good at rolling with punches but even better at looking things with a practical eye, not letting unrealistic hopes get in the way of her work.

biography:

Serra Murray was 17 the day Astronaut Helen Markey boarded the International Space Station. She watched with rapt attention the launch, the news coverage, and the woman’s first broadcast online from the station.  She was meant to be revising for her A-levels, and a hefty pile of notes say on the table in front of her as she curled up between her fathers on the couch and watched, feeling like a child again with the awe and excitement that filled her.

She hadn’t realized, until that moment, what she wanted. She wanted to represent her country like that, some day, to do something amazing on behalf of all of England. And even more than that, she wanted to be adored, the way Helen Markey was, loved enough to be chosen for something like that, the idol of thousands of little girls all over the country, the best of the best, respected by her coworkers and admired by everyone else.

See: Serra didn’t really have friends. She was a weird kid, more interested in maths and school than her peers, a quiet kid with a persistent stammer that left her feeling isolated and anxious. A litany of differences separated her from the majority of her peers – her stammer, her fathers, her skin color in a primarily white city, her gender identity. It didn’t bother her, per se, to be different, to not quite fit in. She didn’t care for fitting in, especially when it meant trying to change something about herself. She built up defenses of apathy and pride to stop the barrage of childhood bullying and teenage loneliness and she threw herself into her schoolwork.

And Helen Markey – though Serra knew nothing about her, personally, like whether or not she had friends, if she had a husband she’d be leaving behind for her work on the ISS – was proof. Proof that being good at what you did could be enough to earn you love. Or, if not love, than something like it.

She moved through school quickly, straight from three years of university to a three year doctorate at Cambridge, and by the time she was 25 she had an offer for a job that was something like a dream

As a subset of the Royal Air Force, the Queen’s Royal Space Agency offered here a twelve year contract and the title Flight Lieutenant, along with a crisply pressed uniform and a decent starting salary. A mostly interesting job in aeronautical cartography and flight planning.  But more than that, the Queen’s Royal offered her something else: it gave her a community, in a way she’d never had before. Sure, she wasn’t friends with all of her coworkers, wasn’t the type to go out to the pub after work with them. But people listened to her. People looked at her with something other than contempt or confusion.

It was one step closer.

And when she heard the Alpha Message – passed around the scientists of the Queen’s Royal like a juicy piece of gossip or maybe like a prayer – she knew that this was her chance. Her chance to do something, her chance for people to know her name and associate it with something good, her chance to work with like-minded people that she might at least be able to relate to, if not to hopefully come to care for. To find a home, if not exactly a family.

It felt like this was what she’d been meant for all along.

psych eval:

2. Which do you fear more, being liked but not respected, or being respected but not liked? Why?

    “Being liked but not respected.”

    She said it simply, a matter of fact statement, like she hadn’t even needed to think of the answer before giving it. Which, in a way, she didn’t. If you spend enough time being disliked for things completely beyond your control, being liked stops seeming like a priority and starts seeming more like a trap.

    “You don’t care about being liked?” the woman pressed, looking up at her from her clipboard. Despite the question, though, she didn’t seem surprised that Serra hadn’t had to think too hard about it.

    “I don’t not care? But I can’t help whether or not people like me. There’s nothing I can do once someone’s decided they don’t like something about me, and there’s no point in changing a part of me that I like just because someone else doesn’t. It’s not so much that I care about being respected as knowing that there’s no point in making myself any less just so people like me.”

4. What do you consider the most overrated virtue? What about the most justifiable or forgivable vice?

    “Realistically?” she asked, after a second. “I mean, like, Catholic, seven heavenly virtues kind of thing? Because chastity seems kind of pointless, in this day and age.”

She sat back, smiling a little to show that it wasn’t her real answer, just a bit of a joke, the kind she couldn’t resist.

    “No,” she started again. “In all seriousness. I think the whole… like: humility, right? You can’t go your whole life refusing to acknowledge the things you’re best at for the sake of seeming like you aren’t bragging about it. You’ll never get anything done. You might miss out on the things you could’ve accomplished. I guess that’s not overrated, but it’s kind of a shame, isn’t it?”

   “And the most justifiable vice?” the woman asked, a slight smile on her face. Serra nodded back, picking a thread off her trousers and brushing it onto the floor before looking back up.

    “I think anger can be more useful than people give it credit for. I’m not, like– I’m n-not an angry person,” she amended herself, tripping over her words in the haste. “I don’t get angry much or anything. But, I think there are lots of things that it’s okay to be angry about? Injustice and all that. Anger can be productive, if you let it. Just like frustration can, if you lean into it and don’t let it beat you. I think people who never get angry probably don’t care about very much at all.”

