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pacifymebby · 4 months

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https://youtu.be/uDx-6pEohE4?feature=shared

The comments on this are so confusing… why are people praising her? Also a comment says she offered miners £30,000 redundancy which I’ve never heard of before x

I've never heard the £30,000 thing before and when I've tried to google it I can't find much to confirm or deny it? So I don't know how much I trust it. What I have found though is that any redundancy that was offered, it was offered as a way to try and break the strikes. The options presented to the miners were basically 1) stay on strike and we'll fire you without pay 2) break the strike (be a scab - this is a very bad, seen as a class traitory thing to do and had crazy real world consequences!!) and you'' still lose your job but we'll give you redundancy.

And when you weigh those two choices up (especially when you consider the men being made redundant were 55+) they're pretty hopeless choices. You're not going to get work anywhere else because your trade is being obliterated and any jobs going will go to younger men.

It wouldn't surprise me if this was one of her methods for breaking the strike, Thatcher's Neoliberalism (basically every man for himself politics) was all about dividing the working class, breaking communities and unions so that the working class masses would feel small/ helpless and like they were actually a minority.

This is probably also why people on that video are commenting positively about her too. Thatcher kind of "invented" the middle class when she split the working class into "work shy don't want to better themselves" poor people and the "aspirational working class" She introduced stuff like "right to buy" which enabled people living in council houses/ public housing, to buy their house from the government for cheap. Sounds great if you're the person in the house, (and so many working class people did benefit from this/ there families still benefit now, especially in places like London and the East where house prices have skyrocketed since the 80s/90s). Terrible however because Thatcher and successive tory governments never built new council houses so now there aren't any left and no one can afford a house. (however theres that small chunk of working class people who benefited massively and so love her now)

She did loads of stuff like that whilst she was in power, she crushed the unions and British industry, sold industry off to foreign investors who provided the work for cheaper (at the time!!) which meant that the already very wealthy got to invest in and make more money out of these deals, but the working class lost all their jobs and local economies suffered. Also like my nan on my mums side of the family remembers thatcher fondly for "freeing us from the tyranny of the unions" she remembers it all really differently and pictures Arthur Skargill (the guy who lead the strikes) as some kind of Tony Soprano/ Godfather type mob ruler who was holding the public to ransom, demanding the public pay more and more money to keep him in business (which wasn't how it worked at all haha) But like, whilst the strikes were going on electricity/ power would be cut to homes because no coal and stuff so the country experienced blackouts and this was blamed on strikers (when like, if Thatcher hadn't been threatening them, they wouldn't have needed to be on strike and would have quite gladly gone to work!)

Essentially what happens when a prime minister is doing as thatcher did, is that the government will pick the group of people they're going to attack (in this instance the miners) and they will run with a story about how the miners are being "intimidated" into striking by other miners (as if the unions were the mob), they split them into "these good honest men who just want to work but they're being threatened" and "these evil work shy men who rule with threats and violence and want to bring the country to its knees!" They build this narrative and run with it, and the strikers had their own narrative too which was much different. But the British public will remember whichever story they believed at the time... So people who lived in those mining communities knew the "truth" (I've put this in commas because many would argue with me) and people who did not believed what they were reading in the papers and hearing from the government.

if you can access this then this is a really interesting article about the link between police violence during the strikes (and how they never got prosecuted for trampling strikers with horses) and police violence at Hillsborough which they also got away with for a really long time. (brits might have heard of this disaster, very famous and the inquiry that got people justice only happened in the last few years) Its a pretty solid and since proven example of how the Government and the police twist the truth and outright lie to construct false narratives and get away with really evil things. (word of warning if you google Hillsborough, its really upsetting, I can't read about it without getting extremely emotional)

Sometimes it really helps to read something totally bias in the direction opposing yours, this is kinda good for explaining why some people fucking love the woman haha

the paragraph at the end about how Britain was confident and empowered by 97 because of thatchers is so wack, Britain was emboldened by 97 cause Tony Blair had presented them with an offer of change and hope lol. The middle/ upper class just got cocky because thatcher had lined their pockets with working class money lol

Also something I've just remembered is that Brassed Off (the film I mentioned earlier) is about the union bands, which if you're a Sam Fender fan you might have heard him mention when he talks about why he likes having those brass sounds on his records, the union bands were like, crazy parts of the community, they got all the men together and like sharing something (not their feelings unfortunately but you know, it was still a vital part of community and support) And idk, that could be a really cool little watch if you're interested in that connection to Sam's music and the north east and stuff!!

#politics

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phantom-vs-agents · 9 months

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Obvious question, which knights are loyal to their king, and which knights are renegade if any?

Rubs hands

So!

All of the Phantoms are 100% Renegade to the Kingdom and the Round Table. Whether through committing crimes or through betrayal to any sort of higher force, the Phantoms are all Rogues that are probably wanted.

For a more in depth look:

If we go off of the Arthurian Inspiration that the Characters are based on, Agravain (Spectre) joined Mordred, the Traitorous Member of the Round Table, in his rebellion against Arthur. We don't really know who Mordred is (though I HC it to be Scourge), but if that's not the case, then I can probably say that he joined the Eggman Equivalent for more power or promise of land.

Next we have Sir Escanor the Large (Hammer)- A part of the Arthurian Legend that still maintained the more mystical and celtic origins. Escanor was a Half-Giant within the legends whose power waned and waxed with the Sun, though in TBK, Escanor is probably just sort of not really tied to any one loyalty, going around and raiding villages.

Finally, we have Sir Malegeant. An interesting wrinkle in the Legends, as some sources state him to be the Arch Enemy of Arthur. He is most well known for the kidnapping of Lady Guinivere, so it probably tracks that Malegeant (Grimm) stole away Guinviere (Rouge, i blame winters-club for giving me the idea) for a ransom of a castle and food. After being beaten back, he quickly escapes back to the woods. Next, we have the Agents, all of whom are based on actual Knights of the Round Table!

Dinadan (Scuttle) is oft the 'Wit' of the Round Table, and usually is seen as a jokester- If very pragmatic. Unfortunately, Dinadan is killed during Mordred and Agravain's rebellion against the Table, though in this verse, we can say he was either Greviously Wounded (but still alive) or wounded enough to be taken off the knights. Of course, interactions before and after are still up, but he is still loyal to the cause.

Next, Sir Balin de Savage (Jacket), the Knight with two Swords. Probably the only recorded usage of Dual-Wielding, Balin is technically a Knight before the Round Table was officially formed. He received a Sword from a Lady of the Lake, but the sword was cursed so that the user would die in combat- And so, he and his brother killed each other in combat. In TBK, Balin is not part of the Table, but is still loyal, quitting after defeating his brother in combat.

Galehault (Smasher) is another Half-Giant. He once came to Arthur as an enemy, but after being defeated, he was recruited and became close and loyal allies with Lancelot! And by 'close and loyal' I mean 'there is great debate among many scholars if they were gay or not'. Though he remains loyal to the Table in TBK, first and foremost, he remains loyal to Lancelot.

Sir Ither (Nazo) is another Wild Card, as there were many Red Knights in Arthurian Legend. Of course, the name Ither came from the Cousin of Arthur and Percival. In TBK, Ither is basically a Knight-Errant for Hire, willing to do jobs for steady pay.

#[Phantom Agent] - OOC #[Outside the Round Table] - Black Knight AU #phantom-vs-agents #((sorry this sort of turned into a general rambling about the verses))#((i just. LOVE. arthurian legend.))

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needcake · 3 years

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day 4: cardverse

Arthur/Teo, PG-15 (for some violence), 2k.

@engportevents

Three times the Queen of Spades almost caught the Diamond Bandit, and one time he did (sort of)

There had been talk – rumors – of a band of bandits roaming the borders between the four kingdoms for months. Their usual targets were trains loaded with gold and silver and the occasional rich traveler going from one kingdom to the other.

Arthur, currently, was the latter.

“Can’t you make the horses go faster?!” he shouted at the conductor who yelled back something he didn’t quite catch over the noise of the fighting in the carriages behind them where the rest of his security detail was being held back instead of doing their job of protecting him!

He shut the small partition between him and the conductor with a violent shove and noticed the inside of the cabin now smelled of lavender.

When he turned back on his seat, the Diamond Bandit was smiling at him, sitting with far too familiarity with his arms spread open over the back of the cushions and his legs crossed.

“My, so you’re the next Queen of Spades?”

Arthur breathed deeply. His powers had not fully developed yet and the masked man he had seen in the wanted posters all over the towns in the Diamonds Kingdom was very much not a rumor.

“What of it?” he asked, trying to buy himself some time while summoning enough energy in his hand to blast the damn smile off the man’s face.

The bandit shrugged, that idiot smile still plastered on his partially covered face.

“Does your future husband know?” he asked and Arthur could feel the small ball of pure energy in his hand growing even smaller and denser. It needed to be as small as the head of a pin before he could cast it and cause any real damage.

“Know what?” He needed more time, just a little more time and concentration.

The bandit leaped onto his lap and pressed a dagger to his throat. His smile turned wicked. “That you’re no longer a virgin,” he whispered in his ear and Arthur’s concentration evaporated, the energy in his hand expanding until it blew up like a firecracker and blinding white smoke filled the cabin.

The pressure of another body over his was gone. Along with his engagement ring.

When the smoke cleared, the conductor announced the bandits had retreated and they were safe now. Arthur nodded and pressed a hand to his chest. How had he known…?

Next he saw him was during a ball in the Clubs Kingdom to celebrate the Queen’s birthday. Clubs was a Northern kingdom with a long and proud tradition of horseback fighting and hunting, and Arthur was trying very hard not to look directly at the animals’ heads hung on the walls around the room.

The music changed and his dancing partner – an older gentleman and high-ranking noble, probably belonging to the House of 8 – was shoved out of the way to make room for a younger and more vigorous partner who strode across the ballroom with Arthur in his arms, barely giving him time to keep up.

“Watch it!” he scolded when his feet almost stepped over his.

“Are you going to throw another feeble spark at me?” the man laughed and Arthur only had time to catch a glimpse of pale green eyes and a dark mole beneath the right eye before the entire room went dark and a myriad of gasps and faint exclamations of fright and surprise replaced the music.

“It’s you!” Arthur hissed and felt strong hands hold him tighter against a firm chest.

“Does anyone in this room know, dear Queen?” the bandit asked in a whisper and Arthur felt his entire body shiver with the proximity and the smell of lavender. “Have you told anyone that you used to be just another one of the butcher’s kids until you began manifesting the powers of a Queen?”

Arthur’s anger grew white and hot and powerful, and when he shoved him away and flicked his wrists the entire room exploded in searing light.

He had to blink several times before the room had regained color again, the servants hurrying to light the candles again. Nobles and monarchs were looking at each other with surprise and astonishment. A lady clutched at her neck only to find it bare.

Her scream pierced through the night, followed by many others like hers.

The situation had to be dealt with. The Diamond Bandit could not just steal from under their noses and be allowed to go unpunished. After what happened in the ball, the King of Clubs raised the reward on the Bandit’s head and the Queen of Hearts volunteered to bring the man and the rest of his band to justice.

Arthur approached Kiku afterwards and asked to be a part of the task force. Kiku only looked him over once before acquiescing silently.

It took them a month to gather the information that led them to the humble stone house where the bandits were hiding deep in the Diamond countryside near the border with Spades. Kiku and his men went after the larger group while Arthur was left alone to chase their leader into the forest.

He aimed a single arrow at him when he had him in his sight and the Diamond Bandit fell to the forest ground, clutching at his shoulder and crying out in pain.

Arthur approached him slowly and balled up magical energy in his hand. He had trained for this moment. He was now so much better at it than when they first met.

The bandit smiled through the pain, writhing on the ground beneath him. His mask was slipping; the shape of his nose oddly familiar.

“Is your mother still the best seamstress in Spades?” he asked, grinding his teeth as blood flowed down between his fingers. “Does she still bake the most awful scones?”

Arthur stepped on his hand and he screamed. The ball of energy in his palm shrunk to an impossible miniature size, no bigger than an ant, more lethal than any weapon.

“How do you know that?” he hissed.

Green eyes looked up at him. “Have you forgotten about her too?”

Kiku’s horse distracted him as it rode with its master into the space they were in, and when Arthur looked back at him there was only a small pool of blood seeping into the earth in his place. Kiku dismounted and came closer, inspecting the blood.

“He has some sort of magic,” Arthur tried to explain even if he himself didn’t entirely understand. “He disappears.”

“Not disappear,” Kiku corrected him lightly. “He changes. A tanuki.”

He pointed at a small trail of blood, droplets that went further into the forest. Arthur looked at his friend. “Only Diamond high nobility can shape shift.”

Kiku nodded. “You should pay Francis a visit.”

It was not hard to convince his husband to send a letter to the King of Diamonds. It was hard, however, to sit at his table and pretend to enjoy the dinner when all he wanted to do was to strangle Francis’ neck between his hands.

“I see you have a new Jack,” Alfred said politely, raising his glass at the man on the other side of the long table and Basch raised his own politely in return. “What happened to the last one?” he asked Francis beside him.

“He died,” Arthur supplied in a dry tone and Alfred looked between him and Francis, noticing Arthur’s glare and Francis’ cold demeanor.

“His ship sank during the war,” Francis said and took a sip of his wine. “What kind of a Jack would he be if he hadn’t been willing to sacrifice himself for King and country?”

Arthur got up. His hands shook beside him with uncontrolled energy that seeped light between his clenched fingers. He stormed out of the dinning hall before he lost control. He left and did not come back, forgoing what he had come all this way for.

“Did you know the guy that died in the war?” Alfred asked him late that night after Arthur had forced them to pack up their things and take their carriage back to their kingdom.

“I did,” he said, staring out at the dark through the carriage window. “He was my best friend.”

Arthur woke up with a draft coming into his room through the open windows.

“You’re not too heavily guarded for a Queen,” the Diamond Bandit said, smiling at him under the moonlight.

He sat up on the bed and clutched the sheets to his chest. “What do you want from me?”

The man took a step forward in his direction and froze on the spot. A circle of light with intricate runes glowed beneath his feet.

“I see you’ve gotten better at magic.”

Arthur threw the sheets aside to reveal himself fully clothed and stood in front of him. He could already hear the guards coming closer, alerted by his spell. “Who are you?”

“Do you still remember when we first kissed?” he asked, still smiling despite having been caught. “Behind the house while my mother tried on dresses in your living room?”

The guards came into the room and took him away. Arthur prided himself for not collapsing to the ground until he heard their steps on the far end of the corridor. It was where Alfred found him minutes later, when he held him until he stopped crying, not understanding why since they were safe now. The bad guy had been caught.

The rest of the group had been hanged in the early hours in a secluded location as not to distract the people from the main event. Only the Diamond Bandit was to be given a public execution under the eyes of the four monarchs and the people gathered at the central square in the Spades capital.

Arthur had to give out a few golden coins, but he did manage to have the room alone with the Bandit before they took him to the gallows. Teo had his head down, his shirt had been removed along with his mask and his long hair hung over his shoulders, barely concealing the fresh bruises and cuts the guards had given him since he had been brought to their care.

