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thatesqcrush · 3 years

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Voire Dire

Rafael Barba x Reader. Warnings: implied fem masturbation, slightly dub-con at the end (kissing) but reader is very enthusiastic. WC: 3,339

It was an ordinary morning on an ordinary day. It was early and the eighth floor was just beginning to fill up. You had already been in the office for well over two hours, working on a motion and you were already running against the clock. As people milled about, settling in, you grabbed your noise canceling headphones and slipped them on over your ears.

You frowned when you realized your coffee cup was empty. You were in need for more coffee but did not have the time for it. As you let out an irritated sigh, you noticed the head of the junior ADA department, Sonny Carisi, stride in. As he passed by your desk, a brown paper bag plopped onto the desk. You slipped off your headphones and swiveled around.

“And what is this, Dominick?” You teased, as you reached into the bag.

“Bear-claw. Coffee - light and sweet.” Sonny called out as he settled into his office.

“God bless ya’ Sonny. You answered my prayers.” You called out, before blowing on the cup. It was so hot, steam rose from the small opening and the heat pricked your fingers. “How did you know?”

“A little birdie named Marjorie.” He replied. He stuck his head out the door. “She told me you were coming in early and if I recall anything from our Fordham days, it’s that you always forget to take care of yourself when you’re under the wire.”

You gave him a pointed look, which then softened into a smile. “Thank you, Sonny. Much appreciated. And when you win that Mickey Davis case, I am going to take you out for a celebratory drink.”

“Don’t start, we don’t even know what will happen. He may plead out.” Sonny replied. “I gotta go - meeting with the boss actually on this. Get back to work.”

“Yes sir!” You mocked saluted, before swiveling back to your computer. Time was ticking after all.

The rest of the morning seemed to pass in a blur. Again, nothing extraordinary happened. And as you electronically filed your motion, you spun around in your seat, with your arms in the air, in silent victory.

As you faced your desk, you saw Sonny walking back down to his office with a very handsome, distinguished looking man behind him. It was clear the two of them were having some kind of heated discussion. And you couldn’t care less. Because the man he was with, was the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. He wore dark jeans and blue and pink checkered shirt with a dark grey peacoat. His hair was perfectly coiffed, nary a hair out of place. And he had a meticulously groomed beard. His hair and his beard were dark, with salt and pepper flicked through. You had a sudden urge to tug on his beard and you wondered what it would feel like against your skin, as you slid your tongue into his.

The man sauntered past your desk and you looked up, feeling a flutter shoot through you as your eyes met. You caught a whiff of the cologne he wore - faint whiffs of vetiver and bergamot - and you closed your eyes, enjoying the olfactory overload. You so badly wanted to turn around, but you could not. So you settled for leaning to the side in an attempt to eavesdrop.

“You know who that is, right?” You jumped in your seat slightly and looked up at Marjorie, your co-worker, and fellow ADA.

“No. But he is nice to the eyes.” You smirked.

“That’s Rafael Barba.” Marjorie hissed.

You sat up straight. “That’s him? The Rafael Barba?” You scanned the office and sure enough, people were whispering and talking to each other as they looked behind you.

You couldn’t hear everything, but you could glean whatever they were talking about was not regular old shop talk.

You heard something about a ‘nice view’ and ‘had to move the Xerox machine and four filing cabinets just to get the desk in,’ and you snorted.

“Yeah, the one who k-worded a baby,” Marjorie continued, as she sat on the corner of your desk. She ripped off a remnant of your long-forgotten bear claw and popped it in her mouth.

“He did not k-word a baby.” It was now your turn to hiss. “That baby was already dead. He… expedited its passing.”

“Well, regardless. No one has seen him since then. Last I heard he was working with The Innocence Project,” Marjorie replied, plucking another piece of the bear-claw.

The door swung open, Rafael turning to face Sonny. “I'm going for straight-up not guilty.” Rafael stormed past you, once more, a breeze blowing by as he did so - and with it, his cologne wafted once more and you felt the back of your neck prick. Arousal shot through you, starting between your thighs, but rising to make your breath hitch.

Marjorie hopped off your desk and dashed into Sonny’s office. You stood to do so, as Rafael as he stalked by. Your eyes met once more.

“Good morning,” Rafael acknowledged curtly. You felt your cheeks burn and you gave him a small smile, before following Marjorie.

Lunch had rolled around. You rapped on Sonny’s door. “Hey - want to grab lunch with Marj and I?”

“Nah, can’t. Barba’s taking the Mickey Davis case on and I need to prep,” Sonny replied. He sighed before dropping his head into his hands, groaning.

You shut the door quickly behind you and moved to lower the blinds in his office. “Hey - talk to me. Barba was your mentor, right?”

Sonny looked up at you and nodded. “Yeah, he was. He was the best ADA here - I mean, he took on cases others dodged. He taught me so much. And now… it’s like jedi master and padawan here.”

You grimaced. “Sonny, don’t sell yourself short. You are an excellent lawyer and you’ve got the chops. If anything, he should be the one who’s worried.”

Sonny guffawed in response. “Don’t quit ya’ day job, Y/N.”

You crossed your arms and cocked your brow. “Come on, pizza. On me. Let’s go.”

Sonny rolled his eyes and nodded. “Okay, okay. But not Marco’s. That place is not real Italian.”

“Whatever, pizza snob.” You laughed as you both walked out.

Time flew by. Sonny was at voire dire and you chewed on your thumbnail waiting for him to return. You decided to throw yourself into work in an attempt to keep your mind otherwise occupied.

When Sonny did eventually return, he looked defeated and worn. He shuffled back into his office, his shoulders hunched over. You waited a good minute before knocking on his office.

“How'd it go at voir dire?” You asked softly, as you knocked on his door. Sonny was chugging pepto-bismol and he grimaced as he turned to you. “It was the Rafael Barba show, charming and cherry-picking jurors for twelve straight hours.”

“Yeah, the office mill said he was a dog with a bone.” You shrugged, pulling a chair out and sitting.

Sonny laughed. “Yeah. Now get this - I'm looking at his witness list, and he tracked down AJ’s other foster kids, ACS employees, VA shrinks. How big of a staff does he have?”

You shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

Sonny gave you a look. “Dollars to donuts, I think it’s my old squad - Rollins, Liv, and Fin helping him out.”

“You don’t know that.” You interjected.

“It's fine. Barba was here before me. I know where their loyalties are,” Sonny replied.

“When's opening statements?”

“A day from tomorrow.” Sonny replied. “Which means I will be here all night prepping.”

“Do you want any help?” You asked.

“It’s fine - it’s late. You should go home. If there’s something, I’ll let you know.”

You nodded and bid him a good night, before heading home.

At home, you climbed into bed and tried to watch a repeat of your favorite procedural show but could not focus. You spent the entire commute home, replaying the events of earlier in the week when Rafael came by. He smelled so wonderful and when his eyes locked on yours, your heart skipped in a way that it hadn’t in a long time. Picturing his eyes… his beard… you became warm and a ripple of arousal coursed through you, causing the ache between your legs to intensify. You had a drawer full of toys that you knew you would help, but sometimes, your own fingers were best – you knew you better than any other toy could. You slipped your fingers down your sleep shorts and under the waistband of your underwear. It didn’t take much – as you suspected it would not – and when you came, it was Rafael’s name that escaped from your lips. The ache lessened – and, for now, it was enough.

Time flew and before you knew it, the case was winding up - or so you heard through the grapevine. That office leaked like a sieve. Your phone buzzed loudly one morning. You groaned and looked at the clock - you still had twenty minutes of sleep left. Yawning, you sat up and rubbed your eyes awake.

[Marjorie: Come meet us at court - closing arguments on the Davis case and we are all going down to root for Sonny]

You quickly wrote back: who’s we?

[Marjorie: A few of us from 8th. Come on!]

You bit your bottom lip and then hit two little letters: ok. You quickly showered, threw on your pants and an oversized sweater. You grabbed a pair of wedges and made your way uptown.

The case was intense and heated. Emotions were rising. You fidgeted in your seat as Sonny faced off with Rafael. In the end, the jury deliberated in six hours and found Mickey Davis guilty. He was charged with manslaughter two.

Sonny caught up with the group from the eighth floor in the gallery who all congratulated him on his big win. You half-listened and half kept an eye on Rafael, who was busy gathering his paperwork. He looked handsome in his black bespoke suit, now cleanly shaven. You frowned - the beard suited him. But it didn’t temper his handsomeness; with or without, it was as if he made your eyes burn. It also appeared to have turned him into a real-life Benjamin Button, so to speak. He appeared much younger than he did when he did that day in One Hogan Place.

Rafael turned again, and his eyes scanned the group in the back before his eyes settled on yours once more. You ducked your head, feeling embarrassed at having been caught and when you looked up at him, a smile had graced his face.

He began to head your way, tucking his briefcase under his arm. Your heart began to race and your palms were sweaty. You wracked your brain for a reason to leave but couldn’t come up with anything. And then Rafael was in front of you.

“Hi - you’re Carisi’s colleague?” Rafael asked as you were now afforded a close-up view. His eyes were the most intense seafoam green and you knew if allowed, you would drown in them.

“Uh - yes. My name is Y/F/N Y/L/N. I am a junior ADA.” You tripped over your words, feeling your cheeks burn. What was it about this man that renders me into a bumbling fool? you thought.

“Rafael Barba.” Rafael extended his hand and you took it, shaking it.

“Pleasure.”

“No, that’s all mine.” His eyes crinkled and a small smile graced his face. You felt your cheeks burn once more.

Sonny turned away from the group and faced you and Rafael. “We’re going to Rudy’s for a beer. Want to come? The squad is going to come.”

Rafael opened his mouth and paused, looking over at you. Feeling put on the spot, you nodded, going along. “Sure - a beer would be great.” You then turned to look at Rafael. “Coming with?”

Rafael nodded - wanting nothing more than to spend time with you - this creature who had enchanted him. He had to admit, he had hoped to see you more - but in his head, that meant an impromptu visit to the DA’s office, where he wasn’t necessarily well received any longer. Or, it meant asking Carisi - and he didn’t want to be grilled by the former detective. You were young - younger than him of course, but he couldn’t imagine you were that much younger - and at the same time he did not want to seem like a cradle robbing perv. The group dispersed outside, braving the elements of New York City. It was biting cold - the coldest day of the year - and the wind whipped around something wicked. You rubbed your gloved hands together as you all headed to Rudy’s. You and Rafael hung back, following the group, but at the same time, both knowing the route, having made the trek many times prior.

“So how long have you been with the DA’s office?” Rafael asked. Small, misty clouds emitted from your breaths as you chit-chatted.

“Two years. I was originally in Brooklyn, but I requested a lateral move.” You replied.

“That’s where I started too.” Rafael replied. A taxicab approached and Rafael waved his hand up and across from you, signaling to the car to slow down so that you two could cross. You didn’t miss how his hand cradled your back gently as you both crossed the street to the bar. Yout stomach flip-flopped in response.

The bar was empty, save for the group. Large colorful bulbs hung throughout, keeping in theme with the upcoming holiday. At the hightops, each table was outfitted with a miniature wreath with a candle in the middle. After a while, the squad from SVU also joined and everyone toasted Sonny on his victory. The corners of your lips twitched as Rafael said “To irony,” at Sonny’s response that they were just back where they started.

Rafael was engrossed in a conversation with Sonny’s former squad, and you watched him intently. You played with your napkin and wondered more about him and who he was. Sure, you had heard about the Householder case and how the prosecutor was acquitted - and sure, you had read some of his court briefs. But you had never thought in a million years that you would be so close to him. Many other former ADAs came to visit, but Rafael Barba never did. He had essentially dodged the office for years. You didn’t hear much of him, only in passing from Sonny while you were both in Fordham.

Hours went by, many drinks had been had. One by one, the group had dispersed, until it was just you, Sonny, Amanda, and Rafael. You all decided to move to a booth. You were slightly unsteady, having had too many glasses of wine and very little to eat. You knew in the morning you would be paying the price.

“Water for Y/N and fries for the table.” Amanda announced as she slid the food to the middle of the table, and the water towards you.

You plucked a fry from the table and tried to focus on what Amanda was talking about. Sonny made a quip and everyone laughed. You used the opportunity to sneak another glance towards Rafael. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off his well defined forearms. A sole finger traced the rim of his lowball glass, which was half-full. Your eyes were drawn to the Rolex on his wrist and you noticed the time.

“Oh, it’s late - I should get going,” you remarked, as you pulled Rafael’s arm close to your face, looking at the time more closely. “Sorry,” you murmur, releasing his arm. You stand and wobble once more, and Rafael stands, catching you.

“Good idea; it is late,” Rafael replied. “Let me just close out the tab.” Amanda and Sonny protested as they reached for their wallets and Rafael waved them off.

“I can go home with you honey.” Amanda offered.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

“Y/N, you know better than that; someone should go with you.” Sonny replied. “Amanda and I can.”

“Sonny you’re all the way uptown - I am all the way downtown. It’ll be fine.” You argued as you put your coat on.

Rafael returned, placing his wallet on the table momentarily. “What’s fine?”

“Me. Going home solo,” you replied. “But Amanda and Sonny think--”

“That you had too much to drink.” Sonny cut you off. “It’s not safe.”

“Sonny.” You pinched the bridge of your nose and you found yourself growing more impatient. “I am a big girl - I will send you a text when I get home.”

“Where’s home?” Rafael asked curiously.

“Brooklyn.” Sonny and you replied at the same time.

“Sonny’s right - someone should take you home.” Rafael countered.

“What if Barba takes you home?” Amanda asked, as she slipped her hat on. “Barba lives downtown - you don’t mind, do you counselor?”

“Not at all.” Rafael replied. “If that’s okay with Y/N.”

You sucked your bottom lip in. “Okay; Barba wins.”

“Great. Barba takes Y/N home and I’ll head up with Amanda,” Sonny declared.

The cab hadn’t even been going for ten minutes when Rafael found you asleep, resting your head on his shoulder. He didn’t want to move you - lest you lean on the glass and knock your head if the cab hit a pothole. He watched as the city blurred past him, a mix of lights and colors. You let out a small moan and snuggled closer to Rafael. Rafael threw his head back, resting against the headrest and let out a sigh.

The trip to Brooklyn was uneventful as there was little traffic and soon the cab pulled up outside the brownstone that was home to you. He nudged you softly, stirring you awake.

“We’re at your place.” He murmured and you smiled sleepily at him.

“Walk me to my door?” You asked, stifling a small yawn. Rafael nodded and requested the cab to keep the meter running. You grabbed your keys to unlock the door and turned to face him. You thanked him for going out of his way to accompany you home and Rafael gave you a small nod, telling you it was no big deal - better to be safe. He licked his lips and you felt a rush of bravery course through you - you’d later realize that was the alcohol - and did what was, up until then, a figment of your imagination.

You curled your fingers into his hair, since he was sans beard, and pulled him in for a kiss. Rafael was initially taken aback, freezing in place, but then he deepened the kiss. You moaned into his mouth, which he took as an invitation to deepen the kiss and slide his tongue into your mouth. His strong arms, closed around your back and pulled you tightly against him. You continued kissing for what seemed like eternity, but was only mere moments, when Rafael pulled away.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted. “You’re drunk. You can’t consent. I should not have done that.” He took a step back, regret was etched on his face.

Your face burned with embarrassment. “It’s fine. I … should go. Good night, Rafael.” You mumbled before unlocking the door and darting inside, not bothering to look back.

Rafael groaned, rubbing his hands with his face. It felt so wonderful to kiss you - but it was under all the wrong circumstances. He headed back to the cab and went home, replaying the kiss over and over in his mind, as if it were an endless loop.

He knew what he had to do.

Imagine your surprise when the following morning, when you headed into the office to put in some overtime, there was an email from one formerly disgraced ADA in your mailbox - asking you out for dinner.

You took a large drag of your coffee and then hit reply.

TBC.

***

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#rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba and reader #rafael barba and you #rafael barba x female reader #rafael barba fanfic

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thepeakygurl · 3 years

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16 Shots

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word count: 1073

Warnings: Mention of violence

Prompts: Y/N is taken hostage by a rivalry gang and Thomas goes to save you.

My first Peaky Blinders/Thomas Shelby scenario ever! I really hope you like it and hope it meets your expectations! Please don’t hesistate to give me any feedbacks. Also, my first language is not English so if there’s any grammatical mistakes please pardon me! ( requested by @irishwhiskeys thank you so much for giving me the chance to write this piece ✨ )

“Thomas, you are here!”

Polly’s voice echoed in Thomas’ head as he entered the room. An imperceptible sighed slipped from his mouth while he was cautiously taking off his jacket. If questioned just minutes before about his preference of spending the rest of the evening alone or with his family, he would have certainly chosen the second one.

However, now that every single Shelby was standing in each corner of the living room, with such a sad expression that could have saddened the happiest human being in the world, he had his doubts about that reckless and hypothetical decision. “Did Arthur attempt to kill himself again?” He jokingly asked to ease up that damn the tension. Suddenly even the room felt too small for all the concern that was in the air as a mass of black clouds in the middle of a typical day in Birmingham, but this felt nothing like a typical day.

Arthur was not laughing or screaming at him, he was sitting at the table, giving all his attention to the cigarette he kept playing with. John not so close to him, standing tall while holding Esme’s hand so tight as if he was trying to hold onto her. Thomas looked at Arthur and instantly knew that things were worse than he was imagining “Is anyone going to fucking tell me what’s going on?!” He burst out and only then Polly stood up. Her hair was a mess, she was clearly worried and if Thomas didn’t know her any well, he would have swore she shredded some tears. How of all of her expectations she became fond of you.

She handed him over a piece of wrinkled piece of paper, the same one that its content turned the Shelby’s living room into a mass funeral “They took her Tommy...” she said, her voice so broken and soft that Tommy couldn’t even read the piece of paper his eyes went instead across the room, looking for Ada and when he finally saw her, standing and with her eyes achingly looking at him, he knew it was you.

For a small amount of seconds, Thomas forgot how to speak. His throat was aching as if someone was trying to choke him and his heart has never ached like this before. He quickly read the note and he knew that only someone dumb and inexperienced could have thrown such a move. He let the piece of paper slip out of his hands as he quickly put on his jacket. “Let us come with you” Arthur said, but he didn’t stand up, he knew Thomas would told him to sit back down

“Instead of standing here like some sorts or middle aged men you should have gone after her as soon as you read this fucking piece of shit” he screamed at him as he was loading his gun that he then carefully handed and pointed out at the all room “If y/n dies, so are you” he almost whispered it out, but he was sure that even those words said in a slightly whisper was enough for his family to know that someone today was really going to die.

Lately he had received news of a new group of reckless children that were trying to play gangsters. He never looked at them as a threat, if anything he was amused, almost impressed and saddened by how someone’s ambition could aim at just being a gangster. It was dark outside, the rain was making the road slippery. A sense of guilt started to fill his bones as he got into his car and started to drive towards the pub, where the paper indicated him to go. He told you a million times that this life was not meant for you, that you were meant to live a peaceful and meaningful life, perhaps apart, but you and your stubbornness couldn’t just let it go. You have to prove yourself, started to work with the family and put yourself at risk. He couldn’t believe he did that to you, he couldn’t believed you were taken hostage because of his own ambition and pride. He felt his hands shake onto the wheel of the car, which made him grab onto it tight as he approached the pub. Stepping out of the car, Thomas didn’t take out his gun, he instead put his hand inside his pockets as he entered the pub. The place usually filled with laughter and tipsy people was now empty, except for the bartender behind the bar, held at gun point by some kid that could have honestly have the same age as Finn. Such a pity, he thought.

His eyes went across the room were a smiling young gentleman welcomed him. “We were honestly starting to think that this one wasn’t really worth it for you” he said in a laughter, looking over his should where you were also being held at gun point, some man with a dreadful smell covering had his arm around your throat and his gun pointed at your head. When your eyes met Thomas’ you could tell he was angry, but you also felt something else, something his eyes have never told you before. Thomas attention was once again reversed to the young gentleman “I usually attend business not blackmails” he said, he had to use all his self control in order to maintain his calm and not killing the bastard right away “Do you want to talk about business or can we go?” He proceeded to ask.

The young gentleman laughed again, an horrible laugh that made both Thomas and y/n almost rolling their eyes. “Mr. Shelby you should know best. You had your chance to consider my offer, now the offer is out of the table”

Thomas chuckled, his hand came out of his pockets which made everyone tense, the young gentleman looked at the man holding on y/n and the second one proceeded on loading his gun “Gentlemen” Thomas said to gain their attention, as he showed the cigarette in his hand that he then lit, as he thought before reckless and inexperienced they were indeed. “Now then, I will give you my offer. You will let the girl go and you will take your shit and your little milk drinker gang’s shit and you will vanish. How does that sound eh?” He said with the cigarette slowly burning out in his lips.

“Not good enough Mr. Shelby, not good enough” the young gentleman responded to the offer and he then handed out his gun pointed directly to Thomas, your heart stopped beating for a second as you saw the bastard loading his gun, but Thomas didn’t flinch, not even when the door burst open and Arthur came in all smiling “Starting a party without me I see? How rude”

While everyone was now holding their gun at Arthur, John was successful into entering from the back silently, he was just behind you and the man which he then grabbed by the collar and knocked him out with just a punch “I think they forgot to send our invitation” he then said, he looked at you and said something about getting out of there but you couldn’t. The room burst into chaos. Suddenly the kid threatening the live of the bartender was now being beaten by Arthur, the guy John punched was now coming to his senses and John couldn’t help himself but starting to play again, while Thomas was trying to take the gun out of the other’s one hand. He succeeded on the first try as the young gentleman was now trembling in fear trying to hold his tears. But this pitiful sight was not enough, Thomas felt all his anger coming back, all his self control leaving his body as he started to hit him with his very own gun. You looked at the scene, incapable of moving a single muscle. That was the kind of situation that Thomas didn’t want you to see, this wicked side of him that he was so afraid to show you was now revealed. Drowning in its own blood, you reckoned he was just a kid, a kid playing adult and you couldn’t help now but running towards Thomas and begging him to stop. Thomas however didn’t hear you, he was too busy taking the life out of the piece of garbage that tried to take you from him. And you saw it, you saw the life of the guy coming out of his body, begging for mercy so you had to kneel down and scream his name, forcing his face in your hands “It’s over Thomas, we are alright” and you specified we, because that was what it was all about. You and him. You were trying to prove yourself to him and he was trying to protect you.

Thomas was breathing heavily now, looking at you as lost as he has ever felt. The thought of loosing and never being able to see you again almost drove him insane. He tried to say something, he really tried to open his mouth and say that he was sorry, that he was desperately sorry, but he didn’t have too as you whispered I know, it’s ok. He stood up, helping you doing the same and here he just hold you onto his arms, as tight as possible. His face hiding in your neck while he allowed himself to kiss your skin and he sighed, relieved that he could do such a thing. You smiled again his chest.

“You lovebirds, can we go home now?” Asked Arthur, his hand socked in blood as he looked at you two with a big smile on his face. You laughed a little while Thomas was giving him a hard stare.

“Get yourself a room eh?” Were John’s word of wisdom as he and Arthur left the pub.

Thomas chuckled “Maybe we should get a room." He said and has soon as your cheeks turned into a bright red he laughed as well softly.

“Maybe we should” you whispered in a breath and once again, you saw a new emotion on Thomas’s eyes. Something you couldn’t quite describe just yet, but you knew it would lead to something quite interesting.

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby #thomas shelby scenario #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby headcanon #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fic

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peakyxtommy · 4 years

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Last First Birthdays

Summary: Tommy & you celebrating your last child’s first birthday. You’re sad that the kids are growing up. Tommy provides a listening ear.

Warnings: All Pure Fluff, slight mention of birth/pre-term labor.

A/N: I am not a doctor, but did do some research. Enjoy, I loved writing this. Soft Tommy & Tommy with kids is my forever weakness.

Word Count: 2.4K

Today was a special day. Your last born was having his first birthday today. Attius James Shelby.

“Look at the birthday boy.” You coo, your fingers patting your son’s stomach as he releases a small squeal, happy to see your face. He had just awoken from his pre-party nap.

You dressed him in his 1st birthday onesie, khaki shorts, and clipped his pacifier to his top, which would come in handy later. His little blue orbs stare into your eyes, as you stand him up on his changing table, before lifting him into your arms.

“Let’s go find your dad and siblings.” You peck his forehead, brushing your hand over his brown curly locks. You walk down the stairs, to see the hustle and bustle of the last minute platters of food and drinks being placed.

You walk into the living room to see Henry, your eldest son reading a book on the couch. Lydia, your second child with cards in her hands, slapping one down against the carpet. While Tom sits on the floor with Maeve, your third child, assisting her while laughing at something she says.

“Who’s ready for the birthday boy?” You speak gaining their attention.

“Me! I can’t wait for cake.” Lydia screams with excitement causing Maeve to scrunch her face up in annoyance at her sister.

“I am going to play with Jonas. He’s bringing his new card game over.” Henry responds, closing his book.

“Mummy we sing for Atty, right.” Maeve asks, calling her brother by his nickname, not able to pronounce his full name.

“Yes we will sing and have one slice of cake each. I will be watching.” You wag your finger playfully at Lydia. All the while your husband sits with a smirk on his face, his eyes fully enticed with yours. The doorbell rings, causing the kids to scramble to greet their family and poor Tom left with cleaning up the card game, but it wasn’t new to him with a house with four kids.

“Looks like you need some help Mr. Shelby. Bones of yours are getting old.” You tease, earning an eye roll, as he leans himself gently into you, as your free hand helps him off the floor.

“Keep it up while it lasts, you are right behind me.” He chuckles pulling you into his side. “You look lovely, dress suits you well. Always a beaut.”

“Why thank you, my love.” Your lips press against his cheek.

“Let’s go birthday lad, we have to spend time with our crazy family.” You laugh as he takes your son from your arms, fingers entwined with yours as you make your way to the backyard. - The party was a smash. It was an overall great day with your’s and Tommy’s family and a few close friends. You hoped Tom was able to get Lydia to bed because she had a sweet tooth almost as bad as you, knowing someone gave that girl a second piece of cake (John), which was more unnecessary sugar the girl needed in her system, hoping she wouldn’t have a stomach ache from all the treats today.