5. What is the most convincing lie you’ve ever told yourself?

    “I try not to lie to myself,” she answered on an exhale – that wasn’t the answer, or at least, not the full answer, but she felt for some reason like it was a necessary precursor to the answer she was about to give. “I don’t mean that in a, like, oh, I never lie kind of way, it’s the opposite, really, I lie to myself every day, I just mean– I guess lying to yourself isn’t the word thing in the world, is it?”

She looked up, suddenly feeling, for a second, uncharacteristically insecure, a little bashful at the idea.

    “When I was a kid, I used to tell myself it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. And that was a good thing, yeah? I learned how to be independent, not to conform to what others wanted, all that. That was a good thing, right? Even when I didn’t believe it. When you wake up feeling like shite, but you tell yourself it’s going to be a good day, that you’re going to make it through even though you have to do that thing you don’t want to– that’s good. So I don’t think I have one that’s more convincing than all the rest. I just have one that’s more frequent.”

    “And that is?”

    “That I’m not lonely, I suppose.”

extras:

inspo tag– (includes any graphics, playlists, etc)

headcanons:

1. Serra never met her biological parents.

   She knew she was adopted from a young age, but if there was one thing Serra was more than anything it was contrary, and so when a young boy in her reception class asked her where her real parents were after her fathers picked her up from school one day, she staunchly refused to ever ask the question of them. They were her real parents – they’d raised her for as long as she could remember – and she wouldn’t hear a word otherwise.

   Contrary and stubborn, that’s what her da always said she was, in his strong Irish brogue. Something to be proud of, that fiery independent streak. Her da was a big man, dark dark skin and upright Catholic morals, a loud, kind man and a staunch pacifist; he always said the world should watch out for Serra Murray, because she’d get whatever she set her mind to. Her dad, smaller than her da in every way, with a shock of ginger hair, a wealth of freckles, and a quietly Scottish parlance, only shook his head from behind the morning paper and laughed. She always thought that even if she was adopted, it was as if the two of them had gone out of their way to find the child who would best emulate the child they would have had biologically if they could have.

    Even when she didn’t have friends, she always had her fathers, more supportive and loving than she ever could have asked for. Both university professors at the University of Sheffield, they always encouraged her academic pursuits. She misses them desperately, sometimes, but she knows they’re proud of her, and she knows they wouldn’t have wanted her to stay on Earth when she had a chance at this.

2. Despite its prevalence on the ship, Serra actually hates coffee. Oh, she’ll drink it, when she needs it, when she’s tired and needs the boost, but she won’t be happy about it, always reminding those around her just how unpleasant she finds the taste. In fact, she brought a few bags of tea in her box of personal effects – a small box, not enough to drink it regularly but enough to have a cup when she gets homesick. Barry’s Irish Breakfast, just like her da used to drink every morning back home.

3. Serra’s favorite constellation has always been Orion – in fact, she has a tattoo of it on her arm. While she isn’t overly attached to its mythological significance, she loves the idea of Orion being a hunter, loves the feeling of strength she derives from that thought, and from the sight of it in the winter sky at home.

4. While her stammer got better with time, practice, and patience – almost negligible by the time she got to university, and nearly non-existent by the time she defended her doctorate research – it still crops up when she gets stressed out, overly tired, or is under a lot of pressure. It’s not debilitating, but it does make her difficult to understand, and it frustrates the hell out of her to not be understood.

5. There is an ease, to life on the Argo, that suits Serra Murray just fine. A pattern to the routine that she’s grown used to just right, a casual and cooperative atmosphere that makes her feel more comfortable here than she ever believed she could. She might not have the brightest smile in the morning, might not be the type to indulge in small talk in the mess hall, but it’s better, so much better, than what she was used to at home. The way she can joke around with Narváez when she passes him in the tunnels, can trust Father Estrada with everything that worries her, can talk shop with Abdullah when things in the control room get slow. She doesn’t worry, so much, about people on the ship not liking her, or thinking she’s weird. No, instead she worries about how hard it will be to adjust again if they ever get home.

[fics-not-tragedies]

Redemption: Chapter One

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven

This is my small precious baby. It’s the first chaptered fic I’ve written after seeing first movie from John Wick series. I revamped it, made it more up-to-date, changed few bits and now it’s ready to be shared with you! Also it looks like I’m close to posting things everyday, but don’t get used to it tho.

