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dutchvanwinkle · 2 years

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Your work is amazing! Would you do a fic following the horse race Dutch initiates with Arthur? Dutch says if Arthur wins he can have whatever he wants and vice versa. Arthur wins and once they go to Dutch’s tent he asks Dutch if he could kiss him (whilst finally confessing how long he has been pining after Dutch). How it goes and how far it goes is up to you!

I'm so sorry this took me so long anon - this was quite a challenge to write and different to my usual stuff but I ended up enjoying the process! However, I do apologise if it sucks lol. Thanks for the lovely compliment ♡

It's up on ao3 too.

All I Have - Arthur x Dutch

Summary: The loser of Arthur and Dutch's horse race in chapter 3 has to do one thing at the request of the other. Arthur wins, and asks for something he's wanted for a long time.

Word count: 4,695

Content warnings: None

Arthur had no time for the town of Rhodes. It was too hot, too muggy, and its residents were disagreeable at best.

He had even less time for the stupid jobs the gang were running for the local sheriff.

And now, with sweat pooling all down his back and his knees aching from being crouched for so long, he had to admit that the reward of a wagon full of moonshine was almost worth it. It would’ve been, if he didn’t know he’d be running some other fool’s errand within the next twenty-four hours.

There was no room for complaining, though. The gang was having a hard enough time as it was, and the sooner they could line their pockets with cash, the sooner Arthur could be out of this hellhole and somewhere he could breathe. But, even if there was room for complaining, Arthur knew deep down that he wouldn’t bother Dutch with his bellyaching. The man had always done right by him, pulling the pair out of tough scrapes and bouncing out the other side. Sure, there had been (many) times Arthur wanted to throw Dutch’s plans back in his face, but when the man approached him with a spark in his eyes and eagerness in his voice it was impossible to say no. Arthur would do anything for Dutch, and that wasn’t a mutable fact.

And when Dutch's face lit up at the realisation that for all it was, Rhodes was a town filled with stupidity that could be easily swindled, the aches in Arthur’s bones from a day's work somehow eased.

“Come on,” he clapped a loving hand to Arthur’s shoulder, “you ride with me.”

Arthur dipped his head to hide the blush on his cheeks under the brim of his hat, while the two mounted up and Dutch gave his orders to Bill on what to do with the moonshine.

While he was a self-professed fool, Arthur wasn’t foolish enough to not see the change incurring in Dutch’s personality over the past few months. Something in the back of his mind itched, trying to get his attention and repeatedly told him that the man’s misjudgement is going to be more of a problem than he initially thought. So, hearing Dutch talk about these two local feuding families and all the opportunities that came with them, quietened those doubts and brought forward something soft and comforting in Arthur’s chest. Perhaps it was all a small phase after all.

“This is startin’ to sound like the young Dutch again,” Arthur snickered, spurring his horse on to keep pace with The Count.

“What do you mean, young Dutch? I’m as strong as I have ever been,” Dutch threw him an offended look, and it never failed to amaze Arthur just how quickly the man’s expression could drop from happy as a clam in high water to as unhappy as a clam... on dry land, he guessed. Arthur never was one for meaningful prose.

“Hey,” Dutch started again, a smile growing on his face once more as he eyed the path ahead, “you know what, why don’t I race you back?”

“A race? Your pride really that hurt?”

“This has nothing to do with pride, my boy. Just a bit of friendly competition,” Dutch raised his brows, challenging Arthur with his gaze if not with his words. “Don’t be a spoilsport. Tell you what, if you win you can have whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” Arthur’s mind dove into a sea of desires, from a new pair of spurs to a new repeater he’d been eyeing in the gunsmith. Or, perhaps he could mock Dutch a little and get him to do his laundry. Or perhaps he could...

No, not that.

It wouldn’t matter either way, Dutch was as talented on horseback as he was everything else, and while Arthur too could navigate a mount better than most, he wasn’t sure if Dutch’s age had lessened his aptitude that much. It’d be a close one, but Arthur thought too highly of his mentor to assume he could surpass him.

“Jesus, Arthur, don’t spend too long thinking about it. And remember, if and when I win, I get whatever I want,” Dutch reminded him smugly, slowing The Count to a walk.

Of course, no deal with reward and without risk existed when it came to Dutch.

“Okay,” Arthur conceded, knowing that whatever Dutch wanted from him would be a better fate than the man calling him yellow for the next week. “You’re on.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dutch gleamed, “Okay. On my word... set... go!”

And The Count was off, kicking up dust and leaving Arthur squinting to shield his eyes as his opponent got a starting lead. He bristled, bringing his reins down on his horse with the aim of at least catching up with him.