“Did your companions know that you cheat at cards and that you once spilled black tea on your mother’s new dress and blamed your little brother?” he asked and Teo laughed, coughed, spat out blood. Arthur came closer to the bars separating them. “How did you survive?”

“The sea didn’t want me,” he said, his shoulders rising and falling as he spoke. “I floated to the surface with the debris and the enemy ship rescued me.”

“Francis would have paid the ransom.”

Teo laughed again, wet and raspy. “They tried that.” He looked up at him, green eyes almost swollen shut and Arthur felt his chin tremble at the sight of his mangled face. “He said he didn’t negotiate with barbarians.”

He curled his hands around the bars, pressed his face between them. “Then why? Why come back?”

Teo smiled. “You know why.”

Arthur sat beside his King and they watched as the Diamond Bandit was brought out. The crowd watched in silence. No cheering, no murmurs.

They put a sack over his head and a noose around his neck.

When the trap door opened, Arthur shut his eyes and flicked his wrist. Something small, smaller than a grain of sand, shot out from his palm.

The crowd gasped, someone screamed. When he looked again, the Bandit had disappeared.

Arthur came into his room followed by a chambermaid who was frantically trying to undress him while he gave her no attention and went on talking to his secretary about the seating arrangements for the banquet next week. The other kingdoms’ delegations should be arriving soon and their rooms and accommodations had to be prepared ahead of time, there was no time to waste.

He stopped when he noticed the open window over his desk.

On top of his books, there was a single stalk of lavender.

He smiled.

#engport #hws portugal #hws england #aph portugal #aph england #hetalia #engportweekevent #a wild fic appears #this feels a little rushed and i apologize ;_;#i do want to revisit this universe one day and expand on the themes and the worldbuilding #maybe probably #cardverse

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fishoutofcamelot · 3 years

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📁📁📁 GIVE ME MORE ANGSTY HC YOU FERAL FISH BASTARD 📁 AND A HAPPY ONE TOO PLEASE I LOVE YOU GOOD DAY

Ask and ye shall receive 😚

Post-canon, Merlin cast a spell that he had hoped would bring all their dead friends back to life; instead, it accidentally pulled him into an alternate world where those same friends never died. Lancelot survived, as did Elyan and Gwaine and Arthur. Magic is legal, Merlin is the Court Sorcerer, Freya and Gilli are Isolde/Tristan's new smuggling proteges, Will has taken up business in Tom's old blacksmith shop, Daegal is Gaius's new apprentice, and Balinor/Hunith recently renewed their vows. Life is good, everyone is happy, almost to the point ot rubbing it in his face about how much he had lost. And Merlin - our Merlin, the Merlin from the dark timeline - finds that he doesnt want to leave this reality. He doesnt want to go back home to a world where everyone is dead. So he stays. And the people of that world accept him with open arms. For many years, life is good and Merlin enjoys this second chance with his friends. But then, since Merlin is immortal and they are not, one by one these friends begin to die too. When Arthur is the last to die, alternate!Merlin blames canon!Merlin for bringing the darkness of his timeline into this one, and demands he leave and never return. So Merlin comes back to his own reality, to a place where everyone is dead and Camelot has fallen and war is rampant. To a world where he is immortal, and lonely, and miserable. And when his friends come back 1500 years later, he doesnt tell them about the alternate world. He tries not to think about it, most days

The real reason Tristan and Isolde got into smuggling was bc Isolde had a curse placed upon her, and the sorcerer responsible would only lift it if they paid him a certain ransom. They got into smuggling so they could hopefully afford the ransom one day, but then Isolde died, meaning all their hard work was for nothing in the end

Gwaine's mother, due to her husband dying, was very melancholic and depressive. And because he reminded her so much of his father, all of Gwaine's attempts to cheer her up only made her cry even harder. He was never "good enough" to make her smile, and thats why he often reduces himself to the comic relief in stressful situations, why he is so determined to be cheerful and supportive. He couldn't make his mother smile, but maybe merlin will be different, maybe gwen will be different, maybe elyan -

Okay and now for the happy one

When she was a servant, Gwen used to sew a lot of scarves and jackets and whatnot for Merlin. She also taught him how to stitch/repair Arthur's clothes. It was a bit of a bonding point between them. So, to celebrate her return from exile, Merlin decided to make something for her as repayment. Thanks to her lessons, he had become fairly proficient in sewing by then, but used his magic to ensure it would be perfect. And with that in mind, guess what she wore to her coronation

Thanks for the ask! 💛

#technically the gwaine one is repurposed from a merwaine fic that eru told me to write but that i never finished #merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #bbcm #ask #fish post

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racefortheironthrone · 3 years

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Why did she not care for John but loved all her other children? Also how much infulence did she have when John was king I’d love to know?

Probably because he was Henry’s favorite, and rebelled against Richard, the son who probably was her favorite and who best lived up to her ideals as both a chivalrous warrior and a poet. Eleanor didn’t hate her son, she did some favors like getting Richard to forgive him after the rebellion, and backing him against Arthur of Brittany, but he never really lived up to expectations.

As for influence, much less than under Richard, when she was basically Queen Regent in his absence during the Crusade. One of the great ironies of history is that the (later versions of the) Robin Hood myth stuck John with the blame for the taxes that his mother raised to ransom Richard from Henry VI of the HRE.

#historical analysis #eleanor of aquitaine #john lackland #robin hood

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the-peachpit · 4 years

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Between the Lines

Ship: Shorter Wong x (Y/N)

Summary: Shorter and (y/n) are fighting about the future. (y/n) want’s to apologize, but what if Shorter can never forgive her?

Opening your laptop, you pick your favorite spotify playlist before looking around the room of the small apartment you shared with your boyfriend and friends. Hands on your hips you knew you were supposed to start packing but finding the best place to start was impossible. Every time one of your fingers so much as touched anything you were whisked away down memory lane. From shirts that you got when you first moved to New York planning to only stay for a year-it had been four- to the fake rose Shorter had bought for you the day you met. That memory took hold hard, mostly because of the disagreement you and Shorter had been passively aggressively maneuvering around for days. While living in New York you found a job in journalism, mostly freelance writing articles here and there. It wasn’t enough anymore to be some anonymous writer; you had seen your fair share of tragedy and a burning desire was lit deep in your chest to be more. Max- the man who had taken you under his wing- suggested you attend a college in California the degree could rally ramp up your career. At first the idea sounded nuts, the school was insanely expensive, and renting a town house was currently stretching you thin enough. Knowing Max came with a secret perk though he used contacts to get you in on a huge scholarship. Mostly because they could say the prodigy of Max Lobe- the man who took down New York’s biggest mafia family on a pedophilia scandal- was attending. Max gave you the news over dinner, and of course you wanted to go.

Laying back on the bed as Rose by Briston Maroney played you twirled the plastic rose in between your fingers. Shorter had given the rose the day he met you like a true fool who believed in love at first sight. Of course, you were skeptical and only believed in a player at first sight. If Eji, who you trust with your life, hadn’t vouched for him you never would have even entertained the idea. Rolling your eyes, you took the rose in a ha-ha sort of way. Shorter had taken it as a win and asked you on a date to his own restaurant. Twice you turned him down, it was the third time that did the trick. Though you had just been saved by him so that may have helped. You were shopping near China Town with Eji when the two of you were jumped and taken hostage. Eji was being used for ransom and your head was spinning. That was also the day you found out about the gang activity Ash and Shorter were a part of. It didn’t scare you like Shorter was afraid it would. Instead you accepted his date offer kind of asking him yourself.

He closed the restaurant down and it was just the two of you. Shorter hosted his own date taking you to your table, picking wine, cooking. He had the whole thing down, like he really had been planning it since the day you met.

Four years later here resting your hand back down on the sheets looking up at the ceiling. Shorter hadn’t come home for two days, Ash promised he was safe, but the last words Shorter had mumbled under his breath were ‘you wouldn’t make it out there,’ and you exploded it was the final straw as you screamed at him to leave. Shorter left without another word. You’d never screamed like that at him, he’s never stayed gone for so long with zero communication. Eyes darting around the room, you decided packing was impossible there were still two weeks till departure and that was more than enough time to put your life in a couple suitcases and leave everyone behind.

Walking downstairs the TV is playing softly and you know Eji is using it for noise. Catching him red handed in the kitchen you find him making himself a snack carefully cutting vegetables. Eji was the only reason anyone in the house didn’t live off pasta or Chinese food -courtesy of Shorter. Max helped balance their diets sometimes, but usually brought a lot of deserts with him. Not that anyone complained, Max really played the Dad role in the house. Eji was short with black hair and dark brown eyes. You never missed an opportunity to tease him about his height which he blamed on his Asian genes, until you bring up Shorter is in fact not short, and taller than Ash. That gets Eji red in the face, today though the spark wasn’t there. Instead you opted to swipe a cucumber from his cutting board.

Eji stopped cutting all together to put his hands on his hips, “It’s dangerous for you to just grab stuff like that while I’m cutting, (y/n).”

You laugh, “It’s not like you’re going to cut my fingers off. Or are you that clumsy?”

Eji resumed cutting, “Maybe it won’t be an accident, you did break one of my favorite photo frames.” He pointed the knife your way.

“Wait a minute, Ash is the one who threw the pillow!” You protest.

“You’re the one who tried to braid his hair while he was sleeping,” Eji brought up a smile creeping across his face.

“You knew his hair was getting long and you wanted to do the same thing. It looked cute!” You whine walking to the island leaning against the wooden top.

Eji laughed, he had a cute laugh that went up and octave, “He looked great, I tried to convince him to wear it that way.” He sighed, “Instead he had to go and cut it,” Eji whined.

Walking over Eji placed a plate of cut assorted vegetables and ranch. Picking up a carrot round you inspected it turning it between your fingers like the rose.

“Has Shorter bene home?” You ask hoping maybe he snuck in while you were gone.

Eji shook his head, “No.”

“Have you heard from him?” The desperation in your voice betrays you.

Eji shakes his head again without saying a word. The frown on the face gives it all away, he feels bad, he’s been in the situation of not knowing where his lover was. Sympathy radiates off him in waves as you bite into another carrot round and think about packing, or maybe not going at all.

Hearing the front door creak open your heart skips a beat as you look over, only slightly disappointed to watch a disgruntled blonde walk in. Running his fingers through his blonde locks Ash came up to the counter grabbing a slice of cucumber. About a million questions run through your brain at once, but you know he has something on his mind. He never walks in so silently; Ash is always sure to announce his presence as not to startle anyone into thinking it’s a break in. It’s an old habit everyone kept from when Ash was hunted down just a few short years ago. As much as you watched Ash, Eji, Sorter, hell even Max joke around, you knew the fear was still there. Harbored deep down.

Finally, Ash swallows and his green eyes won't dare connect with yours.

“I’m going to Coney Island for few days,” Ash announced.

Eji turned his face screwed immediately into worry, “When are we going?”

“You’re staying here,” Ash’s voice was firm, he’d made his decision.

Though if anyone was stubborn and could change the Lynx mind it was Eji.

“I’ll pack a bag,” Eji didn't take no for an answer.

Ash sighed, “Come on Eji, it’s an easy job, it’s just Arthur causing problems. Squashing him back down won’t take more than the weekend.”

“Going alone is stupid,” Eji crossed his arms officially meaning business.

“Do I ever go alone?”

Eji grunted.

“Look I’m going with, Cain,” Ash paused, “And Shorter.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you realize why he hasn’t looked at you since he got in. The air in the apartment changes tremendous tension at the name of the man with a purple mohawk.

“Is he coming here?” You ask.

“Sorry (y/n), I’m actually going to meet him in china town,” Ash played with the collar of his shirt.

You feel your guts twist the butterflies dying and anger filling your cheeks turning them red. You bang your fist against the countertop.

“Why!” You shout your voice echoing startling yourself.

Silence sits in the room, your own voice still echoing in your ears. Slowly you lay your head on the cool varnished wood.

“He can’t avoid me forever,” You mumble, “We have to talk about this.”

It didn’t sit right with you, to just let it fester any longer your heart was breaking already the thought of him just being angry with you. You wanted to understand why he was so upset with you leaving.

“Plus, I need to apologize,” You pick your head up, “I was out of line screaming at him to leave.”

Eji turned up his nose, “From what I heard he was just as much at fault.

You raise a brow towards Eji, “How much did you hear.”

Eji jumped a little, “I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he put his hands up in defense, “But I could hear you guys down the hall.”

Once again, the silence overtook the kitchen. You guys really had been properly arguing.

“I want to go,” You look at Ash trying to channel Eji’s determination.

“Neither of you are going,” Ash put his foot down, “It’s too dangerous.”

You stand up, “Seriously Eji’s been,” you’re cut off by a knife falling to the floor.

Looking over Eji is picking up the kitchen utensil apologizing. He keeps his dark eyes on the knife as he places back on the counter.

“If it’ll just take the weekend, we’ll see you Sunday night than,” Eji beamed his eyes closed.

Ash nodded crossing the threshold of the island hugging Eji tightly. You saw the way Eji’s dark eye’s looked dim as he returned the hug his face just popping over Ash’s shoulder. Without another word Ash walked upstairs presumably to his bedroom. You kept your eyes down on the wooden floor listening to the footsteps creaking across the little house.

“If I couldn’t get through to Ash this time there’s no way you could,” Eji leaned back against the counter.

“But he let you go on dangerous jobs all the time,” You finish your rebuttal.

“I knew you were going to bring that up,” Eji shook his head, “Ash did everything to keep me safe, he always told me to stay behind, but I never listened.”

“Sound’s about right,” You snicker not used to seeing Eji so serious and you weren’t sure what to say, “Why are you listening this time?”

“Because I think I know why he wants me to stay.”

“If you say because of me,” You point at Eji, “I’ll come over there and sock you.”

Eji stuck his tongue out at you, “Of course it’s you, but not you. More like imagine how Shorter would deal with it post argument, he couldn’t focus someone would get hurt. Besides you only caught the end of our adventure, you never saw what happened in the center, it was rough. Especially on Shorter and Ash.”

You feel your shoulders sag, he was right, you were there to help Max break the story. The last major part in the chaos you took part in was finding Ash in the library.

“Say goodbye to him for me,” You wave off Eji. You couldn’t stand to see Ash off currently.

Grabbing your coat off the hook you could practically feel Eji’s eyes boring holes in the back of your skull.

“I’m not going where you think I’m going,” You huff, “It’s purely coincidence.”

“(y/n),” Eji warns.

“I’m serious, call Max and ask,” You open the door and can hear the footsteps rushing down the hall.

Slamming the door for fun and out of spite and head towards the subway.

While waiting for the train you sit on a bench and pull out your phone realizing on a normal day you would have been long gone to work already. There’s no way you would have stumbled into Ash, Shorter would have slipped away without a trace. You could feel the anger rising in your gut, you had half a mind to go back and really give Ash what for. Every time you and Ash started a shouting match though somehow Eji would diffuse it-or Ash would win. Clenching your phone, you tap your foot angrily looking down the platform. Where the hell was the train, you wanted to get far away from the crazy-at least for a few hours.