Words: 1118; Warnings: spoilers from the whole Wick trilogy, also few kinda violent bits and a little shootout; Summary: John gets out from a dangerous situation with some help from someone he hasn’t seen in ages. 

Readers tag list:

@spookier-than-u; @sparrowsparrow���; @magdazwolska​; @mikaneonox​; @derangedcupcake​; @geostarr​; @catsmieow​; @wickedlangdon​; @bodhi-black​; @bugalouie​; @onebatch--twobatch​; @fandom-lover-4​; @drunkonyellow​; @semtempoirmaoo​; @spadesandaces​; @harrisongslimited​; @a--1--1--3;

John sat on the edge of the bed, the cold floor cooling his bare feet. The room was dim, lit only by a flickering bulb that cast shadows like phantoms on the walls. He stared at the table beside him, where two objects sat: a bracelet that had belonged to Helen, the last tangible proof of her existence, and the charred collar of his murdered dog, Daisy. He had salvaged both from the ashes of the life he’d tried to build—a life that now seemed more like a dream than a memory.

What now?

For the first time, John Wick didn’t have an answer.

Every plan, every number he’d committed to memory, every ally he could call on—it all meant nothing now.

Excommunicado.

The word echoed in his mind like a death knell. It wasn’t just a punishment. It was erasure.

Cut off from resources. From safe houses. From old friends. From the entire world.

No matter how many gold coins he had, they wouldn’t buy him back into a life he’d spent years trying to escape. Wasn’t this what he wanted once? To sever himself from the past, to bury it with the bloodied hands of Baba Yaga? He had dreamed of starting over, of making a life with Helen, clean and free. But happiness—normalcy—had been fleeting, stolen from him by the cold inevitability of death.

Helen’s illness had left him a widower. Then Iosef Tarasov, an arrogant mobster’s son, had killed the last piece of her he had—a beagle puppy named Daisy, a gift that had rekindled the faintest hope in his heart. That hope had died the day Tarasov broke into his home, taking both the dog and John’s peace with it.

John had returned to the life he swore he’d left behind, painting the world red to show them all the truth: Baba Yaga was not someone to cross.

But it wasn’t just revenge that brought him to this moment. It was the Signum. If he hadn’t gone to D’Antonio for help closing the door on his old life, none of this would have happened. But pride wouldn’t let him leave D’Antonio alive. He’d pulled the trigger. In the Continental’s lounge. On sacred ground.

He hadn’t been thinking.

He had only wanted to kill D’Antonio, and in doing so, he’d damned himself.

Even then, in the heat of that final act of revenge, he thought he’d seen her.

Long blonde hair. It had once been red. She’d changed, but then again, so had he.

Was she real? Or just a phantom conjured by exhaustion and grief? Another emissary of death, lingering at the edges of his vision? He hadn’t seen her in years, and their last meeting hadn’t been on good terms. She’d vanished, leaving only memories—memories of something fierce, explosive, and consuming.

The woman had been his undoing before Helen, before Daisy. She had burned through his life like a wildfire, leaving scars that had only just begun to heal when he met his wife.

Helen had patched him up, given him something steady. A bandage over the raw wound of what came before. It wasn’t the same—could never be the same—but it was real. Eventually, he had come to love her.

But that old, reckless love? The kind that consumed him, mind and soul? He’d only ever felt that for one person. Her.

John dragged himself out of the haze of memory and rose from the bed, his gaze shifting to the wall lined with weapons. Guns, grenades, knives—they were all tools, but none could protect him from what was coming.

He shouldered the weight of inevitability and reached for his phone.

A single number came to mind. He hesitated before dialing, not because he wasn’t sure, but because he was.

The voice on the other end answered after a few rings. “Ainsworth, how may I help you?”

“It’s John,” he said, his voice rough, a little cracked.

“John Wick, my old friend!” Ainsworth sounded both surprised and amused. “Still breathing, eh?”

“I need your help,” John said, his fingers gripping the edge of the table. A spiderweb of cracks splintered across the glass. “Like in the old days.”

A pause. Then: “Whatever you need. Just tell me where you are.”

“Carshalton.”

“Jimmy’s Pub. Half an hour,” Ainsworth replied before hanging up.

John hung up and dressed in one of his suits with the bulletproof lining. Two Glocks, six spare mags. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Jimmy’s wasn’t a place for the faint of heart. The dilapidated pub looked as if it should have been condemned years ago, but that’s what made it perfect. No one without a death wish dared step inside.

He walked in slowly, his hand resting near his gun. The place was empty save for the bartender and a blonde woman seated in the farthest corner, her back to him. She wore a backless blouse, her exposed skin catching the dim light.