“You never were much of a rider!” Dutch called as he turned at the fork.

Something inside Arthur shifted at Dutch’s winning form ahead of him, and the adrenaline of competition and the prospect of having him in his favour surged through his veins. Arthur kicked his horse’s sides harder like he only did when running from the law and grinned when he reached his side. “We’ll see about that!” he cried, slipping past The Count as the trees lining the edge of the forest to his left blurred into only moving colours.

He could’ve sworn Dutch yelled something back, but the sound from the train on the overhead tracks drowned it out regardless. It’d been a while since the two had done anything like this, and the rush from it was like nothing else. Continuing to gain on Dutch, Arthur yelled over his shoulder before reaching a farm.

“Any time you wanna stop for a breather, you let me know.”

Hoping the man heard but uncaring for his reaction, Arthur weaved between the bales of hay and grazing sheep. He was surprised his Tennessee Walker was doing so well in this, The Count was an elite horse and Dutch sang the arrogant beast’s praises whenever he got a chance. However, the delta between their stamina began to show as hoofbeats sounded behind Arthur.

“You really thought you could hold that lead?” Dutch gained on Arthur and passed him, flashing a grin as he did and Arthur willed his horse to push just a little longer as they reached the final stretch.

This was his chance, after being at the man’s beck and call for all these years to finally get something in return. To finally get the thing he’d been thinking about since...

No. He wouldn’t ask for that.

Regardless, his previously unbothered connection to the race strengthened with the thought of the look on Dutch’s face alone if he ended up losing. Arthur dug in his heels.

“Final stretch,” he commented, his horse coming neck and neck with The Count as camp neared. From here, Arthur could see the beads of sweat on Dutch’s temple but willed himself to look away and focus on the finish line.

He broke away from him until The Count disappeared from his peripheral and camp came into view. Lungs burning, Arthur half-skidded, half-stopped his horse by the hitching post and leant on the pommel of his saddle to calm his heart rate.

He’d done it, he’d actually beat Dutch in a race. Races with Dutch when Arthur was in his youth were more frustrating than anything, by the time his experience started catching up his body began to bulk and made him less naturally agile as a rider. But now, as a grown man? It felt nothing short of great. So great, that Arthur hadn’t even considered their initial deal.

“I never knew you were quite so good at running away, Arthur,” Dutch said through laboured breaths, hitching his horse beside Arthur’s and the two dismounted fluidly.

“I never knew age had slowed you down quite so much,” Arthur chortled, leaning up against the hitching post.

“Well,” Dutch took out his bandana and wiped the sweat from his brow, “time is a bastard. When you get to be my age, you’ll know that better than anything.”

Typical. Arthur hardly batted an eyelid at the lack of congratulations and unnecessary excuses, expecting nothing less and putting Dutch’s defensiveness down to his injured pride. Still, the silent victory was a welcomed one.

“Be well. I had fun with you today. You’re,” the falter from Dutch trying to find his words was a rare one and reminded Arthur that he too, was only human. “I was gonna say you’re like a son to me,” Dutch’s hand pressed firmly onto Arthur’s shoulder, and it was then that he realised he’d been avoiding eye contact and promptly met the man’s gaze, “but you’re more than that.”

Well, if that didn’t spark warmth inside him.

And then he went, Arthur’s limbs forgetting how to hold themselves naturally and he felt something he’d repressed for far too long. There was a time, before John, when Arthur was the most special thing in Dutch’s life. As the gang grew along with the space between them, Arthur didn’t feel so special anymore and learned to live with the fact; that Dutch would still always be the most special thing to him. Dutch knew the right words to appease Arthur, knew just what to say to bend his ear and reign complete control over him, but this time his words were genuine. Arthur had known Dutch for twenty years, and he knew when the man was speaking with an ulterior motive in mind instead of voicing his truth.

He couldn’t help but watch his retreating form, one he’d thought about more times than he’d care to admit.

It wasn’t as though Arthur had never had any experience with Dutch’s body. Not in a lewd sense, but spending so long travelling the open road with a man led to the odd occasion where the two would share a bedroll or a room at a hotel. On some of those occasions, the night would be cold and Arthur would naturally gravitate towards Dutch’s body heat. He always obliged, slinging an arm around Arthur and likely being thankful for Arthur’s warmth too. It was necessary, of course. Purely for survival purposes.

But now, with such a large gang and no need for the two of them to spend more than a night away from camp together, Arthur missed it.

He missed Dutch. As much as he loved the gang and would do anything for them, there were times when Arthur Morgan would like to relive the old days and have Dutch all to himself.