“Mind if I sit here?”

You look up at a pair of dark eyes slightly covered by dark bangs a figure shorter than Eji standing there.

“What do you want Sing?” You sigh sitting back against the metal bench.

Sing take a seat next to you his signature smirk plastered across his face, “I was in the neighborhood, and Ash called asking me to find out if you were doing anything dumb.”

You had half a mind to at this point, “It’s not me it’s Shorter,” you cross your arms over your chest.

“Wow you guys really are fighting!” Sing looked like he was in awe.

“Oh good,” Your voice goes up an octave in sarcasm, “Everyone knows!”

“it’s hard not to,” Sing sticks his nose up, “Shorter’s been a real pain in the ass recently.”

You roll your eyes, “Tell me about it.” You look over catching Sing’s eyes and the two of you burst out into laughter.

You liked Sing he was a little younger than everyone else, but you could tell even while participating in gang activity he was growing up just fine. Always offering to walk you to see Shorter if he was too busy to leave the restaurant, and making you feel better when things with your gang leader boyfriend were tense and strained. Sing was easy to joke around with and didn’t treat you like an outsider of the tightly knit group that had formed. He believed in you 100 percent. The more you thought about it he was kind of like a cute little guard dog.

“Want some company wherever you’re going?”

“I don’t want to move you too far out of your way, I am going to Broadway to do paperwork for Max.”

Sing just waved you off, “I’m not doing anything anyway, I wasn’t invited to the shakedown.”

You snort and Sing started to gripe over the sound of the train pulling in. That was another thing about Sing, you knew he was capable, hell everyone did, but if they weren’t worried about protecting you or Eji -Sing was next on that list. Truly the little brother to the dynamic duo Shorter and Ash. One-time Sing had been late coming back from a drop off and Shorter was pacing the small livingroom practically pulling his purple hairs out. When Sing did show up Shorter was so mad, he hadn’t answered his phone. Turns out Sing had broken it and Ash bought him a new one the next day. Even as Sing insisted, he could pay for it.

Deciding to let Sing accompany you because it was better than riding alone to work the two of you swapped casual conversation about idle topics like tv shows or what new dishes Eji was trying.

“Man,” Sing leaned back while holding the brace bar, “You better bring me leftovers.”

You laughed, “Why don’t you just come over for dinner?”

Sing smiled and you’re reminded once again why you like talking to Sing so much. He was easy to talk to, he wasn’t as serious, he really brought your stress down a level. Sing stayed with you up until you got to the front of the small office building Max was operating out of.

“Thanks,” You wave as you start ascending the stairs.

“He’ll be fine after this weekend!” Sing shouted back.

You pause at the door looking back towards the bottom of the steps.

Sing gestures a thumbs up, “There’s no way Shorter will still be mad after a weekend away. I could already see his resolve crumbling when I talked to him earlier. He hates being away from you, and being angry,” he winked, “He’s kind of into you, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

You can feel the blush spreading through your cheeks as you giggle, “I won’t say a word.”

Dancing your way to the elevator clicking the button for the fifth floor you felt your heart fluttering in your chest. By the time Shorter was back you’d be packed, and everything would be fixed.

The elevator doors slid open and you met Max with a large smile even when he sheepishly presented you with a large stack of papers to proofread. The deadline was tight, and you knew you couldn’t give him an earful, he was the one getting you into a prestigious school, the work had to be done that day. It was a welcomed distraction as you sat at your desk and started knocking out articles.

It was nine o’clock when you finished and turning your brain off to Shorter had been the right move. Max drove you home asking about packing and giving you pointers for LA. You decided not to tell him about the drama, you’re not sure what he’d say. Though he was a married man you knew he had his own share of drama with his wife. Maybe you didn’t really want his advice.

Getting back to the small town house you see Eji sitting with the TV on watching an old movie, your dinner is int eh microwave. You already know how the night is going to go, it’s always the same when Ash and Shorter are out, dinner, snacks, movies, sticking close. The two of you may fall asleep on the couch, or in someone’s bed. You say nothing about what you think they may be doing, and you are each other’s company, there’s comfort in knowing someone is going through the same thing. Eji smiles and you know it’s hollow, he’s worried, you’re worried. You gently hold his hand and the weekend of silent hopes commences.

You’re practically bouncing off the walls Sunday night. You went with Eji to the store and started making a large meal that afternoon of the duo’s favorite foods. Unsure of Cain would be spending the night you guessed at what he might like.

“I’m inviting Sing,” You say already tapping on your phone.

The kitchen looked like a proper welcome home party with food, drinks, and a few decorations. There was a knock on the door, and you gestured for Sing to come in and make himself comfortable.

Around 11 o’clock you were starting to pace. You weren’t actually sure when they were getting in, hopefully sooner than later.

1 am was when you heard the first heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. The footsteps aren’t what woke you up though it was Eji getting off the couch jolting Sing awake. Slowly you adjusted to the bright lights you can’t believe you fell asleep with them on. Yawning and stretching the excitement of them coming home hasn’t hit you yet, your head is still fuzzy with sleep. Eji’s standing at the door like a puppy his hands clasped together patiently waiting with a sleepy smile on his face. For a moment it almost slips your mind why.

Crashing open the door seemed ready to burst from its hinges as everything moves too fast. Ash hobbled in leaning against Cain who had a strong grip around Ash’s waist. Eji was scrambling to Ash’s side while instructing Sing where the first aid kit was because you still hadn’t moved frozen to the couch. No wait- you were standing- when had you stood up? Eji was asking Cain what happened, but he sounded so far away, like his voice was coming through the walls. All at once the world that was chaotic and moving at lightning speed slowed. Sing ran back from the bathroom with the first aid kit, and you swore he was running through jell-o. Your feet moved, but you swore you hadn’t told them to. Padding across the hardwood floor in slip resistant kitten socks you push Eji to the side, your hands instinctively grab Ash’s collar. He lets you tug him down to meet your face. You feel hot and cold all at once as you stare into his dim green eyes.

“Where's Shorter?” You whisper simply.

Ash is silent Eji is grabbing your shoulder.

You shake the blonde haphazardly moving yourself more than him.

“Where’s Shorter!” You scream feeling the fat tears stream down your face.

“They got him,” Ash’s voice is hoarse.

“What do you mean they got him!” You can’t stop screaming.

“y/n” Eji’s voice still sounds like a faraway whisper.

“Arthur was a little more than we bargained for,” Cain answered gruffly, “Ash’s hurt pretty bad, Shorter let himself get chased and probably caught so we could get out.”

The tugging on your shoulder feels more forceful and you let yourself get pulled back releasing the death grip on Ash. Finger outlines kept his shirt collar pulled out. Stepping back further you let Eji and Sing attend to Ash and Cain in gentle calming voices. Sticking around to watch doesn’t sit right with you, and you can feel your stomach turning. Instead you run upstairs and enter your room. Slowly you close the door the air feeling like it was sucked out of the room right after. Shakily you put your hands over your mouth, your back sliding against the door. Crying on the floor next to the empty cardboard boxes that were never packed the room is too full- too full of Shorter.

#fan fic author #fan fic blog #fan fiction #shorter wong #shorter wong x reader #reader insert #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #banana fish

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arcadianstuff · 4 years

Text

School rivals p.t 2

Thought I’d make a part two. Also I’m sort of making up as I go plot-wise but it kinda ties into the show. Hope u don’t mind.

After (y/n) plays a soccer match at Arcadia Oaks Academy, her schools rival, gumm-gumms attack and she gets caught in the crossfire. The person who come how her aid is the one she’d least expect.

——————

“Give me an A ! Give me an R give me a C....give me and adia !” Attempting time rouse you supper from the crowd watching your soccer team, Cosch Lawrence yelled into a speakerphone. To say his cheering was sub par would be an understatement.

The students, parents and teachers spectating gave up on following along with his chanting and instead turned their attention on the match.

Up in the top row, Jim, Claire and Toby were cheering you on, shouting supportive messages and jumping up to celebrate when you scored a goal.

On the field you were panting and sweating with exhaustion at the effort of playing. To say you were trying your best would be an understatement. This match had you fired up for multiple reasons. For one you hated Arcadia Okas Academy; there was war between your two schools and you were determined to win. Secondly, you could quite clearly see a certain punk rock kid sitting in the bleachers, who had been staring at you for the entire game.

It gave you a weird feeling in your stomach which you mistook for anger. You weren’t entirely wrong, it did make you angry but also something else. Unbeknownst to you, Douxie wasn’t just staring at you to annoy you, although that was definitely part of the reason. He was also captivated by the way you played, the determination on your face and the way you encourage your teammates. It reminded him a lot of King Arthur before Gwenwviere had passed away.

“Half time !” Loudly and with a blow of her whistle the referee announced it was half time.

You looked up at the scoreboard and weren’t too pleased to see it was a tie. You had twenty minutes of the match left. Only twenty minutes left to win.

“Okay guys weve only got twenty minutes left to break this tie. I know we can do this. It’s our first game this season against Arcadia Oaks Academy. We’ve gotta our then in their place !” Your encouraging speech did it’s job, hyping up your teammates and boosting their confidence.

The girls yelled and whooped before dispensing and running back onto the field. Aja, a new foreign exchange student hung back and tapped you on the shoulder.

“I wanted to say thanks (y/n) for suggesting I join the team. The game of soccer is very lively !” She thanked you excitedly before rushing into the field to join the other girls.

You smiled at her excitement and the way she’d started to bond with the other girls on the team. When you’d wondered pass the gymnasium one day and saw her doing gym you knew she would make a great addition to the team. Maybe she’d even become team captain after you left. She was a natural leader.

The other team were staring daggers at you, as they joined you on the field. Just before you left to rejoin them you noticed that the seat you’d saved for your mum was empty; it wasn’t unexpected but still disappointing. She was busy, her job as a docotor basically consumed her life. It was noble, and you were so proud of her, but sometimes you wished she had more time for you - especially Jim. However you knew she was doing her best.

At least Jim was there and Toby and Claire, Toby was basically family; you’d known him since he was five and he felt like a younger brother to you. Whilst Claire was a new addition, you saw how happy she made Jim and you found that you and the pretty girl had a lot in common. For one Mama Skull. The three of them waved down to you, which you returned quickly before running back onto the field.

Your eyes flared with something fierce as adrenaline flooded your veins.

‘Let’s do this.’

—————————————

You won.

With only a minute left Aja had passed the ball to you which you’d just managed to scrape into the goal. And with the final goal scored the crowd had roared, your school cheering with such vigor you were pretty sure the bleachers had shook.

Whilst high fiving your teammates and exchanging hugs Toby, Claire and Jim had rushed down to congratulate you, forming a group hug as Toby and Jim attempted to lift you up on their shoulders. It didn’t go well but they tried.

As people chattered excitedly around you on the soccer field, you watched as the team from Arcadia Oaks Academy sulked off the field, heads down in defeat. A small smirk made its way across your features. Winning was sort of your thing and you didn’t take failure well.

Douxie, who’d secretly cheered when you’d scored the winning goal, hung around beside the bleachers. For some reason he didn’t want to leave just yet. Sure he wasn’t really into sports, and had never watched a school soccer match before, but when he found out you were playing he felt compelled to watch. Maybe he wanted another chance to annoy you or maybe he just wanted to see you again.

Although you were excited, riding on the high of your recent victory, something felt off. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach again, and as you turned around your saw the cause of it. Douxie Casperan watched as your eyes focused on him, bewilderment filling them. For a second you just stared at each other, no hostility, no glares, just mutual curiosity.

Then something that had never happened before occurred. You smiled at each other. Douxie mouthed ‘well done’ and you actually mouthed ‘thank you’ in return, before he turned around and retreated into his school.

Was it the end of the world ? Quite probably. Or you could just have been really happy about your win, especially as team captain....also a little bit because Douxie had been watching you the entire time.

——————————

Darkness started to creep across Arcadia as the sun descended over the horizon, casting a navy blue light over everything. The lamp posts surrounding the field had turned on to provide some light, by the time you had come out of the changing room. As the other girls left, saying goodbyes and a few last congratulations you hung around looking for Jim, who you were supposed to be giving a lift back home.

Whilst he may have a Vespa, your motorcycle was definitely envied by your younger brother - who had been officially banned from ever owning one. Your mum said she couldn’t handle it if both her children had one. And you were a much better driver.

“Jim ?” You called out into the seemingly empty field, your voice echoing across the darkness.

Although the pitch did look creepy at this hour you were far too annoyed at your younger brother, for not waiting where you told him to, to notice. After a long gruelling game you just wanted to go home, shower and snuggle into your bed and drift off thinking about Dou-

Hold up. No. No. You practically smacked your head as you nearly finished that thought. A feeling of disgust overcame you at the prospect of daydreaming about Douxie. Again your stomach started feeling weird and you blamed it on how gross you found Douxie.

‘Annoying, sarcastic, snarky, irritating, did you mention annoying, Douxie. Punk emo kid who thinks he’s so cool with his skull necklace and look at me Im so mysterious’ caught up in your angry thoughts you didn’t notice the way the ground had started to shake ever so slightly, foretelling of the advancing army of gumm- gums that were approaching you.

The gumm- gums had strict orders: capture the human troll hunter’s older sister and take her as a hostage. They planned to use you as a ransom, your life spared in return for Jim’s.

Then under the bright white light of the lamp posts surrounding the pitch, they appeared. A quiet gasp left your mouth as you froze at the sight of five massive hulking creatures emerging from the shadows. A scream tried to leave your mouth, your legs ached to run but your fear froze you to the spot.

‘W-what are those ?’ You thought as you stared petrified at the stony bulky monsters, who’s skin appeared as black as the night, outlined with glowing green lines like veins. But it was their eyes, or what you guessed were their eyes, that chilled you. They flowed with a green fire that seemed to burn you on the spot, empty of remorse or emotion.

You were going to die if you didn’t move and yet you couldn’t do it.

Without warning they charged, bounding across the field and reaching you within seconds, not giving you a chance to try and dodge the axe of one of them that quickly descended upon you.

You caught the eye of your reflection in the dulled metal; you looked terrified, for the first time in your life you were truly terrified and it would be your last.

“I don’t think so.”

The next thing you knew you were hurtling to the side, falling and rolling across the grass. A groan left you form the pain of the impact. Wait you felt pain. You weren’t dead. Somehow you weren’t dead.

And the answer to why you weren’t happened to be standing in front of you, panting heavily. Douxie Casperan had saved your life.

“Doux-“ you started only to be quickly interrupted as the boy started pushing you away, eyes glancing feverishly behind him at the oncoming monsters.

“No. (Y/n) you need to get out of here. Run as fast as you can back home, and get Jim.” It scared you to see the serious look in his eye, so foreign compared to the sarcastic and snarky Douxie you knew.