The bartender glared at John as he approached the counter.

“Bourbon. On ice,” John said, tossing a five-pound note onto the bar. His voice was low but carried weight, the kind that promised consequences if he wasn’t served quickly.

The bartender grumbled, poured the drink, and vanished through a door at the back.

When John looked back at the woman’s table, she was gone. An empty glass sat on the table, but something caught his eye—a smear on the dirty window. He leaned closer, squinting.

One word: RUN.

The front door creaked open. Three sets of footsteps followed.

John didn’t move. He could see their reflections in the shattered mirror behind the bar. Suits, guns, and tension.

“Mister Wick,” one of them said, his voice measured.

John sipped his bourbon.

“You know why we’re here. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

John chuckled softly, setting his glass down. “It’s never hard,” he said, his tone casual but his grip tightening on the glass.

With a swift motion, he spun on the stool, hurling the glass into the face of the nearest man. The sound of shattering glass and gunfire erupted as he dove behind the bar. His hands found his Glocks, and he returned fire with precision, every shot counted.

But then the gunfire stopped.

Silence, broken only by the sound of footsteps approaching. A gun pressed against his temple.

“Guns. On the counter,” a woman’s voice demanded. Cold. Familiar.

John obeyed, sliding his weapons forward. Then he looked up.

It was her.

She smiled—a deadly smile that could ignite the whole room.

“Still alive, Wick? You’re lucky I came,” she said.

“Isobel,” he whispered, her name a weight he hadn’t spoken in years.

His guardian angel. 

Or maybe his executioner.

[fics-not-tragedies]

Redemption: Chapter Four

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven

I know it took me 84 years to get back to updating my chaptered fics, but that’s how life works folks 🤷‍♀️ I can’t promise I’ll do it more regularly, ‘cause I’m at weird point of my life right now (both personal and work related) and I’m trying my best to keep it all going. Well writing is one of the few things that keep me going, so don’t worry about that, recently I’m more of a ‘no schedule’ type of gal.

Words: 1692; Warnings: few smutty bits; Summary: London’s Continental is still Isobel’s and John’s safe haven, but the current danger is the old feeling between them that still burst in flames.

Readers tag list:

@spookier-than-u; @sparrowsparrow; @oreofenyloetyloamina; @derangedcupcake; @geostarr; @catsmieow; @wickedlangdon; @bodhi-black; @bugalouie; @onebatch--twobatch; @fandom-lover-4; @mikaneonox; @drunkonyellow; @spadesandaces2342; @harrisongslimited; @a–1–1–3; @hhighkey; @lunilate; @i-cant-remember-my-old-login; @sgt-morgan; @coloursunlimited; @childrenofthegun; @weminiaturestrawberry; @silverlambcaptain; @scarletmoon83; @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day; @krazycags01; @charlottebonnie; @moonlit-raven-haven; @girl-at-the-verge; @boopdedoop; @jardani-jovonovich-bitch; @ladyreapermc​;

Heavy rain lashed against the window of the Continental, streaking down the glass like silver threads under a stormy sky. The scaffolding encased the building, a reminder of its ongoing renovations, though the echoes of construction were silenced by the late hour.

Inside, the bar was nearly empty, save for three occupants. John had left moments earlier, retreating into the shadowed hallways to clear his mind, leaving Isobel and Sybil alone with their drinks. The weight of the last conversation lingered, unspoken between the two women, thick as the alcohol in their glasses.

John’s footsteps echoed faintly as he walked, the dim light glinting off his bruised face. His thoughts churned relentlessly, pulling him back to Isobel. He could still see her as she’d sat at the bar moments ago, legs crossed, a faint, familiar smile curving her rouged lips as she sipped her drink. For just a moment, when he had looked at her too long, too intently, he’d allowed himself the dangerous thought—Does she still love me?

But the notion was a fleeting ghost. Unreal. Impossible. He had buried it years ago, hadn’t he?

*

At the bar, Sybil broke the silence, her dulcet voice a balm against the storm outside. “Did he at least say thank you?”

Isobel tilted her glass, watching the ice swirl lazily before taking a shallow sip. Her hazel eyes flicked up at her friend, curiosity sparking. “Thank me? For what?”

“For saving his ass in that godforsaken bar, Isa,” Sybil drawled, pouring another measure of vodka into her glass with an unsteady hand.

Isobel frowned, reaching for the bottle. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

Sybil laughed, leaning back to evade her friend’s grasp. “If we’re all going to be dead by tomorrow evening, I’d rather die drunk and happy,” she retorted. She tipped a stream of electric-blue syrup into her drink, swirling it theatrically before downing the concoction in one long gulp.