Those times alone with him, the closeness between their bodies along with Dutch’s attention directed at only Arthur had satiated his gnawing hunger. Deep down, Arthur had always known that there was something about Dutch’s touch that meant more than the touch of another. He’d placated himself with what he had, and lying beside Dutch on a frosty night or sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at the campfire was enough for him. It had to be. His urges satisfied, the fog in Arthur’s brain would clear and leave him with the razor-sharp focus Dutch needed from his top gun. Arthur learnt how to indulge himself and at the same time put himself in the best position for making Dutch proud.

But that was then, and this is now.

Now, Arthur can’t remember the last time he shared more than an hour with just Dutch, let alone an hour huddled beside him. Dutch’s palm on Arthur’s shoulder, a firm and secure hold as the man told him how much he meant to him, saying he’s not just his son but he’s more than that, broke even Arthur’s long-standing defences. He’d crumbled under the touch, his innards melting with the warmth of the feeling alone, and God did he want more.

But then Dutch was gone, back off into camp and Arthur wilted at the loss of light that radiated from the one man he truly adores. Because that’s what it was, Arthur felt many things for Dutch, but adoring took the cake over all of them.

“Oh,” Dutch stopped in his tracks, turning slightly to look at Arthur once more, “I almost forgot, I owe you.”

A small gesture of his finger told Arthur to fall into step with him as he continued the path to his tent, and Arthur was at his side in an instant.

One of the most bizarre things about Dutch was that man’s smell. Ever since Arthur had known him, he’d always had this distinct smell about him. Underneath the scents of gun oil, tobacco, whiskey, or whatever cologne Dutch had found at that point, the man’s own smell always lingered. Arthur didn’t know how to describe it, other than Dutch. It was Arthur's favourite.

And now, entering his closed tent for the first time in... a while, that smell wafted straight up Arthur’s nostrils.

“It’s sad to think back to you in your prime,” Arthur hummed, easing the one-sided tension from being in such close proximity with one another.

Dutch tutted, glancing briefly at a stack of papers and straightening them out. “Don’t be so conceited, Arthur, it’s unbecoming.”

“Aw, if I’d have known you’d be such a sore loser, I wouldn’t have accepted the race.”

“Don’t try to annoy me, son,” Dutch turned, hands on his hips with a slight tilt of his head. “Now, tell me what it is you’d like.”

“What I’d like?”

“Yes,” Dutch said slowly, as though talking to a toddler, “you have a prize to claim, if your mind can recall. Or have you taken one too many blows to the head recently? Ride your horse into a tree again, perhaps?”

“I do not do that,” Arthur folded his arms in defence.

“Yes, you do. Quite a lot, actually. Surprised the poor mount of yours can even see.”

“My horse is fine,” Arthur retorted. “And no, my wit is as sharp as it has always been.”

Dutch hummed in lazy agreement. “I suppose you have always been a little dim.”

Arthur knew better than to bite, while Hosea’s teasing was always obvious and light, Dutch preferred to be more menacing with it and enjoyed the squirming from the recipient of his playful taunting. The smile that graced the man’s face after the extended silence told him he was satisfied.

“So, what will it be.”

While he was thankful for the change of subject, internally cursing himself for never being able to keep up with Dutch on a verbal scale, he still didn’t have a clue what to ask for. He knew he was maybe overthinking it, but this was a rare occurrence.

“Come on, Arthur. This is your chance,” Dutch widened his arms before placing the papers on his side table, “you can have whatever you want. You won fair and square.”

Finally, a little humility.

“W-Well, what would you have asked me for?”

Arthur knew full well Dutch didn’t have to win a race to get what he wanted from him. The man only had to look at Arthur and there he was, waiting diligently and willing to do whatever it took to make Dutch happy. It was pathetic, really, but Arthur knew that’s the way it would always be. The way it always had been. There was a small part of Arthur’s mind, a quiet whisper in an otherwise disarrayed cloud of thoughts, that gave attention to the prospect that there may be things Dutch wouldn’t ask of Arthur. Things he’d need an excuse for, and this would have been a perfect excuse. In the same way that it is for Arthur if he only had an inch of the man’s confidence and self-belief.

But Dutch paused at that, the alteration in his expression telling Arthur all he needed to know about how much time he’d considered any secret desires he’d indulged in. The answer was none at all.

Arthur chuckled, finding humour in Dutch’s empty response. “Yeah, in fairness, I do whatever you ask of me, anyway.”

“That’s because I am reasonable with my requests,” his face changed to reflect thoughtfulness and humbleness, as though he was either of those things at that moment.