Atticus enjoyed being passed around, trying cake for the first time, and being more interested in the wrapping paper than the presents. You took enough photos to last a lifetime.

As you rock your son asleep in his rocker you mind couldn’t help but think back to what a year it had really been since he was brought into the world, a miracle really. You couldn’t take your eyes off the photos you would switch out periodically (as you took new ones) around his bedroom. Keeping the same ones you took of him when he was just born, when he arrived home, family photos throughout the year. The images floating in your head. The memories forever imprinted in your mind.

He was born eight weeks early in September.This pregnancy came as a surprise as you and Tommy weren’t expecting to have any more as your hands were full with three kids already. You both weren’t getting any younger.

When you told your husband the news, he took it in stride, telling you how excited he was, despite the chaos of his world around you. All your pregnancies so far were a breeze but this one was stressful. Tommy tried his best to be home, get extra help around the home with the children, and get your older two children to be more helpful when possible.

Your water broke 8 weeks early and you had to have an emergency c-section. Tom was by your side through it all panicking on the inside but putting a brave front on for you. He wheeled you to the NICU to see your small infant son with tubes hooked up to him. Learning how to connect with him through the two small holes of the incubator. That was the start of a journey, for the family.

It definitely put a strain on your marriage of having Tommy balance work, the kids, and taking time visiting the hospital and helping you recover. Both your families provided as much support as possible. The car ride home was nerve wracking having to remember all this information and doing this without the help of the nurses.

Atticus settled in pretty quick to the environment and his siblings who would come to say goodnight to their little brother. It would be hard to sleep during the night with either one of always getting up to check on him, even if he was just sleeping peacefully. He was a little behind his milestones which was to be expected but each step of the way was worth it. He was growing healthily, was able to say little phrases, and was getting closer to walking. He was the calmest out of all your children and easy going.

Your heart was happy to celebrate his first birthday. All your children’s birthdays made you emotional, as you knew they weren’t going to stay young - little - forever. As much as you both wanted them to. This one was the last first birthday you were going to celebrate, as you weren’t planning on having anymore children. Atticus like the rest of your kids were going to grow on their way to independence and need you less and less. You knew you had to let them find their way in this beautiful but cruel world.

“Knew I'd find you in here.” His voice brings comfort to your heart as he whispers to you in the dim lighting across the room, opening the door, just leaving it cracked a bit.

“The rest of the crew are finally to bed and remind me to slap John on the back of his head the next time I spot him for giving Lydia a second piece of cake.” His head shakes with a roll of the eyes as he paces across the floor, to take half a seat on the arm of the rocking chair. You can’t help the smile that plays on your lips.

“Those two are as thick as thieves, poor lad can never say no to her. Spoils her rotten, like the rest of your siblings do to all our kids.” You reply knowing all the Shelby siblings loved all your children equally, each one having similarities to them all, but knew which children brought a weakness or were closer to their uncles/aunt.

It’s quiet for a moment, just the two of you, staring at your sleeping son in your arms. “You know he’s not going anywhere, none of them are. They’re always going to need you, need us. Hell, even I'll need you when I'm old and grey.” His lips peck the top of your head, fingers squeezing your shoulder with gentle reassurance.

He knew you like the back of his hand. His words rang true in your mind and heart, knowing this wasn’t the first time he found you in this spot, with the same thoughts, that come along with parenthood.

You wanted old and grey with Tom, you wanted to believe in it, even though you both knew it wasn’t promised not in his world especially. You were blessed with him thus far, this man aged like fine wine the older he got. You could tell he was getting older in trying to keep up with the energy of the kids, the glasses you adored, and the crow’s feet that was starting to make an appearance.

“I know, just working myself up over the small things. I know we don’t have to worry but I do. Just want to make sure everything will go right. Henry is going to be a teen soon, that boy is too smart for his own good. Lydia is just as stubborn as you are and free-spirited but reminds me of you. Maeve is sweet and our little helper, she’s only just started preschool. Both of them wrapped around your finger in different ways.

I accepted it then in my mind after Maeve but then Atticus came along. I think about the what if’s of that day, the weeks passed, but then I'm reminded of today. How it all feels right and complete. It all goes by so fast, I just want to hold on to this moment, ya know.”

He listens to your continuous thought, walking through it as you speak your mind. You were a deep thinker and took everything to heart because you cared so much. It was the little things that added up. That made life sweeter than the grand things. That was one of the things he loved the most about you, the thing that attracted him from the very beginning of your relationship. He doesn’t miss the quiet tears that release gently out your eyes, the smallness of your wet voice.

He knows what you mean because he has the same thoughts, even though he doesn’t always share them. He has enough nerves for his lifetime and lines in his forehead to prove it.

Henry the eldest reminded him of the earlier years of your relationship. Young, in love, just starting out. The excitement of your first born. He knew after Henry was born, he would do everything in his power to stay alive. He was smart, a leader, and enjoyed spending time with his cousins. He was a younger version of himself, but better. He was glad for it.

Lydia came a few years later and she took his heart when his blue eyes met her brown ones. She was a handful from the start (she was definitely his daughter). She reminded him of Ada in her sass and the mouth on her but also John as she was the child that brought the most laughter and entertainment to the family as she was extroverted. They would enjoy being silly together and tease you to no end.

Maeve was like you in all ways, sweet, loving, and ready to help the best way a 4 year old can. She was a shy girl but was definitely a daddy’s girl. Always searching for him when he was away or would try to sweet talk her way to stay up to see him before bed or read her an extra story. Would make herself comfortable in his home office to play with her toys or find a way to sit on his lap as he did paperwork. She would always ask him the sweetest of things or most serious things, trusting whatever answer left his mouth. He had the hardest time telling her no.

Atticus came as a surprise but in the best of ways. His birth changed something within him. Thomas Shelby wasn’t a religious man by any means, but when he watched his son get wheeled away by the nurses and was watching him through the big glass window the first few hours of his life, he prayed hard for the first time, in a long time, since he was 18. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing a child, let alone losing you.

He remembers your tears as he wheeled you to meet your son for the first time. Him reassuring you and himself, that it was all going to be okay. It was this child that made him slow down the most and rethink his priorities, putting them in check once again. These past two years were hard business and family wise. Managing the logistics of expanding and meetings, risky deals/death threats, raising 4 kids, with two under the age of 5 and in need of constant attention.

Handling the nerves of it all, your/his moods, and the tiffs you both would get in due to sleep deprivation, late nights working, stubbornness on both ends, or just not having a minute alone together or for intimacy. Moments like these, in the quiet night of his home with you and the children at peace made it worth every minute of the day. Made him want to be around even longer, even though it wasn’t necessarily promised.

“I do too love, I know.” His fingers brush the sleeping infant’s cheeks, watching as he snuggles subconsciously closer in your arms. He knew he didn’t have to say much because in that small phrase communicated all you needed to know, to hear. The both you could read one another like a book where it speaks for itself.

“Come let’s get to bed.” He hums, blue eyes shimmering with affection, as his lips turn upward in one of your favorite smiles, reserved just for you. His soft lips press against yours lightly into just a small peck. The pads of his soft fingers, brushing against your wet cheeks to collect this remainder of the tears. He stands to his feet, holding the chair still as you get up to place your son into his crib.

“Goodnight, sweet Atticus. We love you.” You whisper, feeling the warmth of Tommy wrap around your frame, chin resting on your shoulder, fingers tangling together, bands touching as you both stare down at your sleeping son.

You knew that everything was going to be okay. Even though you weren’t going to be celebrating anymore first birthdays in your household, you knew every birthday after would still be as special as the last one. You always made sure of it as you loved celebrating birthdays as much as holidays. You had all you needed within yourself, the man you loved dearly, and the four sleeping children you called your own.

#peaky blinders #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #modern thomas shelby #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #soft tommy #fluff #peaky blinders fanfiction

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peakyswritings · 4 years

Text

The London Air Raids

Requested by: @writerdream22

Based on the song “The London Air Raids” by Vian Izak

Warnings: war

The gif is not mine, credits to the owner

And we sit here so close in the dark

And we're so close to being torn apart

Ever crash I can feel in our foundation

It runs through my veins and I hate the sensation

You sighed as you laid with your back on the tree behind you, the soft breeze lightly ruffled your hair while you looked up at the starless sky, sat on the cold grass. You were away from the city, from the smoke and the fires and the dirt. It was a quiet night. It was unfair, you thought, how peaceful everything was when there’s was nothing to be peaceful about. When so many young lives where about to be broken because of somebody’s hatred, when so many people where mourning their loved ones. When somewhere, in that very moment, thousands of soldiers were fighting to stay alive, to see another day, to come back to their families, without the warranty of actually making it. Yet, the flowers kept on blooming, the wind kept on blowing and the sun kept on rising everyday, unaware of the carnage that didn’t seem to want to reach its end. It was like the earth was mocking you, laughing at men’s foolishness, showing that it didn’t matter how many people died, the world would keep on turning and life would go on, with or without them.

It was definitely unfair.

You turned your head to the guy next to you, trying to memorise every single detail about him, every freckle, every line, the way he frowned, the way his lips curled into a smile. That beautiful smile, would you be able to see it again? To hear his voice, his laugh?

“They say it’ll be over before winter comes” he stated, taking a drag from his cigarette “it won’t last long”

You stayed in silence, not quite knowing what to say. It didn’t change anything, a lot could happen in a couple of months.

“Don’t go” you whispered, hoping that you could change his mind.

“I have to” he affirmed “what kind of man would I be if I didn’t fight for my country?”

You gently stroked his cheek, looking him in his beautiful blue eyes. They were filled with life and spirit and you knew by the look he gave you that nothing could change his mind.

“Promise me that you’ll come back to me”

He placed his hand on the one that rested on his cheek, giving you a soft smile.

“You know I can’t. But I’ll try. I’ll do everything I can to come back to you, it’s a promise.”

But I know that I'm safe here with you

Cause we made it through everything the old and the new

Just wake me up when all this is over

Wake me up and tell me it's not true

“Dance with me” he said as he stood up and held out his hand of you to take it.

“But there’s no music”

“We don’t need it” he suddenly pulled you towards him, making you giggle. He put his hands on your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your heart ached at the thought that that could be your last dance with him. You tried to take in the way he held you, how his hands felt on your waist, how you felt when he was close to you. You placed your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and letting it comfort you. You inhaled his reassuring smell, it was a mixture of soap, whiskey and tobacco. That was the one thing that you knew you would never forget, it didn’t matter how much time passed.

My sweet love watch the air raids

As the streets of London are not safe

And I wish that we could escape

As the beat of the drum keeps on its play

And I long to feel the rain on my face

So I wait, I want the bombs to fade away

Contrary to what people thought, the war didn’t last a few months. It was supposed to be a brief war, but the weeks became months and the months became years. You didn’t spend a day without thinking about your fiancé, about how close he was to death and danger. The thought of him in the trenches, surrounded by mud and blood and destruction kept you from sleeping at night. How could you sleep in your warm bed while he was out in the cold and the rain? Your exchange of letters was slowly decreasing, because it took them a lot to arrive, but you didn’t lose hope. You waited for them like a child waits for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve and you kept them in a box placed on your desk, reading them again when his absence was too much to bear.

Under the bombs, the shooting and the cries of the hurt soldiers, Tommy thought about you. In the middle of chaos and destruction, the photograph that he kept in his pocket was his only comfort. Whenever he felt like it was all too much, like he wanted to give up, he looked at it and your smile gave him the motivation to go through another day. When the cold penetrated his bones, when the noise made him feel like his head was about to explode, when the rudimentary masks weren’t enough to protect him from the toxic gas, when he crawled in the mud, your memory made him go on. When your letters arrived, he ran his fingers on your handwriting, finding comfort in it. You wrote a letter and you sent it to him, it meant that there was still hope.

And the hum of the airplanes is such a sweet sound

As we're coming up from underground

Coming up to see our ruined state

Coming up to see those ruins that you made

And in the east I hear a nation shout

And we wait for the day that we can sing it out

Four years later, the war was finally over. You stood next to Polly, Ada and little Finn at the train station, your heart beating like crazy in your chest while you looked through the flow of people, hoping that the Shelby brothers would make it home safe and sound. Polly sighed with relief as John and Arthur got off the train, walking towards them with her arms open. You hugged the men who were like brothers to you, happy to see them safe and sound, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off the train, waiting for the one person who was missing to show up.

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw his familiar face standing out of the crowd. He didn’t see you right away, the multitude made it difficult to see clearly. It took him a moment to notice you, but when his eyes found yours, it felt like everyone around him disappeared, leaving just the two of you. You literally ran in his arms, holding him like your life depended on it. He tightly wrapped his arms around your waist, closing his eyes and inhaling your scent. You moved away a little to take his face in your hands, looking at him as if you wanted to make sure that it was not just one of your dreams, that he was really there.

“You’re here” you whispered, feeling your eyes starting to well up.

“I’m here” he nodded with a soft smile “and I’m not going anywhere for a long time”

He leaned in and kissed you, gently stroking your cheek. In that moment, everything fell back into place.

My sweet love watch the air raids

As the streets of London are not safe

And I wish that we could escape

As the beat of the drum keeps on its play

And I long to feel the rain on my face

So i wake

Two months later, you finally got married. You were so happy to be together again that you didn’t care if it was rushed. You had been apart for too long, it was time to keep your promises.

The guy who went to France never came back. You could see it in his eyes, that had lost their spark of youthful happiness, you could see it in his smile, that wasn’t as natural as before. His laugh was still the same, but you rarely heard it. Nevertheless, you knew that he was still your Tommy. Sometimes, when it was just you and him, you could see the boy he used to be through a spontaneous laugh, or a sarcastic remark, or a joke.

You saw him the day you got married, when he watched you walk down the aisle arm in arm with your father with tears in his eyes. That day, you promised to stick together for better and for worse, in sickness and in health. You had never realised the importance and the worth of those vows until you found yourself pronouncing them, meaning every single word you were saying. You would always be by each other’s side, no matter what.

Till death would do you apart.

#peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine

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birminghams · 4 years

Text

tragedy ━━ 𝐭. 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲

SUMMARY: with war comes casualties.

“ARE YOU hurt?”

Tommy’s voice is low against the myriad of gunfire that’s raining down on Birmingham, the swell of anger growing in his chest as the scent of gunpowder fills the air. He finds himself resting up against you, shoulder to shoulder as his hands pat down the length of your body, checking for any visible injuries that sent you hurtling to the ground before he’d managed to cushion the fall.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, voice barely audible.

Tommy’s shaking his head, eyes meeting yours and then everything else around you dissolves into nothingness. He pulls you into him, exhales the weight off his chest and uses his hand to press down hard on your side, flinching as you groan in pain.

“I need you to stay still.”

“Tommy—”

“I need you to be quiet for me,” he murmurs then, lips brushing up against your temple. Tommy feels you shiver against him, and he pulls you in closer. “It’ll be over in a second, I promise, but I need you to stay still for me. Can you do that?”

Except Tommy doesn’t wait for a reply.

He calls out to the endless sea of bodies swarming him, to anyone who might hear his pleas, to someone who can help with the ‘fucking hole that’s bleeding out’ but the smell of death seems to linger in his voice. His words start fading into the backdrop of the violence that’s descending on them. The family that’d taken you in as one of their own.

And then there’s blood; there’s so much blood.

It’s on his hands, slipping through his fingers and painting his nails in a harsh red that almost steals a strangled sob straight out of his scratchy throat. He’s clinging to you while the blood gushes out, taking your life with it as it turns the Garrison floor into a horror movie and the world doesn’t seem to stop spinning.

“It’s my blood, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods.

He doesn’t trust his words, so he breathes you in instead.

Everything slows down then, the moments dragging out in a torturous display that’s almost enough to have him begging and pleading to a God that he doesn’t believe in. He can feel you visibly weakening against his skin, body slumping against his frame as you fight against the welcoming darkness offering you a peaceful transition into the next step; into a universe that will no longer let you exist alongside him.

“How bad is it, Tommy?”

But then the smell hits you, and it crumbles like a tragedy.

It’s sickeningly harsh, the metallic tang lingering in the dense air, the lightly rusted iron permeating through the gaps in your ribcage: a scent that’s consuming your brittle bones into something that resembles a nightmare neither one of you can wake from. Tommy can’t breathe against the stench of it as it settles itself on his sternum, choking him every time his lungs beg for release. Instead, he focuses on you and the way you smile at him, honing in on the simple fact that this might be the last time he’ll see the dimples in your cheeks and the last time he’ll hear you inhale to exhale again.

It breaks and then mends and shatters again.

If he could trade places with you, he’d do it.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, but he’s not sure what the platitude is for, and it’s too empty to fill the space between you. “I’m so fucking sorry. It’s not meant to be like this. Not you. It should have never been —”

“Tommy, that you?”

John appears over his shoulder then, face grim with blood smeared over his cheeks. He’s observing the way Tommy’s shielding your body with his own and then it’s pretty easy to pinpoint the exact moment his gaze falls on the gaping wound, the blood pouring out faster than your body can replace it. He’s at your side within seconds, pulling off his shirt and placing it underneath Tommy’s hand; the same hand that’s holding your insides into the confines of your body instead of on the ground as they should be.

“It won’t fucking stop.”

“Tommy—”

“Why won’t it fucking stop?”

“Shit,” John replies, fingertips brushing the stray hairs out of your face as you turn away from him. He tries not to flinch when he notices that his shirt is no longer white like it’s supposed to be—now it’s a dark red that’s dripping with blood—and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. “How the fuck did you get hit?”

“I never did know how to stay out of trouble.”

Tommy breathes out a laugh, but it’s too forced, too fake, too unlike himself. “I told you to stay inside.”

“I thought I could help. I didn’t know how to before—”

“Someone better find Polly and get fucking Ada over here. We need fucking help, there’s so much blood, and no, no, no,” Tommy cuts himself off, turning back to you as you start to drift off in his arms. He gently shakes your body, stirring as he stills against the dark backdrop of his worst nightmare brought to life. “Fuck no, come on, you gotta keep those eyes open for us. I need you to stay awake for a little bit longer.”

“Tommy,” you exhale in a slow breath; “I’m so tired.”

“I know,” he murmurs, “but don’t close your eyes.”

It’s like this: Tommy’s holding you close, his heart beating erratically against his ribcage. It’s echoing in his ears; the only reminder that this is his reality; that you are dying in his arms and there’s nothing he can do about it. He thinks about praying for salvation. About trading his sins for your life. It doesn’t occur to him that he’s not religious. All he cares about is the fact that you’re dying in his arms and all he can do is watch as your life slips away.

“I always thought of myself as a burden.”

He shakes his head. “How can —?”

It’s an unspoken revelation that falls into the short space between where your bodies rest and an admission that occupies the pause before his next heartbeat. He watches as your chest rises and then falls with each breath you struggle to draw in. His hands are still coated in blood; rust smeared against his pale skin as he hooks his fingertips around yours.

“It was before Grace.”

He doesn’t ask any questions.

He’s not sure he really needs to. He remembers the baby-faced charmer that followed the Blinders around, questioning everything, flirting with him at every chance. He’d asked around about you; found out the history behind the wit that dripped from your lips, about your siblings, parents. He’d been wary of allowing a stranger to blend into the family folds of the Shelby clan, but he was outvoted before he had the chance to object.

“Did you really try and dig up dirt on me?”

He shrugs; as if it’s a given, saying, “I protect my family.”

It’s an acknowledgement that you hadn’t adequately confirmed until now. It’s been a few months since your parents called you up claiming a strange man had been questioning them about you in regards to a job you’d apparently applied for; someone who wore a cap and had eyes that brought a chill to their bones. He’d found your skeletons, but gone was the arrogant, selfish man determined to belittle you in front of everyone.

He was no longer concerned with driving you out.

“Are you —?”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

He doesn’t reply at first.

It’s unexpected; unwarranted. He keeps his gaze firmly locked on the wound that’s still continually bleeding against the palm of his hand, the warm ichor taking inches of your life with it and all he can do is let it. He can’t save you. There’s this weight on this chest; something he hasn’t felt since Grace. He wants to indulge in the fantasy of what-ifs, but there’s no time for that now.

Not when his heart is breaking all over again.

Not when he can feel you slipping away.

“Would you stay with me?”

He chokes back his emotions with a small cough, leaning down to press his lips against your cheek. He can’t bring himself to kiss you on the lips, not yet, not when he can’t be sure that this is what you want, not when he can’t be sure that you’ll make it.

“Always.”

But your lips are turning blue; skin growing paler as the gunfire amplifies into a crescendo before it fades into a silence that’s almost as deafening. It consumes you until Polly is suddenly pushing her body through the small gap in the crowd, Ada hot on her heels and the rest of the Blinders surrounding you in a circle, all of them wishing for a miracle as you lie in a pool of your own blood.

“I love you,” you say again.

It sounds too much like a goodbye.

“No, no, no,” Tommy retorts quickly, voice breaking under the strain of his own emotions. “Don’t you know it’s me that loves you? Don’t you know that?”

Polly grits her teeth; barking orders.

Her voice is muffled like she’s underwater. Her hands reach out for you, but you can’t feel it. The numbness has spread too quickly, paralysing you as the fear and grief starts to mount. Limbs heavy, heart racing, it’s easy to let your eyes fall shut.

“Tommy?”

He doesn’t move; he can’t.

It’s Grace all over again. He couldn’t save her, either. Everyone who gets too close seems to leave him in the end, and he doesn’t learn his lesson. His heart should be locked away; never to see the light of day again. At least then the ones closest to him will be safe; guarded against stray bullets; guarded against him.

“I need you to move,” Polly murmurs, hand on his shoulder. “If you don’t; I won’t be able to help.”

It takes John to pull him away.

His white shirt is ruffled, soaked in blood. He can feel it sticking to his skin as John guides him to a few feet away, shrouded in the shadows as Polly and Ada get to work on stopping the bleeding. His chest is aching, heart heavy as his eyes meet Arthur’s; his brother is crestfallen, crumbling at the sight of his your body at his feet. Tommy never did quite understand the friendship you shared with Arthur; you didn’t have anything in common and yet, in his darkest hours, Arthur leaned on you.

Arthur is the first to look away.

“I can’t go through this again,” Tommy admits, voice hoarse. “Not again.”

Burying Grace was hard.

Watching you die is even worse.

He can’t tear his eyes away from where you’re laying on the floor, Polly leaning over you as Ada continues the chest compressions, pumping a flicker of life back into you. His body feels oddly light; like it doesn’t belong to him. It’s an out of body experience: one that separates the tragedy from reality.

“It’s me that loves her.”

John rests a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know.”

“It’s me that fucking loves her. It’s me that—”

He falters as Ada crumbles, her hands falling away from your chest. She doesn’t start the compressions again. Polly guides her to Arthur’s open arms; quickly resuming in her fight to save your life. One minute blends into the next and it feels like a lifetime before Polly turns to him, too, face void of hope, shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Don’t fucking stop! Don’t fucking —”

Polly’s across the room within seconds. “Tommy.”

“Don’t fucking make me lose her too!”

Polly reaches up, taking his face between her hands. It’s gentle, tender; where she loses herself in the sorrow clouding his bright blue eyes, haunted by the agony, death and grief that surrounds him. Tommy is rarely the first one to break eye-contact, but this time is not like the others. This time he pulls back before Polly can see the silent tears his body is beginning to shed.

“Tommy.”

The familiar urge to run is clawing at him; turning him inside out. It’s silent now, a weird sort of disquiet that rests heavily on him, making it harder to hear the rough, haggard breathing stealing the remaining energy from you. He blinks, once, twice, hoping that it’s another nightmare he can wake up from, a phantom fear that’ll disappear and take this hurt with it.

“Tommy,” you whisper.

He’s at your side within a second, hands gripping onto you. He’s drowning, and you’re his anchor, except the anchor is never meant to break, not like this. Never like this. He’s resting his forehead against yours: he whispers platitudes that Tommy doesn’t believe in, but it’s the only thing he can think of to calm you down. It’s dark out; stars blinking against the blanket night sky, fog hanging low as his world implodes.

“Tommy,” you murmur again, falling limp.

Then all he can do after that is watch how your trembling hands finally stop shaking.

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #mine

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aerynwrites · 4 years

Text

Stardust

Cassian Andor x Reader Soulmate!AU

Author’s Note: Why do I do this to myself? I almost cried writing this you guys, I am upset lol. I hope you guys like this bc I was so inspired to write this for whatever reason, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Character death, angst, lots of emotional turmoil, that’s it.

////

You had never met your soulmate.

Even though you had lived your entire life feeling all of their pain, their heartache, everything, you had never met them. You surmised from the countless bruises that appeared and the random bouts of pain that you recieved that they had a very active and apparently dangerous lifestyle - but you had no idea who they were. You didn’t know if it was a man or a woman, if they had dark hair or light, what they looked like, what they sounded like...it was all unknown to you.

So why did it hurt so much when they died?

You had been carrying the crop from your garden into your small home when you felt it. It started out as just a deep heartache, that for some reason slowly ebbed away until it was replaced by a terrible fiery pain all over. You dropped the basket in your hands, the pain bringing you to your knees before it was gone in an instant, replaced by something even worse than all the pain you had felt over the years.

There was nothing. Your soulmate was gone.

Your kind elderly neighbor, a woman named Ada who had basically been your mother since your parents had passed, heard your wails of anguish from her home. But even she could not console you as you screamed at the stars. You weren’t even thirty years old and already you had experienced the worst thing anyone ever will - the loss of your other half. Your mind went numb, you had never felt something this powerful in your short lifetime, something this life altering - aching so deep your bones seemed to hurt as Ada forced you from the ground and into your home. Everything was a blur, hidden and misconstrued by the utter anguish in your soul. You think the kind woman had tried to say something, ask what was going on, but you didn’t answer. You couldn’t past the tears burning your cheeks and the sobs ripping from your throat. The next thing you knew, you were in bed, curled in tightly on yourself with the blankets pulled up around your shoulders as you continued to wail into the pillow beneath you. You didn’t even know how much time had passed - seconds? Minutes? Hours?