“Bullshit,” Isobel muttered, shaking her head. She tugged off her black sweater, revealing a lacy black corset beneath, and tossed the garment across the room. Adjusting the strap, she glanced back at Sybil. “They can’t kill us here. You know the rules. You’re the Manager.”

Lighting a cigarette, Isobel took a deep drag, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

*

John stood at a rain-slick window in the hallway, cigarette smoldering between his fingers. His gaze drifted to the streets below, where umbrellas bobbed against the downpour like jellyfish in a stormy sea. His thoughts, however, were far from the world outside.

He trusted Isobel with his life—always had. But what had she been hiding all these years? He knew she carried secrets, heavy as stones, locked deep within. What did she whisper to Sybil when he wasn’t around? What truths lived on her tongue but never escaped her lips?

He exhaled a plume of smoke, the memory of their fractured past cutting deeper than any blade. He’d been too blind back then, too consumed by his work to see the cracks forming in her. And when he had moved on—marrying Helen—it wasn’t just his life that had changed. Isobel’s heart had shattered anew.

*

Back at the bar, Sybil waved a freshly poured drink at Isobel. “Another round?”

“For fuck’s sake…” Isobel groaned, but Sybil persisted.

“Come on. You can’t say no to me. I’m your host!” She grinned mischievously. “Look, I’ve got a renovation underway, a man worth fifteen million hiding upstairs—”

“Fourteen,” Isobel corrected absently, glancing at her phone.

“Fifteen now,” Sybil snapped, then rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I’ve got a fugitive and his ex-lover under one roof. If you weren’t my friend, I’d shoot your Jonathan and take a vacation in the Caribbean with some handsome men.”

“Who wants to shoot me now?” John’s deep voice cut in as he returned, cigarette still dangling from his lips. His presence filled the room, drawing both women’s attention. Despite the bruises marring his face, he still looked infuriatingly handsome.

“Same as always,” Isobel said dryly. She lunged for the vodka in Sybil’s hand, yanking it away and hurling it across the bar. “For the love of God, stop drinking. You can’t shoot straight when you’re drunk.”

Sybil shrugged, unfazed, as Isobel turned her attention back to John. She plucked his pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, lighting one with practiced ease. “I ran out,” she muttered, her tone almost playful. Her hazel eyes glinted as she inhaled, exhaling smoke through her nose.

John smirked, stepping closer. “You’ve had enough.”

Her reply came quick, sharp. “I’ve never had enough of you.”

*

The tension between them simmered, unspoken yet palpable. When John sat beside her, their bodies brushed—a touch electric in its simplicity. Isobel’s fingers found his tie, undoing it with deliberate slowness. He let her, his eyes fixed on her face, captivated by the fierce determination that burned there.

“Why did you leave?” he murmured, his voice rough, laced with regret.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her hands moved to his shirt, unbuttoning it one careful button at a time. “We’ll talk when we’re sober,” she said finally, her tone firm but soft. Her fingers trailed down his chest, over old scars she knew by heart.

“Isa…” The nickname fell from his lips like a prayer, the sound of it sending a shiver down her spine.

“I missed you too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands were on his shoulders now, steadying herself as she leaned closer, their faces inches apart.

There was something captivating about the way his deep, chocolate-brown eyes lingered on her face, as though they were tracing every line, every memory etched into her skin. His gaze held her like a spell he could never break—a spell she’d cast on him back in their military days, one that had never faded. It was still there, as strong as the first time. And in truth, John didn’t want it to fade.

She had always been his undoing, the one who unraveled the walls he built around himself. Not even time—or Helen—could erase her from the corners of his mind. Isobel lived there, stubborn and unyielding, a permanent shadow in the space between his past and present. Even now, in this dimly lit room, he could feel the weight of her—her presence, her memory—buried too deeply to forget.

She was his true love. Denying it was futile, as pointless as denying the air he breathed. The thought stirred something raw and unspoken in him, the kind of feeling that wouldn’t wither, even if she were pointing a gun at his forehead.

“John…” Her voice, a soft murmur, grazed his lips and tugged them into a faint smile. His large hand cradled the back of her neck, his touch firm yet tender, anchoring her to him as if afraid she might slip away again.

Her fingers toyed gently with his hair, tugging just enough to make him look up, their gazes locking once more. And then he kissed her. It wasn’t rushed or frantic, but a deliberate melding of lips and longing, a reunion that felt more natural than breathing. His other hand pressed against the curve of her back, pulling her closer, closing the space that had been between them for far too long.