“You? Reasonable? Shit, Dutch, you really are getting old. Looks like your memory is finally giving up on you.”

Dutch huffed a laugh, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder again. “My boy, perhaps if you did not excel at every task I give you I would not ask for so many more.”

Arthur worked on a swallow; the physical contact muddled with the praise sending his mind into a tizzy. “Maybe I’ll start slacking, in that case.”

“Oh no,” Dutch’s chest rumbled with a laugh, “I know you better than anyone and I know how incapable you are at sitting still.”

While Arthur wasn’t in a position to deny that, all he could focus on was the hand still planted on his shoulder.

“Come on!” Dutch threw his arms up slightly, returning them to grip at his gun belt and Arthur used all of his self-control not to glance down. “Tell me what you want.”

Arthur knew full well what he wanted. He’d tried to think of something else, anything else, but nothing came close. This was something he’d wanted for far too many years. “I don’t know, I guess...”

Dutch didn’t appear fooled by Arthur’s feigned attempt at thinking as he scratched at his nape and darted his eyes to the corner of the tent. He really did know him better than anyone. His mouth quirked into a smile and Arthur was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. God, how he wanted to kiss that mouth of his.

But then Dutch stilled, as though he’d caught the path of Arthur’s eye line who promptly cleared his throat. “Ah, I don’t -”

“Son,” Dutch’s voice rumbled low through the confines of the tent, dropping to a volume that encased them in guaranteed privacy, “you know you can ask me for anything.”

Arthur’s breath stilled in his chest, and the look on Dutch’s face was an unreadable one. He could see the intrigue and the excitement that the man seemed to be holding down. Surely, as he had done many times, Arthur was misreading the situation and would only end up making a fool out of himself if he dared venture down that path.

“Come on,” Dutch commanded softly, “ask me.”

Arthur never was one to deny Dutch. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what came next but being unable to keep it in any longer. His reaction couldn’t be that bad, and Arthur’s back ached with the heavy truth it carried. He trusted Dutch. Always had. Always will.

“I want you to kiss me.” Arthur was surprised at the measured tone that left him, even if he had practically blurted the words out. He allowed his eyes to do their job again.

Then when Dutch brought his hand up, Arthur half-expected a strike across his face to follow it. But instead, that calloused palm brushed the fallen strands of overdue-to-be-cut hair from Arthur’s brow, and Dutch’s eyes followed the motion until they met Arthur’s. At that moment, seeing the calm determination and tempering intrigue that resided in the warm brown of his eyes, he understood exactly why the man had women falling at his feet. If he had so much power from a look and touch alone, Arthur daren’t think about the power he welded when he used other or all of the items he had at his disposal. He suspected he’d never needed to do so.

Arthur had stopped breathing and would soon pass out on Dutch’s floor, he was sure of it. But he couldn’t seem to remember how to take in air no matter how badly he wanted to inhale all of Dutch. He wasn’t even sure when the man had gotten so close.

“Relax,” Dutch cooed, noticing the nerves radiating from Arthur and using them to feed his own confidence. He brought a thumb over Arthur’s cheekbone, swiping at dirt and sweat but from the look on his face, anyone would have believed Arthur had been doused in sweet honey. “I never could say no to you, Arthur.”

That was his name. His name that oozed from Dutch’s lips like nectar from a bright pink fuchsia on an early spring morning. He tethered himself to it, his only remaining string tied to his sense of self or else he’d ascend straight to heaven. That was the last thing he needed, considering the extra sin he was about to add to his long list of acts against God.

Then Dutch leaned in.

And Arthur found out what heaven truly was.

The press of the surprisingly soft lips against his reminded Arthur that he was a sentient being and it was necessary to respond and reciprocate in this instance. He allowed himself to do it; allowed himself this small slice of eternal paradise that would outlive the both of them, despite how much he believed he didn’t deserve it.

His lips were on fire in what Arthur could only describe as a blaze of glory. He’d kissed before, he enjoyed kissing and had a decent record of the act, especially when compared to some of the men he knew. But this man, his man if only for a fleeting moment, was the one on the receiving end. Or maybe it was Arthur that was on the receiving end. He didn’t know, nor did he care.

As the remembrance of who he was and where he was began to fade, Arthur needed a new tether and opted for his only option. He brought his hands to Dutch’s waist, willing himself not to grip too hard but he didn’t want it to be over just yet. The feel of Dutch’s moustache brushing over the stubble on his upper lip, the taste of the long-forgotten cigar that’d entertained Dutch earlier in the day, and the man himself closer than he’d ever been before were all sensations Arthur wasn’t ready to part with.