“What ? No Im not going to leave you ! And why would I get him ?! Also what are those !!!” You started screaming and rambling, fear setting in as you started to hyperventilate and shake. It felt like the ground was spinning.

Terrified now for your safety, Douxie gave you one last shove, growling at you when he spoke:

“For once (Y/n) listen to somebody else ! Go ! Now !” His voice was like ice, a sharp knife that stabbed you with it’s force.

Before you knew it you were running, sprinting for your life as you leapt across the field, away from the monsters you couldn’t explain and the boy who’d saved you.

Tears were welling in the corners of your eyes from fear and stress. Terrified of what you’d see, you hesitantly turned around while you were running, just to have a quick peak.

What you saw next was somehow weirder than anything else you’d seen so far this evening.

Blue currents of energy were swirling around Douxie as he started yelling a strange incarnation and drawing symbols out of thin air. The monsters went flying back and Douxie advanced on them. He was fighting them. And it looked like he knew how to.

‘What is going on ?....’

Your thoughts raced as you sprinted across town, shops and houses passing you in a blur as you neared your house.

Thank god for all that soccer and training because you were fast.

With a crash you battled through your door screaming.

“Jim ! Jim !! Help.” Your screechs were met with worried yells from your brother, who rushed into the hallway followed by Claire and Toby.

‘Why were they here ? Why was Jim here ? You were suposed to have given him a lift home...’ your thoughts were pushed aside as worry for Douxie overcame you.

“It’s Douxie... h-he said to come get you..he’s in trouble t-there’s m-monsters...soccer field...hurrry !!” Your screams and crying drew the attention of two it her house guests in the kitchen, who decided it would be a good idea to come check it out.

Blinky and Aaaargh were surprised to see master Jim’s sister in such a state, but not surprised when she saw them, froze, screeched and then fainted. It was quite similar to how your mum had reacted upon fist meeting them. Humans were very dramatic creatures.

“Well I think that could have gone worse.” Trying to keep things positive Blinky pointed out, not reading the tension in the room.

“Okay guys we need to go to the soccer pitch now. Aaarrghh, Blinky Douxie needs our help.” Now serious Jim addressed the his friends, eyeing you with worry.

With nods of understanding the troll hunters suited up, weapons at the ready.

“For the glory of Merlín daylight is mine to command!” With Jim now ready they sped out of the door, Claire already having portales to the field using her Shadow Staff.

“What about your sister Master Jim ?” Blink year last second question caused the young troll hunter to stop.

He eyed your form with worry but knew you’d wake up soon and it would all be fine.

“She’s not part of this. She’ll be safe here, nobody’s after her.” Jim’s answer was logical enough for Blinky. Without turning around they rushed out of the house after Arrrgh and Toby.

If only they’d turned around, because if they had they’d have seen that you’d disappeared.

——————

Part 3 ??? Hope u liked it !

#douxie x reader #douxie #trollhunters #tales of arcadia #toa #toa douxie #toa wizards #troll hunters

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meowdymista · 4 years

Text

Van der Driscoll pt 4

idek how this is still going but here we are. I like to please people like our bae, I guess

Part 3 & Masterlist

Part 5

In this booth in some rundown town west of Lemoyne, you’re grateful to have Arthur’s thumb rubbing calm circles on the back of your hand. His eyes are azure in the sunlight pouring through the shutters, watching the road outside for the third day since you’ve arrived.

The sound of you pushing your plate away attracts his attention.

“You need to eat something,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand with a small frown. You shrug indifferently, although the voice at the back of your mind is nagging the same thing. Your stomach is a separate entity to you now - it will betray you at the drop of a hat by suddenly dropping through the floor and pushing bile up in its place. How are you supposed to eat when you aren’t hungry? When anything that does pass your lips tastes like dirt, and tastes worse when it passes them again?

He sighs heavily, kissing your knuckles before enveloping them beneath both of this own. It’s like you’re watching him jump forward and backwards in time. The lines etch deeper in moments like these, when you’re sat by the window waiting. They drove themselves in hoards when conversation pulled you into heated discussion about right and wrong.

“A baby shouldn’t be born on the run from the law.”

“What about the boy? Jack?”

“It was different then - there weren’t so many Pinkertons, and they weren’t so determined.”

“OK, so why is he still running with you?”

“It’s different - they’re safer with us than out there where they can be grabbed for ransom.”

“Who would hold a boy and his mother for ransom?”

A dark look reminds you of the ten dollar murder. “These guys are the law-”

“And the law hire bounty hunters, don’t they? And them bounty hunters are anyone that steps off the street.”

Despite some strong arguments that stir doubt in your already unsettled insides, you can’t help but see the twinkle in his eyes when the barman talks to you about his own newborn daughter, promising that the baby will be worth every second - although it could be the lack of sleep making him delirious.

You came to bed late last night to find him passed out on top of the blankets still fully dressed. Taking pity on him, you removed his boots, stirring him from his sleep enough to get underneath the quilt and hold it up for you to curl in next to him. You slipped in, gasping as his strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled your back flush against his front, his nose buried in your hair.

“My lady and our baby,” he mumbled against the back of your neck as his palm flattened on your unchanged stomach.

“If you’ll have us,” you whispered in return, inhaling sharply as his grip tightened.

“I can’t be what I ain’t.” A kiss tingled your bare shoulder. “But I want you both more’n anything.”

“You promise?”

His warm breath chuckled over your back. “I ain’t lyin’ if that’s what you mean.” You turned your head, finding his heavy lids in the darkness of the room. “I’m sorry for how I acted - I loved being a father, and I’ve loved being with you. Best o’ both worlds but I know this world don’t work that way - for outlaws at least.”

“It’s worked for your brother.”

“Mm. That fool was always lucky.”

“We make our own luck in this world, Arthur. Have faith.”

He chuckled at that, burying his head deeper into his pillow. “A’ight. I’ll try.”

You push a piece of meat into your mouth and force yourself to chew. You’re sure this would taste amazing if you had found this place before you lost your appetite.

Arthur moves to his feet suddenly, eyes fixed outside. “He’s here.”

You follow his gaze to see a curt old man dismounting a stormy coloured turkoman. You recognise him instantly.

She can’t go free. Not with the Pinkertons after us.

"Arthur!" Hosea calls to the man half running off the wooden porch to meet him, hitching Silver Dollar on the side of the road. "Everything alright?"

"Hosea - you got the letter! I-" He moves his hat on his head, raking his hands through the mane of hair before setting it back down. "I didn't know who else to ask."

"Guess it fell through, whatever you intended to do?" The brown eyes drift to the window where you shrink out of view.

"Somethin' like that," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "I… we need to talk. I was hopin' you might be able to… to help in some way or at least lend another mind to workin' out what we gotta do now..."

"Is she worth it?" Hosea holds his son’s gaze steadily, tilting his chin towards the saloon.

"Yes. She's-" He breathes out shakily, looking over his shoulder to your peeping eyes. "She's important to me, Hosea."

A hand clamps on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “Let’s get properly introduced then.”

You hold your breath as the two men walk up to where you’re sat shrinking into the wall. Arthur slides in beside you, squeezing your leg with a small (albeit worried) smile as the stranger settles himself opposite you, his brown eyes bland and unreadable.

"So what is it you need to be telling me?" he asks calmly to no one in particular as he waves for a drink. "What's brought you all this way east for christ's sake?"

"I was gonna get her outta the country," Arthur explains lowly, his knee jittering again. "There're boats - ships that are taking people out of America. Get her away from Colm and us for that matter."

"But…?" He takes the whisky and throws it back, tucking a dollar in the garçon's pocket as he asks for the same again.

"But she- she weren't well."

"I'm pregnant." Your voice breaks, eyes blinking back tears. "Arthur's. I'm carrying Arthur's child."

He blows out his hollow cheeks, looking between the two of you as though expecting a cry of "April Fool's!" in June. Arthur's shoulders sag at his guardian's response.

"An' we ain't even told you the best part. Her cousin was on the ferry in Blackwater. Heidi. She's the one Dutch… you know."

He drags his hands down his face. "Could you bring us the bottle?" he calls before the barman can return. "The bottle and- two? Three glasses?"

“We owe it to her, Hosea!”

“Are you-” He waves his hand, looking between you. “What are your plans?”

“She’s keeping it.”

You nod in agreement, holding onto him for dear life as the man pours you each a glass and toasts. You try to follow suit, but the smell knocks your stomach before you can drink it. You set it back down, pushing the glass away as Arthur rubs your back understandingly.

“Don’t start this again,” growls Arthur, surprising you with his tired hostility. “Please.”

The old man’s voice is hushed, eager. “Think about it - this is an opportunity to get outta this life!”

“I can’t do that, Hosea.”

“This could be whatever deity is up there giving you a second chance! You’ve said it yourself, Arthur. We’re thieves in a world that don’t want us no more.”

“I ain’t leavin’, Hosea. You know I can’t, ‘specially now.”

Regret saturates his sigh, the twinkle in his eye extinguished as he leans his head against the back of the bench. “I know, son. Can’t blame a feller for hopin’.” Silence stretches out between you before the older man speaks again. “So what is it you’re wanting to do? We both know you ain’t dumb enough to want to bring her into camp.”

“What else is there to do?” Urgency cracks his voice as he tries to speak quietly. “Dutch killed her ticket outta here - we owe it to her!”

“He’s paranoid enough without introducing someone with motive. Morale is as low as it’s ever been right now - if word gets out that the girl was related to the new O’Driscoll? People will panic, Arthur. We’ve already lost too many-”

“I just want to keep the baby,” you interrupt, your eyes begging for him to find your honesty. “I know what it looks like, but I didn’t know Arthur was runnin’ with anybody.”

“How did you get caught again? After kidnapping Bill, wasn’t it?”

“That wasn’t me!” you cry desperately.

“But you were there when he was tied to a post?”

“I only went down to see what- what Heidi did. I just wanted to put a face to the story- Please believe me! I ain’t about revenge, and I ain’t about to do anything to put Arthur or the baby in danger-”

“Promises aren’t enough to vouch for you.”

“I won’t leave her side,” intervenes Arthur, squeezing you tight enough to fuse your sides together. “And if I do, you can watch her. Make sure she stays outta trouble.”

“And if both of us are away?”

His exhale is harsh, his mouth searching for words that can’t be found. Hosea tuts, more to himself than anything.

“I know I shoulda realised who I was gettin’ involved with,” Arthur says slowly, blue eyes begging. “But it’s too late for that. If there’s any way of keeping them with me, I gotta try. Please, Hosea. Help us?”

The bony man shrugs tiredly, shaking his head in defeat. "It ain’t me you need to convince, it’s Dutch."

“Do you think he’ll take it?”

“I don’t know anymore. Maybe if he sees how important she is to you.” He sighs, eyes searching the ceiling as though the answer might be hidden in the flaking white paint. “Like I said, he isn’t going to execute a woman carrying a child, and handing her back to Colm would be just that. Can’t hand her to the authorities neither in case she feeds them information.” Lips pressed together they all but disappear, he pours himself and Arthur another glass. “I suppose, until she proves herself to still be a threat we’re at an impasse.”

Arthur taps the glass with his free hand in time with the bounce of his knee. "I- I just don't wanna be the one bringing this gang to its knees."

“You won’t, Arthur.” A ghost of a smile dimples his cheek. “You know what you mean to us. Everyone knew something was happening with you - couldn’t not, knowing you as well as we do - and at the end of the day, you wouldn’t be fighting like this unless you trusted her. So… it’s time we trust your judgement.”

He throws the amber liquid into his mouth, wiping his hands over his thighs. “But - I will say this to the both of you right now-” He fixes you with an unforgiving stare, his neat voice hushed. “-if anyone in camp comes to harm as a result of your actions, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in you. Baby or no baby.”

“Hosea-!”

“I mean it.” His gaze doesn’t flicker, holding you like a snake charmer. “We aren’t like Colm, we don’t pick people up to expand our numbers. The Van der Linde gang is family. What we have is thicker than blood. Don’t go shedding any. Understand?”

“Yes,” you croak.

“Good.” He drains your untouched glass and gets to his feet. “Arthur, you should go on ahead. Tell Dutch what’s happened, but leave out the family history. I don’t want to play that card unless we absolutely have to.”

“And Y/N?”

“We’ll be behind you in the cart. On Silver Dollar, you should get back in a day and a half at a push - if we aim for two and a bit, that should give him plenty of time to cool off and think rationally.” The older man squeezes his son's arm. “Don’t look at me like that, son. She’ll be safe with me.”

****

As promised, after two nights travelling with Hosea, you arrive back to the heartlands of New Hanover. He explains, whilst pulling out a book from his bag, that you’re waiting here until Arthur comes to fetch you both. No point walking into camp if the heat is still on.

“And if it doesn’t calm down?” you ask.

“Well, I imagine he’ll come get you and take you on to Valentine.”

You wait for a few hours - it’s only as the sun is beginning to dip lower towards the horizon that Arthur comes out from between the trees. He gives Hosea a look that can only be described as… terse. Understanding immediately, Hosea clambers down.

“Give me five minutes before coming in. No point in talking if nobody can hear what you have to say.”

The two men exchange a series of pats as they pass each other. The shadows under Arthur’s eyes are almost black as he climbs up beside you.

“How’d it go?”

Hesitating, he squeezes your knee, placing a deep kiss to your forehead before flicking the reins. “Well. Guess we’ll see if it was enough.”

He guides the wagon a little further down the dirt track parallel with the train tracks. You can see a glimmer of light through the trees for a brief moment, but it’s not until you turn down a narrow path you wouldn’t have noticed otherwise that you recognise quite how sheltered the camp is. You brace yourself for a sniper to take you out, but you make it through to the clearing without crossing anyone’s path.

Arthur parks the cart, releasing the horses before helping you down.

“How do we even know it’s his?” you hear Dutch cry from the all too familiar central tent.

"You saw how she came in, so she was telling the truth about that. Why would she bother with that get up if they knew?"

“It’s Colm! He’s been trying to take us out for years!”

“Arthur cares for her. We should give her a chance.” A hefty scoff sounds. "He isn't like you or John; they've been intimate. Of course he cares! And she’s pregnant - that baby could come out blacker than the night sky and he’d take it in as his own."

Arthur’s fingers weave through your hair, pulling your ear to his chest. His hammering heart alone almost blocks out the noise but a growl makes you lift your head.

“Herr Morgan!”

“Herr Strauss.”

“There’s a debt I need you to collect.” The man’s face is long and thin with small round glasses perched at the very end of his nose - perfect for looking down into the book he’s carrying. “A rather reluctant client by the name of Downes.”

You jump at the sinister snarl that curls from Arthur’s lips. “I’m busy.”

“You don’t need to go immediately, Mr Morgan, but the sooner the better. Fellow seems determined to die before paying his dues.”

“If it’s so important, get someone else to do it.”

“I’ve tried but Mr Bell was a little too heavy handed. We can’t collect debts from the dead.”

“Well it’ll have to wait. I got more pressing matters right now.”

His beady eyes gleam as he surveys you. “So I’ve heard. The O’Driscoll girl, isn’t it?”