The only thing your foggy mind seemed to register was that you needed sleep. That and an unfamiliar faint whisper as you fell into a fitful slumber.

‘I’m so sorry.’

***

It had been a couple of days since they died. And instead of things getting even slightly better, they just seemed to get worse. You felt empty since the moment you woke up, a part of you was missing after all, but even though you felt empty on the inside, you had the eerie feeling of not being alone. Every step you took around your small cottage, you felt watched - but not only that, things were...off. The first day after you woke up, you hadn’t left the bed, you didn't have the physical or emotional energy to do so. Yet, despite knowing you were the only one in your home, it’s like you could feel another presence. You tried to brush it off, excuse it as your mind trying to find some way of coping with this complete and utter loss you didn’t know how to deal with. But when you got up the following day and noticed small things were out of place, you didn’t really know what to do.

It went on like this for almost a week, you trying to cope with the fact that you would never meet your other half, along with these strange events. Sometimes you would walk into the living area, only to see your history books open and splayed out on the coffee table. Then the next moment you would be in the garden and you would hear footsteps next to you, like someone was walking through the foliage, only to turn and see no one there. But it all came to a head when you were awoken in the middle of the night - the first time you had managed to finally get some sleep - to the sounds of loud thuds and crashes coming from your living room. You leapt from your bed, and rushed into the room, shocked to see all of your books ripped from their shelves and tossed onto the floor. But the thing that set you off, that finally pulled at your last shred of sanity, was the photo album that lay open in the middle of it all. One of the pages floating back in its place slowly - as if someone had been leafing through the pages of memorabilia. You all but stomped over to the messy pile in the middle of the room, kneeling down to look at where the pages of the album had stopped moving, seeing only you and your parents smiling faces looking up at you. You felt a new wave of tears spill over and down your cheeks as you clutched at the book desperately, as if it would somehow ground you.

“What do you want?” you cry, looking up from the book and around your empty home, “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

You didn’t expect a response, you knew that you were most likely crazy, seeing these things - these figments of your imagination as a way of trying to cope with what had happened. So, when you finally turned to look in front of you once more, you let out a small scream when you saw a figure standing there. You flung yourself backwards onto your butt, hands reaching out behind you to catch yourself as you took in the intruder in your living room. He was tall, taller than you at least, and he looked like he had just fought a war. His dark hair was mussed, he had several cuts and scrapes on his face, and his clothing - a beige shirt and dark pants and boots - were covered in dirt and had holes in them. But the thing that struck you the most, was that you could see right through him. It's like he was a vision, something here but not quite all the way, as you could see your dining room table through his figure.

“Where am I?” the figure asked, his voice snapping you from your observation and instead bringing you back to the first night this all started.

‘I’m so sorry’ - The words ring in your ears as this stranger repeats his question in the same voice that spoke those words to you a week ago.

“Hey!” his voice bites, the snapping of his fingers making you focus on him again, “Tell me where I am? How did I get here?” His voice was sharp, his accent unfamiliar to you, yet you find a small sense of calm wash over you as he barks his questions.

You sit up slightly, never taking your eyes from him as you finally speak, “You’re on Kaith,” you say simply, voice weak after days of disuse.

The man shakes his head, “I’ve never heard of it,” he says flatly.

“It’s a small planet...on the outer rim,” you offer quietly, watching as he seemingly mulls over the information.

You take this moment of silence to speak up once more, you feel like you know this man, despite never having seen him in your life. He just feels…. familiar.

“What’s your name?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper as you gaze up at him.

You see him open his mouth to answer, before it snaps shut, a look of complete and utter confusion taking over his features as he looks about the room frantically before his eyes return to you, “I don’t know,” he breathes.

And then he’s gone.

***

It’s a few more days before your unexpected house guest shows himself again. Things had been calmer since he had shown up, less things moving around and such. You supposed he was too busy trying to remember who he was. You had rushed over to Ada’s house the day after he had appeared, stumbling over your words as you tried to explain what had happened. She didn’t say much, just listened to you while holding your hand and giving you a knowing look the entire time. She didn’t tell you much after you had finished either, just telling you some cryptic line about how you should be open to this and try to communicate. You had left her house more confused than before but opted to try and talk to the strange apparition again.

But he beat you to it.

“Cassian.”

You gasped as the voice reached your ears, breaking the silence of your home as you were cutting up vegetables for dinner. You dropped the knife and turned around at the sound of the familiar voice, seeing the same man as before standing a few feet away from you in the small space of your kitchen. He looks slightly different this time around. He was still transparent, his clothes were still tattered, and his face was still scuffed up, but his hair was neatly styled, combed to the side. He was looking at you intently, hands in his pockets as he waited for you to say something.

“What?” was all you managed to get out.

He chuckled slightly, and you tried to ignore the butterflies it created in your belly, before he spoke up once more, “My name,” he said, “It’s Cassian.”

You nod your head slowly, taking in the information for a moment before gaining the courage to speak again. You tell him your name, taking notice of the small smile that graces his lips as he repeats it, telling you it’s nice to officially meet you.

“Why are you here?” you blurt out, your curiosity getting the better of you, “I just want to understand.”

You see Cassian go stiff for a moment, before letting out a breath, running his hand through his neatly styled hair, “I don’t know,” he admits, “I don’t even know how I got here - I don’t understand what’s happening,” he sounds desperate now, confusion and panic lacing his words, “When I’m here, with you, it feels real - but then when I’m not it feels like a dream, like I’m floating in space,” he tries to explain.

You watch as he takes a few steps towards you closing the distance and you can really see the panic in his eyes, as he tries to find reasoning behind what’s happening, “Am I dead? Is this a dream? Please, you have to he-”

And then it’s like his voice is carried away in the wind along with him. You blink, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened, why this stranger just keeps appearing and disappearing out of thin air. Why he’s appearing to you, why he’s appearing at all. But you can’t seem to come up with an answer. At least not right now.

***

You’re crying when he appears again.

Curled up in your bed as the emptiness in your chest takes over once again. Since your soulmate died, you’ve had good days and bad, usually more bad than good - but today was especially tough for some reason. You had woken up from a dream cheeks damp with your tears as your mind haunted you with flashes of your soulmate even though you had never met them - but what had made it even more confusing was that it was Cassian’s face that kept appearing in your dreams. You hadn’t moved from your bed the rest of the day, alternating between waking moments filled with tears and grief, and sleeping moments mercifully filled with nothing but inky blackness.

Cassian had appeared in one of the waking moments.

You were surprised slightly when you felt a gentle sensation on your ankle, you looked down to see Cassian sitting at the foot of your bed, hand ghosting across your ankle in a comforting gesture. You also noticed that he looked different again, his clothes looked brand new, his hair was styled, but he still had the scrapes dusted along his forehead and cheekbone - and he was still transparent.

“Why do you cry so much?” he asks softly, eyes filled with concern as he gazed at you.

Part of you didn’t know if you wanted to tell him what was wrong, the rational part of you telling yourself that you didn’t know this man. But a smaller part of you, a part that you couldn’t really explain told you that you did know him. You could trust him - you were connected somehow.

“My soulmate died,” you whispered, bottom lip wobbling as you forced the words out.

Something flashed in Cassian’s eyes, a flicker of emotion you couldn’t quite catch before it disappeared and he spoke once more, “Were you together for long?”

You looked away from him then, shaking your head and wiping at the stray tears that fell from your eyes, “I hadn’t even met them yet,” you confess, “but I felt it when they died - and it’s like a part of me died too.”

You bring your eyes back to the man at the end of your bed and you take in a deep breath, “Did you have a soulmate?” you ask quietly, voice barely a whisper, yet Cassian heard it with ease.

That one question seemed to confirm the thought you both had. You said did - past tense. Cassian was dead. The one thing he had feared since he had shown up in your home. But despite his fear at this revelation, he doesn’t disappear, he tries to stay - for you.

So he shakes his head, “I mean I think I did,” he begins, “But I hadn’t met mine either,” he admits, his gaze falling to something in the distance as a wistful look crosses his features.

You speak up one last time, “What’s your last name?” you blurt, bringing his attention back to you, “You told me your first name, but never your last.”

A small smile graces his lips, and for the first time since he’s started appearing to you, you see him start to fade away slowly. You sit up quickly, afraid he’s going to leave again without answering your question but as he finally fades from sight, a light whisper and warm breath fans over your ear.

“Andor”

***

You sat in your garden, staring at your holopad, the information on one, Captain Cassian Jeron Andor staring back up at you. This is why you wanted his last name, to see if you could find out who he was, what he was doing here, and if you could help him. However, the more you read, the more things started to make sense, and it confirmed your fleeting thoughts since the day your soulmate had died. The fact that Cassian showed up when he did corresponded with his date of death and your soulmates, the event starting on that day you lost your other half, neither of you having met your soulmate...it all made sense now.

Cassian Andor - Rebel pilot and intelligence officer, hero of the rebellion who valiantly gave his life for the rebellion in order to save the galaxy - was your soulmate.

“I’m sorry,” the familiar voice appeared again.

This time you didn’t flinch, but as you looked over at him, sitting cross-legged next to you in your small garden, you couldn’t help the surprise that you felt. He looked good. Even though you had acknowledged long ago that he was handsome, you could really see it now. It looked like he had never seen battle at all, he was clean, no cuts or scrapes, clean clothes...and most shockingly, he was solid. You couldn’t see through him like before. It was like he was right here with you, and maybe, the fates were being merciful and giving you one real moment with the half you lost.

You set the holopad off to the side, opting instead to reach over to him slowly, afraid that one wrong move and you would lose him all over again. But as he met you halfway, his larger hand enveloping your much smaller one, you knew you would get this last moment with him.

You couldn’t help the tears that fell when you felt the warmth coming off of him, or the smell of blaster fire and spice that invaded your senses. You took in a shuddering breath as he pulled you into him, his own warm tears dampening your shirt as he tucked his face into the crook of your neck.

“I know this is crazy,” you gasp, “But I love you Cassian Andor.”

Cassian pulled away from you at your words, cradling your face in his hands and wiping away your tears, “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, “I was selfish.”

Despite your tears, you let out a small chuckle, “I think sacrificing yourself for the good of the galaxy isn’t selfish Cassian.”

But he shakes his head, “But I didn’t even think about you - about us,” he insists.

You place one of your hands over his own that's still resting on your cheek, “What’s done is done,” you say quietly, “I still love you, no matter what.”

Cassian doesn’t respond, his eyes just dance across your features, aware that this may be the last time he gets to see you, before he’s pulling you to him, sealing his lips to yours. Your hands come up to his cheeks, resting there gently relishing in the feeling of the scruff under your fingertips. Your tears mix with his where your lips meet as you both pour all of your emotion into one single action. You can feel his hands drop from your face down to your waist griping at you desperately.

“I love you too,” the whispers against your lips, breath warm as it fans over you.

Your words come out in a whimper, “Cassian-” and you open your eyes, more tears spilling over as you are met with empty space, the smell of Gunsmoke and spice lingering in the air where he was just moments ago.

Cassian’s gone.

///

Also i know Cassian isn’t force sensitive or whatever so like technically he couldn’t appear as a ghost in canon but i just wanted angst okay xD. so please ignore that small detail.

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Tags that expressed interest in the one-shot: @rzrcrst @ariespedro @onebatch--twobatch @fangirl-and-stuff @ginger-swag-rapunzel @treestarrrrrrrr

#cassian andor x reader #Captain cassian andor x reader #Rogue one x reader #cassian andor #rogue one #diego luna

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romeulusroy · 4 years

Text

Inheritance (Shelby!Reader × Peaky Blinders Oneshot)

Character/s: Arthur, Thomas, John, Ada, Finn

Word Count: 1,393

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomrecs @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan @captivatedbycillianmurphy @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87

A/N: I'm feeling insecure about writing and when I do, the only thing that helps is to write, even if it's god awful lol. I started with the first paragraph, just writing whatever, and it turned into this. I had plans for a completely different fandom/fic tonight, which I hope to post sometime this week. I'm sure this frustration will pass, it's just hard to get through. I feel like a mess with everything. I know its probably just the stress of school, and family, and August coming so soon. June lasted years, but July was gone in a second. Still trying to wind down from the panic I've gotten myself into. Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Gif Credit: @eylins :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

You want to believe you're different from them. That your words, your writing, your work is anymore extraordinary, that somehow the thoughts in your head have not been repeated through history, stamped from one cracked skull to the next. You want to believe your eyes have seen something more, something hidden, that the trees deeply rooted, there long before your birth, and around after you're gone, have not witnessed the same blue birds or soft, summer storms. You think, for an instance, that there us a separation in what makes you you and them them. That the loneliness in your gut, the screams and cries gurgling in your throat, that this pain layered beneath every cell in your body somehow draws a line between you and them. Making you human where they are not. Giving you feeling where they lack. You hoped, and prayed, by some miracle, that whatever it was that created you wasn't in anyone else. Foolish and young, too naive for your own good. Where they bled you bruised. Where you collapsed they stood like stone. You could stare down the same Devil and see two fraternal beings, both wearing a wicked smile.

The funny thing is, you were more like them than you could ever tell.

Passed down from generation to generation, kept warm and safe cupped into two hands. The anger. Dangerous, bloody, boiling. Pricking beneath your skin like bees, tinging, numbing the sharp things that tore through it. It made your gums bleed, hateful words like knives sling your mouth up through and through. A sickening, twisted laughter bubbling, bursting out of you before you have half a mind to stop it. It made you cold, invincible, scowling at the earth beneath your feet and the sky above, somewhere in the middle this god everyone turns to in their time of need. He never showed up for you, though, instead hiding. From you, and from Arthur. The fire in your veins, swollen by gasoline blood and matches for breakfast. Your big brother caught fire with the slightest annoyance. Cagey, unyielding, a force that tore through him until he let it all out. A corrosive being stripping him of skin and bone, making man into monster. You too had been subjected to stares and glares, deemed more weapon than person. A hazard, too dangerous to be around. One more thing you had to watch out for, the bitterness in that Shelby blood.

That anger seething, turning in on itself. Imploding. Not wanting to hurt others, you hurt yourself. Bit the bad end of a barrel, a bullet sitting on your tongue, the broken bits of a bottle. You liked the way you felt when the only thing standing between you and that dark abyss of an end was yourself. That sense of control, of power, came too few times. A high you tried took chase as much as you could in this big messed up world. Hold these standards of yourself on your shoulders only took be crushed beneath them. Falling into a pit of all the things you bottled up and kissed goodbye, setting each jar on the shelf with its own special label. Grief. Guilt. Greed. Building up walls around you, a tomb to crumble in, afraid to let the rest of the world there were feelings beneath your cold complexion. Tommy always had a way of locking things up and never letting them see the light of day. Learning from the best, you guessed. Let them see your pain, your weakness, and it would be used against you. Weaponized. You couldn't survive another loss.

Boarded up, an abandoned home needing someone to crawl in and make it their own. Tidy up the place, see the potential you had beneath those rotten floors and broken bricks, chipped paint and peeling wood. A want, a need, an ache to be wanted, to be loved and accepted. John never could stand on his own, never wanting to face a bed half empty. Tripping over himself, falling too easy for the next set of wandering eyes and slim legs. He loved like no one else. And you did, too. Unrequited. Given the slightest bit of acceptance, lead into another persons word by free drinks and shameless flirting. You wanted to find the one, your other half, the same way he had, once believing the only way he could ever feel whole was with someone by his side. There was someone out there for everyone, there had to be. You weren't sure how much longer you could live so alone. Part of you wanted to think it was a lie, something you'd grow out of eventually, but John never seemed to, and you'd followed that path too far to turn back.

One day, you hoped, despite the anger, the walls, someone would find you, and love you regardless. You hoped for a lot of things. For the rain to stop and the clouds to clear. For the fog of your thoughts to disappear. For this life to be a little easier for everyone. Forgiving, motherly, nurturing, it's sharp edges dulled. To one day find your way out of all this, start fresh, start new, the potential of a freshly healed scar. Your sister had a way of whispering things in your ear, feeding into these delusions. She too wanted something more from what she saw everyday. Lost in a dream world she crested for herself. Often it was the only thing that kept you going, kept you upright. Eyes burning, sobs choking, too fragile for this world, you wanted to crawl inside the one you made from scratch and never leave. Ada told stories, too young to tell the difference between reality and imagination, her spirits high, embedding itself within your bones. The Shelby's were nothing without their dreams, their drive, their want for a perfect world just out of reach.

Without dreams, there was only dread. Fear of the future, the past, the footsteps you'd one day have to follow because that's what was expected of you. Stand tall, gun in hand, vertebrae stacked atop one another. There was no looking down, no flinching. If you weren't the best you weren't anyone. Turn a blind eye to the bad, to the meek, step on anyone who ever got in your way. Placed on a pedestal with broken knees. The baby, the one you helped raise, from cradle to grave. Never seen a second war, thrust into the one your brothers brought home. You both were. The lurch in your belly at the thought of so much red on your hands, of grief being associated with your name. You couldn't bear the thought of taking another soul from this world. Finn jumped at the pop of a gun, cringing at the cries of others. They could get used to it. Desensitized to it. But the both of you? This was new, and scary, and you were sure the softness they'd lost too long ago still lived inside you. The guilt they forgot chewed you alive, haunting your dreams. They could do as they pleased, but you couldn't. You refused to be as destructive as the rest of your siblings.

As much as you wanted to keep your distance, make some definition between you and them, there was too much of them inside you. Their faces staring back at you in the mirror. The sorrow, the hurt, the hate, the ups and downs of a life like yours, like theirs, there was no escaping it. You could run, but you could never hide. Like a shadow, it clung to your soles, dragged across the cobblestone. Escape however you wanted, however you pleased, there was only one thing all of you had in common: no matter how much you tried, no matter how hard you talked yourself into denial, that Shelby blood was a particular kind poison only the worst would become accustomed to. Try as you might, the thoughts, the feelings, all of it would follow you. Stepping on your heels. Breaking down you'd doors. It would bleed when you did, and dream with you, and hide deep within the cage of your ribs when you were too ashamed to admit it. You were of them. Always had been, always would be, no matter how much you prayed you were different.

#writing #peaky blinders #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders fic #x reader #x shelby reader #shelby reader #drabble #oneshot #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #arthur shelby #john shelby #ada shelby #finn shelby #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral #x gender neutral reader

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merakiaes · 4 years

Text

See You On The Other Side - John Shelby

Pairing: John Shelby x reader

Requested: No.

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: A bit of angst maybe? Idk hahah. This is something I had lying around in my drafts. I haven’t been able to do any requests today because I’ve been busy with my family, and I’ve also had a migraine sooo yeah, this is the best I can do today xD Not read through, but I hope you like it xx

Wordcount: 1982

Summary: A letter to John.

I remember the first time I looked into your eyes and felt my entire world flip, the first time I saw you smile, and knew that I was in trouble.

I had been across the room, tangled up in my own imagination, when came up to me. By the time you had said hello, we had already spent a lifetime together, and from the moment we started talking I knew that I wanted you around.

I knew right away that you were it for me. There were no reservations or second thoughts, I saw you and in an instant knew in my bones, my soul had known your soul lifetimes ago.

I had never experienced such a true and genuine state of happiness until I met you. Every day, I woke up with a smile on my lips, wondering what trouble you were going to get us into today.

I was there for all of it, the countless of scoldings from Arthur, the cuffs around the back of our heads from Pol and running from the coppers whenever you thought it wise to steal me a bouquet of flowers from old Anderson’s flower shop.

It’s those memories I treasure the most. The times we would go on midnight walks, kiss under the starry sky or in front of the fire, and wake up in each other’s arms would leave my chest and stomach fluttering with butterflies, too.

But it was when you were up to no good that you were truly yourself. Truly free. If only you knew how much those little moments with you mattered to me, how treasured they are.

It’s two in the morning when I write this. I can’t sleep, because I miss you so much. I miss you so much it physically pains me, just like I did last night, and just like I will tomorrow when I wake up without you. Again.

Polly, your brothers, and the kids help me through it. God, you should see them, John. They’re growing so much, so fast, and they look more and more like you for every day that passes.

Every time I look into their eyes, it both pains me and makes me feel all warm inside. They’ve got your eyes, all of them. Your deep, sparkling Shelby blue eyes. The very same ones I fell for.

They miss you, too, but they’re doing good. Better than me, at least. I guess it’s because they’re not really old enough to know what’s going on.

Katie and Harry understand the situation for what it is, but they’re still too young to really be able to grasp the seriousness of it. And Isabelle, Mia, Eric, Noah and Nick don’t understand it at all.

They don’t understand why you’re not coming home at night, why you’re not there to help them get ready in the mornings.

And even though I know it’s wrong of me to keep them in the dark, I can’t bring myself to tell them the truth when they come home from school every day with notes and drawings for you. It would break their little hearts and I can’t bear the thought of them feeling like this.

Katie and Harry write you letters, to back up my lies and make them more believable for the others, and all of it has just been piling up at the back of the wardrobe, stored away behind your clothes behind the loose wooden panel where you used to hide the cigars you told me you quit countless of times.

I bet you didn’t know I knew about that, huh?

The truth is, I always knew. I could smell it on your clothes and hands every night when you came home, no matter how much you tried to hide it with soap and cologne. That, and Harry came and told me the second he had caught you and you had made him promise not to tell me.

He truly is a mommy’s boy at heart. I always tried telling you.

But Katie was your girl. Everyone misses you, but she’s taken it the hardest.

I gave her the locket you gave me for our two year anniversary. The one with the picture of you and me on our wedding day. The only time she takes it off is when she sleeps, but even then, she never lets go of it.

She stopped wetting the bed, though, and she’s doing great in school. Harry, Isabelle, Mia, and Eric are, too, and all of them like math the best, just like you did.

Nick just learned how to write his name. He writes the ‘K’ backward, but he still learned earlier than the others. I’ve been teaching him a few short words myself, and I’ve started to teach Finn how to read.

He misses you really much. He blames himself. I don’t know why. He had nothing to do with what happened. But then again, I guess there’s no logic in grief.

He’s grown up a lot, both mentally and physically. He’s taller than all of your brothers now, and he’s added some muscle by boxing. But he’s still the same, sweet boy he was when you left.

He tries to be hard, though. He drinks, smokes, fights, takes drugs, and he’s been seeing prostitutes and taking on a much bigger part in the Peaky Blinders.

God, he tries so hard to be you. But every time he even comes close, he breaks down again, and every time that happens, he comes here.

He’s been staying over at our house more often than he’s home this past year, but I’m not complaining. He helps out around the house, keeps his cousins happy and occupied while I get the things I need to do done, and in return, he gives me something else to think about.

Polly says he feels your presence through me and the kids. She tells me they all do.

They’ve all been coming around for dinner every Sunday, and I have to sit in your chair every time. It makes me dizzy because I feel your presence stronger there than anywhere else. But I have no choice because Noah starts crying if anyone else even comes near it.

Those dinners are the only time during the weeks that I’m able to get my thoughts off of you, but it doesn’t last forever.

The minute they’re gone and the kids are asleep, I’m alone again, and being alone was never this hard before I met you.

Ada’s been trying to set me up with other men, but I can’t even bring myself to imagine giving my heart away to someone else.

I know that, when we thought you were going to be hanged for blowing up the train, you said that you wanted me to move on and be happy when you were gone.

I know that was your last request. Your dying wish. But I just can’t honor it.

When it comes down to it, you’re the only one I want. You’re the only one I can imagine myself with. Your hands are the only hands I want to hold, your lips are the only lips I ever want to kiss. You’re the only one I think about when a love song comes on the radio and the very last thought running through my head before I drift off to sleep. You’re the absolute only person I could ever see myself happy with.

I won’t ever be able to move on from you, because no amount of time, distance, nothing could separate us. Because I know that we were right, that we were real, that you’ll be waiting for me among the stars, and that I’ll come to find you again when I’m ready.

I just want to go back. To the time before it was too late.

There were a million things I wanted to say to you, but goodbye was not one of them. But even a million words will not bring you back, and neither will a million tears. I know because I’ve tried and I’ve cried. God knows I’ve cried.

I think of you every night before I fall asleep. The words you said. The way you looked. The things we laughed about, the silent moments we shared. And when I dream, I dream of you. Because it’s about you, it’s always about you.

I wish I could see you one more time, see you come walking through the door, so that I can say goodbye the way that I wanted. But I know that’s impossible because I realize if I got my way, I’d never say goodbye at all.

Today is the three year anniversary of the day that I lost you. And for a time it felt as though my life had ended too.

But the loss of you has taught me many things and now I face each day with hope and happy memories to help me on my way. And even though I’m full of sadness that you’re no longer by my side, your influence still guides me and I still feel you near.

I found a picture of you that I hadn’t seen in a while yesterday. I held it in my hands, lost for a moment in your smile.

It made me cry, but for the first time, not out of sadness. I cried from happiness because I knew that wherever you are now, I know in my heart that you’re still laughing and smiling like it’s your last day alive.

Rather than grieving that what we once had is now gone, I realize how truly lucky I am to have had something that makes saying goodbye this hard, and I smiled through my tears. A genuine smile, as I thanked God for the memories you’ve given us.

What we shared will never die. It lives within my heart, bringing me strength and comfort while we are apart. And I know that we will one day be together again.

I hope that you can see me, see us, and know that you’ll never be forgotten, that we’ll hold on until the day we get to see you again. Because there’s no one like you, John Shelby, and there will never be another that we can love like we did you.

I love you. It will only ever be you. As long as I live, as long as I breathe, with every beat of my heart, I will be yours and yours only, because you’re my forever. Forever my forever.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

You felt the warm, salty tears sting your eyes as you gazed upon the letters engraved into the gray, smooth stone; seventeen letters that built the name of the man who had changed your life forever.

Your legs were aching from having crouched down for so long, but you couldn’t be bothered to care, the violent thudding of your heart and the flurry of thoughts running through your brain pushing away everything else.

When a careful hand clasped down on your shoulder from behind, you flinched, the light touch bringing you back to reality and forcing you to blink the tears of your eyes.