But then Dutch pulled off, more eased off and a shaky sigh left Arthur. It was all he could manage.

“How many do I owe you?” Dutch focused his mind on slowly exhaling and the pad of his thumb pressed gently onto the middle of Arthur’s bottom lip.

“I -” Arthur faltered, knowing it was his turn to say something smooth but coming up blank, not that he was surprised.

Dutch hummed thoughtfully, knowing that Arthur had always had a hard time asking outright for the things he wanted. “I’ll rephrase – how long have you wanted this?”

Any and all effort to remain composed withered, and Arthur released his frustration with a long sigh, huffing an accepting laugh void of any humour. “Long time, Dutch. Longer than I care to admit,” Arthur mumbled, relishing in the contact of Dutch’s thumb on his mouth.

“I see.”

What Arthur wanted to do was answer the question properly, provide the clarity Dutch was clearly hankering for but feared he’d ruin the moment if he said anything. Instead, he closed his mouth around the digit and softly sucked it into his mouth, noting the taste of gun oil and shame but not caring one bit.

Hearing Dutch’s breath hitch in response sent warm electricity through Arthur’s entire body, and any humiliation he might’ve, and probably should’ve, felt in the act was silenced at seeing Dutch in raptures as he stared at one of his oldest friends performing such an act that he never thought he’d see. Arthur released his thumb with a quiet pop, feeling a mix of embarrassment and... something else he didn’t want to give a name to rise up and fill his body full of static.

A lapse in time in that small tent left the two men suspended, neither knowing what to do next nor how to move things forward.

“Screw it,” Dutch surrendered, closing his hand over Arthur’s nape and pulling him back to where he belonged, as far as Arthur was concerned.

Then Arthur saw the ferocious side of Dutch he loved so much. The side of Dutch that would set his mind to something and not give up until he had it. Arthur felt a tongue swipe over his bottom lip, and he was reminded of how easy it was to do what Dutch wanted. It was second nature by now, and there was a small measure of security in being so obedient. Dutch would steer him right. Dutch still trusted him enough to come to him with his biggest problems requiring solutions and was safe in the knowledge that Arthur would always deliver.

Arthur just never knew it would extend to this.

It was too easy to let his lips part. Allowing his tongue to meet Dutch’s as it swirled around his mouth had been the simplest part of Arthur’s day. He relinquished everything, just when he thought he’d given Dutch all he had, he gave him all that remained in that kiss.

Now he gripped his waist, unafraid of anything considering the events that were currently transpiring. He felt invincible, and for the first time like he could do no wrong. Dutch’s had remained on his nape and held him in place, his other coming to the small of Arthur’s back and pulling his frame to his.

The contact was overwhelming.

It was also scarily addicting. Arthur knew this fancy of his would never do him any favours, and he almost grew sad at the notion that nothing would ever come close.

Almost.

Then he remembered that with Dutch, he would always be invincible.

Arthur’s chest against Dutch’s allowed him to feel the equally laboured breathing that came from him, and he was sure he could feel his heartbeat pounding against his ribcage. Or perhaps it was his own, which would come as no surprise considering its intensity. All these years, all this time waiting for something he thought would never come; Arthur suspected this was one of his dreams but didn’t care enough to wake up.

And of everything Arthur had been to Dutch; he’d never had the honour of being this. This was special. He was special once more.

The clash of teeth and mingling of spit continued and Arthur dared to bring a hand up to Dutch’s hair, feeling the soft curls between his fingers as he brushed over his scalp. Dutch didn’t seem to mind, somehow deepening the kiss and Arthur became acutely aware of the weakness in his knees.

He never wanted it to stop. It couldn’t stop, because Arthur wasn’t sure if it would ever start again and with that knowledge, he feared he’d drop dead right on the spot. It was almost worse than never kissing him, experiencing Dutch van der Linde in such an intimate way and knowing it was a one-time thing was downright cruel.

So, it was simple; he wouldn’t let it end.

A sound came from Arthur at that, something between a hum and moan but it was muffled by Dutch’s mouth on his. He regretted it instantly when the warmth left his face and he flittered his eyes open at the same time Dutch brought his forehead to rest against Arthur’s.

He wasn’t sure when he’d started panting, he’d be embarrassed that such a small excursion had brought him to that point if it weren’t for the twin response from Dutch. Still, he couldn’t help but think he’d done something wrong or taken it too far. Arthur desperately wanted to apologise, but the words simply would not form.

Arthur allowed himself to just be, to let the moment wash over him and pull every ounce of joy from it while he could.