“Git outta here!”

“Arthur! Y/N!” Hosea calls you both from the flaps of Dutch’s tent. With one last sneer at Strauss, Arthur leads you to the castle by the hand, his fingers interlaced with yours as he steps in front of you, entering first to take the brunt of the hostile atmosphere.

Dutch is stood, feet planted apart beside a gramophone, arms folded across his chest as his eyes burn into yours with a fierce intensity.

“What are you wantin’ from us, Miss? To kill us in our sleep perhaps?”

“Dutch-”

“Let her speak, son!”

You take a steadying breath. “Mr Van der Linde-”

“Miss O’Driscoll,” he returns sarcastically, lighting a fat cigar.

“Miss L/N, actually,” you sneer. “I’m not here to harm any one of you. We’re in a predicament, and we’d appreciate it-”

“We got a sayin’ here,” he interrupts brashly. “We save people as need savin’, shoot fellers as need shootin’ and feed those who need feedin’. Which is it you’re needin’, Miss?”

“Feedin’ if you can, Dutch,” Arthur growls, squeezing your hand as he throws you a look. “Savin’ us if you will.”

He scoffs, shaking his head in despair. “So it’s ‘us’ now?”

The apple in Arthur’s throat bobs, his chin still held high. “Yes. We’re in it together. Where she goes I go. You’re my family and I want to stay, but if you can’t accept her, I guess we’ll have to go somewhere else.”

“Come now, Arthur-!”

“She’s carrying my child, Dutch.”

“That didn’t stop John disappearin’.”

“I ain’t Marston. You know that.”

“I know you’re still holdin’ a grudge on him, that’s for sure.”

Arthur sighs harshly, pulling your body flush with his. “What’s it gonna be, Dutch? She needs to rest. Can she stay, or am I takin’ her to town?”

He takes a long drag of his cigar, casually blowing the smoke into your face. “What happened to you, Arthur? You got so sour in your old age.”

“I got tired of worryin’ about everybody else.”

“Worryin’ about everybody else? Son, you want us to take in another O’Driscoll! It’s suicide!”

His shoulders fall, his grip tightening. “Well then, I guess it’s time to thank you for all them years.”

He tuts. “You don’t mean that.”

“Dutch, I ain’t slept proper since I brought her here, an’ I’m gettin’ real tired of talkin’. I can’t risk losin’ her like I did Eliza and Isaac.” They stare at each other, both stubborn and unrelenting.

He takes another long slow drag of smoke and lets it cloud the air between them. “Fine. She can stay. But first sign of trouble and she’s out!”

“A chance is all I’m askin’ for.” Tugging you out of the tent, he keeps his body between you and Van der Linde. “Thank you, Dutch.”

“This is on you, Hosea,” you hear as Arthur leads you to a small cot a dozen feet away. “Soft, the both of you.”

#Arthur Morgan x Female Reader #Arthur Morgan x Reader #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fic #red dead fanfic #Arthur Morgan x O'Driscoll #meowdymista

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seasurfacefullofclouds1 · 4 years

Note

Louis’s mother dying was a tragedy. You can’t blame fate for COVID interrupting his first tour though. That’s entirely down to Sony. Louis would have finished his first tour well over a year ago if it had happened when originally planned. And who knows how the situation impacted his sister. Knowing your brother is being held to ransom for your screw up, dealing with a howling mob of larries every time you breathe, being forced to lie about fundamental things like who your family is.

Louis seems to be the kind of person who wants to put bad things behind himself and move ahead, but Louies can forever hold Sony accountable for delaying the album and first tour.

The ugly headlines, the PR team that fed stories directly to the likes of Dan Wootton, the systematic destruction of his existing fanbase, delays and silences, holding him back from live performances, not allowing him to go to award ceremonies, promoting worthless people like James Arthur, blacklisting him from radio.

These are all things that Sony did.

Their promotion of his ex bandmate was relentless in the face of Louis’ second family tragedy. I will never be able to forgive them for that, nor Harry, who knew Fizzy personally.

#27 may 2020 #sony

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wordsablaze · 5 years

Text

27~ Ransom

Magic and Misery Merlin might use magic to help Arthur but he rarely uses it to help himself, which leads to an awful lot of misery… written for whumptober, enjoy!

A/N: my friend got me in a wholesome mood so this is more fluff than angst, blame (or thank) them ^.^

Arthur has a reputation.

Everybody had always known that he was brave, skilled, stubborn, and genuinely good at heart. But slowly, they also came to know that he was fiercely protective, protective of his people, his knights, and most importantly, of Merlin.

It was never explicitly questioned - probably because challenging the whims of the crown prince was a risk nobody wanted to take - but rather, observed and learned.

Very quickly, the people of Camelot, no matter what status they were, knew to leave Merlin to his own devices. It definitely helped that Merlin was maybe the kindest, most loyal, and ridiculously helpful person that most people had ever met.

Most people were more than happy to see the boy from Ealdor grow closer to the Crown Prince, especially since their interactions were often a source of amusement, admiration, and awe.

But there would always be some that acted with a selfish combination of malice and greed.

Unfortunately, those people tend to act in the dead of night.

Merlin has no chance to fight back as someone materialises from the darkness and roughly places a hand over his mouth, a dangerous scent filling his senses as his limbs weaken and his eyes flutter shut.

He dimly wonders what it is this time - whether this is a result of his life as Merlin or Emrys - before he drops the basket he was carrying and falls unconscious.

The forgotten object clatters quietly to the ground as Merlin is harshly manoeuvred away, the ones responsible dragging him into the cover of the night as they retreat, sharing smug smirks and taking their time manhandling their target.

"Has anyone seen Merlin?" Arthur asks the next day, joining Lancelot and Gwaine where they're stood to one side of the training field.

Lancelot glances up sharply, concern filling his eyes within seconds. "What do you mean?"

"I haven't seen him all morning," Arthur explains, frowning; he'd thought Merlin had simply woken up late and chosen to join the knights instead of meeting him in his chambers.

At that, Gwaine raises an eyebrow. "Merlin would never miss training."

The three of them share an uneasy look before Leon jogs up to them. "Sire, there's someone who wants to speak to you."

Knowing that Leon wouldn't suggest leaving their training session unless it was something urgent and absolutely unavoidable - in other words, to do with Merlin - Arthur follows without missing a beat.

As do the other Knights.

There's a young girl waiting for them near the gates.

As Arthur approaches, she seems to relax, giving him a small, hopeful smile. "I knew I was right! I knew you'd help!"

Arthur glances at Leon before nodding at the girl. "Of course. What is it?"

The girl's smile falters as she pulls out a basket Arthur hadn't seen from behind her back and offers it to him. "It's Merlin's."

Elyan inhales sharply and takes it from her, well aware that Merlin wouldn't just leave it lying around, then glancing up in confusion when he finds only herbs inside, nothing to indicate why the girl has the basket in her possession.

"Do you know where he is?" Percival asks softly, ever the gentle giant.

The girl nods, then promptly shakes her head. "I don't know who it was, it was so dark and I was about to go over and say hello to Merlin but they came out of nowhere and-"

Leon steps forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, slow down, there's no rush. Tell us what you know."

"They just- they put something over his mouth and took him… they said they'd send a message and then they went south and I didn't know what to do, I'm sorry!" The girl looks ready to cry.

Arthur nods at her gratefully. "Thank you for your help. Really, I appreciate that you came forward."

Lancelot smiles at the kindness in Arthur's voice before winking at the girl. "Don't worry, we'll have Merlin back in no time."

The girl nods, smiling again before mumbling something about telling everyone else and disappearing. Choosing not to think too much about who she's going to tell, Arthur turns to the others.

"Well, looks like training will have to be relocated for today."

Without Merlin, though, it takes then twice the amount of time to organise horses and set off, the six of them not exactly knowing where they're going, their destination being only Merlin.

It turns out whoever had taken Merlin isn't the smartest.

Their camp isn't even slightly difficult to locate and Arthur just about rolls his eyes at their stupidity as he spots the smoke. But his amusement is taken over by anger when he hears loud laughing; how dare they laugh when they've hurt Merlin?

"We'll be quieter on foot," Elyan murmurs as they get closer.

The six of them tie their horses to a few trees and approach where the group had stupidly taken camp to assess the situation, all of them equally as outraged when they see Merlin tied to a tree, a woman with a knife pressed to his neck crouched in front of him.

He looks alright, Arthur notes, aside from the bruises.

Of course, the rope securing his gangly frame to the tree practically boils Arthur's blood, but he's glad he can't see any serious injuries; at least it isn't like other times where he's found Merlin halfway through death's doorway.

As Arthur and the knights watch, Merlin makes an incredulous face before glaring up at her, clearly disagreeing with whatever she's saying but not wanting to move due to her weapons.

Arthur moves to help him without realising it but Leon grabs his arm, holding him back as Merlin winces and jerks his foot away from the woman. Apparently she'd been hiding another knife.

There's something odd about Merlin's expression as his eyes follow her second knife but Arthur can't place it. The other knights have clearly noticed the same thing because Lancelot's frown is deep enough to make him look five years older.

"Something's wrong with Merlin," Gwaine comments, voicing the concern they all share.

The woman moves away but not before pressing the knife harder into Merlin's neck and leaving a thin red line in its wake. Merlin only bites his lip and lets his head fall back onto the tree, his posture relaxing slightly.

Only then does Arthur figure it out.

This must remind Merlin of the witchfinder.

He curses quietly but strongly, finally pulling away from Leon and making his way around the camp so that he's behind Merlin, the other knights guessing his plan and spreading out so they can jump in at a moment's notice.

Arthur waits until he thinks it's safe before quietly moving so he's beside Merlin.

"I let you out of my sight for one evening, Merlin…" Arthur whispers.

Merlin freezes, letting out a slow exhale. "What are you doing here?"

It takes Arthur a second to realise he'd even said anything, he's so subtle.

"What does it look like, idiot? Rescuing you!" Arthur hisses, torn between appreciating that Merlin is unharmed enough to question him or just being annoyed at his reaction.

He can almost feel Merlin roll his eyes. "They only want gold, they don't care for Camelot's secrets."

Arthur pauses.

"Gold?" he echoes.

He must echo it too loud because one of the men turns around and he barely has enough time to duck behind the tree before someone's walking their way.

Merlin coughs loudly to cover it up, sticking his leg out to make it look as if he were trying to trip the man up, trying his best to annoy him into forgetting what he'd intended to do.

It works.

The man growls and crouches so he can grab Merlin's jaw, squeezing until Merlin can't help but wince, still refusing to make a sound.

"Do you think me to be stupid?" The man all but snarls.

Merlin just shrugs awkwardly, unable to speak with the man stopping his jaw from moving, and it takes all of Arthur's willpower not to reveal himself and punch the man until he truly feels stupid.

"Play games with me again and I might forget I'm meant to keep you in good condition," he warns before pushing Merlin's head to one side as he leaves, bringing his foot down on Merlin's injured ankle as he does so.

Merlin bites back a gasp, letting his eyes close as he breathes heavily for a moment, focusing on slowly moving his jaw to try and lessen the dull throbbing.

"I'm going to kill him."

"Don't be a cabbage-head, Arthur," Merlin mumbles, keeping his head ducked so anyone watching can't tell he's talking.

Arthur exhales, trying to think of a plan, pleasantly surprised when he hears Merlin chuckle.

"I can feel the effort it's taking you to think of a plan. Just wait until they're all asleep," Merlin tells him.

Pulling a face at Merlin even though he can't see it, Arthur shakes his head. "What if they try something?"

"They've been ordered to leave me in good condition, remember?" Merlin reminds him.

Arthur sighs somewhat dramatically. "If they hurt you…"

Merlin clears his throat to cut him off. "I know, you can play the knight in shining armour."

They lapse into silence once they've stopped quietly laughing, Arthur briefly sneaking around to tell the other Knights the plan before returning to his spot behind Merlin's tree.

He forces himself to still as someone else, clearly a little drunk, approaches Merlin.

"Can I help you?" Merlin asks, sounding perfectly bored.

A girl who seems rather young for the bandit sort of life sits in front of him and buries one hand in his hair, almost playing with it as she frowns. "So, what is it about you?"

Merlin shrugs, more worried about Arthur being able to avoid losing his cool and revealing himself.

"I mean, you are pretty…" the girl continues, a wistful tone in her voice, "but you're also just a servant so that can't be it."

Merlin bristles, clenching his jaw.

Arthur also bristles, wishing he could stop those words from having been said at all; Merlin is far more than just a servant.

"I know people that would pay a lot for eyes as lovely as yours," the girl adds, staring at him with an uncomfortable intensity.

When Merlin says nothing, she prods his stomach, smiling in satisfaction when he gasps and curls into himself a little. "And you're not a mute. Nobody wants them back when we take them."

Arthur's frown deepens as he listens to her, wondering if this whole ransom thing is a business that's running right under his nose. He makes a mental note to look into it when they get back to Camelot.

The girl giggles as Merlin yelps and Arthur wishes he could see better.

"Do you think your prince will pay for you?" The girl asks and, if Arthur didn't know better, he might have called her tone innocent.

Merlin glares at her, pulling his head away. "You clearly don't know much about him."

"Then tell me!" the girl laughs, placing her hands on either side of Merlin's face. "Tell me what makes you so special!"

"Get your hands off me!" Merlin mutters instead.

"Not unless your ransom is paid," the girl all but chides, laughing again.

Unless?

Arthur glares daggers into the tree. As if there were any chance that he would let Merlin be taken from him without doing everything in his ability to get him back, whether that involved swords, gold, or anything else.

"Shouldn't you go and rest?" Merlin asks bitterly, trying his best not to meet her gaze.

The girl just giggles, shifting. "What if I'd rather spend time with you?"

Merlin huffs in irritation, clearly giving up on staying silent. "Don't get attached, I'll be gone soon."

"What makes you so sure?" The girl drawls.

Arthur had managed to control his rage so far but hearing Merlin hiss in pain after she asks that is too much and he steps out from behind the tree, his sword coming to a stop on her neck as he smirks.

"I do."

Merlin grins up at him.

Pushing the shocked girl away, Arthur cuts through the ropes and pulls Merlin up, stepping in front of him protectively.

The other knights take this as their cue to emerge, holding the leaders at swordpoint so nobody dares to move or attack them. A group of angry knights is not something most people want to face.

As the others successfully intimidate the bandits, Arthur turns to Merlin with a fierce smile. "You're not just a servant."

Merlin nods, rubbing his arms.

And he'd been right in the end, the others had all started to drink as night had drawn closer and, all things considered, the rescue mission goes incredibly smoothly.

"I could have handled that," Merlin grumbles as they get back to the horse, limping slightly and contradicting his own statement.

Lancelot gives him a funny look and nudges him lightly. "We don't doubt you for a second."

"But someone has to be the damsel once in a while," Gwaine laughs, releasing their horses.

Merlin just rolls his eyes but Arthur coughs pointedly, not quite happy with that. "Merlin, you may be the most incompetent servant I've ever had but I need you to know… I would have paid anything they'd demanded if it had come to that."