“It’s time to say goodbye, love.” Polly spoke from behind you in a soft, careful tone, giving your shoulder another squeeze.

You swallowed, giving the stone another long look before finally pushing yourself back up into your full height.

Sniffling, you reached down and shakily put the flowers in front of the stone, tucking the letter you had written only hours before behind them to shield it from the rain.

Straightening yourself up, you shook your head. “No. It’s not goodbye. It’ll never be goodbye. It’s simply a ‘see you later’.” You said and finally smiled, because you knew deep in your heart, that you would see him at the other side of the stars.

#John Shelby #john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blidners #peaky blinders headcannon #finn shelby #tommy shelby #arthur shelby #ada thorne #ada shelby #thomas shelby #polly gray #michael gray

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hovercraft79 · 4 years

Text

Don’t Cry Out Loud

Chapters: 1

Word Count: 8,093

Fandom: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: smoking and the difficulties in quitting

Summary: Hecate Hardbroom is used to being alone. She prefers it that way. At least, she thought she did until Ada Cackle returned to the Academy. Opening herself up to someone new carries great risk, but it might bring great rewards. Feelings bring laughter and tears – and something she didn’t realized she’d been missing so much.

Notes: This fic covers the prompt 5 Times and completes the first trilogy in the set (what I’ve affectionately dubbed The Kitten Chronicles because I haven’t been getting enough sleep).

The title comes the Melissa Manchester song, which includes the following lyrics if you aren’t familiar with it: “Don't cry out loud, just keep it inside, and learn how to hide your feelings.” Could these words describe Hecate Hardbroom any less? I think not.

Once again, Sparky has done her level best to curb my wayward commas and semi-colons.

Bleary-eyed and chilled from the flight, Ada touched down at the edge of Hecate’s garden. Shivering in the moonlight, Ada glanced at the pinkening sky and decided she had time for a cigarette before reporting for duty as Hecate’s laboratory assistant. She cast a light warming spell and summoned her cigarettes. Within minutes she was halfway through her first smoke and the day was looking much brighter indeed. Her mother had insisted she give it up, calling it a ‘filthy Ordinary habit,’ but Ada had found it difficult to do so. Instead, she’d reverted back to childhood and had taken to sneaking away and hiding whenever she could no longer ignore the craving.

Speaking of cravings, Ada thought she’d kill for a coffee right about now, but that wasn’t going to happen. There might be a hundred tea sets in the castle, but there wasn’t a coffee pot to be found. She doubted Hecate had one either.

She finished her smoke as the sun peeked over the horizon. Time to head inside. Casting a quick shower spell to dispel some of the cigarette odor, she ambled to the door, nearly tripping over a strange broomstick.

Ada looked closer. Not a strange broomstick – her mother’s. Wide awake now, Ada wondered what on earth her mother could be doing at Darkwood Cottage. She knocked on the door and stepped inside when it opened of its own accord.

Hecate and her mother were at the kitchen table, heads bent together over a tiny bundle between them. Quietly, so as not to startle, Ada walked closer.

“It’d been three days, so I’d hoped the mother would accept her, but this morning she’d been pushed out away from the others,” Alma said softly. “She was cold – maybe too cold. I hoped you might be able to help.”

“She’s very small, Mrs. Cackle, I don’t know if there’s much hope.”

Ada edged closer. A tiny kitten, wrapped in a kitchen towel, lay on the table between them. Hecate looked up at her, face wrinkled in sympathy and sadness. As they watched, the kitten, which had been feebly moving her paws, grew still.

“I knew it was a long shot,” Alma sighed, as she started to wrap the kitten in the towel.

“Hang on…” Ada picked up the wrapped kitten and began vigorously rubbing it through the towel. After a few seconds she checked the kitten again. Nothing. “It worked on 101 Dalmatians.”

A tear slipped down Hecate’s cheek. Then another. “What if I try…” She placed the tip of her finger on the kitten’s chest and loosed the tiniest stream of magic. The kitten jerked but nothing else. She did it again. This time the kitten jerked and then let out a very weak – but very angry – meow. “It worked!” She wiped more tears away with the heel of her hand. “Place a warming spell on the towel, Mrs. Cackle.” She leapt to her feet and hurried over to one of the cauldrons that had been set up for making the kitten inoculations. “Miss Cackle, if you’ll please gather some dried milk thistle… some echinacea…” She thought a moment. “Some burdock, I think.”

Ada was already collecting jars. “How about some dandelion to stimulate her appetite?”

“Very good.” Hecate already had the cauldron heating by the time Ada dropped the jars on the table. She summoned her mortar and pestle and began grinding the dried herbs into a fine powder.

“An infusion?” Ada asked, marveling at the speed with which Hecate’s hands flew.

“Eventually, when there’s proper time for it. For now, a decoction. It will be ready faster.” She measured out the ground herbs and added them to the cauldron. “We’ll need milk replacement. I can—”

“I’ll go have Mrs. Coriander make some up, if she hasn’t already,” Alma broke in. “I’ll transfer it back to you.” As she left, she pointed at Ada with her glasses. “You’d be wise to learn what you can from this one. See if you can talk her in to getting her credentials while you’re at it.”

Ada and Hecate looked at one another once Alma was gone. The soft bubbling of the cauldron was the only sound in the cottage, save for the occasional weak mewling of the kitten.

“Are you all right?” Ada asked. “It looked like—”

“I’m fine. Truly.” Hecate sniffed and tapped her spoon against the side of the cauldron. She waved a hand and cut the heat. “I just… I hate to see such a small animal suffer because its mother rejected it.”

“Her. Her mother,” Ada gently corrected. “Mother said she was a girl.”

Hecate wiped her eyes one last time before she ladled out a few ounces of the decoction. “Will you fetch me a dropper, please? Do you remember where they are?”

Ada nodded, thinking there was a lot more going on inside Hecate Hardbroom’s head than an abandoned kitten. “In the second drawer on the left.” She grabbed a dropper and joined Hecate on the sofa where she now sat cradling the kitten against her chest. “She’s a beautiful little girl, isn’t she?”

“Let’s hope she grows into a beautiful cat.” Hecate took the dropper and filled it with the decoction and then cooled the mixture with a spell. “Here we go, little one,” she cooed. “This will make you feel better.” Drop by drop, Hecate coaxed the liquid into the kitten. Ada watched as the serious young woman transformed into a fluffy pile of cuteness as she cuddled and coddled the kitten.

A glass jar appeared on the kitchen table. “There’s the food. Do you want to give her some now?” Hecate nodded, so Ada went to get it. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched Hecate feed two droppers of food. Finally, she tore herself away and set about turning one of the garden baskets into a kitten bed.

Hecate lingered over the kitten, adjusting and readjusting the blanket until she was satisfied that the kitten would stay warm. Finally, Ada placed a hand on Hecate’s shoulder. “You’ve done everything you can do for her,” she said, comfortingly. “Why don’t we let her rest and get started on the potions for the rest of the kittens.”

Hecate nodded and let Ada lead her back to the worktable.

-----

The ache in Ada’s shoulders burned straight to the bone. She couldn’t stop stirring, though. The kitten inoculations were at a critical stage. Stir too quickly or too slowly – or less than the required one hundred anti-clockwise turns of the ladle – and the potions would be ruined.

Gritting her teeth, Ada risked a glance at Hecate. The woman radiated exhaustion. Right now, she was measuring out ground snail shells while holding a bottle for the kitten balanced on her knees. Thankfully, the kitten had survived for four days now. Unfortunately, that meant Hecate was up feeding her every two to three hours. Most of the time, she schooled her face into its usual serious expression. Now, though, when she didn’t know Ada was looking, the tiredness couldn’t be missed.

At last, Ada counted one hundred. She dropped her arms at once, bringing her hands up to rub her deltoids. “I’m going to feel that tomorrow,” she said, though she knew Hecate wouldn’t hear her. She cut the heat from the cauldrons and left the contents to cool.

“Let me have her,” Ada said, reaching for the kitten.

Hecate started, blinking rapidly before she handed the kitten over. She leaned over and looked in the jar before she frowned and dumped the ground snail shells back into the pestle to measure again.

“Leave it, dear. Come have a bit of tea and a rest.” She squeezed Hecate’s shoulder before moving to settle onto the sofa.

Hecate looked at the mismeasured snail shells and the slight tremor in her hands. “Perhaps for a moment…” She waved her hand and the tea kettle started to whistle. In a moment she had two cups of tea poured. “I believe you take…two sugars?”

“Three.”

Grimacing, Hecate added another spoonful and handed Ada her cup. “We’ve made good progress,” Hecate said, mostly to have something to say. It was harder now, she realized, dealing with people. Gwen had encouraged her to make friends as though it was something easy, like a duplication potion or transference.

Thinking back, it was easy with Indigo – when the adventure and excitement of breaking the rules had cemented their bond. Of course, she’d been Joy then, a completely different person. It had been harder with Pippa. She’d been determined to endure her punishment alone. For reasons she still didn’t fully understand, Pippa had been even more determined that she wouldn’t. Pippa hadn’t been put off by her silence or awkwardness. It didn’t matter if Hecate didn’t know what to say – Pippa kept talking until she did. She wouldn’t let Hecate retreat into silent solitude, not too much, anyway. And Hecate had loved her for that – enough to set her free in the most unequivocal way imaginable.

Ada didn’t do that, at least not as much. For some reason, Ada seemed to want to hear what Hecate had to say, even when Hecate didn’t know what that would be. She didn’t seem to mind the quiet though, and gave Hecate however much time she needed to work it out.

“Hecate?”

“Mp?” Hecate leaned forward, her eyebrows rising in question. Ada had asked her something. She had no idea what. “I’m sorry…”

“I asked if you were all right. I think I have my answer, though.” She stroked the black fur on the kittens back. “You’re overtired.”

“I’m fine.”

Ada raised an eyebrow. “I can smell the Wide-Awake potion from here. You need to get some proper rest. It’s not healthy to go without sleep for so long.” Try as she might to avoid it, Ada could hear her mother’s voice in every word.

Hecate raised a brow of her own. “And I can smell the cigarette smoke from here. You’ve promised to stop. It’s not healthy to smoke.”

Ada held her gaze, keeping her expression stern for a good thirty seconds before dissolving into a fit of giggles. “At least I know you won’t be blowing the smoke up my arse because I’m the Headmistress’s daughter.”

“I’m so sorry!” Hecate said, dropping her head into her hands. “I don’t know what came over me!”

Setting her teacup down, Ada placed a hand on Hecate’s knee. “You’re exhausted. We’ve been working all day on the potions, and you’ve been up all hours taking care of this wee one.” She stroked the sleeping kitten’s back. She pulled her hand back. “Why don’t you let me take her tonight? I’ll see to it she gets fed and you can get an honest-to-goodness real night’s sleep.”

Ada watched the battle between sleep and responsibility play out across Hecate’s face. She decided to try and tip the scales. “You’ll be more efficient tomorrow, you know.”

Finally, Hecate’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “I’m sure you’re right.” She glanced down at the kitten. “You’ll feed her every two hours? And keep her warm?”

“Cross my heart,” Ada said, both relieved and suddenly nervous. She knew how seriously Hecate took her work. She’d only realized yesterday how seriously she took caring for the kitten. Ada had made the mistake of asking Hecate if her familiar would help care for the kitten. Hecate had quietly explained that she didn’t have a familiar. That her familiar, Warwick, had been confiscated after her first infraction. He’d bonded with a girl a couple of years below her, and Hecate had never had another. Ada wasn’t sure if that was due to lack of desire or if it had simply been another part of her ridiculous punishment. “Tell you what, why don’t I finish bottling up the potions from today and get set up for tomorrow. You can finish whatever you’re working on and we can both start fresh tomorrow.”

“That would be… very kind of you.”

At first, Ada thought the early morning sunlight was playing tricks on her. She leaned forward, increasing her speed. She felt the kitten writhe against her stomach; she didn’t like being squashed. Blinking against the wind, Ada realized that it was smoke she was seeing rising above the trees. Exactly where Darkwood Cottage sat tucked into the forest. Green smoke, Ada could see now, definitely a potions accident. She flew even faster, skidding to a stop at the edge of the gardens.

“Merciful Merlin!” she exclaimed when she spotted Hecate sitting on the ground outside with her knees against her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Leaping from the broom, Ada raced to Hecate’s side. “Are you hurt?” She knelt beside Hecate, checking her for injuries. Other than red, swollen eyes, Hecate seemed to be unharmed. “Can you see?”

“Well enough to watch weeks worth of work go up in smoke.” Hecate’s words seemed to claw their way out of her throat.

Ada tried to place a hand on Hecate’s cheek, but she jerked her head away. “Shhh… let me see.” Gently, she pulled Hecate’s head around so she could get a better look at her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. Ada had no idea if they were caused by the smoke or the frustration. “Keep crying, dear. It will flush out your eyes.” She summoned the pitcher of water that usually sat on Hecate’s kitchen counter. “Tilt your head.” Ada boosted herself onto her knees and carefully washed Hecate’s eyes. Finally, Hecate waved her away.

“I’m fine,” she croaked before taking a drink straight from the pitcher. “Such a waste.”

“Do you know what happened?” Ada shifted until she was sitting cross-legged beside Hecate. The smoke streaming out the windows was beginning to thin. At least there didn’t seem to be any structural damage. “Here, someone missed you.” She handed the kitten over to Hecate, who immediately cradled it under her chin. “You’re going to have to give that kitten a name soon.”

Hecate shook her head, tears spilling anew. “That’s a privilege that belongs to her new mistress.” She kissed the kitten’s head, nonetheless. “It destabilized when I added scales from an adder. I believe the scales to be correct; however, it appears I miscalculated when choosing the species.”

“We’ll sort it, Hecate. Don’t you fret. You know I’ll help however you need me to.”

Hecate wiped fresh tears away. “I know. Thank you. Ada.” Perhaps this friendship thing wasn’t so difficult after all.

-----

A week had passed, and Ada and Hecate had fallen into an easy, comfortable working relationship. Thankfully, the damage to the cottage from Hecate’s lab accident had been minimal and they hadn’t lost much time. Once the smoke had cleared, they’d spent the morning cleaning out the spare bedroom, scrubbing the cauldron and casting cleaning spells over everything else. The astringent smell had lingered for a day or two, but they’d managed. Hecate’s eyes remained red and watery even longer, but that had faded as well.

No, the physical damage had been minimal. The toll it took on Hecate, though… Ada sighed as she felt Hecate hovering again. “Any problems?” she asked, forcing brightness into her voice. She couldn’t fault her for being overly cautious, but the constant monitoring was beginning to wear.

“I’m sorry.” Hecate stepped back. “You know everything is correct. You don’t have to humor me.”

Ada smiled, genuinely. “Of course, I do. You’ve only just now stopped looking like you have distemper. I don’t blame you for being extra careful.”

Hecate arched a thin, slightly scorched eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, she walked over to the storage shelves to get more swampweed.

It wasn’t there.

She ran her hand along the neatly labeled jars. St. John’s Wort, starfish, stevia, tarragon, toadflax… She checked the list again. “Do you have the swampweed?”

Ada kept her eyes on the immunity boosting potion as it simmered. If it boiled too fast, it would lose effectiveness, leaving the familiars susceptible to a particularly nasty immunodeficiency virus. A familiar with the virus would be unable to resist the effects of stray magic, not so dangerous once the cat – and its mistress – were fully grown. It could be devastating to a young cat surrounded by young witches with poor control, though. “No… I think it was one of the ingredients damaged by the smoke. Absorbed it, as I recall.”

Hecate remembered now. She’d have to gather more before they could make the last potion. Sighing, she turned back to Ada. “We’ll have to replace it before we can brew the next batch of the immunity potion.” It would put them even further behind, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Tomorrow then?” Ada cooled the cauldron a bit. Behind them, angry mewing rose from a basket near the fireplace. “Someone’s hungry.”

“Someone’s always hungry.” Hecate summoned a bottle of the kitten’s food and set to feeding her.

Ada’s stomach growled in sympathy. Hecate wouldn’t allow her to smoke in the cottage, so she’d put her mind to quitting. Now all she thought about was having a cigarette. Or sweets. She’d never had much of a sweet tooth before, but the lack of nicotine left a vacuum that cakes and biscuits were filling with a vengeance.

“Ada! She’s opened her eyes!” Hecate held the kitten up for her to see. “Look at you, little blue eyes,” she cooed. “You’re getting to be such a big girl.”

Shaking her head, Ada added one sliver of cat’s claw root to each cauldron. No one would ever believe that the stoic Miss Hardbroom would ever talk baby talk to a kitten. Even watching it happen, Ada wasn’t sure she believed it.

She knew the kitten wasn’t out of the woods yet, but it had been more than a week now and she was still alive – growing even, though she remained far smaller than the other kittens. Ada certainly hoped the kitten continued to thrive. She shuddered to think how Hecate would react if she didn’t survive.

At last, the potion turned clear and Ada could cut the heat entirely and leave the cauldrons to cool. She glanced out the window, eyeing her smoking log with longing. She settled for broken biscuit pulled out of her jacket pocket instead.

“I have more nutritious food, Ada.”

“I’mpf shurr you doo,” she said around a mouth full of biscuit. She swallowed. “I don’t want anything nutritious, though.”

Hecate looked up from where she’d been wriggling her fingers in front of the kitten’s eyes. “I expect you want one of your loathsome ciga-rrrrettes.”

“More than you can imagine, thank you for reminding me.” She decided to let the overly dramatic rolling of the ‘r’ in cigarette pass without comment. Ada scratched at her scalp with both hands, making her already wild hair even wilder. She needed to change the subject. “About the swampweed… What do you say we go gather more tomorrow? This time of year, there should be plenty at the south end of the lake. I could stand to gather a few other plants myself. How would you like to make a day of it?”

“A d-day?” Hecate looked behind her, as though Ada might be talking to someone else. “I don’t… I can’t imagine you’d enjoy spending the day with me.”

Ada’s face softened. “Then you need to broaden your imagination. I’d like nothing better than to get out of these four walls and into the sunshine and enjoy the lake, a bit of nature, and perhaps even a picnic. And I am quite certain that I will enjoy all of those things even more whilst in your company.”

Hecate wanted to argue, to demur, to make some sort of excuse… But in her head she could hear Miss Bat saying – very clearly – not to overthink this and simply say yes. “Very well.”

“Splendid!” Ada clapped her hands. “Meet me in mother’s office just after dawn. We’ll let her kitten-sit for the day.” She saw Hecate hold the kitten closer. “You can leave her detailed instructions.”

The sun had been up for ten minutes, and Ada was beginning to think that Hecate might not come. Had she pushed her too much to take a day off? She moved to the window, scanning the tree line. She stole a glance at her mother. She’d expected to find her irritated, both with the hour and with Ada. Instead, she sat serenely at her desk, sipping her tea.

“You’re going to worry yourself into a right state, Ada. She’ll be here.” Alma summoned a pastry and nibbled at the edges. “I’m so glad you ordered from Cosie’s. It’s been ages since I’ve had one of their butteries.”

“That’s why I ordered double.” Ada forced herself away from the window. “You don’t think I pushed her too hard about it?”

“It’s possible. It’s also possible I’ve been so keen to give her privacy that I’ve allowed her to isolate herself.” She conjured a plate and placed her pastry on it. “Don’t think of it as pushing her in a direction she doesn’t want to go. Think of it as pulling her along an unfamiliar path.”

Before Ada had a chance to respond, Hecate transferred into the office, appearing with a soft pop. “Apologies, Ada.” She held up a woven basket with one hand and a bulging satchel with the other. “I underestimated how long it would take to feed the kitten and gather her things.”

“Aye,” Alma said, shooting Ada a knowing look. “Children will do that to the best laid plans. It doesn’t matter how furry the child in question may be.” She took the basket from Hecate and peered inside. “She looks a great deal better than she did last time I saw her.” Alma eyed the satchel. “Are you sure you brought enough supplies? She’ll be here most of the day.”

Ada tried to stifle a snort with her hand but failed miserably. Hecate colored. “I didn’t know what she’d need.”

“Never you mind, Miss Hardbroom,” Alma said briskly. “I’ve tended kittens before. Get on with you then.” She gestured towards the door. “Have a good time.”

Ada transferred them to the front gates before summoning their brooms. In no time they were airborne, skimming over the treetops. Hecate’s hat sat smartly atop her head, but Ada had left her auburn hair loose and she relished the feeling of it streaming behind her. There would be hell to pay later when she tried to brush it, but right now she didn’t care.

She grinned across at Hecate and was rewarded with a full smile. The younger witch sat easy and relaxed on her broom – her form was impeccable. Ada remembered seeing Hecate’s name on more than one trophy for broomstick aerobatics. She noticed Hecate slowing and pulled up herself.

“We’re nearing the edge of the Academy grounds,” Hecate explained, looking embarrassed.

Ada circled around and pulled her broom alongside Hecate’s. “Can you feel it? The boundary?”

Hecate nodded. She didn’t like to talk about it, but she didn’t sense any malice from Ada, only curiosity. “When I get too close there’s a… thrumming… in my chest. The closer I get, the more powerful it becomes.” And more painful, she thought.

“We want to avoid that, then.” Ada thought for a moment. “Have you ever tried it?”

“Tried what?” Hecate asked, even though she knew exactly what Ada was asking her.

“To leave the grounds.”

Half a dozen times at least, she thought. “Once or twice. It isn’t pleasant.” She remembered the first time she’d tried it, less than a week after the sentence had been imposed. Her skin felt like it had been on fire, while her muscles spasmed and her head felt like it had been stuffed with an angry hornet’s nest. She’d been immediately transferred into Mrs. Cackle’s office, sobbing and gasping for breath. She didn’t know what she’d expected when she’d looked up into the Headmistress’s shocked face, but it hadn’t been getting helped gently to the sofa or the tea and biscuits she’d received.

“No, I don’t imagine that it is,” Ada said softly. “I’m sorry if you don’t care to talk about it. I’d just rather learn about it from you. But please, dear, don’t hesitate to tell me to mind my business.”

“I – I don’t mind. Really.” And Hecate was surprised to find that she didn’t. Ada might be curious, but she didn’t make Hecate feel like a curiosity. “We should get on with it, though. The swampweed can be gathered at any time, but it’s most potent if it’s picked at noon.”

“Quite right, Hecate, quite right.” Ada glanced at the sun, which still hung low in the sky. “We should be able to restock our sneezewort, slug’s eggs, and ninetailed mushrooms before we head to the pond.”

By the time they made it to the shady end of the lake, Ada was more than ready to roll up her trouser legs and wade into the water. “It’s a bit warmer than I expected.” She stepped into the cool water. The morning had been most pleasant, save for an unfortunate incident with the sneezewort. They hadn’t talked much, but the quiet had been comfortable. Ada had watched Hecate’s shoulders loosen, and she’d smiled more as the morning progressed. Once, Ada thought she’d heard her humming to herself as she’d picked a basketful of mushrooms. “I don’t know about you, bu – bu – BUCHOOO!” Ada sneezed for the umpteenth time since she’d stumbled into the patch of sneezewort. “Bloody hell, will it never stop?”

“It should wear off… eventually,” Hecate smirked. “I told you that you were trying to carry too much at once.” She magicked her skirt into a pair of shorts and followed Ada into the lake.

“So you did.” Ada spied a particularly robust growth of swampweed and waded over to pick some. “Be careful, the bottom is a bit mossy o – o – OOOCHOOOO!” Ada’s sneeze knocked her off balance, sending her teetering on the edge of falling, arms flailing, basket of swampweed flying into the air. With a great splash she toppled onto her arse in the water.

“Ada!” Hecate hurried over, slipping and sliding, nearly losing her balance herself.

Trying to stand, Ada slipped again, this time tumbling headfirst into the swampweed. She came up sputtering, her hair sopping wet and hanging in her face. “Bugger all,” she wheezed.

“Are you hurt?” Worried brown eyes roamed over Ada’s face as gentle hands flipped her hair back so she could see.

“Only my pride.” Ada wiped the rest of her hair out of her eyes. She looked Hecate up and down where she stood, thigh deep in the water beside her. “You’re too dry.”

“What? I don’t know what you—” Too late, she saw the mischievous glint in Ada’s eye. “No, no, no!” She tried to scramble away but slipped as well, plopping into the muck beside Ada.

“There you go! That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Hardly,” Hecate groused, splashing a face full of water at Ada. Belatedly, she realized what she’d done. “I’m so sorry!”

Ada carefully plucked a bit of swampweed from her cheek. “Oh. You will be.” She splashed Hecate back. Within seconds the pond erupted in all-out war – water and muck flying as each woman squealed and tried to inflict as much damage as possible.

Each time Hecate tried to stand, Ada would push her back over. Finally, Hecate retaliated by dunking herself and grabbing Ada’s feet, tipping her over and dunking her before she retreated to deeper water, Ada in hot pursuit.

Ada tried to catch up, but Hecate was faster. She beat Ada to the bank, scrambling up and collapsing in a fit of laughter. Finally, Ada managed to crawl up beside her, flopping on her stomach in the sun.

“You… look… like an… absolute… bog witch,” Hecate gasped, laughing so hard she was crying.

“Have you seen you?” Ada said, giggling as she pointed at Hecate’s mud-caked knees and what was left of her bedraggled bun.

Hecate looked down at herself, causing the rest of her bun to flop forward into her face. She laughed even harder, tears streaming down her face. She tried to wipe them away but succeeded only in smearing more mud across her cheek. She shifted until she was on her back next to Ada. Still giggling, she turned to look at her. “Thank you for inviting me, Ada. I needed this.”

“We both did, I think.” Ada closed her eyes, basking in the sun. “We both did.”

-----

They were everywhere. Moving, writhing… meowing. “How on earth are we meant to keep them all straight?” A quick check over her shoulder told her Hecate didn’t share her concerns. In fact, the younger woman looked quite serene, save for the tiny, bemused smile on her lips. “There’s something about all this that you aren’t telling me.”

“Have you really never done this before?” Hecate couldn’t believe it.

“I told you, we weren’t allowed.” She fussed with the cuffs of the long-sleeve denim shirt Hecate had recommended she wear. “The one time Mother allowed us to help, Agatha had them so riled up before we’d even started that she called the whole thing off for the day. Needless to say, we were shuttled far away each time after that.”