A calm certainty arrived, one that told him he’d never feel anything like this again. He didn’t deserve to be privy to such a thing as Dutch’s affections, and knew nothing would ever be comparable. Until Dutch uttered his next words.

“I don’t think I’m quite done with you yet, cowboy.”

#vandermorgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #arthur morgan x dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x arthur morgan #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #fanfic #writting #my stuff #asks

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roosterbox · 7 months

Text

October Almost-Drabbles 10/6: Bonfire

Pairing: Arthur/Eames (with a dash of Yusuf/Ariadne)

Word Count: 708

Additional tags: Teenage AU, only slightly fluffy, awkward crushes, not actually unrequited love

I swear, these ficlets just keep getting longer. If this trend continues, I’m gonna have to start putting them under a cut, lol.

———

Sitting around the fire, watching Eames gesticulate throughout his story, Arthur wondered for the dozenth time what kissing him would be like. He was only slightly ashamed to say that he was more captivated by Eames’ lips than he was by his words. So much so that he only realized the tale was finished by the applause of the others around him. He dutifully joined in, hoping they wouldn’t ask him any plot-related questions about it. At this point, only Ariadne knew about his little (aka massive) crush, and he wasn’t exactly keen to tell everyone else. Least of all Eames himself.

“What did you think, Arthur?” Eames asked.

Damn.

“It was… interesting.” Arthur answered lamely. He hoped that would suffice. From Eames’ raised eyebrow, he knew that hope was dashed.

“‘Interesting?’ Such a ringing endorsement. What was your favorite part, then?”

Arthur could feel several pairs of eyes on him. His face felt hot, but at least the light of the fire helped disguise his flushed cheeks. “The, um-“ Think, Arthur, think! And don’t lie; you’re terrible at it! “-the way you tell it.” Eames opened his mouth to reply, but Arthur continued. “The way you tell stories is… really cool. The way you talk, and move your hands. Sometimes I feel like I could listen to you read the phone book and still be entertained.”

The other boy seemed slightly flustered by this. “Ah, well…” he shrugged and scratched at his shorn hair. “I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, you know.”

“Trust me Eames, we definitely know.” Dom wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Now come on. I need a hand to help me grab the other cooler out of my truck.”

As he watched them walk back to the cars, Arthur felt a puff of breath against his ear.

“You weren’t actually listening, were you?” Ariadne whispered. He shook his head, eyes still on Eames. “Are you gonna say something to him?” Another head shake. Eames looked back at them. He smiled and waved; Arthur waved back.

Ari let out a groan of frustration. “Pathetic. I’m gonna be a grandma before any real action happens.”

“At least your dress sense won’t change.”

She smacked him. “Asshole,” said with a smile before she headed back over to sit with Yusuf. Her boyfriend kissed her cheek and then handed her a burger. Arthur moved to sit on the other side of the fire, across from them. His own burger was still a bit warm, to his surprise. He took a couple bites, but found that he wasn’t all that hungry.

Someone plopped down on the bench next to him.

“Alright if I sit here?” Eames asked. Arthur coughed, and swallowed his mouthful of food. Probably should have chewed it a bit more, but he got it down.

“Sure,” he smiled, and hoped it wasn’t too awkward-looking. Eames smiled back, so… mission accomplished?

Their attention was quickly drawn back to the fire. To Mal, standing before it, gearing up to tell her own spooky tale. Like Eames, she too had a certain flair for the dramatic, and Arthur couldn’t help but be entranced.

A few minutes into the story, Arthur felt a weight on his knee. Eames’ hand. Just sitting there, not grabbing. A gentle touch. Perhaps hesitant. Mentally, Arthur was panicking a bit. What should I do? What does this mean? Should I do anything? Does he actually like me?

Eames was still watching Mal, quite oblivious to Arthur’s inner back-and-forth. He kept his hand right where it was, as if this was just a Thing they did all the time. But soon, all too soon, Arthur felt the weight ease up. The hand was rising. Does he think I’m uncomfortable? Wait, of course he does - I haven’t reacted at all!

Despite his nerves, despite his slightly shaking hands, Arthur covered Eames’ hand with his own, bringing both back down to his knee. He gave it a squeeze. Neither said anything, but Arthur saw Eames turn towards him in his peripheral vision. The other boy’s brilliant smile calmed something in Arthur’s wildly beating heart, and they settled in, legs pressed close together, listening to Mal weave a ghost story neither would remember after tonight.