“I missed that,” he whispered against the warm skin of her neck, his lips trailing a reverent path downward. Each kiss he placed felt like a promise—of devotion, of regret, of things left unsaid.

“And I missed that,” she replied, her voice a melody he thought he’d forgotten. She sounded like home, like a place he thought he’d lost.

“I want to touch you…” His voice had shifted, dropping to something deeper, edged with hunger. He leaned forward, pressing a searing kiss just above the swell of her breasts, his breath warm and uneven.

“J-John… you’re already doing that,” she stammered, her resolve faltering as he slid lower, his lips brushing her hip. She arched instinctively, helping him discard her pants with an effortless motion.

He climbed back over her, his body aligning perfectly with hers, and she let her hands roam over his chest. Her touch made him exhale sharply, leaning into her as if her hands held the power to heal wounds he couldn’t name. She moved quickly, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders, letting the fabric fall unceremoniously to the floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, their lips meeting in a kiss that felt timeless, as if they were reclaiming something they’d lost long ago.

He smiled against her mouth, a flash of playfulness she hadn’t seen in years. When she tried to deepen the kiss, he bit her lip teasingly and pulled back, his hands deftly undoing the buttons of his trousers. Isobel watched him, her breath hitching slightly, her hazel eyes fixed on his every move as though afraid to blink.

When he stood to shed the rest of his clothing, she took the moment to sit up and undo her corset, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. By the time he crawled back over her, shirtless and impossibly warm, she had discarded the constraining garment, leaving her skin bare and waiting for his touch.

Their lips collided again, and this time his hands moved with purpose. Without hesitation, his fingers slipped into her underwear, making her gasp into the kiss. She gripped his arm instinctively, her body tensing as he expertly teased her, his thumb finding the sensitive spot that made her tremble. Her breathing quickened, her gaze darting downward to his bruised hand as it disappeared between her legs.

It was then she noticed the absence of something that should have been there—the wedding ring. The cold glint of metal had been replaced by bare skin, and the sight burned into her mind.

Was it the absence of the ring, or the weight of its meaning, that made her heart ache? She couldn’t tell. All she knew was that its absence made her feel something she couldn’t put into words.

Relief? Guilt? Desire?

It all mixed together, a tangled mess of emotions too raw to untangle.

[fics-not-tragedies]

Redemption: Chapter Two

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven

New chapter of “Redemption” yay! A flashback from the past will help you understand how and when they met.

Words: 1885; Warnings: few violent bits and a war flashback; Summary: Even though John is surprised to see her Isobel offers him her help in the uneven fight with the whole world.

Readers tag list:

@spookier-than-u; @sparrowsparrow; @magdazwolska; @mikaneonox; @derangedcupcake; @geostarr; @catsmieow; @wickedlangdon; @bodhi-black; @bugalouie; @onebatch--twobatch; @fandom-lover-4; @drunkonyellow; @semtempoirmaoo; @spadesandaces2342; @harrisongslimited; @a--1--1--3; @hhighkey;

“I hope you're fully aware of the crucial rule you’ve broken?” the man said, his voice steady and low, like a predator taunting its prey. His dark, unruly hair fell across his bruised face, streaked with faint scratches. He wore no visible emotion—just that unyielding, infamous stillness.

Isobel’s hand tightened around the gun, the trembling almost imperceptible but betraying her nerves. She exhaled slowly, willing herself to steady. A shift in John’s gaze told her he noticed the tremor, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, his grip on the bourbon glass in his hand grew firmer. He raised it to his lips, took a measured sip, and then smiled—a deliberate, taunting smile.

“Excommunicado,” she said, her voice sharper than intended. Her eyes flicked to the glass in his hand. Even in this moment, her mind was cataloging. A weapon, no matter how innocuous. The glass wasn’t tempered; the cuts in the design made it vulnerable. With enough pressure, it could shatter into shards sharp enough to slit a throat or sever an artery.

“Excommunicado,” he repeated, the word dripping with mockery. His gaze snapped back to hers, dark and steady. “That’s why I’m here, in this dump, and not at the Continental’s bar. Tell me—how’d you find me in this total shithole?”

Her voice lowered. “You know the bounty on your head, John. Fourteen million dollars. You also know that anyone could show up here, not just me. So, for the sake of old times—”

“Just do it.” His interruption was like a slap, jolting her. He tossed back the last of the bourbon, letting the glass drop to the floor where it shattered. Then he turned to face her fully, moving with calm precision until the cold barrel of her silenced Beretta pressed against his forehead. His grin widened, teeth flashing like a wolf daring the hunter.