“I would think so,” Hecate said, smirking.

Ada rolled her eyes but said nothing. It had been four weeks since they’d begun brewing potions for the kittens, and now it was time for their first doses. Ada had no idea how to manage it. Hecate had been seeing to it for the past several years and had been subtly teasing her about it.

Hecate hadn’t been as open and free since that day at the lake, but she’d seemed more at ease with Ada. She smiled more often, laughed occasionally. Rarest of all were the times Hecate would gently tease Ada. Even her mother had noticed the change. Speaking of… Ada thought.

“Mother did say she was coming, didn’t she?”

“Not exactly,” Hecate reminded her. “She said she’d send reinforcements.” A plaintive yowl sounded from the doorway. “And I believe said reinforcements have arrived.” She knelt down and rubbed the ears of Alma Cackle’s crotchety old familiar, Astra. “Good morning, Mr. Astra. Don’t you look handsome today.” Astra rubbed his head against Hecate’s palm before turning and biting her thumb. “Ouch! That’s enough of that then.” Hecate stood up and cast a quick healing spell on the bite marks. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

Ada watched the exchange, puzzled. “She sent Astra? How… what… We already have enough cats!”

“If you send for Pendle, he can learn to help as well.” Hecate opened the box holding the phials and droppers. “Wouldn’t hurt to be prepared for when your mother retires.” Hecate looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. “She will you know, like it or not.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ada said, sighing.

She picked up the nearest kitten and carried it over so Hecate could squirt a dropper full of the first potion, then the next and then the last. By the time the third dropper came ‘round, the kitten wanted no part of it. Ada struggled to hold it still enough for Hecate to administer the dropper, getting rewarded for her efforts with a handful of scratches. She healed them before picking up the next kitten.

Slowly, they made their way through the kittens. Ada tried to keep track of which ones they’d dosed but was lost by the third one. “We should have marked them,” she said.

“If we didn’t have Astra, that would certainly be true.” Hecate turned to Alma’s cat, who sat in a square of sunshine, lazily licking his leg. “Would you please fetch the next one?”

Alma watched as Astra slowly climbed to his feet, stretched magnificently, and ambled over to a kitten that was busy chasing its tail. He gave it a sniff and a lick before grabbing it by the scruff of the neck and dragging it over to Ada.

As the morning progressed, Astra dragged kitten after kitten to Ada. Almost every time the routine was the same: a sniff, a lick, and a grab followed by Hecate dosing and Ada bleeding. She’d drain her magic dry healing scratches before the day was over. At last, only one dose was left.

“Where’s the last one?” Ada asked Astra. Unsurprisingly, Astra didn’t answer. “Twenty kittens, twenty phials, correct?”

“That is correct.” Hecate turned to Astra, waiting with her arms crossed. After a moment, he hopped off the table and went to stand near the corner. “I should have guessed. Thank you, Astra.” She turned to Ada. There’s always one that manages to hide away in the far corner. I’ll be right back with it.”

Hecate crouched behind the table before crawling under on her hands and knees.

Just as Hecate disappeared, Geraldine Gullet stepped into the kitten room. “Potions day for the little ones, hey? That’s quite the job. You should have asked me for help.” None to gently, she nudged a kitten aside with her boot. “At least you don’t have that Hardbroom girl with you – strange one, she is. What sort of a witch doesn’t have a familiar?” She lowered her voice and leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “I tell you there’s something not right about that one. Mark my words. You’d do well to give her a wide berth.”

Ada’s eyes narrowed. “While I appreciate your concern, I believe I’ll keep my own counsel as far as Miss Hardbroom is concerned.”

Geraldine shrugged and made her way back to the door. “Suit yourself, then, but don’t say I didn’t warn ye. Anyways, if you see her, tell her Mrs. Cackle is looking for her. She’s got a visitor – that same stuffy old toff that comes every year about this time to meet with her. Don’t know what that’s about, but it can’t be anything good. Mind yourself, Miss Cackle.” She closed the door with a click.

Ada hurried to the corner as Hecate slowly rose to her feet, holding the recalcitrant kitten. “She’s right you know… you would do well to give me a… wide berth.”

“Nonsense. I’d be a poor witch indeed if I took Geraldine Gullet’s advice over the evidence of my own two eyes.” She waited for Hecate to dose the last kitten. “About that woman…”

Before Hecate could find the words, the door opened again. This time it was Alma, followed by a woman Ada had never seen before. She certainly fit Miss Gullet’s description of a stuffy old toff.

“Miss Hardbroom,” the woman said, stepping in front of Mrs. Cackle and lifting a hand to her forehead. “Well met, Hecate. It’s been a while.”

“Well met, Mistress Hagsmet.” She glanced quickly at Ada before turning back to the woman. “I believe it’s been a year.”

“Yes.” She smiled gently. “Shall we take a walk?”

“As you wish.” Hecate handed Ada the empty phial and followed Mistress Hagsmet out of the room.

Once they’d gone, Ada turned to her mother. “Who is that woman?”

“Eudora Hagsmet. Remember when I told you that I’d retained a counselor for Joy after the incident?” Ada nodded. “She’s the one. She’s been seeing Hecate since she was thirteen years old. Several times a week to start, then weekly, then monthly. Now I ask her to come once a year. On the anniversary of the day Indigo turned to stone.”

“Today?” Ada wrung her hands together. “She never said a word.”

“Would she?” Alma cocked her head and regarded her daughter. “Aye. I think she would, eventually.” She gestured towards the door. “Come, daughter. Let’s go have a spot of tea.”

As the afternoon crawled along, Ada alternated between sneaking out for cigarettes and going through the motions of sipping tea and nibbling biscuits with her mother. For her part, Alma dutifully ignored the faint odor of tobacco smoke while trying to keep up conversation in fits and spurts. A thought occurred to Ada during one of the bouts of silence. “Is this the tenth year? Since it happened?”

“Eleventh.”

Ada nodded. At least there was that. Ada couldn’t help but feel as though a significant anniversary of it should have been marked somehow. She felt the magic shift as Mistress Hagsmet transferred into Alma’s office.

“I thought I’d take my leave, Alma.”

Alma pushed herself out of her chair and met her in the middle of the room. “Thank you for stopping by, Eudora. How did she seem to you?”

“Now, Alma… you know I can’t discuss our session. How has she seemed to you lately?”

Alma considered her answer. “Less isolated, I suppose. To be honest, you’d do well to ask Ada, my oldest daughter. She and Hecate have been working together on inoculations for the familiars all summer.”

“That may explain it, then,” Mistress Hagsmet said, not unkindly.

“Explain what?” Alma didn’t like the way that sounded.

“As I said, I can’t go into the things we discussed during our session.” She smiled gently at Ada. “I can say I’m pleased that Hecate is increasing her social interactions.” Her smile faded and turned sad. “She could use a friend about now.”

Ada didn’t need to be told twice. She cast out her magic in the direction she thought Hecate to be. Finding her hunch to be right, Ada transferred out of the office.

She appeared at the edge of the clearing where Indigo stood, frozen in stone. She found Hecate lying face-down on the ground. One arm cushioned her face while the other one stretched out over her head, her hand resting on Indigo’s foot. Where she stood, Ada could hear her sobs.

Ada crept closer, careful not to startle Hecate, but not wanting to disturb her either. When she was close enough, she sat cross-legged on the ground. She was close enough to touch Hecate, but she didn’t. Instead she simply waited, letting comforting waves of magic roll off her body. She knew Hecate would feel it.

After a while, Hecate lifted her head and turned her red, puffy eyes on Ada. “I forgot today was the day. How could… What kind of person forgets something like that?” Sobs wracked her body even harder.

“A good person. A person who’s been grieving a long time.” She shifted until she could rest a hand lightly on Hecate’s forearm. She gave it a light squeeze and settled in for a long evening. As long as Hecate was here, she would stay beside her.

-----

“I do wish you’d consider it,” Ada said as she stoppered the last phial of the last dose of Anti-Hex potion for the new familiars. “Just because you have your teaching credentials doesn’t mean you’d have to use them; you’d simply have another option available to you.” She couldn’t miss the dubious look in Hecate’s eyes.

She held the sealed phial in front of the kitten, allowing her to sniff, then lick it. Still small for her age, the now six-week-old kitten had taken to sitting on the edge of the table like a tiny black sentinel, watching them work and occasionally meowing her approval – and once, hissing at Ada when she’d picked up the wrong ingredient.

“Ada. You know… why I’m not suited.” Hecate shifted her eyes to packing up the vaccinations. Tomorrow they’d give the kittens their third and final round of potions.

“Nonsense! Who better to instruct young witches on the importance of adhering to the Code than someone who understands the temptation – and the consequences?” Since the anniversary of Indigo’s turning, Hecate had been more open with Ada about it. She almost seemed relieved to have someone to talk to besides Mistress Hagsmet. “If you’re worried about moving back into the castle, I assure you that wouldn’t be an issue. You could live here in the cottage, but you’d have a full potions lab at your disposal as well as all the ingredients you can’t get as an individual.”

Hecate rolled her eyes as she snapped the satchel closed. “You’re pulling out the large cauldron, I see. That’s hardly sporting.”

“Perhaps not. It makes it no less true, however,” Ada said, thinking back to the incident in question.

It had been just over a week ago when Ada had arrived at Darkwood Cottage to find Hecate in something of a state. After some gentle – but persistent – inquiries, Hecate had finally summoned a letter, which she angrily shoved into Ada’s hands before shutting herself away in the spare bedroom she used as a lab. The letter, from some bureaucrat whose name Ada didn’t recognize, was little more than a form letter denying Hecate’s request to order more adder scales. They were very sorry, but Magic Council regulations required anyone ordering restricted ingredients to fill out a standard form detailing the requester’s background, credentials, and intended use of the requested item. Ada had seen it before; in fact, she’d filled several out while restocking the potions stores for Cackle’s.

She’d knocked briskly on the bedroom door before opening it and letting herself in. Inside, Hecate sat on a stool, leaning over the scattered ingredients of a potion in progress. Compared to the ordered brewing stations in the living room, the overturned jars and disorderly equipment spoke volumes about Hecate’s level of distress. Though Hecate hadn’t said so, and Ada hadn’t asked, Ada was certain that this lab was reserved for Hecate’s most important work: searching for a potion that would restore Indigo Moon.

“Have you tried filling out the form? I’ve done several. I could help.”

Hecate had looked at her with utter despair – despair for herself and despair at Ada’s apparent stupidity. “Do you honestly think I would pass the background check? A witch with a lifetime confinement for misusing magic?”

Embarrassed that she hadn’t realized it herself, Ada snapped back, “Well you got them before! How did you manage it the first time? Or should I not ask?”

She’d seen the change at once, the way Hecate had stiffened and her eyes had shuttered. The way her face smoothed into an emotionless mask. “I’m sorry,” Ada had said at once. “That was uncalled for on my part. It was stupid of me not to realize the problem, and I hate being stupid. I shouldn’t have barked at you, though. It was inexcusable. How can I help?”

“You can’t.” Hecate had whispered.

They’d spent the rest of the day working in strained politeness; Ada cursed herself every time she saw the wariness in Hecate’s eyes. At the end of the day, before she’d mounted her broom to fly back to Cackle’s, Ada had grasped Hecate’s hands and apologized once more. “I am truly sorry, Hecate. I hope that I will be able to earn your forgiveness – and your trust again. Meanwhile, I know how I can be of some small help: let me order the things you need. I know you need more adder scales, but make me a list and get on it straight away.”

It had taken two more days for the wariness to leave Hecate’s eyes and another three before things felt normal. Yesterday, Hecate had shyly given her a list of ingredients that required a permit.

“I suppose you could simply order me to do it,” Hecate said, quietly.

Ada looked up sharply. “What?” Lost in her thoughts, Ada realized she had also lost the thread of the conversation.

“I said you could simply order me to do it. To get my teaching credentials.” Hecate’s voice sounded even, but the rigidness in her posture gave her away.

“I most certainly could not! You may be confined here, Hecate Hardbroom, but that gives me no more authority over you than anyone else.” The tension visibly left Hecate’s shoulders. “I can’t tell you what to do, Hecate.” She grinned ruefully. “That doesn’t mean I won’t tell you what I think you ought to do, though. Apparently, I’m a bit of a busybody. According to Agatha, it’s my worst flaw.”

A smile crept across Hecate’s face. “She’s not wrong.” She summoned a small blue box and held it out to Ada. “But since it’s a flaw I also seem to possess… I’ll try to overlook it. I wanted to thank you for… everything you’ve done for me this summer.”

Ada knew Hecate meant more than just the potions. “It’s been a pleasure.” She took the box, admiring the fanciful bow tying it shut. “You needn’t have…”

“Oh. I needed to, believe me.” She gestured for Ada to open the box. The kitten walked across the table and sniffed the box, gingerly batting at the ribbon with a tiny paw. “That’s not for you, little one.” Hecate scooped the kitten up and scratched behind her ears.

“She can have this part,” Ada said, pulling the ribbon free, shaking it in the kitten’s face, and then dropping it to the floor. She waited as the kitten half climbed, half fell down Hecate’s skirt to chase after it. “She’s definitely a spunky little thing, isn’t she?”

“She’ll make some lucky girl an excellent familiar.”

Ada looked up in time to see a stricken look pass swiftly across Hecate’s face. “Indeed she will,” Ada murmured, as she slowly recognized what had been in front of her for weeks. “In fact, I’d say she—”

“Please, Ada… just… open the box.” She reached over and lifted a corner of the lid, forcing Ada to finish the job or risk having the lid flipped to the floor.

Inside the box sat thirty small doses of a potion Ada didn’t recognize. She picked up one of the phials and uncorked it, sniffing its contents much like the kitten had sniffed the box. Brilliant blue, it smelled faintly of flowers and smoke.

“It’s to help you stop smoking,” Hecate supplied. “You take one phial each day, in order.” She turned the bottle in Ada’s hand so she could read the label: Day Seven. “I mixed lobelia to mimic the nicotine, mugwort to negate any jitteriness and to help you relax. It also contains passion flower to ease the symptoms of withdrawal, like your cravings. Perhaps you won’t need quite so many biscuits.”

“Hecate… I can’t… you made this? I mean, you came up with the potion? For me?” Ada couldn’t even begin to imagine the time Hecate had spent on this. On her.

“You’ve been… kind to me… No.” She shook her head, frowning at herself. “You’ve been the first friend I’ve had in years. I’d like to keep you around.”

“Stacking the odds in your favor?”

“Bringing out the big cauldron,” Hecate replied, grinning broadly now.

Ada tucked the phial back into the box and replaced the lid. “I’ll start it first thing in the morning.” She leaned over to pick up the ribbon but saw that the kitten was busy wrestling it into submission against Hecate’s foot. “I think I’ll just leave the ribbon here.”

Hecate’s smile faded. “I’ll bring it tomorrow when I come to dose the kittens. I’ll bring her too. It’s time she joined the others to get ready for her new mistress.”

“Hecate,” Ada said, gently. “She has a mistress.” Ada leaned across the table, bending down enough so she could look up into Hecate’s eyes. “You.”

“My familiar was confiscated.” Hecate wiped a small tear away as it slipped from her eye. “I – I couldn’t choose another.” A second tear joined the first.

“I understand. I’d never be able to choose another if something happened to Pendle. But sometimes it’s not up to us. Sometimes, it’s the familiar who does the choosing.” She gestured down at the kitten who was now waging a great battle against the hem of Hecate’s skirt. “You, my dear, have been chosen.”

Stifling a sob, Hecate bent down, picking up the squirming kitten with as much reverence as possible. “You’re sure?” She paid no attention to the tears tracing down her cheeks and dripping onto the kitten.

“Positive. Now, it’s high time this little girl had a name. What’ll it be?”

Hecate held the kitten up in front of her face, staring into eyes that hadn’t quite yet decided if they would be green or yellow. “Morgana. Her name is Morgana.”

“An excellent choice.” Ada reached out and scratched the kitten’s haunches. “Well met, Morgana Hardbroom. Well met, indeed.”

#hackle summer trope challenge #tww2017 #hackle #hecate hardbroom #ada cackle

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honestsycrets · 4 years

Text

Bound and Determined || Heahmund x Ivar

❛ pairing | ivar x heahmund

❛ type | oneshot: modern

❛ summary | frustrated by ivar’s lack of mobility, sigurd pops off at his brother. Ivar runs away, and finds someone that takes care of him.

❛ requests | Hi love! For 5CW, could I request a fic (clearly Modern!Ivar) including the following sentences : 1) put your crippled ass in this fucking wheelchair ; 2) I thought slavery had been abolished. Thank you so much 💖💖💖

Can I request Ivar x Heahmund with some fluff and maybe some angst please

❛ warnings | modern, ableism, sibling abuse, yelling, ubbe is useless, OI issues, asshole sigurd, slash

Since his OI was acting up, his doctor put him in this chair with wheels. Plenty of kids had this shit… a wheelchair. But for most of Ivar’s life, he was on two feet. The crutch made him feel… relatable to everyone on the outside. Especially to his brothers.

While Hvitserk never held his disorder against him, he knew that Sigurd did. In a way, that was better than Ubbe who always seemed so fucking afraid of him. That wasn’t everything. It was part of why he always felt so… so…

“Maybe he can’t go up this way,” Hvitserk says softly. “Sigurd can carry him. I’ll take the things.”

“We can’t leave his wheelchair here. Mor paid--”

“I know how much she paid,” Sigurd growls.

It’s one of those days. One of those days where Sigurd is upset with something that Ivar can’t do. There was no ADA access at this park. Despite having hiked up some way, it got to be too much on his arms. Following that, Sigurd pushed him through… until Ubbe put a stop to it. The wheels might burst and then, of course, Mother would not be happy.

“I don’t know why I’m always stuck picking up your slack.” Sigurd bites out, bending down on his knees. He throws a glare back at him, past fluffy blond hair that hangs in his sweaty face. “Hurry up. Get on me if you’re going to.”

“This isn’t what I--”

“I fucking know. I don’t care. Hurry up! I thought slavery had been abolished. But here I am, carrying my crippled brother up a fucking hill because you can’t walk long distances anymore.”

Sigurd says the words with a mock. Ivar’s eyes settle on his thighs, and he can’t help the wave of shame that comes over him when his brother goes on. “You USED to be able to walk. What happened to that?”

His bones snapped, cracking as he tumbled down the stairs with a slip. It felt like hours until father came rushing in the house, barking, Ivar! Ivar! Since then, that moment where he blacked out and did not come to until moments after when his neck was pulsing and mother was looking at him like he had already died, nothing had been right.

“You think I don’t want to be walking?” Ivar snaps.

“I think you aren’t trying hard enough.”

With Ubbe saying a whole lot of nothing, Sigurd’s words punch him low in the stomach. It boils over, spilling stupid tears over his high cheekbones that inch down his pale cheeks. Ivar throws himself out of his wheelchair, catching himself on his forearms as he crawls with force over the ground.

“Where are you going?” Ubbe says at last. “Ivar. Ivar!”

“Let him go,” Sigurd stops his older brother as if he was the oldest, and the others the younger ones. He stands upright, running his hand through his fluffy blond hair and looking up, heavy in his sigh. “Shit.”

They fought again.

What Ivar hated the most was the pebbles that scratched his pale legs when he dragged himself over the gravel. Or the jagged rocks on the way down to the river where he could slide his hips in and act as if nothing in the world mattered but the cool water that washed away his worries. He nearly tumbles on his quest to the water, where the sound of rushing water guides him, and where he cleans his face with the stream of water over and over.

It’s almost ritualistic if not for the wracking sobs that broke from his lips. A man like him couldn’t cry with his father there. No, not once. He slaps the water over and over, and his hand forms a fist, cracking knuckles upon the rocks underneath.

“Fuck!”

His bones ache, again, and he knows he’s broken something again. His brittle bones… Ivar curses them again. His head bows, and through his peripheral vision, he spots boots. Brown thick boots. Ubbe, maybe. If he’s lucky. Sigurd, if he’s not.

“Pop your knuckles?”

The voice is akin to Ubbe’s. He turns his head up to the man that kneels before him. His sleeves are shorn near his shoulders. The shorts cut at his knees, and he wears a simple but good pair of sneakers. He looks as if he should be important, regarding him with his well-kept beard and a backpack full of supplies for hiking. Ivar retracts his hands from the water and tucks them under his chest like some stubborn cat.

“It’s fine,” he hears himself say, questioning how to bring himself up to sit without giving himself away.

“They’ll become infected.”

The man stretches out, pulling his hands for inspection. Ivar twists in his direction, suddenly deeply attuned to the fact that his knuckles were probably hot red. The stab of pain rhythmically followed any digit he moved.

“I see,” the man says, the edges of his mouth tugging up. “You’ve broken them.”

“Must have--” Ivar begins, broken off when the man switches to help him to sit. Almost as if he had known what happened all along. He doesn’t ask what was wrong with his body. That was usually everyone’s first question. What was wrong.

“Fingers are tricky.” The man unzips his bag, his gravelly voice deepening. “There’s nothing I can do for them but clean them.”

Typical, mother did the same. She would clean them and pray at her altar for him. The man cleans his stinging wounds. Then, as if in prayer, he falls to his knees and takes his hands. Ivar wants to shrill-- to yell and ask what this fucker his doing. Something about him stop those words from ever forming. A furrow of confusion creases his puffy forehead. Ivar notices that the man’s lips trace the wounds, chanting soft words into what can only be a prayer.

My Father in Heaven.

Ivar isn’t Christian. It’s not his way, nor his interest. Such a thought of praying to god over his wounds never entered his mind. Prayer, however, offers something more than simply… well, pain. It gives him something else to focus upon.

“Amen,”

“Ivar. What is your name?” Ivar asks easily.

“Heahmund.”

“Why are you here?” He asks Heahmund, the mystery man. “You don’t look like a hiker.”

“No? I guess not. I’m a missionary.”

One of those types. Mother told him all about them. It scared her to have her son meet one and diverge from the old ways. Ivar, solid in his faith, pulls his fingers free from the stranger’s hands. He pulls his legs around and wipes off the rubble.

“I’m not in need of ‘saving,’” he tells him.

“No,” Heahmund says, tingling with tension. “But I am.”

“You are?” he scoffs. “You have a perfectly fine body. You’re a medic. What can you possibly need saving from?”

“Sin.”

Ivar’s brows lift, high on his forehead as if he’s listened to one too many tales of bullshittery in the past few minutes. “You make no sense.”

“I know.” Heahmund agrees, lifting his hand to his hair in a small and soft caress. He’s used to Ubbe ruffling his hair, shoving him over, laughing. He misses his brother’s gravely voice and warm smile. “And you? What are you looking for?”

He still wasn’t sure. But saying he wasn’t sure would sound stupid. His eyes meet Heahmunds, and he finds his cheeks warming, stupidly. He is a handsome man. He considers that perhaps, in some way, maybe he was looking for a friend. More than a friend. Much more than a friend. The women never looked at him.

“It’s not important.”

Ivar scratches the side of his arm. But he wants to tell him. He turns to look from where he came before. The hill isn’t far to get down to the stream. Not going down. Coming up, however, was a completely different thing. Heahmund kneels beside him.

“Well. come on. I’ll take you up.”

“Why would you do that?” he demands. If his own brother would not… or, not without lip, why should a stranger?

“You’ll kill the wildlife if I leave you here. You’re a hunter, aren’t you?”

A hunter? Ivar cocks his head to the side as he regards Heahmund, the traveler. In his years, he had been called many things. Ivar the hunter was not one of them. Ivar scoots to the man, carefully throwing his arms over his shoulders. The alternative to going with him was waiting down here until Ubbe or Sigurd decided to come down. That wasn’t happening.

Heahmund lifts him up, squeezing his ass just once, and Ivar swears to himself that was more than a I’m-Gonna-Help-The-Cripple squeeze. Heahmund starts up the hill. A glistening golden charm beats over his chest with every bounce of his legs. Ivar buries his nose in the man’s shoulder, taking in the scent of a musky cologne. The saltiness of sweat mingles with it.

“Ivar!”

His brothers spot them coming out of a line of brush. They don’t say anything to him, not at first, not until Sigurd spats, “Where did you run off to? Are you crazy? Put your crippled ass in this wheelchair!”

Some form of love, or maybe cathexis, hides behind those words. Ubbe settles Ivar’s legs as the traveler clears his throat. “You shouldn’t speak to your brother that way. He’s been gifted to you.”

Sigurd turns up his head once he’s inspected Ivar’s hands. Mother would want him to make sure her precious son was alright. But once he looked up, the man has gone-- and Ivar’s frown along with it. When he looks back to Ivar, he smiles cheek to cheek.

@kirah35, @generic-fangirl

#Ivar x Heahmund #Ivar/Heahmund #slash #m x m #honestsycrets #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #vikings fanfic

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flamehairedwritings · 4 years

Text

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Fifteen

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Some scenes and dialogue have been taken from the game!

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

The Dawn

Five Weeks Later

He leapt out of the row boat onto the jetty, landing heavily. If there had been anyone around, besides the captain who’d rowed him over, they would have heard a sharp, muttered curse, watched him pause.

Then, he pushed himself up, staggering just slightly, and nodded his gratitude to the captain. The man nodded in return silently, then started to row away.

It felt like a very long walk up to the main and only street of Van Horn for Arthur Morgan.

Shady Belle. That’s where he’d start. Part of him knew, hoped, they wouldn’t all be there, that they’d have moved on, that would have been the smart thing to do. But how to get there?

Stopping on the street to catch his breath, Arthur looked right, then left. A few horses were tied to posts, but every establishment was quiet, even the bar. Then again, it was only a few hours until the sun would rise. The strongest looking horse was to his left. He started moving.

“Hey, girl... good girl...” he murmured to her as she lifted her head, shifting a little uneasily.

She soon settled, though, as he stroked her neck and murmured to her, slowly unwinding the reins from the post. She was beautiful, a piebald Hungarian Half-bred. He hadn’t seen one of those in a while.

Still softly whispering to her, he gripped the saddle and pulled himself up, hissing out a breath.