The smile that blooms on Merlin's face is, in Arthur's opinion, simply priceless.

"Thank you," Merlin says softly, glancing around their group gratefully.

"Anytime, Merlin," Elyan replies on behalf of everyone.

They hadn't been smart enough to bring a separate horse for Merlin so he ends up sharing with Arthur, which neither of them particularly want to complain about.

"Does this mean you care about me?" Merlin teases as they set off.

"Perhaps more than I should," Arthur murmurs, surprising both Merlin and himself with the confession.

Merlin just wraps his arms around Arthur in response.

If the other knights notice their matching blushes and poorly hidden smiles, they don't comment on it.

like/reblog but please don’t repost, thanks! masterlist

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bearholdingashark · 4 years

Note

🎵 your favourite ship

Thank you for the ask! The song that came up was Train Wreck by James Arthur.

[AO3]

Marta lay on the floor, the prop knife held loosely in her hand. She could still feel the weight of Ransom’s body on her, feel his breath against her face, even after Lt. Elliott and Trooper Wagner had pulled him off of her.

She hadn’t expected him to turn so violently against her, and then in a matter of a few seconds, had expected to be stabbed, had waited for the pain to start.

And then it didn’t and then he was gone, leaving her on the floor.

“Here you go,” a voice said, and she turned to see Blanc kneeling next to her, his hand outstretched.

She took his hand and allowed him to help her into a sitting position.

“How are you feeling? How’s your head?” he asked, looking at her in concern.

She shook her head. “I’m okay,” she said, although after everything that had happened, she wasn’t sure that was true. But she didn’t feel the urge to vomit, so maybe it wasn’t a lie. She wasn’t sure. Everything felt so far away. Had she really almost been stabbed?

“Do you think you can stand?” he asked, and the way he was looking at her, she thought he might not quite believe her either.

She nodded and took his hand again as he pulled her this time to her feet. “Thank you.”

“Let’s go get you a cup of something hot,” he said, leading her gently out of the library and away from that awful knife installation. That was the first thing she was getting rid of.

She nodded again, and she felt that was all she was doing. Nodding and following Blanc around. The past 48 hours had been such a whirlwind, not to mention the week before that, and it felt nice to just follow someone else’s lead without having to think her way out of an impossible situation.

“Thank you,” she said, again as they walked towards the kitchen.

“No need to thank me, Marta,” he said, looking at her with sad eyes. “You never should have been in the position that he could hurt you.”

She shook her head. “No, let’s blame Ransom for that, not you.”

He didn’t look so convinced of his innocence. “It’s been a long day,” he said, reaching out and grabbing a blanket off a chair. “I think some relaxation is called for.”

She leaned against him as a wave of fatigue hit her. She wasn’t sure relaxation was what was in her future, given how willing the Thrombey’s were to fight, but she wasn’t going to argue in this moment. A cup of tea would be great right now. “Thank you,” she said, feeling like a broken record.

Blanc chuckled. “You’ve got to stop thanking me,” he said, wrapping his arm around her.

They walked slowly to the kitchen, and she was glad he was there with her, that she had someone else in her corner. The only thing she could think to do was to thank him, but he had proven her innocence, even if the truth had come with more pain. How could two small words really cover what he had done? An ever greater question: how did she move on from everything that had happened?

She looked up at him and thought that a cup of tea wouldn’t be enough, but it was a good place to start.

#This is pre Cablanca #if you choose to look at it that way #nintendonianrose #knives out

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shytalia · 4 years

Text

A Prince and a Pirate’s Fate - Chapter 12

— ♠ — ♠ — ♠ —

Chapter Twelve

Start at Chapter one here:https://shytalia.tumblr.com/post/611878754309079040/a-prince-and-a-pirates-fate-usuk-fanfic

Also available on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shytalia

— ♠ — ♠ — ♠ —

The next day, they left The King’s Grave and set sail into the open seas once more.

Alfred had been given the rest of the day to rest up but given he was as stubborn as he was, he grew restless. Instead, he decided to check on Peter and was thrilled to see the smaller Brit sitting up in bed. In fact, he even looked like he was already healing fairly quickly. He assumed Arthur’s spell really worked wonders.

He greeted the boy and sat beside his bed in the empty chair, glad to see that Peter was excited to see him too. Well, since they both had been given orders to rest and heal up, Alfred saw no point in having to do so separately.

“Here, I’ll show you how to play that card game like I promised.” The Prince smiled at the excited way Peter cheered as he brought out the cards.

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

The next few days went rather well, all things considered. Alfred wasn’t healing as fast as Peter was since Arthur couldn’t perform the spell on him like he could his brother. But, the Brit’s efforts to help him sped up the process incredibly anyway.

Arthur was more or less acting like his usual self, never bringing up anything that had happened at the harbor. Alfred wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. After all, even if he was told not to develop feelings, he yearned to hold Arthur close to him. He would, he told himself, one day he would convince Arthur to be his. Not because of some mark, but because he could feel himself falling hard for the captain. He just wanted Arthur to feel the same.

For now, he would enjoy the small interactions he got with the grumpy Brit.

“Did you hear?” A crew member said within earshot. Alfred pulled at some ropes and tightened the ends as he eavesdropped, not very interested but it was hard not to when the men were so close. “Apparently the Spade prince has gone missing.”

Alfred froze.

“Missing?” The other man said.

“Yes. There’s no word on a ransom yet. You think he finally got offed?”

The two men laughed darkly, but Alfred was doing anything but. Cool sweat dripped down his brow but thankfully he had been sweating before so it was easy to mask.

“I hope not. Think of the money we would get returning the brat back to mommy and daddy.” They laughed more. “Or...I rather think Captain Kirkland would love to get his hands on him. That would be fun to watch, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t want to be the prince if Captain got a hold of me, that’s for sure.”

Alfred felt his stomach twist and fought the urge to puke. He should’ve realized that sooner or later his disappearance would become gossip throughout all the kingdoms. It wasn’t exactly every day a prince up and vanishes for weeks on end, after all.

“Hey! Stop idling and get back to work!” Gilbert yelled across the dock, causing the two gossiping crew mates to flinch and quickly return to their duties. “And you,”

Alfred flinched when he realized those red eyes were on him. They lingered on him uncomfortably and the prince could only wonder what the albino was thinking as he stared. Finally, the tension was broken when the other man opened his mouth for more orders.

“Just ‘cause you’re The Captain’s pet doesn’t mean you get to slack off either. Hurry the hell up!” The albino man barked, his thoughtful gaze replaced by a more stern one. Alfred quickly did as he was told.

Nearly an hour later, Lukas stalked onto the deck and quietly stood beside the commanding pirate.

“Gilbert.” He greeted lowly, though his gaze focused elsewhere. “I apologize for the interference, but I will be taking Alfred for just a short while.”

“Huh? What are you talking about now? He’s got work to do, Captain’s orders that he makes himself useful with the others unless he needs him.” Gilbert frowned.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be long. If The Captain asks, refer him to me. I assure you, I’ll take all the blame.” Lukas replied easily, noticing the look of thought crossing the other man’s face.

“Mn...I guess. But only ‘cause you helped us get The Captain back.” He settled, nodding for the Norwegian to take Alfred. He didn’t bother asking what he was needed for, it was no doubt some sort of ‘divine bidding’. Normally Gilbert would scoff at it, but having the religious figure around did sometimes help the morale of the crew. Who knew having a neutral party to spill all your sins out to could help a bunch of misfits?

“Thank you.” Was the basic reply before Lukas moved forward, walking quietly towards the sweating teen as he moved a heavy crate. “Alfred,”

“Gods!” Said man turned around with startled, wide eyes. He hadn’t even heard the other blonde come up behind him. “Oh man, it’s just you. Lukas, isn’t it? What’s up?”

“Follow me, I wish to talk to you for a bit. It’s alright, I’ve already spoken to Gilbert.” Lukas waved his hand in a welcoming motion before turning around and leading the way below the deck.

Alfred was hesitant to follow but a quick glance in the albino’s direction, and the nod he received from him, allowed his feet to move and follow. He trailed behind the shorter blonde curiously until they came to a small room covered in idols and trinkets. There were symbols of the gods all around and even a small statue of the goddess on a table. She was surrounded with candles and incense, obviously meant to replicate an actual temple and altar. For being on a pirate ship, Alfred had to give it some credit as it really wasn't half bad.

“So...what did you need to talk to me about?” He couldn’t help the edge in his voice. He was nervous, unsure about what Lukas could possibly want from him. He had never spoken to him before, after all, so why now all of a sudden?

Instead of answering, the Norwegian closed the door and motioned for his guest to sit in one of the chairs by a small table.

“There’s no need to be so nervous,” Lukas told him. “You’re Arthur’s now, so no one on this ship will harm you.” Not unless the British captain wanted them to, of course. But, he’d leave that part out. So far, their leader had shown no signs of wanting that. “Gilbert was rough on you today, please relax. Here, have some tea.”

A cup was placed in front of Alfred and steaming liquid poured into it. Alfred wasn’t the biggest fan of tea, but he did learn that Arthur absolutely adored the stuff. Plus, he guessed he shouldn’t be too picky considering what they had was limited until they reached their next port.

“Thanks. Yeah, Gilbert can be kind of an ass.” He said it before he could think better of it and bit his lip, hoping he wouldn’t be ratted out.

“Gilbert isn’t as bad as he seems.” Lukas countered quietly. “He is in a position of authority, after all. His job is to ensure the work is done and done well. But he is a nice enough man at the end of the day, the two of you may even get along rather well.” The shorter man took his place in the chair opposite of Alfred, sitting down and sipping his own drink.

The prince snorted at that. “Yeah, sure.”

“He’s much like Arthur in that aspect. You enjoy The Captain’s company, do you not?”

Alfred nearly spat out his tea at that. “H-Huh? Oh, well, I mean--” He stammered. He did enjoy being around Arthur, more than he probably should considering he was a pirate. This whole mission of his wasn’t just about convincing him to come back to the castle with him anymore. No, now it was even more. Alfred wanted Arthur to be happy and safe. He wanted to love him and for the Brit to love him back. “Yes, I do.” He croaked out.

“I thought so,” Lukas said evenly, as if the man across from him wasn’t a confused mess of nerves and emotions.

The silence between them was stale for a while. Lukas made no more efforts to make conversation and Alfred was swimming in his thoughts.

Was it really that obvious that he liked Arthur? Of course to the captain it would be more obvious, but they had so many moments in private together that would make it clear. But what about the other crew members? Did they know? They must, if Lukas did. Though the man was more observant than the others.

Maybe Arthur had told him? The two talked like good friends would, it wouldn’t be a leap in logic to think that he had simply been gossiped about. If that was the case...what had Arthur said? Had he made fun of him for his feelings? Did he confess some sort of attraction as well?

Alfred was nearly ready to explode from all these different scenarios playing through his head that he didn’t notice Lukas staring at him until he spoke.

“Arthur still doesn’t know who you are, does he?”

“What?” Alfred was snapped from his thoughts and his eyes met with Lukas’s.

“Excuse me for being blunt, your majesty.”

The Norwegian’s words chilled the prince to his bones. A rush of panic and fear washed over him like the tides, crashing into him and knocking the wind from his lungs. He had no time to recover before the other man continued.

“You’ve done very well to hide your mark from him for this long. But tell me, what is your plan when he does find out?”

Alfred’s throat went dry. Lukas knew who he was. Lukas knew and he could tell everyone, he could tell Arthur! How long had he known? Why hadn’t he told them yet?

“Please...don’t tell him.” Alfred’s voice was so quiet it was barely even a whisper.

Lukas seemed to ponder the words for a moment and nodded. “I haven’t told him yet, have I? But I suggest you figure out what you’re going to do when he does find out.” He told him pointedly. “Do not make it hurt worse for him than it already will.”

“I-I don’t want to hurt him!” Alfred exclaimed quickly. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Arthur. “H-He’s...he’s everything I could’ve wanted. No, no he’s more. Oh my gods,” He whispered, eyes staring in some mix between fear and hope as he looked to the statue of the goddess on the makeshift altar. Some sense of realization washed over him. “I’m falling in love with him. I want him to be my queen but I want him to be happy... to be happy with me.”

Lukas was characteristically quiet for a while before he spoke. “Do you know where we are headed now?”

Alfred looked back over to the man in front of him, eyes desperate for something he couldn’t touch. “No.” He answered, wondering why he would bring that up amidst everything that had just been said.

Lukas hummed softly. “We are sailing to Britannia.” He could tell by the look on the prince’s face that the name rang a bell, but he couldn’t quite place it. He took it upon himself to elaborate. “Britannia is the island Arthur is from. He is going home.” It was no doubt that almost losing Peter ruffled up some sort of homesickness for the Brit. “This will not be a simple visit. Prince Alfred,” he saw the way the title made the other man stiffen. “If you truly want Arthur to be happy, you will need to see why he despises you so much.”

Alfred nodded to show he was listening even though his voice was stuck in this throat. He swallowed and forced it out. “I don’t want him to hate me.”

“I know you don’t.”

“How?” He couldn’t help but ask. Everything in him was swirling in confusion, most of all why Lukas would help him and not tell Arthur who he really was. “Why are you doing this? Why not tell Arthur the truth about me?”

The smaller man seemed to ponder this for a moment, but he was quick to answer. “The Goddess has declared that the two of you are the rightful heirs of the Spade Kingdom. I heard her call and answered it. Those years ago when I assisted in freeing Arthur from your royal guards was because she requested me to.”

“What? But if Arthur was going to be brought to the castle, why free him? Shouldn’t the goddess want him to be there as soon as possible since she gave him the mark to begin with?” Alfred asked, bewildered. He never said he fully understood the gods and their ways, but giving Arthur the mark only to keep them apart was incomprehensible to him.

“I can’t speak for her,” Lukas admitted. “However, from where I stand, it seems like it was the best course of action at the time.” Seeing the confusion furrow deeper in Alfred, he continued. “Think. What would have happened had Arthur been dragged against his will to the castle then? There would be no hope of redemption for you in his eyes. Only hatred.”

“But I didn’t do anything! All I have is a mark that matches his, I don’t want to force him into anything.”

“That doesn’t matter because it isn’t your choice. Tradition would have been followed regardless of what you or he wanted. Arthur would have been crowned, but in doing so he would have lost his ship, his crew, his freedom, and most likely his brother.”

“Why would he lose Peter? He can come live in the castle with us!” He would love having the kid around.

Lukas didn’t reply for a while, sitting there quietly until Alfred shifted nervously in his seat. He chose not to answer the question and settled for something else. “If you want a chance at love with Arthur, you will have to delve into his darkness...and you may not like what you see.” His voice was low but clear, watching the reaction Alfred gave him carefully. The younger boy looked just as confused, if not now scared, as before. “The Goddess asked for my aid in this journey but in the end, it is up to you and Arthur to create your own fates.”

Alfred knew what he wanted, he wanted Arthur to be his but he also wanted him to be happy. He promised himself he would make sure it happened no matter what.