“Go ahead,” he whispered. His voice was smooth, low, daring. “I know you won’t shoot me in the back, Isobel. You’ve got too much dignity for that. Pull the trigger.”

His hand moved to the silencer, pressing it harder against his own skull. It was almost too much. Almost.

“For the sake of old times,” she murmured. Her finger slid the barrel away from his skin as the sharp bark of her gunshot shattered the tension. The sound momentarily deafened him. A spray of glass fell like jagged rain from the pane to his left, scattering across the floor.

And there, among the shards, lay the body of another man, lifeless and slumped. Blood pooled beneath him, a perfect hole between his eyes. The locket around his neck glinted in the dim light—one of D’Antonio’s men, unmistakably.

John’s chest heaved as he stared at the body. “How—?” He didn’t finish the question. His mind reeled at her impossible aim.

Isobel stepped back, holstering her weapon with practiced ease. She flashed a smile—bright and sharp, the kind that lingered in memories like a knife lodged in the ribs. “Woman’s intuition,” she said lightly, turning toward the door. “Those good old times, John.”

Her heels clicked on the splintered floorboards as she walked out, slamming the door behind her.

John stood rooted in place, stunned. The words echoed in his mind like a haunting refrain. For the sake of old times.

*

John followed her out into the rain, the cold English downpour soaking him to the bone. She flinched at the sound of the door creaking open behind her, hand instinctively brushing her hip where her weapon rested. When she saw it was him, her body relaxed—but only slightly.

“I think you can help me,” John said, his voice rough but steady. He took a step closer, raindrops running down his face. “I’m not the guy on the floor in there. That means…”

“It means what?” Her tone was edged with exhaustion. Her blonde hair was plastered to her head, and her soaked clothes clung to her frame. She looked as cold and worn as he felt.

“It means you have resources I don’t.”

She shook her head, exhaling sharply. “Old times, John. Two words: old times.”

Her words hung between them like a fragile thread. Her gaze met his, and for the first time, he noticed the faint lines at the corners of her hazel eyes—eyes that had haunted him for years. She had changed so much, yet something about her remained unshakably familiar.

“What happened between us back then?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the rain.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned and walked toward her car, parked two blocks away. He followed without a word, the storm drenching them both in silence.

Once inside the car, the rain drumming against the roof, she finally spoke. “It’s a hard question, John,” she murmured. “Maybe the hardest one.”

*

The memory hit her as sharply as the shrapnel that had nearly killed them both all those years ago. She remembered the convoy, the explosion, the blood—his blood. She remembered lying on the ground, pinned beneath him, feeling the warmth of his life leaking away. He had saved her. Again. And she’d let him.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. “You know,” she said, her voice shaking, “I was there. At the Continental. When you killed D’Antonio.”

His head snapped toward her, the surprise stark on his face.

“I didn’t stop you,” she continued. “But I should have.”

John said nothing. There was nothing he could say.

* 

She was the lead of the convoy that was delivering parts for well building to another village that was only half a day ride from their base.

Why they’ve chosen her for the lead? She knew what to do if they'll ever get into a cross fire. She was extremely well trained for every possibility. She took John as her right hand, because he trusted him. They made the dream team. They could rely on each other in every kind of situation.

The convoy was taking place smoothly now. They rode on a hot asphalt, driving by single huts located by the road. The heat was really annoying. She had a tight grip on the steering wheel with her both hands. They knew the road, plus it was supposed to be checked earlier that day. Asphalt was smooth, easy to drive on.

When they were just outside the village, the hummer she drove jumped slightly. She thought it probably drove over some kind of branch fallen from a dead tree, but there were no trees near the road.

In a split-second she pushed the gas pedal right to the floor of the car and honked three times. Right behind her car she heard a massive explosion. She stopped three meters further on the road. She pulled the hand brake and got out of the car with John. He knew perfectly what just happened. When they walked behind their car they saw a huge hole in the road. It was bigger than four meters and ended right next to their car's back bumper.

“Is everyone okay?!” she shouted, and the falling dust revealed the car which transported the parts for the well.

Or rather what was left of it. The driver's part of the car was completely gone, replaced by an enormous hole. The concrete well parts were shattered all over the place, mixed with bloody stains and whatever was remaining of the two people who were sitting in that car.

“FOR FUCK'S SAKE!” she cursed out loud. “Wick, we have to report this!” outside of the barracks she never called him by his name. The other form was exclusive to the moments in which they were the only couple in the room. She went around the hole from her right side. She thought she could find the tags of the dead soldiers, but with explosion that massive it was nearly impossible they'd stay intact. 