Bone-aching tiredness and this horse would get him home.

To her.

He encountered no one as he left Van Horn, urging the horse into a light canter. It was the first time in nearly over a month that he’d been alone. Guarma had been... He hoped to God he never had to be in a place like that again. He couldn’t stop his heart from aching slightly at those who were still trapped there, but he had faith in Hercule and his men. Besides, he had his own battles and problems to think about.

Dutch was one of those problems.

Later, think on it later. Just get home.

To her.

Christ. When had he last been able to think of her properly?

Not yet, not yet. Wait ‘til you see her.

If he saw her.

Only a few travellers passed him as he made his way to Shady Belle. He was just grateful for the quiet, and kept his mind blank, watching the paths he took. It must have rained a little while before as there were puddles everywhere and the mud was slick. The horse handled it well, though. He quickly took a shine to her.

Passing a bridge that would lead into Saint Denis and riding past the fields of Caliga Hall, he marvelled at how long ago all their businesses there felt, how much had changed since then.

How people had changed. How he had changed. How... How people had died.

His jaw moved.

Don’t think about that now.

He slowed the horse as they neared Shady Belle, coming down to a walk. He strained to hear as they passed the trees and shrubs that had once been so familiar. Then, he turned on to the main path and he saw it, the large, once great building, still intact. His gaze darted about as he rode down towards it, but he saw no one, heard nothing, not even crickets and flies. He pulled the horse to a gentle halt as she came to the fountain, and he dismounted slowly. The front doors were open, anyone could shoot at and kill him now, he had no weapons, nothing. Continuing to scan the area, he checked the saddlebag on the horse. Just a few coins and a map of Lemoyne.

Exhaling a breath, he turned towards the house, patting the horse’s neck gently. Looking to the right, there was a collapsed wagon, and to the left, the bandstand.

Her bandstand.

He moved to it. Peered in. Nothing.

He moved to the house. Rain had gotten in, staining the first few floorboards beyond the doors. Inside, it looked just as it had when he and John had first arrived to clear it out for all of them; books, papers and leaves strewn about, furniture turned over, bottles and cans piled together. People must have been using this place, but it hadn’t been his people.

He closed his eyes as he ran a hand through his sand and sea-salt thick hair. What the hell was he doing here. He had no way to track them. What if they really had all gone? What if... What if something had happened to them? Rubbing at his face, he moved to his right, into the closest room. He sat down heavily on the non-collapsed side of a faded chaise lounge and put his head in his hands.

He was so God damn tired. Exhausted. Like he’d never been before in his life. He’d never been the kind of man to give up, but now...

Hosea dead.

Lenny dead.

Charles, he didn’t know.

John, too.

Dutch...

Lifting his head and sitting back, he stared across the room into the next, his hands falling to his lap. The table they’d once placed maps and books on was still upright, two bottles on it and propped between them an—

He frowned.

... And an envelope. A pristine one, that very much looked out of place.

Pushing himself up, Arthur crossed the room to the table, grabbing the envelope.

Tacitus Kilgore, the front read.

Their alias.

A corner of his mouth lifted as he turned it over and ripped it open. He fumbled slightly as he pulled a folded piece of paper out of it and opened it, instantly beginning to read.

Dear Uncle Tacitus,

I do so hope you enjoyed your vacation. Lucky you! Leaving like that. And you always suggested you were too old for travel. I hope you and your cousins enjoyed yourselves. Me and your grand nieces have decided to take a trip of our own as the place has become so dreary and godforsaken in your absence. We have gone to visit relatives (from my Daddy’s side. You are not yet acquainted with them) in Lakay, a small village just north of Saint Denis.

It’s buggy and muggy but apparently neither is too bad at this time of year. Please come see us when you can.

Yours sincerely,

Caroline

“Well, thank you, darling niece ‘Caroline’,” Arthur murmured as he smiled, folding the letter back into the envelope.

The tone rang of Sadie, but also her.

He placed it back on the table, leaving it for any of the other men who might try their luck here for any sign of their gang.

Rolling his shoulders, he headed for the door, finding the last of his energy.

Lakay. Them. Her.

Soon, he would be with them.

—

He’d had to slow the gallop of the horse as they entered the heartland of the swamps. It was muddier here, the swamp overflowing to the paths and making the horse skid slightly. Despite his eagerness, he kept her to a light canter, not wanting any broken necks or legs for either of them.

It was quiet and dark, the morning light breaking through the large, heavy trees in thin shafts. He had to commend them, it was well covered, and he certainly wouldn’t want to bring an army through here to look for them.

He slowed to a trot as he passed through some muddy water and between two short wooden poles, small skulls attached to the top of them.

Great.

Then, he saw them. Shacks and sheds in an odd kind of circle, dim lanterns dotted around, and...

Abigail, Pearson and Tilly.

He pulled the horse to an abrupt halt and dismounted, unsure of how he managed to stay on his feet, his legs so close to giving out. He stared at them. Abigail, Pearson and Tilly. They were bent over a table, each working on a part of a meal, evidently. Then, Abigail raised her head. The knife dropped from her hand, clattering loudly on the table.

“Arthur?!” Her arms were around him before he knew it. Closing his eyes, he found himself smiling as he patted her back.

He wanted to sink into the warm embrace, but it wasn’t the one he really wanted.

“Hey.” God, his voice sounded terrible to his own ears. When was the last time he’d had water?

“’Hey’? Like you ain’t been away so God damn long,” Abigail half-scoffed, half-wept as she pulled back, smiling with relief.

“Had a nice time, Morgan?” Pearson asked with a grin, clapping him on the back.

“Yeah, Micah tell you all about how lucky we was?” Arthur answered good-naturedly. He’d missed them all, and it nearly broke his heart to see how delighted and relieved Tilly and Abigail were, both of them crying, but he really only wanted to see one person. He was about to ask when Abigail gripped his arm.

“They took John, Arthur, at the bank.”

His heart dropped. “I know, Abigail, where is he?”

“They got him, he’s in Sisika Penitentiary, Arthur, he’s probably gonna hang!”

He rubbed her back gently, sobs rising within her again. “It’s all righ’, sweetheart, it’ll be all righ’. Dutch’ll be here real soon and we’ll get him back, I promise.”

Christ, John...

His heart ached.

Smiling gently at her, Arthur glanced between them all. “Where’s Annie?”

“Oh, God, of course, I’m sorry, Arthur.” Abigail wiped her eyes sheepishly, looking to Tilly. “She was on watch, wasn’t she? She should just be—”

“Arthur?”

That voice.

His gaze lifted.

There she was. Staring at him. A shotgun held in one hand by her side. Her hair tied back. Clean blue blouse and black skirt. Brown belt wrapped around her waist along with a gunbelt around her hips, two revolvers in holsters. His bandanna tied loose around her neck. Her lips parted. Her eyes shining.

Then, she was striding towards him. The shotgun ended up in Pearson’s hands, from him catching it as she either dropped it or thrust it into his hands, he didn’t know, didn’t care.

As Ada threw her arms around his neck, his eyes closed and his own wrapped around her. He held on to her tightly, his face pressed into the crook of her neck.

She was safe. She was alive.

“I knew you couldn’t be dead, I knew it,” he heard her whispering, her voice cracking, “They’d have put it all over the papers, we’d have known, we’d have just known...”

He just held her, letting her surround him.

She held on just as tightly, taking shuddering breaths. It was several moments before she pulled back abruptly and gripped his shoulders, her eyes darting over him.

“Are you hurt? Your skin is all red, what happened?”

He gazed at her, keeping a hold on her waist. “I’m fine. A little thirsty and hungry, but fine.”

“Come here, come on.” She was taking his hand and leading him somewhere, and at some point the others must have disappeared because they were no longer there, but he just looked at her.

Her hair was shorter, he suddenly realised. It now fell to between her shoulder blades rather than near her waist. He was going to ask what happened when she turned to him, having led him behind a barely-standing shed.

“Sit down.” She dragged a crate closer to him.

He obeyed, trusting that it would bear his weight. It did, and he placed his hands on his knees as she pulled a bucket of water closer, a rag swimming in it.

“It’s clean, I promise,” she murmured, though he wasn’t fazed.

Gripping the rag and squeezing some water out of it, she then started to gently wipe at his face, and the coolness of it felt like heaven.

“Tell me what happened.”

He cleared his throat as he gazed at her. “Ain’t you gotta keep an eye out?”

“Oh, nothing happens around here.” She smiled lightly. “Well, apart from the Night Folk, but they loiter around the western roads.”

“The Night Folk?” The name rang a faint, tired bell.

“That’s a story for another time,” she answered, raising her eyebrows slightly as her smile widened a little more.

She swept the cloth down his neck before dipping it back into the water again. His fingers brushed against her skirt, gripping the material gently.

“You haven’t changed. Well, ‘cept the hair.”

She met his gaze, dabbing at the part of his chest she could get to, her smile lingering.

“You have.”

“Ah, well, ain’t no barbers in Guarma.”

“Guarma?!” Her hand dropped as she stared at him. “What the hell were you doing there?!”

“Micah and Javier didn’t say?”

“Oh, well... I heard they’d come back but I just... stayed on my watch. I didn’t really know what I wanted to hear.” Grazing her teeth over her lower lip, she gripped at his shirt. “Come on, let’s get this off while you tell me.”

As he raised his arms to help her pull it off, wincing slightly as various aching muscles protested, and she started to wash him, he told her everything, beginning to end. How the bank had been surrounded almost instantly. How Hosea had been shot before them. How they’d blown a hole in the wall of the bank and escaped. How Lenny had been killed as they ran. How they had waited in a dingy room in a boarded-up building for darkness to fall, hiding like rats. How Charles had made himself a diversion, drawing guards away. How they’d managed to get onto a boat and convinced the captain to let them stay. How there had been a storm and the boat had caught fire somewhere in the ocean and they’d had to abandon it, jumping in to the water. Guarma and the hell it had provided. The journey back.

The only comment she gave throughout was that Charles had survived and found them and was still with them. Other than that, she just washed the dirt, sweat, sand and sea-salt from his chest, face and hair, expressionless. Even Hosea and Lenny’s deaths elicited no response from her, but he didn’t let it trouble him.

“Christ...” she finally said after he’d finished, exhaling a long breath. “... and Bill and Dutch are coming?”

“Yeah, we thought it’d be best if we went one at a time with quite some time between us to try and draw as little attention as possible.” He cleared his throat, wanting to ask for water to drink but not wanting her to leave him, even if only for a short while. “But what about you all, how did you all get away? What happened after we left?”

“Pinkerton men came minutes after the explosion.” Her lips twitched at his expression. “Yeah, we heard that all the way at Shady Belle. We packed everything up, came here, not before we exchanged shots. Everyone is fine,” she quickly continued at his mouth opening, “Well, couple of scratches and bruises here and there. Couple of shots to legs and—”

“Whose?”

She pressed her lips together slightly. “Mine. Don’t worry, all right, stop,” she swiftly continued again as he frowned and opened his mouth again. “I’m fine. It didn’t hit anything vital, just meant I couldn’t do much for a little while. Still limp a little and it aches every now and then but that should go away, hopefully.” Her features fell slightly. “Tilly got it worse. Bullet grazed her neck, but she’s okay, thank God. Oh, and there’s this...”

As she brushed curls off of her forehead, he saw it; a thin white scar starting from the upper right side of her forehead, going almost diagonal across it, and curving down past her left eyebrow.

“Jesus Christ...” One hand gripped her chin gently as he angled her head, his gaze following it. “What—”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” She lifted her head out of his touch, smiling lightly. “Nice, huh?” She was already continuing before he could answer. “Anyway, Sadie knew about this place. We reconvened in some woods up north the night it all happened, that’s how Charles found us, and then she and Charles rode ahead, chased away the men who were living here. Like I said, been quiet since then.”

Arthur kept a hold on her skirt as he looked at her. He knew it was pointless to worry about what had already happened, and she was fine, but guilt still set in. He should have been there.

His hand found her free one, lacing their fingers together. “How you been?”

“Fine,” she answered, soaking the rag again.

“Ada.” His thumb brushed over her knuckles.

She exhaled a breath as she met his gaze, a smile tugging at her lips. “You made me cry, Arthur Morgan. More than once. I won’t forgive you for making me feel, cowboy.”

His chest tightened. He knew she wasn’t saying it to make him feel guilty, that she was just teasing, a little. He just couldn’t help but think about the burdens she’d had to carry, how she’d worried day after day. He’d had escaping and saving Javier to keep him occupied, combined with dehydration and near starvation. Even on the boat back he’d just slept, eaten, drank, then slept. God, the guilt could’ve crushed him. He knew apologising wouldn’t even begin to make up for it.

Taking the rag from her hand, he dropped it and took her by the waist, drawing her on to his lap.

“Arthur, I didn’t mean it...” she began to protest gently.

“It’s all righ’, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

She fell silent, her head resting against his shoulder. He tightened his hold on her, his chin on top of her head. She released a breath, her arm sliding around his back.

“What you been up to while we ain’t been around to make things excitin’?” he asked quietly, his fingers brushing against her skin.

She didn’t move, taking a breath. “Oh, the Night Folk have made things very exciting. Other than that, we’ve been lying low. And Sadie and I have been going after O’Driscolls.”

Jesus Christ.

Arthur lifted his head, looking down at her. “What?”

Drawing her head back as well, Ada smiled. “Don’t give me that look. I told you we would, and we’ve survived so far, obviously.”

Well, can’t argue with that.

Arthur exhaled a breath. “Righ’... Does she know?”

“Yeah.” Her hand slid up his back to settle on his shoulder. “I told her a few days after we got here.”

“About everythin’?”

“Yeah. I think she could tell something was up, anyway, had been able to for a while. She also thinks I’m hell bent on revenge like her.” Her eyebrows rose slightly as she brushed her fingers against his neck. “Which I suppose I am.”

Jesus, he had missed out on some things.

“Really?”

She smiled slightly. “I just want peace of mind. I just want to know.”

He took her free hand. “You found any sign of him?”

“We’ve interrogated a few and asked them but there are so many Thomas O’Driscolls, though, it’s hard to narrow them down. The ones we’ve caught didn’t seem close enough to Colm to really know anything.” Meeting his gaze, she smiled again. “Anyway, we shouldn’t be talking about me.”

She cupped his cheek and he leaned in to the touch, so, so grateful to feel it once more.

“Made you cry, did I,” he said quietly, a corner of his mouth lifting.

She snorted lightly, gazing at him in such a way he felt he didn’t deserve.

“Not just you.” She said it before she could stop herself, taking a breath when he frowned. “Oh... My Faithful was hurt during the fight. I had to shoot him to put him out of his misery.”

His heart dropped.

“Oh, shit, sweetheart, I’m so sorry—”

“No, please...” she cut him off gently, a small smile lifting her features again. “It’s fine. You men just keep breaking my heart, don’t you?”

He exhaled a laugh, caressing her back. “I’m gonna have to make it up to you.”

“You can start by not going anywhere, Morgan.” Her arms wrapped around his neck.

“That I can do, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I’m going to make sure of it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She laughed softly, her fingers brushing against his damp hair. Grazing her teeth over her lower lip, she lowered her voice a little. “Morale’s low, Arthur. Well, was low. I think you all returning will boost things.”

“Well, I ain’t surprised, you all ain’t had it easy.”

“It’s been okay, just...” She pressed her lips together. “Molly’s gone.”

"What?” He frowned.

Well, shit... That wasn’t good.

Ada shrugged. “She just disappeared, days after we got here. No one seems to mind, though, I think they all seemed quite relieved. And I’m assuming Abigail told you about John?” She sighed as he nodded. “People are worried.”

“I know,” he murmured, “I feel like an ass, I didn’t even have a chance to think about him while we were out there.”

Her fingers stroked his hair. “Well, Sadie and I have tried to think about what to do, while the general consensus has been to just wait for Dutch, whenever he would return.”

The words just came out. “Well, I don’t know if he’s the right person to make a judgement call right now.”

She looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

He shifted a little, his thumb absent-mindedly brushing over her ring. “Somethin’ happened in Guarma.” He laughed shortly. “Well, not just Guarma. The last few months have been bad call after bad call. I can’t blame him all for that, though, it’s also circumstances but... In Guarma, he killed a woman. An old lady. With no good reason. And he... I don’t know if he’s in his right mind, anymore.”

She caressed the back of his neck, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek before murmuring, “You need sleep, Arthur Morgan.”

He smiled, realising it was the first time she’d kissed him. “Yeah, I do.”

Moving off of him carefully, she took his hand once more. “You can have my bedroll. It’s not particularly comfortable, I’m afraid, just an inch off the rickety, old boards, and we don’t have many blankets to go around. Or maybe one of the hammocks would be better—”

He rose, shaking his head. “It’ll be fine. Anythin’ is better than the floor of a boat or Guarma ground.”

She squeezed his hand. “Let’s get you some fresh clothes and something to eat first.”

He was left alone to change and eat, besides Ada sitting right beside him for the latter, though, and he was grateful for it. Charles grinned and hugged him and Sadie slapped him on the back when they returned from hunting, but they just said they were glad he was back and okay before they moved on, leaving him alone. A damn good man and woman. They all asked if he was okay at one point or another but having heard the tale already from Micah, who’d been the first off the boat and first to arrive back, they were all just glad to see he was there, letting him eat as much stew as he wanted.

It started to rain at some point, darkness falling with it, keeping everyone in the main shack, and they were all quiet, Micah, Javier and Arthur, and Uncle, of course, dozing and catching up on their sleep in hammocks while everyone else did the little odd jobs they’d got into the routine of doing. Ada caught Sadie’s eye as they cleaned their guns, sharing a warm, relieved smile.

The quiet didn’t last long, though.

“Dutch! Dutch is here!” Susan cried as she shoved the door to the main cabin open, beaming, her eyes shining.

Dutch van der Linde stepped in to the small cabin to the sound of gasps, cheers and greetings. He smiled widely at all of them, the men waking up with a start and everyone rising out of their seats.

He could barely get a word out before Abigail was speaking over everyone, words pouring out of her.

“Dutch, Dutch, they got John!”

“Okay, okay,” he said with a gentle chuckle.

“He’s back!” Tilly cried as the men, finally out of their hammocks, entered the main room, grinning, and Uncle cheered.

Arthur rubbed at his eyes before meeting Dutch’s gaze, nodding at him and exchanging weary smiles. Everyone was crowded in the room now, standing in a circle around their king. Arthur stood beside Ada as she folded her arms, lifting her gaze and smiling at him.

He still couldn’t believe it. God, he couldn’t wait until they were alone.

She seemed to be thinking exactly the same thing as her teeth bit at her lower lip and the hint of a smirk appeared. She looked away after a moment, a faint tinge of pink on her cheeks as she turned her attention back to the room.

Dutch was looking between them all, half in shock, half in exhaustion, shaking his head slightly.

"How’d you folks find each other? What happened?" He chuckled tiredly again. ”Can, can somebody get me a cup of coffee or somethin’?”

Pearson leapt into action, moving to the back of the cabin.

“It was Sadie and Annie who saved us and got us movin’, Dutch,” Tilly beamed, giving each of them a wide smile.

“Yes,” Herr Strauss piped up, “After the robbery in Saint Denis, they got us away from camp before any more Pinkertons could turn up. Then Mrs Adler and Mr Smith drove away the degenerates who were living here!”

Pearson returned, handing Dutch a tin cup of coffee.

“Did they, now.” Dutch looked at Sadie and Charles, smiling gratefully. “Thank you, Mrs Adler, and Mr Smith, we owe you. And...” He looked to Ada then, and... she didn’t like what she saw lingering in his gaze. “Annie. Remind me...” He exhaled a short laugh. “It’s been so long, how did you come by those blueprints of the bank, again?”

Her eyebrows rose, as did several others. She knew where this was going. Had known this was what it would come to, but she kept control.

“At the party?” She adopted an air of faint confusion. “I went upstairs to investigate what I could and found them on a table in the mayor’s bedroom. Why?”

“What were you doing upstairs?”

This was the Dutch she knew him to be. Smiling, eyes cold.

She frowned slightly. “I just said, investigating. Like we were all there to do.”

“And they were just lying around?”

“Yes. Anyone else could have found them, Dutch. It just so happened to be me.”

“Yes, it did.”

People shifted around them, discomfort filling the air, but she just held his gaze.

“What are you implying, Dutch?”

His jaw moved, a muscle twitching, the smile gone. “I have lost three men. Two dead, one in prison and somebody is to blame for that.”

Anger was rising and she didn’t do much to stop it from seeping in to her tone. “Well, that person isn’t me.”

Silence suddenly descended.

Oh, fuck.

Then, a voice came from beside her.

“Hosea mentioned the bank first, Dutch,” Arthur said evenly.

To her left, Sadie nodded. “If she was workin’ for Bronte, Dutch, or anyone else, she would have left. She stayed and worked harder than anyone to keep us goin’ and rebuild.”

The sudden murmurings of agreement from the group seemed to faintly rattle Dutch, to her eyes, anyway. Then, he found her gaze again, and smiled.

“My dear Annie, please forgive me. I believe my weariness from the past few weeks has clouded my judgement. I am sorry.”

She didn’t know how she managed the smile, as light as it was. “Of course, Dutch. I understand.”

Abigail stepped forward, a bowl in her hands. “Come over here and sit down, Dutch, have some food.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

The moment his back turned and conversations resumed, Ada dropped her arms and strode to the back of the cabin. Arthur caught Sadie’s eye and was taken aback to find anger in them. She nodded in the direction Ada had gone, and he headed in it.

Opening the door, the rain lighter, he stepped out onto the jetty that wrapped around the side and back of the shed, finding Ada standing at the wooden railing, her hands gripping it as she stared across the river.

“You all righ’?” he murmured, joining her.

“No.” The word leapt out of her, desperate to finally be released. “No, I’m not.” She inhaled a sharp breath. “Granted, he was partly right in his thinking, of course, I didn’t just find it but I did not do it on purpose, I did not know what it would lead to, I am not responsible for their deaths, I’m not.”

He realised, then.

She’d struggled more than she’d let on.

That’s why Sadie had looked so angry.

How many times had she had to convince Ada it hadn’t been her fault?

Had it been duty or guilt fuelling her over the past month?

“It ain’t your fault at all,” Arthur said softly, keeping his gaze on her hard features. “He was talkin’ in Guarma about... he thinks someone’s betrayin’ him.”

“Well, it’s not me.” She nearly spat the words out.

“I know, I know that.” His hand settled over hers, his thumb stroking her skin. “If he really thought it was you he wouldn’t have dropped it.”

“Maybe.”

He could feel how tense she was, see it, but this was going to have to be a conversation for another time. They were too confined, too close to the others.

“Hey,” he murmured, squeezing her hand gently, “Take me to Ophelia, I gotta see my other favourite girl.”

That made the corner of her mouth lift slightly.

“I’m competing with a horse?”

“Yeah, and I ain’t gonna lie, your chances ain’t good.”

He relaxed as she laughed and her fingers laced with his, leading him around to the front of the cabin. “Come on, then, you fool.”

Neither of them heard the quiet boots that moved along the jetty, pausing to watch them disappear out of sight.

Micah smiled as he lit himself a cigarette, his eyes shifting across to the river, watching the water move.

—

Ophelia, quite rightly, was slightly put-out when Arthur and Ada approached her. She tossed her head and whinnied loudly, snorting and eyeing Arthur.

“Hey, girl,” he murmured, releasing his hold on Ada so he could stroke Ophelia’s neck and forehead. “Hey, I’m sorry, I know, you’re all righ’, though...”

She’d told him earlier about how Sadie and Karen had found her at Shady Belle when they’d gone back to the house a few days after the failed robbery to see if any of the men were there. Men were there, but not their men. Luckily, Ophelia was smart enough to evade them and bolt away, and the two women had gone after her, finding her in a patch of woods.

The men had been Pinkertons, and they’d soon found out after a few trips back that the men would visit the house seemingly every day, even all this time later. Sadie and someone else would still go, though, to see if any clues were left, and it was Sadie who left a letter the last time they went, knowing making so many trips was risky.

Ophelia quickly settled, pushing her muzzle against him and snorting quietly. He smiled, continuing to murmur to her. Ada couldn’t stop her own smile as she watched, before another whinny drew her attention.

"Who’s this?” she asked, raising her eyebrows as she spotted the Hungarian-Halfbred.

Arthur glanced over, stroking his hand down Ophelia’s neck. “Ah, that’s my new friend. Hijacked her from Van Horn to get here.”

“Oh?” Her smile widened as she stepped towards the horse, stroking her fingertips against her forehead. “Well, I think I owe you a thank you and debt of gratitude, then.”

“Have her.”

Her eyebrows rose as she looked at him, patting the horse’s neck. “Really?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. She’s good, solid, not a racer but got a good speed to her.”

“Well, thank you.” Her lips twitched as she scratched behind the horse’s ear. “You know, most women get jewellery.”

“I’ll steal that next time.”

She exhaled a laugh, her smile lingering as she gazed at the horse. “Hello,” she murmured as the tall piebald nudged at her arm. “I’ll have to think of what to call you. I suppose Lucky is a little too on the nose...” Raising her voice slightly so Arthur could hear, she said, ”What about Maggie? I always liked that name. Mags for short.”

“I like it.” He opened his mouth to continue, when his gaze suddenly darted over her shoulder and he frowned.

“Bill?”

Turning, Ada watched Bill stomp towards them, pissed off as always, his beard somehow bigger.

“Oh, thank God, here is where you all is!”

Arthur sighed and approached, waving him towards the main shack. “All righ’, all righ’, Christ, come on, inside. There’s hot food and coffee.”

“Oh, thank God...” Bill sped up, moving ahead of them.

Ada laughed under her breath as she watched him, and Arthur joined her at her side. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, her’s going around his waist, they walked up to the shack together.

“Glad to have us all back, huh?”

She snorted.“Hmmh... Things will certainly be interesting again.”

When they reached the shack and entered, Bill was still grumbling on to everyone.

“... asked everyone I could find and eventually someone knew! Said you fools were out here.”

He didn’t seem to realise everyone was staring at him, and Ada felt her stomach twist.