#October drabbles #dreamhusbands #arthur x eames #teenager AU #Arthur is nervous and in love #eames is also nervous and in love #but this is only Arthur’s POV #so shhhhh #lol

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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The Gang FINALLY sees how much of a BAMF Merlin is:

A smidge of Angst, but only because everyone is stupid :)

Part 4 of Merlin’s angry outburst. The Gang has ridden out (refusing to let Merlin and Arthur go alone) to a battlefield that will only have two bodies on display. One of them is Merlin’s.

This was meant to be the last bit but it was getting so long and I kept thinking of extra shit to put in soooooooo. Hopefully this is the penultimate part? But who knows lol.

TW: Lots of death (the final battle yo)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

They ride the whole first day in silence. Not even Gwaine has any jokes or stupid stories to tell, and the atmosphere is tense.

The time between Morgana rushing into the council meeting, and the group riding towards what looked to be Merlin's death, had blurred by. No one really had any time to think, but now, riding in silence, all they could focus on was the fact that they were knowingly heading to what could be Merlin’s demise.

No one concentrates on anything but urging their horses to travel as fast as possible, and Arthur shortly telling everyone to stop and make camp were the first words spoken for the whole journey.

No one replies, they just dismount their horses, and wordlessly go about clearing an area for the fire, laying out food, and checking the surrounding area for danger.

Merlin stalks off before anyone can stop him, intent on setting up some wards before anyone settles down. He’s clearly pissed, and Arthur shakes his head when Lancelot gives him a look, “Want me to go with him?” .

Arthur follows instead, trusting the others to set up properly whilst he and Merlin have a much needed private conversation.

It doesn't take too long to find him. He's noticed that, recently. Ever since the link was forged he always seems to be able to find Merlin first try. Before, he had to scour the whole castle to have a chance of finding his wayward manservant (and then his wayward Court Sorcerer), and even then sometimes he couldn't manage it.

It's comforting. In a way. Knowing that they'll always be able to find one another.

Arthur sees him in the trees ahead, facing away from him, his hands up in front of his body. He can hear him muttering something that Arthur doesn’t understand under his breath.

Years ago, Arthur would think that Merlin hadn't noticed him. But Arthur knows him better now. He knows the ever so slight hitch in his Sorcerer’s left shoulder means "I hear you. I see you. I know you're there." .

"You can't know that everything's going to be ok."

Merlin sighs and turns back to look at him, still visibly frustrated with everyone’s obvious fretting. Neither make any moves to walk closer:

"Course I can. I had a chat with Kilgharrah on the way here-"

(He taps his forehead as he says this)

"-no other Emrys-killing weapons have been made, and the only one anywhere near us, is yours. As long as you don’t stab me, I'll be fine."

Arthur huffs and shuffles his feet at this:

"Merlin, the vision. You weren't waking up and you heard what Morgana said. Why are you so intent to ride to what is almost certainly going to be your death, when our armies could win this battle anyway?"

Arthur is trying to sound firm, but his face gives him away. He was never all that good at hiding his true emotions when it was just him and Merlin, and his expression is sad and desperate.

It's only at that, that Merlin walks towards Arthur, putting his hands on his shoulders:

"That vision doesn't show everything. And yes, that may have been the clearest vision Morgana has had during this whole bloody war thing, but the future is still fluid. Nothing is set in stone. Arthur, I'll be fine. And besides, an all out battle means blood spilt, theirs and ours. If I can do anything to prevent that, then there is no choice, not for me."

The King clenches his jaw, before pulling Merlin into a tight hug. The Sorcerer let's out a surprised "oof" but grips back just as tightly, burying a hand in Arthur's hair.

Arthur speaks aloud this time, so quietly Merlin barely hears it even with Arthur's face in his neck. Perhaps thinking this is important enough that it has to be vocalised:

"Why have you got to be so bloody self sacrificial? I couldn't bear to lose you, Merlin. I need you with me, by my side."

Merlin smiles slightly at that, but doesn't let go:

"I'll always be with you. Nothing in this life or the next, could pull me away from you. I...-"

He hesitates here, but Arthur tightens his grip, and he takes a deep breath before continuing:

"-...this is where I belong. Right here, right now. With you."

Arthur squeezes him once again and pulls back, gently laying his forehead against Merlin's, very reminiscent of the spell cast all those weeks ago.

The both of them keep their eyes closed, even as Arthur speaks:

"We're having a conversation about... this, when we get back. We're ALSO having a conversation about your self sacrificial tendencies."

Merlin laughs and pulls back at that:

“Only if we have a conversation about yours first.”