She walked away from the road and stepped on the dirt. Then she heard a small clicking sound and was dragged backwards in a fast motion by man’s arms.

Isobel turned her head and saw John who was pulling her closer to him. She didn't had the time to say anything, because there was another explosion right behind their back. The blast wave swept them off their feet and make them collide onto their car.

They fell onto the road right next to it.

With being unaware of what just happened the only thing she felt right now was a piercing back pain. She was lying on John with her breast pushed closely to his chest. She looked at his face and saw that there was blood flowing from few wounds he had on it. Also, she saw that in those wounds were some small silver balls. Balls from ball bearings.

It wasn't possible for her to see, but she had them in her back, her arms and in her thighs. And with them there were some nails and pieces of old tinplate.

Bomb with stuffing, as they used to call self-made explosives. Terrorists stuffed their bombs with anything that could possibly grant more damage than just regular TNT.

After few second she finally gained consciousness of what just happened. She felt some liquid running down her back. Blood. Was it hers? She took her helmet when she walked out of the vehicle, because its windows were made from bulletproof glass with high level of resistance. But now, this helmet, or more the lack of it, would decide about her being dead or alive.

It wasn't her blood.

It was John's.

*

She looked at John's hands. Soft, white marks were still visible on them, and reminded her about all the fights he had, but for her, there were a sign of a totally different thing. He took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, revealing all of the scar-tattoos he had on his arms.

Knowing that if she decided to touch his arms, under her fingertips she'll feel great amount of them old scars, she stopped her hands from moving. He has sacrificed himself for her many times. She knew that she had to do the same for him now and thought that the one last time she saw him, was back in theirs New York apartment right before she walked out of it and never came back. But the fortune had another plan for them.

“I was there, at the Continental’s lounge” she took a deep breath “when you killed D'Antonio. I spoke to Winston right after that. He was pissed at you. But I bet you are well aware of the aftermath” John looked at her surprised by all of the words that just left her mouth. Isobel found the courage to finally look him in the eye once again and caught his surprised glance.

So it was really her then. Those blonde hair, hazel eyes in which he could just simply drown…

“I didn't tried to stop you, because I knew you will do it anyway. Damn it John! You will pull that trigger even if you'll get a revelation of god himself telling you not to!” she was sitting straight up, now with her eyes on the wet road in front of them.

If she’d only spoke at that time or reacted somehow…

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

[fics-not-tragedies]

Oooo Prompt!!! Can I please have a John X Isobel fic with prompt #15 “I want to hold you close/Skin pressed against me tight.”

Ahhh, it’s so amazing, because John x Isobel was my first paring ever and they had a special place in my heart 💕💕💕 Here we go (also I’ll probably use it in one of the chapters later on, because of plot reasons):

“I want to hold you close…” John mumbled out, his hands gently caressing hers, then sliding over to her thighs, where he ran them upwards, slightly moving in the seat, so he could press his body to her.

“John please” Isobel cupped his face in her hands, leaning closer to him, almost crawling onto his lap.

“Yes you’re right… I should have pleased you more often” he pressed his face further to her, their lips so close together they were almost touching, but he flinched backwards and looked her in the eye, his features scrunched, his own dark eyes wide.

“That wasn’t the issue… you never failed to please me” her fingers moved to the collar of his shirt and undid the first button.

“Then why you left? Without even saying a word? Without leaving a note?”

“Can we talk about it while being sober?” she undid another few buttons on his shirt and let her hand slide down his chest. John purred a little, when she scratched him a little, “I want to feel your skin pressed against me tight” Isobel mumbled into his mouth, pulling him closer by his shirt, making him fall atop of her and she straddled him a little, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Isa…” he breathed out, the sound of her nickname she hasn’t heard in ages falling from his lips send shivers down her spine.

“I know John… I missed you too” he was like an open book to her and he didn’t even have to finish his sentence, she knew him too damn well.

There was something in the look of his chocolate eyes, in the stare he held on her face, in the way he couldn’t look away from her; it seemed like he was enchanted by her and the spell, she put on him back in their military days, never fade away.

John was under her charm, it was true, he never fell out of love with her. Even when he married Helen, Isobel was still in the back of his mind, in his heart in the that hotel suite where she lived for so long, it’d be too strange if he suddenly forgot her.

Isobel was his true love and he couldn’t be able to deny it. As well as he couldn’t be able to deny the fact that he was still madly in love with her. The feeling never changed, nor would with her gun pressed to his forehead.