Oh, fuck...

“Shit, get me a drink or somethin’!” he said to Sadie, the woman clearly seething.

“Get your own damn drink!” Sadie shot back.

“In our absence,” Dutch cut in before Bill could speak, his tone sharp, “Mrs Adler here has been looking after things. Now sit down.”

Bill clenched his jaw, but seemed very much cowed, and went to sit down, when the voice rang out.

“This is Agent Milton with the Pinkerton Detective Agency!”

Ada closed her eyes as people shot to their feet or hissed out a curse.

Oh, fuck...

“Already?” Dutch muttered, shocked, as she felt Arthur move behind her to peer out of a hole in the wood.

“Awh, shit...” he hissed.

“On behalf of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar,” Milton was carrying on, “the United States Government and the Commonwealth of West Elizabeth...”

“Here we go,” Dutch sighed as people drew or grabbed their guns.

“... we are here to arrest you! Come out with your hands up!”

Arthur had his back against the door, and was shrugging at Dutch as Ada turned, her jaw clenched. Arthur then moved to a window and before he could say a word to her, he was just left watching her stride to the back of the cabin as he heard Milton shout, “Let ‘em have it!”

Bullets instantly began thudding against the wood, flying through the open window and embedding into the wall.

“Get down!” Dutch yelled, and Arthur dove to the floor, watching Ada crawl across the floor to the back door.

“Arthur!” He looked to his right and saw Sadie moving, too. “Arthur, follow me!”

Gritting his teeth, he moved behind her, the bullets relentless.

“Asked everyone you could find, did you, Bill?!” he yelled as they passed the cursing man.

For once, the man had nothing to snap back, his face red.

“This is real bad!” Sadie called to him as they continued on, Ada already out of the door, rising to her feet.

He heard Tilly and Mary-Beth scream as the bullets were just not stopping.

And, yes... there was the unmistakable sound of a Gatling Gun.

“Stay down, all of you!” he shouted, when a bullet hit a lantern beside him, bursting into flames. Gritting his teeth as he and Sadie reached the door, passing through it and closing it behind them, he released a sharp breath, looking to her... and he then realised she was looking to Ada, the woman waiting for them, a revolver from her belt in her hand.

“Come on, this way,” she murmured, moving along the jetty.

“Where are we goin’?” Arthur said, keeping his voice down as they kept low, darting across the wooden boards.

“This way,” Ada answered, moving to the right, “There’s a trapdoor into the other house.”

“We can try to flank ‘em,” Sadie added.

Then, Ada dropped out of sight, and he noticed it a moment later; a square cut out of the jetty, revealing the muddy bank below. Sadie dropped down next, then him and he just followed them as they moved quickly under the stilts and wooden boars that kept the jetty and shacks up. The gang was firing back, he could hear, the sound deafening.

There was suddenly a square of light a few feet away and they ran to it, Ada lifting herself up through it first, then Sadie then him.

“Come on, quick,” Sadie murmured to him as they made it into the house.

“You fools weren’t listening to me, were you?” they could hear Milton shouting as Sadie took one side of the front doors and Ada took the other, Arthur joining her. “I showed mercy... you mistook it for weakness!”

Sadie met Ada’s gaze when, suddenly, there was silence.

“Why've they stopped shootin’?” she hissed as Ada paused, straining to hear.

“Now...” Milton continued, his voice ringing out. “... I will show strength, and you may mistake it for brutality. There is no escape for any of you! I shall hunt you to the ends of the earth and to the end of time!”

Arthur, peering through a gap in the wood, staring at Milton, felt rage surge within him.

Not on this fuckin’ day.

Not when he’d just got those he loved dear back.

“This idiot is really startin’ to irritate me...” he murmured, his jaw tight.

Still Milton was continuing. “I’ve killed your friends, and I’ve enjoyed killing them!”

And that was it.

Pushing away from the wood, he moved passed Ada, caught the rifle Sadie threw to him and kicked the doors open.

“... and now I’m gonna kill each—” Milton started to say.

“Arthur, wait!” Ada called.

But it was too late.

“Come on!” he yelled, aiming and firing instantly.

He killed the man at the Gatling Gun as he heard Sadie and Ada firing, and shots started to come from the main shack, too. The Pinkertons scrambled for cover as he saw Ada move to his right, her body in front of his, and, God damn, did she shoot, both revolvers in her hands now.

“We need to push ‘em back!” he shouted, but the two women were already doing just that, their turn to be relentless now as they stepped forward with every Pinkerton body that went down.

The lanterns did just enough to illuminate the Pinkertons in the darkness beyond, and he didn’t think, just all hate and pain and rage for Hosea, Lenny and John.

“Take them down!” Milton was screaming, but he sounded far off.

God damn coward.

“They’re comin’ from the side!” Sadie yelled. “Come on, let’s push ‘em back, keep goin’!”

“Don’t think for one minute you’re gonna have all the fun by yourselves!” Bill called out from behind them.

He had come out of the main house now, joining them and firing at the new wave of men approaching. They all took their own route through the wagons and sheds, fanning out and crouching and rising to dodge bullets and shoot back.

“Get them, get them, get them!” Milton thundered, but he sounded even further off, possibly retreating.

Good.

“They’re hidin’ in the trees!” Arthur called out. “Get after ‘em!”

They used the darkness to their advantage now, hunting the men down. Bullets struck the trees around him, not one finding their mark.

“We’ll kill every last one of ya!” Sadie yelled from somewhere close by, and she ran past him suddenly, overtaking him.

“I have had it with you bastards!” Bill was also shouting, but Ada, wherever she was, was silent.

Oh, God, please...

Then, he saw her, far up to the right, aiming and shooting, aiming and shooting, her features like pure, relentless thunder. There would be the fire burning in her eyes and, God, he had missed her.

“We need someone back here!” he suddenly heard Dutch from back behind them. “They’re comin’ down the main path!”

He saw Ada lift her head, and she started to stride towards the path.

“There’s more of them! Get on the Gatling Gun, Arthur!” she called to him as she broke out into a run.

He started running instantly. Shouldering the rifle, he pulled himself up into the wagon holding the gun as Sadie followed after him, using the wagon as cover, and to protect him. Swinging the gun around, he fired at the main path, feeling the power of the Gatling shaking his arms.

The Pinkertons shouted to each other, ducking for cover or even trying to run back, but he could see, behind a thick tree, Ada shooting them down.

“More on the left here!” Bill called.

“And to the right!” Sadie joined in.

“Keep your head down, I’m swingin’ this around!” Arthur shouted. “Keep your heads down!”

His people ducked and he fired in a circle, knocking down several of the remaining men.

“There’s more of them moving in!” Charles called, out of the shack now and somewhere in the darkness.

“Charles, this way!” he heard Ada yell from somewhere else.

He was distracted by the Gatling juddering slightly, out of bullets. Leaping over the side of the wagon, he shrugged the rifle off of his shoulder and joined Sadie, helping her on her side.

Suddenly, there was a small explosion to the left, and he and Sadie jerked, their heads whipping to it. Ada and Charles rose out of the darkness, shooting at the men who tried to scramble from the flames.

“That’s it! Run, you spineless sons of bitches!” Bill hollered, and, yes, Arthur could see them, retreating and running for the darkness.

Charles and Ada didn’t seem in merciful moods, though. They followed after them and Arthur watched man after man fall.

“Arthur!” Sadie’s voice caught his attention. Turning to her, he found her smiling. “We did it! That’s the last of ‘em!”

Then, there was silence.

Not allowing a sigh of relief yet, he squeezed Sadie’s shoulder as they rose, his gaze darting between the trees.

“I think you might be righ’...”

They moved to the main path, keeping a tight grip on their weapons.

“Annie? Charles?” he called out, seeing no sign of them.

Then, he saw them, moving up the path towards them.

“Here!” Ada called, a smile pulling at her lips as Charles walked by her side.

All the tension left his body as he blew out a breath, Sadie chuckling beside him, and Ada smiled, looking up at Charles who returned it. He patted her on the back as they neared and she said something Arthur couldn’t hear that made him chuckle.

“Well, that was a nice bit of excitement,” Sadie sighed cheerfully as she turned and headed back to the shed, Bill close behind her. Charles patted Arthur on the arm as he passed, Ada stopping before him, her smile lingering.

“You all righ’?” he asked, his tone softening.

“Just fine. You?”

“Yeah.”

The smirk returned to her lips, and he opened his mouth to speak when she closed the distance between them and gripped the front of his shirt, keeping him close as she tilted her head back, rose up on her toes and captured his lips.

His arm instantly went around her, keeping her tight against him as he revelled in every second of the kiss. She hummed against his lips, a sound akin to a moan, and he fisted her shirt, answering with a groan.

God, he had missed her, missed this, missed just being around her and feeling her and—

“Hey!”

They drew their heads back and looked to Sadie, a grin on her lips and an eyebrow arched. “C’mon, get in here, ya love birds.”

“Yeah, thank you for ruining that, we’re coming!” Ada called as Arthur chuckled.

“You’re welcome!” came the jovial response as Sadie disappeared inside the shack.

The rain started to pick up a little again as they moved towards the house, arms around each other.

When they were a few feet away, though, Dutch stepped out onto the jetty and moved down the few steps towards them, Micah close behind him.

“You saved us, Arthur,” Dutch said, looking very weary as he surveyed the bodies and mess.

“Well, me ‘nd Annie, Sadie, Bill ‘nd Charles,” he answered, keeping his arm around Ada who was silent.

“Yes, indeed,” Dutch smiled, meeting his gaze.

“Well,” Micah said, sitting on a step. “We ain’t been back for more than a few hours, and look at this...”

“What do we do, Dutch?” Arthur said without thinking. Force of habit, and he felt it.

“Well, clearly we need to leave,” Dutch said, a slight bite to his tone. “It’ll take them sometime to regroup.”

Micah was suddenly off the step, approaching Dutch with his hands on his hips.

Damn idiot’s tryna look like he’s part of the organisin’.

“Mr Pearson, Miss Grimshaw,” Dutch continued, calling back up to the shack as people looked out, “start packin’ up. Javier, you and Bill, get outta here. Go and scare off any scum still loiterin’ about. We need a couple of days...” He took a breath, then his shoulders dropped as he waved his hand. “Now go, please, gentlemen!”

They left with their instructions, leaving Micah, Arthur, Ada, Sadie and Abigail around him.

“What next, Dutch?” Arthur murmured, his eyes remaining on Dutch because... there didn’t seem to be much of a plan.

Dutch braced his hands against the wagon beside him, leaning against it as he released a breath. “We just need some time, I just, I, I need some time,” he stuttered slightly. “Now, we can’t go east, ‘cause then we’ll be in the ocean, so we’re gonna have to go north, I guess?” Arthur chest hurt as he looked at him fumble for an answer. “I just need somebody to buy me some,” his tone rose slightly as he slammed his fist down on the wagon, “God damn time, one of you.” He straightened, looking between them but not quite meeting their eyes.

“You’ll figure it out, boss,” Micah said gently, “You always do.”

“What are you gonna do about John, Dutch?” Abigail piped up, and, God damn, Arthur could see him being overwhelmed.

“John?” Dutch said, his gaze finding her.

Abigail frowned slightly. “He’s in jail.”

“W-we’ll get him, Abigail,” Dutch stammered even as he raised his hands in what once would have been a soothing gesture. “Just not, not yet.”

“There’s talk of hangin’ him,” Abigail shot back, her tone now rising.

“It’s not gonna come to that,” Dutch dismissed as he turned away.

“Dutch!” Abigail called after him, and Arthur felt Ada beside him, stiff and unmoving.

Dutch was already walking away, though, heading up to the shack, Micah following him. “Not now, Miss, I...” He waved his hand without turning. “... Not now.”

They watched him disappear inside. Before any of them could speak, Abigail turned to them suddenly, her eyes shining as she lowered her voice.

“I’m beggin’ you three, he’s...” She swallowed, looking between them. “... They’re gonna hang him. It would break my...” She looked away from them as she shook her head. “... the boy’s heart.” She looked back to them. “Please do something.”

“We will,” Sadie murmured, squeezing her arm in reassurance.

Abigail nodded, swallowed and then turned and walked away quickly, her arms folding.

Arthur blew out a breath as he met Sadie’s gaze.

“Okay,” she murmured to them, “That’s it, I’m gonna go figure out how we rescue this bastard.”

“Now?” Arthur asked quietly.

“Yes, now,” she insisted, “I’ll go into Saint Denis, see what I can find out.”

“Okay,” Ada answered before Arthur could, her tone just as quiet. “Will you be back for the morning?”

“Oh, you know I will,” the other woman replied, a grin pulling at her lips. “Damn, I’ve missed all this excitement.”

Ada smiled as Sadie nodded at them before striding for her horse. “A one woman army,” she murmured, drawing a chuckle from Arthur.

“That she is.”

Taking in a breath, Ada looked up at him and took his hand. “Right, then, bed for you, cowboy.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.”

—

“This is close, ain’t it?”

“What was it before?”

He snorted, settling on his side, his back to the thin cloth that acted as a curtain between them and the other ladies and Jack. Luckily, they were all asleep by now, exhausted from the excitement and activities of the day. The wooden boards a foot or so away was scorched from where the lantern had erupted earlier, but it was still intact and sturdy. Ada stepped across it, glancing out of the window, before she crouched and moved under the small, raised platform above that Sadie used to sleep on. Unbuckling her gunbelt and placing it to the side, she then untucked her blouse from her skirt and lay beside him, her back to his chest. His arm went around her, holding her against him.

She exhaled a long breath as her hand slid under his, making their fingers lace together.

“What a God damn mess...” he murmured after a few moments.

She hummed her agreement, and he wished he could see her face.

“Don’t think about that now, just get some rest.”

He was only quiet for less than a minute.

“I didn’t know if you’d still be here.”

He felt her hand tighten on his slightly.

“Of course I’m still here.”

Christ, the way she said it, the conviction... He wished it was just them two. He wished he could just... He wanted to put his mouth on her, to relearn all of her and just—

“I’ve got your journal.”

“Really?”

He could hear the smile in her weary voice. “Yeah. It’s one of the things that was saved. Mary-Beth ran up and got it.”

He paused. “Did you read it?”

She shook her head slightly. “No. Didn’t feel right to.”

“You should’ve.”

“Why?”

“Could’ve told you what I stupidly didn’t. How much you mean to me.”

She was quiet for several moments, to the point where he thought she might have fallen asleep and not heard him. He was about to close his eyes when she moved their hands up and pressed a long, lingering kiss to the back of his hand.

“Sleep now,” she whispered, tucking their hands under her chin.

—

The early morning light spilled in through the window, growing moment by moment. She could see dust dancing in it, endlessly falling. She followed the beam, her gaze reaching his features, the sunlight illuminating him in the semi-darkness of the shack.

She didn’t take her eyes off of him as she pulled her blouse on.

She’d missed him. Almost unbearably. She’d cried night after night after night as quietly as she could behind one of the shacks, face in her hands. Sadie had known, obviously. She’d given her her space, though, which she’d greatly appreciated.

Arthur wasn’t a distraction. He wasn’t something to take her mind off of her anxieties and irritations, he was... He was everything. He was what she wanted, what she needed, and everything that lay in between.

The separation had revealed that to her. It had also revealed that she could live this life nearly on her own, could look after and lead people, but she didn’t want to. She wanted someone, him, by her side.

And what he’d said last night... She thought her heart was going to burst.

She couldn’t help but think, then, of the girl she’d been before, the girl from Strawberry, the girl who’d wished and waited for more.

If only I could tell you what was coming.

And there was still more to come. More unnecessary gambles and putting people’s lives on the line, and Dutch... Something had changed in him, rather visibly, and Arthur had noticed it, too, even before what had occurred with the Pinkertons the previous night.

She thought she would have revelled in that moment, when he told her his doubts about Dutch. Would have had to have stopped herself from saying ‘I told you so’, but she had just felt... sad. It wasn’t the victory she had dreamed about. Despite all she and Sadie had done, leadership was now well and truly back in Dutch’s hands, even if he didn’t have a clue what he was doing. She’d had to bite her tongue when he’d looked all them all, helpless and without a plan.

The kingdom was falling, and the king was the cause.

She’d have to talk with Sadie and Arthur, plan what their next and final move should be because this couldn’t carry on any longer.

Arthur jolted awake beside her suddenly, making her blink and return to the present. She watched as he realised and remembered where he was before his eyes found hers. She smiled softly, finishing buttoning up her blouse.

“Good morning,” she murmured.

“Hey.” He rubbed at his eyes groggily, taking her in. She was out of the blouse and skirt from the day before, now in trousers and a cream blouse, her gunbelt back around her waist. “Where’re you goin’?”

“Sadie and I heard about an O’Driscoll camp not too far from here the other day. We planned to go and check it out this morning.”

He swallowed, his throat dry. “Okay, but we gotta move on.”

She reached over and pulled her boots closer, pulling them on. “Yeah, but that probably won’t happen ‘till tomorrow morning, though. We have to figure out where to go, exactly. Be smart about our next move because we can’t take another surprise like last night.”

He gazed at her, feeling both sad and in awe.

There was the leader she’d had to become.

Clearing his throat, he leaned up on an elbow. “D’you want me to come?”

A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as she finished lacing one boot and started on the other. “No, thank you. This is ladies business.”

“Ah, I understand.” He smiled, scratching at his beard.

God, I need a shave.

She finished lacing her boot and reached over to take a sheathed knife that lay on a folded pile of her clothes. It wasn’t the one Sean had given her, he noted as she pushed it into her boot.

“Hey.”

She looked to him as she finished tying her hair back with a black ribbon, raising her eyebrows a little.

“C’mere.”

Her smile returned as she leaned down at his murmured request and pressed her lips to his. He couldn’t help but groan quietly, his hand moving around to settle on her lower back to draw her closer. He felt her smile widen a little against his lips as her fingertips brushed under his chin.

“I have to go...” she murmured, doing very little to actually pull away.

“One more minute won’t hurt,” he drawled, his fingers caressing her back.

She exhaled a laugh, pulling her head back just slightly. “Do you want Sadie bursting in here?”

“Hell no,” he muttered as he released her, making her laugh again as she pulled back.

“Well, then...” She pulled a thin, dark brown jacket on as she arched an eyebrow. “Besides, you need to rest. Sleep, Arthur Morgan.”

“I know what I need.”

She did her very best to look scandalised as she swatted his caressing hand away, smiling. “Plenty of rest before any of that.”

There was a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Why, I don’t have to do any movin’.”

She gave a quiet gasp of disbelief even as she grinned, shaking her head. “You are a scoundrel.”

“You love it.”

Before she could respond, he leaned up and settled a hand on the back of her neck, pulling her closer and kissing her again. Her body instantly relaxing and pressing against his did wonders for his ego. Yet, alas, a few moments later she broke the kiss and licked her lips to hide a smile.

“Come on, Morgan, let me go.”

“If I have to,” he grumbled, releasing her and watching her as she got to her feet, moving out from under the platform.

She grinned at how put-out he looked.

Like a cat that hadn’t been fed the moment it was hungry.

Ada pressed her lips together, though, when he also pushed himself up, grunting as he hit his head on the platform and muttering out a curse. Stepping out from under the platform, he rubbed his head and nodded towards the front of the shack.

“C’mon, I’ll see you out.”

Her hand found his as they walked out into the cool, damp morning air, the trees too thick to allow much light in to warm and harden the mud. She was about to turn to him and order him back to bed when Dutch’s voice sounded.

“White to D4...”

They turned together, finding Dutch sat on a chair on the jetty to their left, looking out across the water. Ada released Arthur’s hand as he frowned, watching the older man move his hands slightly as he stared out.

“... White to D4...”

She patted his arm and met his gaze, smiling lightly, then walked down the steps, giving him space. Rolling his shoulders, he took a breath and approached the man.

“You okay, there?” he asked gently.

“Workin’ it all out,” Dutch responded, not looking at him. “Once and for all, Arthur.”

Arthur hummed, leaning back against the railing and folding his arms, watching Dutch closely. “What now?”

Dutch’s gaze shifted to him. “We’re back... And I’m sittin’ here, and I am contemplatin’ the great journey of the sun, and considerin’ a famous chess move.” Arthur scratched his beard, his gaze briefly rising to meet Ada’s a little way off, her eyebrows raised. Dutch didn’t notice, his eyes back on the water as he continued. “Those oily enactors of a mediocre justice, the Pinkertons and their benefactor, the depressing millionaire Leviticus Cornwall, they want us, Arthur.” His voice had risen in agitation, his fists clenched. “They want us, and they are goin’ to have us.”

Arthur kept his own tone light. “Well, maybe they ain’t the problem.”

“Meanin’?” Dutch snapped.

He sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know, it’s just, well...” He chuckled slightly, then paused. “... I can’t help but feel we would’ve been better runnin’ off someplace else.”

Dutch now chuckled. “But the, the game ain’t over, Arthur. I mean, I ain’t, I ain’t played my, my final move but...”

As he trailed off slightly, Arthur had to stop himself from gritting his teeth. “I guess I’m more interested in savin’ lives than winnin’ at chess.”

“Then maybe life ain’t such a thing to cling onto so tightly!”

“No doubt,” Arthur quickly said, before gesturing towards the shack. “But what about the women?”

Dutch paused then, his hands dropping to his lap. He was quiet for a few moments. “You sound like Hosea,” he murmured, his voice cracking slightly. “I miss...” He took a breath, raising his eyes to the sky. “... him.”

It broke Arthur’s heart because, God, he did, too, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t back down. “I asked you a question.”

Dutch looked at him. “What do you think?”

Arthur shook his head. “We can’t stay here. That much is obvious. But where are we gonna run to? I mean they chased us from the west, they chased us over the mountains, they ran us into the sea—”

“Arthur...” Dutch had closed his eyes for a few moments, rubbing his temple. He looked at him. “... do you have my back?”

Arthur looked at him, his hands on his belt. He felt angry. “Always, Dutch... but there’s more than your back to worry about.” Dutch looked away but Arthur carried on. “We need more money. We’ve been on the run for months now, and I seen you...” He lowered his voice as he leaned closer, some of the anger seeping in to his tone. “... killin’ folk in cold blood, like you always told me not to!” His voice had risen, though, as Dutch stood, shaking his head and stepping away, resting his hands on the railing. Still he carried. “And, I’m sorry, but I think that if we listened to Annie and Sa—”

“There is country in Roanoke Ridge, past Butcher Creek, I believe we could hold,” Dutch spoke over him.

Arthur couldn’t help it, the sense of relief that there was a plan of some kind. “Okay.”

“And you and Charles, you could take folks up that way. Micah...” Dutch trailed off for a moment, looking across the water. “... and I need to do some reconnaissance. I ain’t got a final plan, yet.” He turned to Arthur suddenly. “Arthur, I ain’t got a...” He trailed off again. “... I just need time.” He looked at him. “I need time, and no traitors.”

Arthur just looked at him, silent. Then, he turned and moved away, heading towards Ada.

She watched Dutch, his gaze dropping as he sat back down, his back to them. Her eyes slid to Arthur’s, her jaw clenched. She’d had to hold her tongue from snapping that Arthur needed rest, they all did, he and Micah included, and that she and Sadie could handle things, like that had been doing.

Her heart had fluttered slightly when Arthur had started to suggest that, but, there would always be only one leader here. Inclining her head, she gestured for Arthur to follow her as she turned and headed for the horses. Raising her gaze, she saw Sadie coming down the main path, raising her hand to acknowledge her as she drew her horse to a halt.

Arthur sighed heavily as he neared, running a hand down his mouth.

“Do you know it?” he asked quietly, watching her as she adjusted the stirrups on Maggie’s saddle. “Roanoke Ridge?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, taking a Repeater from the shed beside them and slotting it into the holster on the saddle. “There’s some caves up there, the locals call it Beaver Hollow.” She paused, then turned to him. “Be careful.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “We will.”

“I mean it. I don’t like it up there, Arthur, it’s...” She shrugged slightly. “It just feels strange. Charles and Sadie have run into the people who occupy the caves, the Murfree Brood, a couple of times, as I’m sure Charles will tell you, but...” She released a breath, gazing at him. “... Be vigilant, please.”

He stepped closer, his gentle smile returning. “Always am.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly, but she couldn’t help her own small smile. “We both know that’s a lie, Arthur Morgan.” She placed a hand on his chest, patting gently. “See you later.”

He caught her arm gently as she went to turn, drawing her closer. “Hey...”

She leaned into the soft kiss he claimed her lips with, her eyes falling shut. Sadie’s distant, pointed cough made her pull back after several moments, her smile wider. Gripping Maggie’s saddle, she pulled herself up and gathered the reins, gazing down at him.

Patting the horse’s neck, his smile lingered. “Come back to me, Miss Sawyer.”

“I will,” she answered, her features softening, before she turned Maggie as he stepped away, and headed for Sadie.

Arthur gripped his belt as he watched them, Sadie grinning at her and tossing her a couple of boxes of ammunition as she neared.

He watched them ride off, a tightening and anxiety in his chest he hadn’t felt before.

—

It had been far too easy rounding them up. Ada paced before the six kneeling men, tapping her revolver against her leg.

“I’m gonna ask again, and I’ll warn you, I’m really running out of patience.” She stopped in the middle of them, sighing. “Do any of you know Thomas O’Driscoll?”

A greying man tutted as he pulled a face. “Shit, you probably shot five Thomas O’Driscoll’s here, lady.”

She looked at him. “Colm O’Driscoll’s nephew. That Thomas O’Driscoll.”

There was silence, the men glancing at each other or staring at the ground suddenly. Ada glanced at Sadie who arched an eyebrow. That was different. The men would usually holler that they didn’t know a damn thing or plead that they didn’t know anything.

Ada returned her attention to them, looking from man to man. “Who can tell me where he is?”

The silence continued.

“Don’t make this hard for yourselves, boys,” Sadie called from behind her.

One of the men lifted his head and looked behind her, to Sadie, she thought. Then, he shot to his feet.

“Get ‘em, lads!”

“Shit,” Ada hissed as the men scattered and she spun, seeing a group of men running through the trees towards them, firing.