“Here, keep this.” Lukas pulled the necklace from his neck, offering it over to his guest who took it with hesitant hands. “You know what it is already, but for clarity’s sake, it’s the symbol of The Goddess. Keep it on you and let it remind you of what you want your fate to be. May She bless whatever path you choose to follow.”

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

The conversation with Lukas left Alfred anxious and paranoid. Surely if one person recognized him then someone else would eventually too. There was also the overwhelming thought that his identity would get to Arthur somehow as well, which was the last thing he wanted. He would tell him the truth eventually, he had to, but he wanted to do it on his own terms. He wanted Arthur to be able to forgive him.

These worries plagued his thoughts for the rest of the trip. Over two weeks later they landed on the coast of a green island, by a small, sea-side town. Their large ship looked painfully out of place parked at the humble dock, surrounded only by small boats used for fishing.

The crew members were allowed off the ship, but were instructed specifically to be ‘well-behaved’. Alfred found the command a little humorous considering they were pirates, after all, but no one had complained and even acted as if they had expected it. They respected their captain enough to listen.

“Gilbert,” Arthur voiced after having sought out the man on the deck of the ship. “You’re in charge of The Siren’s Arrow until I return. I trust you’ll keep everything in order.”

“Of course, Cap. Leave it to the awesome me!”

“Good. Alfred, you’re coming with me. Here, carry this.” The Brit handed the younger man a bag to sling around his back before he looked to his brother. Thankfully he had healed up quite nicely and looked alright to go out for the day. “Peter, are you ready?”

“Yeah!” The boy cheered excitedly, basically jumping in anticipation. “I love when we get to come back home.”

Arthur offered the smaller blonde a slight smile before motioning them to follow, stepping off the ship and into the town. They spent little time there, however, as Arthur continued onward. He guided them on a small, dirt path out of the little village and through some trees, leading out to fields and fields of long, green grass.

Alfred held his breath seeing it. It was like a scene from a painting, where the grass gently licked the blue skyline. It was like stepping into a rural portrait in one of the castle halls. But actually being here was so much better than seeing it on a canvas. Here he could smell the salty air and feel the grass dance against his fingertips as he reached out to it. It was a kind of calm that he had never experienced before and suddenly, he found himself staring out in front of him to Arthur and Peter.

The two brothers walked side by side, Peter eagerly skipping along beside Arthur who, every so often, gave the boy a content smile. It was picture perfect. It looked right seeing them together here. Like they were meant to be here and nowhere else.

It wasn’t until the pirate turned his head and gave him a confused look that Alfred noticed he had stopped walking completely, too enraptured by the sight of Arthur being so blissfully happy to even move.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

The words were genuine, their concern and worry piercing Alfred’s heart and pulling him in deeper. He didn’t want this to end, he realized. He wanted to see that peaceful look in Arthur’s eyes every day of his life. He wanted to see Arthur be this happy every waking moment.

“Alfred?” Peter had stopped now too, confused as he turned around just as his older brother had. “Are you okay?”

Something caught in his throat and kept the words from coming out, but he managed to nod and continue onward. He caught the troubled glance Arthur gave him at that moment but the Brit didn’t voice his concerns, instead he turned and continued their pace up the shallow hills.

Eventually, Alfred saw a small building come into view. Sitting atop a hill, only a short distance away from the calm waters was a modest home. It was hardly anything to be proud of, not looking even big enough for a small family. Still, he had to admit, it had a certain charm to it that drew him in.

Peter cheered when the house came into view and he ran the rest of the way to it, bounding through the door without knocking. Alfred was worried he might be busting in on a kind family, but Arthur surprisingly didn’t mind, so he guessed his fears were misplaced.

Catching up to the boy, Alfred glanced around and found they were the only people there. The inside of the building was just as humble and simple as the outside. The rooms were small and decorated with only simple, wooden furniture, the only pops of color being handmade items like pillows and blankets. It was the stark opposite of the castle back home filled with gold and riches.

Yet, this didn’t seem to bother Arthur or Peter at all. The two of them making themselves at home as if they’d lived there their entire lives.

Then, it hit him. Lukas had said they were headed to The Island of Britannia, where Arthur had been born and raised. Could this really be where the extravagant captain had come from?

“Here, let me see the bag.” The Brit pulled at the sack still hung around the prince’s shoulders, easily pulling it off and setting it on the kitchen table. The wooden piece of furniture nearly took up the entire room, making it appear even smaller than it already did. He dug through it and pulled out a small box of tea leaves and a pot, setting them on the table before moving to the stove to start a fire. “Alfred, will you take that bucket and get some water? There’s a pump just outside, around back.”

The prince dutifully nodded, willing to do anything to keep Arthur this happy. “No problem, I’ll be back in no time, Cap!” He grabbed the bucket from its spot and went back outside, rounding the building and easily finding the pump Arthur had mentioned.

The water pump wasn’t the only thing behind the home, however, and Alfred couldn’t help but stop and stare. Resting, neatly cleaned and well cared for were four graves lined in a row, each marked by a slab of stone. They were shadowed by a large tree, its branches leaning over them as if to shield them from the sun.

He gripped the bucket a little tighter in his hand as he looked them over. It wasn’t a feeling of fear, despite the fact they were utterly alone and no one would hear him if he did scream. No, the stones carved with the names of those past sent a wave of heartache over him. He had no idea why, he didn’t know these people or how they had died. For all he knew, they were awful people or they had lived long, fulfilling lives. But something in him told him neither of those things were true.

“That’s our family.”

Alfred jumped, turning to see Peter standing beside him. Despite what he said, he still held a joyful grin on his young face.

“This one here is our mum,” The boy walked over and patted one of the stones under his small hand. He gave the name marker a wide smile before motioning the others beside it. “And these are our big brothers! This one’s Alistair, he is the oldest.” He pointed at each grave as he named them off, not bothered at all by the heart-rending act. Did Peter not feel the sense of gloom Alfred was feeling? He looked as happy as ever. “And this is Owen, he’s the next oldest. And this one’s Liam, he’s the third!”

The young boy grinned over at Alfred as he introduced each passed family member. The realization that Arthur didn’t have just one brother but four shook him to his core. How had he never heard these names before? Why was Arthur’s truth not being told to him? Did his parents really not think it was important to tell him about his future husband’s family?

Peter didn’t notice the forlorn in Alfred’s eyes and continued anyway.

“Next is Arthur, but you know him already. He’s mum’s fourth son, and then there's me! I’m the last!” He pointed at himself excitedly. “Arthur takes care of me now, but we like to come back and visit our mum and our brothers sometimes, when we can.” He explained, as if it were that easy. As if this was the same as a small walk down the road to visit your favorite neighbor.

The ease in which Peter talked about his family broke Alfred’s heart to pieces. He wondered, how did it make Arthur feel?

“It’s really pretty here and I miss it a lot sometimes. But, Arthur says we can’t stay too long. There’s a lot of royal ships around, I think they look for him here because they know we always come back.” Peter sat on the ground in front of the graves, bringing his knees up and resting his arms on them. “I don’t really understand why they want him so bad. I mean, if he doesn’t want to marry some prince then he shouldn’t have to, right? They can’t make him marry someone. That’s not how love works. You’re supposed to love the person you marry, aren’t you?”

Alfred felt his hands shaking. He wondered how a child no older than twelve could really be sitting there in front of his dead family and be so content with the chaos that surrounded him. The chaos that his family was causing.

“Alfred? Aren’t you supposed to be getting some water? Arthur will get cranky if you take too long and he doesn’t get his tea.” Peter warned, snapping the prince out of his emotions long enough to walk over to the pump and set the bucket in front of it. He pushed it until the water started to leak out of it, filling the container with clear liquid.

“Are you coming inside?” Alfred forced himself to ask, his voice strained from the emotional burden he was feeling.

“Nah, not yet. I want to sit out here a little longer. But I’ll come in once the tea is done.” The boy smiled warmly.

Alfred only nodded and carried the bucket back towards the house.

#aph america #america #aph england #england #usuk #fanfic #fanfiction #usuk fanfic #pirate uk #pirate england #my writing #mine #are yall ready for the sad #cardverse #hetalia #aph

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blustersquall · 5 years

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Was Isabel worried for herself when Arthur told her that he has Tuberculosis? As in would she wonder if she got infected too? Would she be infected actually? Did she suspect anything when Arthur was starting to wheeze?

This ask sparked an idea. Look, first time writing from Isabel’s POV!

@rdr-oc-appreciation @ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread

It was late, past midnight at least, but the streets outside the saloon of Saint Denis were still busy. Most of the people on the street were drunk and struggling to stand. A horse-and-carriage was stuck waiting for a pair of brawling fools to calm down while onlookers jeered and threw bottles...

Saint Denis was certainly an interesting city. Isabel had taken to watching the nightly antics while waiting for news of Arthur from her street urchin informants while he was missing. She learned the routines of some people from the window as she watched them. Learned habits, and sounds, and the routes home saloon regulars would take.

Watching people, observing their daily lives soothed some of the anxiety she was feeling during Arthur’s absence, and it quelled her fear of the unknown. Now, it did the same. Watching others allowed her to distract her mind, even briefly, from the fear and worries his illness brought her.

Tuberculosis...

She wasn’t an idiot. Even before he told her how sick he was she had her suspicions. The occasional cough developed into a more regular cough, and she noticed over time that he tired more easily. When the initial shock and joy of reunion wore off she noticed how much weight he had lost. At first she put the cough down to humidity. She put the tiredness down the worry of being on the run. She put the weight-loss down to his being shipwrecked, and whatever trials he was forced to overcome while in Guarma. Now, putting them all together, she thought herself stupid to not have realized sooner there was more going on.

Even now, as he slept in the bed, she could hear him wheeze on the deeper breaths he took. When she didn’t hear the sound for more than a minute, she glanced over to him to check his chest was still rising and falling. When she saw it was, her worry decreased and she returned to her people watching.

What could she do?

It was a question that she kept asking herself over and over. An illness wasn’t something she could fight. She couldn’t blackmail it to make it go away. Couldn’t shoot it. Couldn’t kidnap it and hold it to ransom. Couldn’t do any of the things she was taught to do when she needed to get rid of a problem. This was bigger than anything she was ever forced to face, and it was happening right in front of her. It was eating away at the man she loved, and she was powerless to do stop it.

That was the worst part. That sense of powerlessness. That inevitable truth that this sickness would kill him. It would drag him to an early grave... if Dutch and the snake in his ear Micah, didn’t pull Arthur into one first.

Isabel was more accustomed to facing problems head on and dealing with them. Not only was this not her problem, there was nothing she could do to stop it. She couldn’t force Arthur to leave the gang and travel with her somewhere warm and dry, where his life might be lengthened. She was no medical doctor, she knew little about health and how to heal beyond injuries caused by animals and bullet wounds, but it was in her nature to want to help. To want to fix things, especially when they were far beyond the realm of her control.

The worst part was the part of her that told her to leave.

It was a small voice. A niggling annoyance at the back of her mind that spoke to her in the silence between asleep and awake. The selfish part of her that told her to cut her losses now. What was the point of chaining herself to a dead man walking? He would only slow her down. He would only infect her with the illness he now carried. The illness he deserved, after all the pain and suffering he inflicted on others over the years. It was only right Arthur died a slow, painful, wasting illness that stripped him of his youth, his strength and his usefulness. After all, beating a sick man to death was how he contracted the illness... It was poetic justice.

That part of herself was a part Isabel hated. She was furious with herself that she could think that way, even slightly.

Arthur wasn’t perfect, and she was never under any illusion that he was. The day they met she saw him shoot down four of the men who were pursuing her, and he witnessed her beat the fifth to death. She wasn’t blind to the truth of what he was, what he did, and the life he led. He had blood on his hands, same as her. He took lives, so did she. It wasn’t a clean life that either of them led. It wasn’t honest, it wasn’t good. Neither of them were what society considered “good” people. But they tried. God knew they both tried to be good. To make the right choices when the choices were within their power. They each tried to do the best they could with the circumstances laid out before them. And it wasn’t an easy thing to do.

Arthur was an outlaw. He killed, he robbed, he beat people to death, and he sometimes did so without so much as blinking... But he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to slowly waste away, and to disappear into the obscurity of memory, forgotten and having outlived his usefulness to people like Dutch.

She couldn’t leave him. Even if staying with him meant she too would contract the illness, she wouldn’t leave him to suffer through the ordeal alone. It was more than a life debt she owed him. She had repaid that three times over by now... No, she wouldn’t leave him because she loved him, plain and simple. She told him she would fight God and the Devil himself, and she meant every word. He couldn’t get rid of her, and she wouldn’t be parted from him, willingly or otherwise. She would crawl through the depths of hell if needed, to be with him and help him through however much time was left to them.

Arthur started to cough, a noise Isabel was already growing familiar with. Sort noises first, that grew deeper into his chest and louder, thrashing his voice and throat with each one. Isabel crossed from the window to his bed, sitting on the edge and helping Arthur to sit up. The covers pooled in his lap, and Isabel sat with him unhelpfully patting his back until the fit was over.

He looked haggard and exhausted, blue-green eyes dull and sunken and his skin shining with a sheen of sweat. He mopped his mouth, wheezing on the breaths he took. He glanced at her and seemed to wilt under his own self-loathing before he leaned back against the headboard, tilting his head back.

“I dreamed you left,” he told her, eyes closed and still struggling to breathe. “Wouldn’t blame you if you did.” He opened an eye, as if checking she was still there, sitting at his side.

“Not gonna happen.” Isabel took a cup from the side table and filled it with water from a pitcher, she then handed the cup to Arthur. “I told you, I ain’t leavin’.” She threaded her fingers back through his hair, tucking some of the longer strands back behind his ear. Arthur drank from the cup, small sips that he grimaced as he swallowed. Isabel could only imagine the pain his throat was causing him and how raw it must have been.

“Why d’you wanna stay with a dead man, anyway?” he asked her, fixing her with both eyes. “I...” he lowered the cup to his lap, his head dropping until his chin was on his chest. “I can’t provide you with anything... If... When I--”

“Shh,” Isabel moved closer, sliding her fingers back through his hair until she was able to embrace him. Arthur put the cup on the table before his arms enveloped her and he buried his face in her shoulder. He was afraid. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. Isabel saw it. Each time he coughed, each time he struggled with something that before took no effort, the fear was there in his eyes and his body language. She stroked his hair, kissing his shoulder in an effort to offer comfort. “It’s not about what you can or can’t provide, Arthur. I just want you...” she took a forceful breath as her throat threatened to close around her words, “I want you as long as I can have you.”

“I don’t wanna make you sick...” mumbled Arthur. His hands traced her spine over her nightdress. Even with the weight loss he was still so much bigger than she was. His hands still made her feel safe. “Isabel, I don’t...”

“I don’t care,” Isabel told him. “You... We...” She sighed and squeezed her eyes closed. “We have time, Arthur... We have time.”

I had a different ending in mind for this, but by the time I got there, I’d forgotten it. Because I am brilliant. Clearly. *SIGH*

Hope you like. OC internal thoughts and such... yey~

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vamillepudding · 5 years

Text

Bad Bargains Part 2

Everyone’s reactions to this were so incredibly flattering, thank you so much !! This is part 2 and what I hope to be a semi-satisfying ending to this story. (Again: Also up on Ao3) I tried writing comfort, but it ended up being angst, because I’m a moron

Enjoy !

Before the doctors take Tommy into the emergency surgery, his hand catches Alfie’s wrist. The drugs haven’t taken effect yet, but his mind feels fuzzy anyway as he asks: “Will you be there when I-“ He catches himself before he can actually finish that question, already regretting that he opened his mouth in the first place. It would seem that two – three? – days in captivity were already enough to lower his defences, to make him careless. Fuck. Hopefully Alfie hasn’t even heard him right.

Or he’ll blame it on the morphium that he can now feel slowing down his thoughts. Is Alfie saying something? He can’t make out the words. But if Alfie doesn’t want to stay, then that’s fine, he decides, and gives in to the sweet promise of nothingness for the next hours.

The sun has set by the time Alfie is done dealing with the immediate aftermath of that rescue mission. Ollie has disappeared off to god knows where (if God were in the habit of knowing such trivial things or, indeed, things in general, which in Alfie’s experience he isn’t) and everyone else has finally gone home.

It turns out that Jon Bailey owned a couple of Birmingham race tracks that are now Alfie’s race tracks. He doesn’t feel bad about this. If he hadn’t taken this opportunity to expand, someone else would have.

Now that all is over and done with, he just wants to go home. Home means London, means Camden Town, but at some point along the line, it has also begun to mean Tommy. So if that means spending some time in Birmingham, so be it. His people can handle things on their own for a few days.

To make good on that decision, he goes straight to the Shelbys’ house where he lets himself in with the key John foolishly left lying on the kitchen table yesterday, and enters Tommy’s room before anyone can spot him and complain. Tommy is reading the newspaper, because of course he is. Probably reckons that the worst thing about his capture is that he’s no longer up to date on which politician screwed up again.

But then he lowers the paper to look at the intruder, and Alfie thinks that no, not even Tommy can be that casual about what happened, not with a bruised face like that, not with that look in his eyes.

“And suddenly there came a tapping. Did Arthur let you in?” His speech isn’t slurred. Alfie doesn’t know why he thought it might be, after the surgery that would have taken care of that cheekbone. Tommy’s words are as clear as ever, able to tear a man to shreds if he isn’t careful.

“’Tis the wind and nothing more, except it’s also me, coming to check that you haven’t ripped those stitches out yet and gone back to work.”

“Not just yet,” Tommy says. “Don’t suppose you’d agree to bring me a glass of that whiskey over there? – No, didn’t think so” he adds when Alfie instead takes the bottle from the table in the corner and pours its content onto the floor.

“So,” says Alfie, sitting down on the chair next to the bed and leaning his cane against the wall, “how are you feeling?”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know perfectly well. “Wanna know what I think?”

“Not particularly,” Tommy says coldly. “Maybe you should go, eh? Been here far too long.”

“Fucking hell. That’s a nice way of saying thank you, that is. Better get some more sleep, this perpetual state of wakefulness can’t be good for you. Or the people around you, for that matter.” The chair isn’t very comfortable, but it’ll have to do. Alfie makes sure to take off the hat and his overcoat before making himself at home.

“I think I asked you to go.” Tommy is doing his best impression of a man ready to kill someone with his bare hands. Alfie is overcome by the sudden urge to kiss him, but has a feeling that any attempt to get close to him would result in a fist to the face. Not entirely undeservedly, perhaps. So instead he just props up his feet on the edge of the bed.

“Can’t go while it’s cold outside, mate. I’ll fucking freeze to death in this weather.”

“It’s summer.”

“Oh, I’m cold-blooded. You don’t want to send me into my own personal damnation, do you, Thomas?” Alfie asks as he takes off his waistcoat, too, and pointedly closes his eyes.

Later that night, he is woken by a scream, and promptly falls off his chair.

Tommy is thrashing and turning. It’ll only be a matter of time until he opens the gunshot wound if he carries on like that, so Alfie gets up and does the first thing he can think of, which is to physically hold Tommy down and force him to cease his movements. At first, it seems to work: Tommy goes still instantly. But then the shaking starts, and now Alfie is starting to think that maybe his method wasn’t the best course of action after all.

“Tommy,” he tries. “Wake up, love.” More shaking. He almost wishes that it really were winter, that he could blame this on the cold. Tommy’s eyes snap open after a few more agonising moments of waiting. “You weren’t there, earlier,” he says, the words barely more than a hoarse whisper. “I asked if you’d be there, and you weren’t. I thought-“ He doesn’t need to finish the sentence for Alfie to know exactly what he thought. This isn’t a conversation either of them need to have right now, though.

“Go back to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Fuck it, Alfie thinks, and gets into bed with Tommy.

When Arthur comes in the next morning to check in on his brother, he finds him still asleep, tightly wrapped into Alfie’s arms.

When he woke up in the hospital, the first thing he noticed was that Alfie wasn’t there. He didn’t even have time to time to panic about that, though, because then he noticed who was there instead.

Aunt and nephew looked at each other. It was Polly who spoke first.

“I wasn’t going to pay.”

“I know,” Tommy said.

“Arthur wanted to. But Shelbys don’t pay ransoms.”

“I know” he repeated, because he did know. Because he agreed. Because this was what Polly herself had taught him, once upon a time.

She moved to leave then, having delivered her message, but turned around one more time. “Don’t die. This family needs you.”

And that’s just the thing, isn’t it? Nothing of what Polly told him is news to him. He knew it when he was 10 years old, he knew it when he was beaten up by a bunch of men in a dark room, and he knows it now, two days after the rescue, when he’s lying awake next to Alfie.

No point in postponing it any longer. Might as well get it over with. After all, this is what Tommy has spent almost 48 hours working up his nerve for.

He reaches over and gives Alfie’s shoulder a shake, then another one until the other man grunts: “For fuck’s sake, don’t you ever sleep?”

“Alfie.”

There must be something in the way he said it, because the owner of that name now sits up, instantly alert. “What’s wrong?”

“You spoke to my family, planned to break into that warehouse. You needed them to do it. You must’ve spoken to them.”

“I did,” Alfie agrees, his wariness detectable even from the other side of the bed, every part of his body radiating vigilance.

“They told you the situation, but you must’ve already known about that. They told you the demands, but you must have had that figured out already, too.”

“What can I say? I’m a smart bloke. Always did get top marks in school, I did. Bet you did, too, eh? Yeah, I can see it in your eyes. You’re a smart lad, too.”

He doesn’t allow himself to get distracted. Not now. Not with this. “Polly told you that they wouldn’t agree to anything Bailey wanted,” he guesses. “She told you they would try a rescue if the benefits outweighed the risks, but otherwise, you’d be on your own.” It’s a shot in the dark, but just like Alfie believes he can read Tommy’s eyes, his own eyes, too, tell a story. “You have a business to run too. You knew she was right. So my question is, Alfie – what were the benefits of all this? What did you get out of it, eh?”

For once, Alfie doesn’t immediately answer. Then, slowly, like the words are being forced out of him:

“I did take over his racetracks, but-“

And just like that, he’s not in any pain anymore. He stopped taking the prescribed pills immediately and spent the past two days hurting practically all the time. Now he’s just numb. To test this, Tommy absently touches his cheek where they remodelled his cheekbone. Nothing. What a curious sensation. He pokes harder still and discovers that he appears to have lost the ability to feel anything at all.

“-stop that,” Alfie snaps. “As I was saying, if you’d fucking bothered to listen, I may have benefited a tiny bit, but really if you look at the grand scheme of things, it is absolutely fucking clear to any man who’s not a fucking moron that I did not come looking for you to gain some fucking tracks.”

“Of course not. You rescued me out of love, eh? The great Alfie Solomons, rushing to the rescue of the love of his life.”

“And what if I did?”

“Then I’d say you’re a liar on top of everything else.”

Alfie stands up so fast that his cane hits the floor with a loud thud. “Yeah, you know what, Tommy? Fuck you, mate.” And just like that, Tommy is alone again, thinking, absurdly and against all reason, that Alfie has never seemed more attractive than in this moment.

Sometimes Alfie wishes he’d drink. Everyone else in his life does (which isn’t that surprising, considering his place of work), and from what he can gather, it seems to be everyone’s favourite way of escape. Well, that, or sex, but neither of those are options.

So because Alfie isn’t in the habit of drinking or fucking people that aren’t Tommy, he just wanders through the depressingly bleak streets of Small Heath, thinking of the way Tommy cried out when the bullet hit him. It was a necessary move, and he’s always had good aim, but he keeps thinking of the What If – what if the bullet had struck just a few inches to the left, what if Bailey had moved in the last second, what if Tommy will now forever associate that scar with Alfie.

It's not a nice thought, but if Alfie doesn’t wallow in self-pity he’ll surely think of their last conversation instead, and then he’ll get angry.

He's trying so hard not to get angry.

They didn’t break up. It wasn’t a breakup. If Tommy thinks it is, well, then he is clearly wrong, isn’t he? Because if their relationship ever did end, it – alright. It would be exactly like this, wouldn’t it, seeing as Tommy is one manipulative son of a bitch and Alfie allows himself to be provoked way too easily. It would appear that even after more than a year, he still hasn’t learned his lesson.

Neither, apparently, has Tommy.

If he did drink, Alfie thinks this would be the moment where he’d down his glass of rum to prepare for the confrontation lying ahead. Things being the way they are, he’ll just have to choose the less dramatic route of simply walking back to the house.

That’s alright, though. For Tommy, he’d walk a lot longer if he had to.

He'd walk to the edge of the world and beyond.

Tommy ruins things. Usually with neither purpose nor malicious intent, but that doesn’t change the inevitable results. He ruins things, and one day soon he’ll have everyone whom he ever meant anything to pushed away. He’ll be all alone with his thoughts then, no one to distract him from them for even a minute, which is perhaps the worst kind of punishment there is.

When that happens, he’s not going to last very long at all.

In retrospect, he probably should have known that his relationship with Alfie wouldn’t last either. He did know, knew it from the very beginning. But then the occasional fuck turned into a weekly one, turned into spending whole weekends together, turned into surprise visits and late-night phonecalls and games of chess and taking walks and trying to figure out when Alfie’s birthday is and then spending a couple of weeks silently panicking about whether a gift would be inappropriate or appreciated.

Falling in love was never the plan, but then, neither were most things in Tommy’s life. And like most things, this, too, has turned into a monumental fuckup.

Alfie is probably on his way to London by now. He has half a mind to call Ollie. Just to inform him that his boss might be in a bit of a mood when he gets home. Then again, that would presuppose any hurt feelings on Alfie’s part, which Tommy isn’t too sure about. Annoyed that he lost a quick screw, maybe.

Maybe he’ll send a card soon. Just let Alfie know that their business partnership still stands. Or should he offer something more? Alfie did save him. Granted, he did it for his own advantage, but Tommy still owes him, and he can’t stand the thought of owing anyone anything. Perhaps he can give Alfie a better deal on the rum trade he has with the Peaky Blinders. Well, he’ll see. Next week will be soon enough.

He feels better now, his mind clearer. He has a plan, and plans are good. It’s almost like he’s finally regained control – over himself, his love life, the business, the whole fucking world.

All of this crumples to pieces when Alfie walks back in.

“Shut up.” As far as conversation starters go, this was one of his nicer ones. “I can look into that pretty face and know exactly what you’re going to say next, because I have recently acquired the power of mind reading. Funny business, that. So if you were going to tell me that you expected me to have hit the road by now, you can just shut your fucking mouth and listen.” Tommy, faintly embarrassed, stops himself from saying that exact same thing, and raises an expectant eyebrow instead.

Maybe this is where -

For once he doesn’t have a pessimistic prediction on what’s going to happen next. Whatever Alfie is going to say – there is no way it can make things worse somehow.

“I got you a gift,” Tommy blurts out, and Alfie stops dead in his tracks.

“You what?”

“A gift. For your birthday. I know it was in May, and that we don’t do this sort of thing, but Ollie told me, so I got you a gift.”

“It’s August,” Alfie says, dazedly, like the conversation has gotten away from him. Maybe it has, for the first time in his life.

“I know.” He’s had it since April, actually, but then on the day of Alfie’s actual birthday Alfie didn’t say anything, so Tommy didn’t say anything. He’s had half a mind to dump it inside the river a number of times. But he never did get around to it.

And then, something odd happens. Alfie starts to laugh. It’s the laugh of a man who feared he lost everything and discovered that this, indeed, is not the case. He laughs, and laughs, and when he’s done he comes to the bed to kiss Tommy on the mouth.

In the first moment, it’s like he’s back in that room, like this is one of Bailey’s goons taking liberties.

But there is no force and no blood, no bugs crawling under his skin at the mere notion of it.

Alfie, clearly noticing him freezing up, stops and pulls back a little in order to properly look at Tommy. He doesn’t ask if he’s alright, which somehow helps.

Is he alright? Tommy isn’t sure. During the whole time he was captured, it didn't seem like the situation was worth getting truly upset over. There were other things to do, like trying to escape and trying not to die.

Now, he’s achieved both of those. In a few days he’ll take up the paperwork again, and as soon as he can walk without keeling over, he’ll be back on the streets.

There is no question about this, no counterargument to be made. Tommy can move on, so he will.

And really, isn’t that what it’s all about?

So he buries his fingers in Alfie’s hair and succumbs to the kiss, and finally feels like he’s left that room behind.

Arthur knows that historically, he’s not been a great brother. One time, back in school, an older boy beat Tommy up. Just caught him after class, beat the shit out of him, left him lying in the mud. It should have been Arthur’s job to take care of this. He didn’t. Never got the chance to, seeing as the following day, Tommy took a razor with him to school and made that boy regret ever laying a finger on him. Said boy never did it again. Didn’t have any fingers left, did he?

The point is that Arthur wants nothing more than to keep his family safe. And ever since his mum let Arthur hold the bundle of blankets that was his brand-new little brother, the latter has been a part of that family.

Him getting kidnapped is unacceptable. And yet again, there is nothing Arthur could do about it. Again. This time, Tommy didn’t have a razor, but he had that insane guard dog also known as Alfie Solomons, who is just as deadly.

He knows, too, that Tommy would never blame him for his lack of action. Somehow, that makes things worse. Tommy should be angry, should be absolutely fucking livid about his big brother’s failure. But he isn’t, and hell if that doesn’t make Arthur feel even guiltier.

He hovers in the house until he hears Alfie leave Tommy’s room, waits until the other man has gone down the stairs, then puts his hand on the door handle – and hesitates.

He goes to the Garrison to have a drink instead.

On Christmas Eve, an old lady named Catherine Bailey opens the door to find a bouquet of flowers delivered to her.

#alfie x tommy #i'm still so surprised every time people tell me they like my version of Alfie #i always feel like he's the weakest part of my writing #so thank you !!

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