“Fuck, they must have gone out huntin’!” Sadie called as they ran for cover.

Darting behind trees, Ada gritted her teeth as the men they’d had captured moments before found their guns and joined in the firing. Flinching as bullets flew past them, some striking their trees, she looked to Sadie.

“Shit, there’s too many of ‘em, we better go!” Sadie called to her.

“We should spilt up and draw them off so they don’t follow us back to camp!”

Sadie nodded, gripping her rifle. “All righ’, I’ll meet you in Van Horn!”

“All right, be careful! I’ll give you cover!”

The trees were close enough together that Sadie could dodge bullets as she ran, weaving between them. Ada leaned out, firing at men. They were also hiding behind trees, though, giving no one an advantage. Bullets came from behind her, and she knew Sadie was firing to give her cover, so, taking a breath, she lunged to the left and ran. They had found the men at a top of the hill, so she took the route down the incline, sliding down it slightly.

“Go on, get ‘er! We got the other one!”

Oh, shit. Well, now I know the plan worked...

She sprinted as she reached the bottom, the men who were following her, mercifully, not firing. She and Sadie had left their horses some way back, near the road so they wouldn’t have drawn attention, but how the hell would she get to them from here?

She veered left suddenly, hoping she was going somewhat in the right direction.

“No, don’t, wait!”

No, thanks, I think I’ll keep running—

Something landed a little way behind her, and there was an almighty explosion. She grunted as the ground shifted beneath her, the force of it knocking her to the floor. She felt the heat of it on her back, the dust and dirt it threw up filling her lungs. Gasping in a breath, she grabbed the revolver that had fallen out of her hand and crawled forward, quickly pulling herself behind a boulder.

Coughing in to her arm to try and muffle the sound, she closed her eyes at the sound of movement several feet away.

“That’s his fuckin’ niece, you fuckin’ idiot! He’s been lookin’ for her!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know! Please, don’t, I—”

She jumped as a gunshot went off and a body fell, frozen in her spot.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

—

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Tagged: @belfry-bat, @sistasarah-sallysaidso, @ntlmundy

#arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x ofc #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 #my writing #flamehairedwritings

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occasionalfics · 5 years

Text

worth my while // p. 9

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi | p. 8 | p. 10

Summary: After being banished from his home, Thor Odinson has stopped at nothing to prove himself worthy of his throne, title, and power.

After losing the love of your life, you turned to a power you didn’t understand.You know you shouldn’t get involved.

But how could you not?

Pairing: Thor x Reader (Hercules au…kind of…)

A/N: Continue your yelling. I get it. This hurts.

Warnings: Violence, lots of angst, borderline abuse and definite manipulation, way too many feels, major character death (eventually). Hades is THE WORST.

Words: 2,381

You run back through the compound - it’s so empty, it feels haunted. You may not know Tony Stark as well as you maybe should, but he’s kind of famous for having a lot of stuff. Rich guys always have tons of cars, you figure. And in a facility like this, you know there has to be at least a service van or something, just waiting to be taken out to save the day.

But you’re not looking to save anyone other than Thor.

You know you hurt him. You lied to him. You weren’t enough. You weren’t and aren’t worthy of him or Asgard or...anything.

You do wish you’d told him about Rick. Maybe then it wouldn’t seem so impossible to believe that he’d forgive you one day.

Today is not about your feelings or your regrets, though. Hades is going to raise the dead - you don’t even know how or why or where or how many dead he’ll bring back - and Thor can’t fight them off. He wants to, but it’ll kill him.

Which is probably exactly what Hades wants. To kill a mortal, or at least to hold dominion over a mortal’s soul, is one kind of power. But to hold that dominion over the soul of a God?

You can’t fathom what that might mean. You can’t even pretend like it’s possible, because if it is, that leaves Thor in the Underworld all because of you.

You try to call out for the Irish lady - FRIDAY! You remember - but the building is too big and you can’t hear her response. You find a bathroom, notice that there aren’t any cameras in the corners of the room, and try again.

“Yes, Miss?” she asks.

The beating of your heart heats your ears. “Where’s the garage or a car or just...anything that’ll get me out of this compound and back into the city?”

The lights dim. The mirror over the sink illuminates with lines that bend in all directions. A single green trail starts in one corner and marks its way across the mirror as Friday tells you, “In the West corridor. Rentals are available, or one of Mr. Stark’s Audis has been left in his spot.”

The green line branches off and stretches out beyond the other lines. A dot at the end blinks back at you.

It’s a map. You memorize the green line from where you are to where the Audi is, which seems to be in a parking structure just beyond the main hub of the compound. You call out, “Thank you!” to Friday, then take a deep breath and run.

Thor might be slow moving, and he’s on foot, but you have to find him before anyone else does.

There are few agents around. You know most of them have been called out to deal with Hades - how global this issue is, you have no concept of. You urge your feet to move faster, even as the remaining agents call after you.

They have no idea who you are. You’ve never been here before, not that you have any business being in an Avengers’ facility. The only floors of the tower you’ve seen, besides the lobby, are the residential ones and that deck.

The deck. You had the perfect opportunity to open up, to tell Thor about Rick. Maybe not to tell him everything, but at least to get out the fact that losing Rick had shaken you so badly, you weren’t quite ready to move on.

But by the time you’d gone up to that deck, you already had.

If there’s a prize for rotten judgement… you think.

You come up to the doors to the parking lot and find the Audi in the second spot on the left - the first two, one on the left and one on the right - are disabled spots, as per the ADA. Good for Stark you think.

“Friday, where are the keys to that thing?” you ask.

An automatic door opens in the wall beside the door. “I’m not supposed to give these to anyone,” she tells you, as a tube falls into the open space from within the wall. “But Pointbreak has gone beyond my surveillance reach, and his vitals are below normal. I’m initiating Emergency protocol.”

You pause because you seem to remember something about sentient AI and the Avengers, and how that debacle had led to the Accords. But that doesn’t matter right now. Friday is trying to help you, not hinder your progress.

“I’ll put in a good word with the boss,” you tell her, even though you don’t really know what that’s going to mean. You pull the tube from the wall, rip it open, and take the keys before sprinting through the doors and out to the car. There’s no time to appreciate the luxury of it; you turn the key in the ignition, throw the car in reverse, and hit the gas so hard, the car hesitates.

“Drive savely, Miss,” Friday’s voice calls out from within the car. The screen on the dashboard shuts off, as if she’s signaling that she’s turning off surveillance.

She’s covering your tracks, and possibly even protecting Stark because she must know he’s fighting for his life. For everyone’s life.

God, this is all your fault.

You’ll loath yourself later, though. You follow the path down from the compound - thankfully, there’s only one road to and from the highway. Empty fields pass, but there is no sign of life.

No sign of death here, either, though. That, at least, gives you some relief.

You tap the steering wheel anxiously the further you get. Eventually, just before the ramp onto the highway, you find him. His frame comes into view slowly, but then he turns as you approach. How he got this far this fast, you’ll never know. You won’t ask because it’s not that important.

You pull the car up next to him, roll the window down, and yell out, “Thor, get in!”

He turns from you and continues on. You follow.

“Don’t be stupid - you’re gonna get yourself killed!”

You don’t notice the tears streaking across your face. At first, you refused to let them fall, but now… Now you’re not even crying because your pride is hurt at his refusal to listen. You’re crying because you know you’re right. If Thor doesn’t listen, if he doesn’t let you protect him, he will die.

And it’ll be all your fault.

Selling your soul to save Rick had once been your biggest mistake, your own self-imposed curse. But losing Thor to the monster who took advantage of your broken spirit?

That would be a whole new version of Hell.

“Please, Thor, get in!”

He continues without looking your way.

You speed up, intending to block the entrance to the highway with the entire body of the Audi. If he weren’t so weak, he might be able to climb over the car and go on. But you know he won’t get far.

The car speeds up too quickly, though. You cut the wheel when you expect it’ll turn, but the tires screech as you stomp on the breaks. The whole car spins once - twice - three times up the ramp, then harshly collides with the metal barricade and cement wall.

The hood crumples. The airbag inflates and crushes your nose, chin, and chest. You weren’t wearing a seatbelt, but the crash is so swift that you’re only thrown from your seat for a second before the dashboard sends you catapulting back. Your head hits the seat, and pain shoots up your neck and down your spine.

When everything stills, you struggle to breathe. There’s a hissing noise that you can’t identify. The screen on the dashboard illuminates, and a voice tells you they’re calling someone.

Tony Stark’s voice asks who’s driving.

All you can respond with is, “I’m so sorry,” and, “He’s gonna die. I tried to stop him.”

And then the lights go out.

The first indication that Thor’s strength has returned is the jump he makes from solid ground, over the car, and onto the hot asphalt ramp. His body no longer feels heavy, and he can tug on the invisible string that ties him to Mjölnir again. He can sense the ozone wrapped around the atmosphere of Midgard like it laces his veins.

He knows the deal he made with the man in the suit - (Y/N)’s employer - is broken. So is his heart, though that was already shattered. His stomach is in knots, knowing that (Y/N) must be hurt for him to feel like himself again.

He rips the door of the car off, knowing Stark will not have kind things to say about destroying his things. Thor doesn’t care.

She didn’t do that… on purpose, right?

(Y/N) wouldn’t intentionally drive herself into a wall to stop him. He’s sure of it. Sure that, despite the ache in his chest and the call he hears his soul send to hers, she wouldn’t sacrifice herself for him like this.

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage, just reaches in to grip her shoulders - but Friday’s familiar voice is able to break through the ringing in his head.

“Don’t move her, Pointbreak,” she says. “She has several lacerations, multiple broken bones, and her heart rate is slow. Any movement may worsen her condition, and I’ve already alerted the paramedics.”

Thor knows, somewhere in his head, that the closest hospital is back at the compound. All he has to do is wait - something he has never been good at doing. He can’t move her, but he does put one hand on her cheek facing away from him.

She grunts, and he feels the heat of the midday sun warm him, breathe energy back into him. He calls her name, and she groans, but doesn’t move.

“(Y/N),” he says, “you have to hold on. Don’t you dare leave, you hear?”

She grunts, chokes on a pathetic cough, and somehow manages to get one eye open. And it’s the eye closest to him. Her left arm reaches out slowly - something in the middle of it is bent the wrong way - and her bloody fingers reach his chin.

Her skin is cold, despite the warm liquid coating the pads of her fingers.

“Don’t leave me.”

She gives a single shake of her head.

“Thor?” Another voice, one he recognizes. “Thor, what the hell happened there?” It’s Tony. The broken screen in the center of the car has changed; Tony’s eyes scan the interior of the car, though they can’t turn to see Thor. He must only be able to hear.

“It’s a long story, Stark. I need your location, and whether or not you have eyes on a man in a dark suit with navy eyes.”

“What?” Tony asks. “What the hell did your girlfriend do to my car?!”

“She tried to stop me, but like I said, it’s a long story! Now do you see a man in a suit or not?”

He hates the thought of leaving her, but he has to. Thor has no idea what this man plans - not until he reaches Normandy, where hordes of undead, rotting corpses flood a beach. Steve was the only one with eyes on the man - and there he is, stepping out of the sea entirely dry, hair aflame now though it was not before.

The navy blue of his eyes is bright and jubilant for all the wrong reasons.

That is, until his sights set on Thor.

“But you-”

Thor swings Mjölnir around, then launches it and grips the handle tightly, following its path as it collides with the man’s face. Once on his feet again, he turns and glowers at the man as he struggles to get up.

“Didn’t I put you out of commission?” he asks, rubbing his jaw.

Thor growls. “You put a mortal’s life on the line-”

“That’s kinda my schtick.”

Another smack!

“Do you even care that she’s hurt?” Thor yells.

Another punch.

“Or does it make you smile?”

Another.

Thor hates that the man is still able to stand. He doesn’t even bleed. But it is clear - has been clear since he stepped onto the field to make his deal - that he is a God, just the same as Thor is. He’s not sure lightning will even make a difference in this fight, and that shakes his entire being.

The corpses continue coming from the sea. Will lightning make a difference for them? And if it does...what kind of difference?

The God in the suit laughs. “You’re more of an idiot than I took you for if you think I care about her.” He wipes his lip, steps back toward the water, and holds his arms out as the bodies come. “She was just a cog in my machine. She is nothing. And soon, neither will you be.”

They both raise their fists at the same time. One brings on fire - heat and flame and burning eternal - and another brings a storm - heavy and humid and static. They tear into one another - the only match for the other - but neither bends or falls or bleeds.

“She’s dying, you know,” the other God says. He smirks at Thor and dodges a punch. “I know you care about that. I can feel it. She’s dying, and you’re out here fighting me.” He throws a hand up, shoots bitingly cold fire out, and laughs. “I should be flattered.”

Thor can’t stop. He has to take this God out - he’s the only one that can. But he wants to stop - wants to fly off back to New York. Every atom in his body, every single bit of his mass wants to go back to her.

But he knows he can’t, and even if he could, he’d never make it.

If this God knows she’s dying now, she’ll be gone before he can get back to her.

This God...who controls the dead.

Thor lets another icy fire blast knock him back as he loses himself to his thoughts. It barely stings, and when he regains his posture, he glares at the God again. Because, if he knows (Y/N) is about to die, he can also do something about it.

#thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #thor au #thor fic #hercules au #worth my while fic

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civilization-illstayrighthere · 4 years

Text

manna, a m!Captain/Vicar Max fic (2.4k, pwp, no story spoilers, pre-empty man)

Maximillian DeSoto remembers little from his history classes in seminary, and even if did remember more, he's certain most of it focused on the founding of Halcyon, the history of the corporations. So he does not know as much as he thinks he should know about Earth.

He's certain, though, that there was more food on that planet that's ever touched this galaxy, a dizzying variety that would put a Spacer's Choice's catalog to shame. Captain Park only ever occasionally talks about it, the hushed way he always talks about things that happened before. Usually when sitting at the kitchen table, pushing rehydrated food with a spork around in its microwavable tin.

His empty eyes speak more than his words ever could. He's a big man, tall and broad, enough that Max has wondered how he ever fit comfortably in those hibernation pods. He's not soft by any means, though he's not cut like some of the people in Byzantium, with nothing better to do but to spend their time carving the fat away from their muscle until it was useless but pronounced.

He'll always clean his plate, and when Parvati eats off the ship with them and leaves any leftovers, he'll eat those too, and he's not above scarfing whatever Nyoka's forgotten if she falls asleep with an empty bottle at the table. Him and Felix always squabble for seconds, though often the Captain gives in and lets Felix have the bigger half.

And the Captain is hungry in other ways, too. Max does not put much stock into rumors, which he’s heard of plenty first and second-hand about the Captain, but there’s no doubting what he’s personally seen and heard on the Unreliable. There’s been noises from Felix’s room that couldn’t be explained any other way. Max is not a prude; it’s a common misconception most laypeople have in regards to men and women of the cloth. But he wouldn’t be opposed to a modicum of common decency either. Especially when he’s trying to study a dense text and Felix’s otherwise unused and normally stable desk has been thumping against their shared wall to a beat so steady he could set his pocket watch to it.

His Captain’s dalliances with Nyoka, at least, were much more quiet, though it always meant the day after they’d be grounded to replenish their liquor and caffeinoid supplies.

He’s not a prude. That is, to say, Max wasn’t against this sort of thing. He’s never outwardly shown any recognization of the Captain’s proclivities, other than a raised eyebrow when Nyoka stumbled out into the hall half-dressed, fully shit-faced, and only in a bra and obnoxiously endowed harness.

But the Captain hasn’t sidled into his quarters yet, and he’s not exactly sure why. He’s not offended. Or self-conscious, or any other number of droll reasons. He’s curious; it’s in his nature to question, written in his bones to always ask why? Vanity is not a sin, though he tries not to indulge in it too often as a rule. But Max is not an ugly man, especially for his age; he’s grayed gracefully, he keeps himself as trim as possible, even with how stationary the life of a theologian often kept him.

Generally, when these types of frivolous thoughts keep interrupting his studying, Max knows it’s time to take a break. If he’s lucky, the Unreliable’s cramped, single bathroom will be open and he can stay in there for as long as ADA will keep the hot water running.

“Hey, Vicar. Taking a shower?”

“Yes,” Max tries not to let his annoyance on being asked such a basic question bleed through. He’s very obviously on the way to the bathroom, walking out of his room with his towel and shower caddy under his arms. He’s wearing flip flops, because he trusts neither SAM in cleaning the bathroom properly or Felix Millstone cleaning his feet properly, either. “Why? Care to join?”

It’s a flippant comment, and he barely graces his Captain with a glance as he passes.

And he’s clearly slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Max does a double-take.

“Yeah?”

“That was a joke, Captain.” He frowns.

The Captain’s ear, and what’s left of it on his right side, are reddening at the tips. “Oh.” Still, something’s been planted now, a realization dawning as he follows on the Vicar’s heels. “Y’sure?”

Mouth clamped tight, Max sighs. “You can’t be serious.”

“Well, I thought— I thought you religious types didn’t do, y’know—“

Max stops in the hallway once more: “That we don’t fuck?”

He keeps his tone monotonous, but the Vicar won’t lie and say he wasn’t having fun watching such a big man squirm the way his Captain is, fidgeting where he stands over his crass word choice. He chews on his bottom lip, looking the Vicar up and down.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Just because I’m not as flagrantly promiscuous as you does not mean I’m some deluded philosophist thinking sexual purity and mental deviancy have any correlation. It’s usually caused by employment status.”

“Hey, yeah, right!” Park grins, “I’m glad we agree on somethin’. I mean, work is good, and they don’t call it a ‘job’ for nothin’.”

Max sighs. But still, he pauses.

“You’re not monogamous, are you?”

“What,” Captain Park frowns, “Like the wood?” His face suddenly shifts with mistaken recognition, and then he’s leaning forward, his eyes going lidded in some approximation of sultry, sliding down Max’s body, “ I mean— heh. Yeah, course, I’m monogamous. I got wood for you, preach—“

“No.” Max holds up a single finger. “Architect, no. Fuck—“ He pinches the bridge of his nose with a ragged sigh. The beginning of a migraine was starting to collect itself against the back of his skull. “Never mind. Just leave me be.”

“Hey, alright,” Park wheedles.

Max is already walking past. Park starts to backpedal to follow him, “I’m sorry—“ He shifts his bulk right into the Vicar’s path, wedging himself into the bathroom doorway. “Wait— I mean— okay. I don’t know what that means, or if it’s good or bad, an’ I just—“

Max could squeeze by him; he could also just push him aside, or turn and leave. He’s half-tempted to cuff his Captain over the ear and yank him out of the way, as well.

“You... you seemed real stressed recently—“ And he holds out his palms, predicting a protested outburst, “Not that that’s why I’m offerin’. I’m offerin’ ‘cause you’re real handsome, and I,” He swallows, starts to trail off, “Uh...”

“Uh what, Park?” Max mimics drily.

His Captain’s face visibly falls. He mutters, “Ain’t got the courage to ask, until now, y’know? Been thinking about it for a long time, believe me. You can be real intimidating like, but I can see you’re not interested, so I’m just—“

He startles as Max places his empty hand next to Park, caging him in with his body. When he leans in, chest-to-chest, his Captain freezes in place.

“Listen,” Max lowers his voice, moves in closer so Park can hear, “This is on my terms. If I say stop, you stop,” Park’s head is on a pole, bobbling agreeably to every word. “If I say go, you go. And if I say jump—?”

It takes his Captain a moment to realize Max is waiting for a response, eyes like dinner plates. “How high! I ask, how high?”

Max smiles, “Exactly.”

It’s only after the bathroom door closes behind them that Max realizes he’s dropped his towel and shower supplies outside, but at this point, with his Captain’s tongue halfway down his throat, he doesn’t find himself caring.

They manage to maneuver themselves to the opposite side of the bathroom, Max’s shoulders to the faintly damp wall. He likes the way the Captain’s mouth moves against his own; he wants to see what else it can do, what all the fuss is about, and when he pulls away for a breath he’s already pushing him down with both hands on his shoulders.

Park kneels with no question. He’s waist high on Max, big hands skittering up and under his cassock to blindly fumble with his belt.

“Y’wanna help?”

“Mmn, no.” Max smirks as he settles back again the wall. “I want you to impress me, Captain.”

“I can do that,” he says, almost bashfully, wedging his fingers in between Max’s loosened belt and the band of his pants. He shucks them down in one yank, “Easy as mockapple pie.” He ducks under the edge of his cassock, pulling his briefs to his ankles with little fanfare.

Park presses wet, open-mouthed kisses up his thighs, dusted with wiry hairs. Park’s stubble is prickling against the sensitive skin, instantly soothed by his wandering mouth. He is soaking him like this, practically slobbering, sucking on sensitive flesh that keeps jumping under his lips, scraping his teeth against the skin. He rubs his thighs, reaches around to squeeze and knead at his ass; sometimes, Max is almost convinced the dull Captain routine is an act, because this teasing avoidance of even brushing his center is calculated.

“Park—“ The Vicar snaps, and his Captain heels like a well-trained canid. The feeling of it runs straight through him, makes his cunt pulse in a knee-knocking way. His Captain’s almost too well-trained, kneeling on the floor, the front of Max’s cassock draped over his head like a curtain. He wonders how long he would sit there, the cold tile soaking through his slacks, the way his knees would eventually ache. He can feel his Captain’s breath, warm and skittering inches away from his skin. Close enough to almost taste.

Frustratingly stupid and yet, and yet, Max wants to fuck himself on that face of his, grind against his puffy lips and wanting mouth. He pulls the edge of his cassock up, enough that he can see his Captain between his legs; at the loss of cover, Park looks upward, and the earnest eagerness in his eyes makes Max’s thighs clench around his head.

Max waits long enough to see the Captain squirm, kneading the tops of his own knees out of silent frustration. But he knows he won’t move, not until Max’s say-so: “Go on.”

Park’s nose nudges against his folds, “Fuck, Vicar— you’re wetter than—“

“No,” Max cuts him off, strangled, “I don’t want any metaphors.”

Park whines. The sound vibrates up, through the bridge of his nose, just enough, and he can feel his clit twitch. “It was a good one.”

“No,” He groans, “No it wasn’t. Can you—“

His Captain pulls back, slides a hand up his thigh. He slips a finger across his folds, just barely dipping in, swiping across his entrance, brushing against his clit, and he’s so sensitive his hips jerk and his pussy aches, even as his Captain holds his finger up as if trying to test the direction of the wind. “See,” And his finger is dripping, “You’re soaked, Vicar.”

“Park,” Max snarls, “what did I say?”

He wilts, “Sorry.”

“Are you going to be good?”

“Yeah,” he says, deflatedly. He moves to wipe it off on his slacks—

“Now, now, Captain.” Max tuts, his voice going low. “Don’t waste it.”

Park’s eyes go dark, “No, uh. No vicar? No sir?” He tries, searching Max’s face for the answer. So eager to please, head slightly bowed. Max has decided the Captain looks good like that, sucking his finger clean as he considers other titles. “Father? Vicar?”

“Vicar is fine,” Max muses, as Park settles his wet fingers against his bare thighs, presses his face to his mound, “Go on, now,”

“Yes, Vicar,”

Max is neatly trimmed, clean and precise and maintained; Sole runs his fingers appreciatively over the hair on his mound, tugs a little at the curls with a grin.

“Grey here, too—“

“Park—“

“Okay,” He presses his tongue flat over his entrance, massages his labia on either side with both hands. They’re shallow licks, nothing penetrating, messy against his outer lips. “Okay—“

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Park pointedly sucks his labia into his mouth, and his petulance would be eyerolling if they weren’t rolling for other reasons.

Max holds his head there, throws one thigh over his Captain’s shoulder. Park moans and surges forward, even as Max draws him in with his heel digging firmly into his spine. He’s voracious, annoyingly so; he sucks, then licks, with no real rhythm, no consistency, just a maddening flitting from one activity to the next.

He wishes Park had more hair then the close-cropped buzz he has, but guiding him by the ears, the back of his neck, will have to do, his nails biting into the soft skin behind them.

“There,” he barks, “Suck.”

If he’s being too hard, the Captain doesn’t seem to mind. He’s wet and sloppy, slick shining across his face.

He flicks his tongue across his clit, then wraps his lips around and sucks, and Max’s thighs clamp so tight around he’s sure, momentarily, that Park can’t breathe. If he can’t, he’s not complaining, humming breathless against his cunt.

His fingers are digging into the meat of Max’s thigh, little pinpoints of heat. He rides that wave, that pulsing feeling, chases it as he grinds against Park’s face. “There,” he gasps, “There— Law—“ he can feel himself clench around nothing, the ache that’s building; and he’s more than tempted to tell his Captain, there, there to the tip of his thumb maddeningly stroking at his folds, spreading, massaging at his lips but never pushing in to his center.

But he hasn’t said to yet, has he, and Max nearly grinds his teeth in frustration, the hand on Park’s head twitching away as his hips stutter closer. “Park, use your fucking fingers—“

The Captain’s middle finger slips in, easy with how slick Max is, and curls, curls.

“Fuck—!”

Max shoves Park’s face away. He yips when he tips backward, off the balls of his heels to fall on his ass against the tile. Knees momentarily jellified, Max sinks halfway down the wall. He looks almost as dazed as Max feels, glassy-eyed and glassy-mouthed. Max exhales, rubs a hand down his face and breathes ragged through his fingers. Minutely, his legs tremble.

He’s only snapped out of his post-orgasm haze when Park’s hands searching slide up his thigh. His muscles jump under his touch, but Max allows it, absently petting his head. He can hear the clank of his belt buckle against the tiles, the rustle of fabric.

Park doesn’t ask for him to touch him. And Max doesn’t. But he watches his Captain with a detached sort of fascination, sitting on the floor of the bathroom and breathing open-mouthed against his thigh, jerking himself off at his heels. Max runs his nails against his scalp, murmurs hushed platitudes like prayers for his Captain until he comes with a whine in his tightened fist.

#the outer worlds #vicar max #maximillian desoto #vicar maximillian desoto #im going to end up posting this on ao3 w a different ending i think... idk what does everyone think is the abrupt end fine for a pwp?#nsft

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