The King rolls his eyes fondly, and turns to walk back, but pauses momentarily, without looking back:

“I may not understand your magical mutterings, but I know that you’ve finished setting the wards up. Are you going to come back? Or are you going to come up with another excuse for you to watch me leave so you can stare at my arse?”

Merlin flushes at that, and lets out a mumbled “Shut up.” before speed walking past a laughing Arthur, towards camp.

The whole group seems to relax once they realise that the tension between Merlin and Arthur had been resolved (or at least... changed. A different type of tension. The type that made Leon want to lay their bedrolls on opposite sides of the camp).

The evening passes quietly, nothing of note happening, and soon enough, everyone is asleep.

The next few days aren’t quite as tense, but they still hurry their horses, taking few breaks. It was wordlessly agreed that they wanted to get there as quickly as possible, so that they might have time to assess the situation properly.

Everyone was still understandably worried, but with Merlin being so relaxed, and Arthur seeming ok (ish) with what was happening, they kept their anxieties to themselves.

It’s the second night they stop to make camp, that Gwaine informs them that if they keep the same pace and get up early, they should be there just before noon the next day.

Everyone is a little tense at that, but Merlin speaks first:

“I’d say the rain isn’t going to hit until noon. If we move quickly, we should have at least a little time to plan..”

The group once again relaxes at that, grateful that they would at least have time to think things through, and check the surrounding area, before anything happened.

The relaxed atmosphere doesn’t last long, however. When they’d first stopped to make camp (that was around three hours ago now) Morgana had sat straight down, out of the way, and began to meditate. Without warning, she opens her eyes with a flash of gold, and lets a tear slip down her cheek before looking to Merlin.

He furrows his brows, and begins to speak before she can say anything:

“Morgana? What did you see?”

She lets out a humourless laugh, drawing even more worried attention from the group, before she replies:

“I’ve been trying to look past tomorrow. The near future, the far future, anything. Anything that might clue us in to the outcome. You know what I see?-”

Everyone is staring at her, clearly anxious, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Merlin, not even when Gwen places a gentle hand on her shoulder:

“-I see your mother and Gaius, quietly crying. I see Arthur, with a golden crown on his head, and a silver crown in his hands. I see a tombstone, with a name I can’t quite make out. I see your chambers, empty and cold, unlived in and covered in dust. I see... I see us. All nine of us that is, sat around our table. But one of the seats is empty, your seat. And all of us look... blank. That, is what I see, Merlin. And through all of it, I can feel your absence like a flame on my skin. I can see past tomorrow with ease. But I can’t see you.”

Morgana looks devastated. Everyone else in the group looking various mixes of shocked, scared, heartbroken.

Merlin nods slightly, and frowns staring into his lap. He was so certain that... logically, he should be fine. He’s died before and been fine. But Morgana’s visions are rarely that inaccurate, and if she’s stopped seeing his future entirely... well. It wasn’t a good sign.

He hums thoughtfully, before wiping the expression off his face and looking up determinedly:

“That changes nothing. I either do this, and everyone bar me survives, though I still think I’ll be fine, or we ignore your visions entirely, ride back to Camelot, and risk the life of every single one of Camelot’s citizens. And that��s not an option, so we’re just going to have to see what happens.”

Everyone opens their mouth to protest at the same time, but before any of them can make even a sound, Merlin jumps up, and speaks again. His voice is sharp, and invites no argument:

“NO. I said it’s not an option. This is what I do. I always used to hate the idea of a pre-written destiny, but if I’m meant to die tomorrow, then fine. So be it. I will NOT put my own life above anyone else’s. Especially not a whole kingdom’s, and ESPECIALLY not any of yours.”

He breathes deeply, and after giving a short glare to everyone individually, he sits down again.

He’s seated between Arthur (who had barely left his side) and Percival, who takes the Sorcerer’s hand in his own, holding it in his lap.

Merlin smiles at him as he attempts to pull his hand back:

“I’m fine Perc, I don’t need comforting. I always figured I would end up dying before you lot anyway-”

Everyone shuffles uncomfortably at that. No one likes to think about outliving one of their closest friends:

“-not that I think I’m gonna stay dead anyway. But that’s not the point.”

Percival holds onto Merlin’s hand tightly, but stares into the fire as he replies quietly:

“This isn’t comfort for you, Merlin. It’s comfort for me.”

Merlin seems taken aback at this, like he had only just considered that his friends might need comforting in the first place. He forgets sometimes (read: most of the time) , that he is as important to these people, as they are to him. He can’t imagine willingly going to any of their deaths, not without putting up one hell of a fight.

He nods, after he wipes the shock from his face, and settles his hand in Percival’s, instead of trying to pull away:

“I’m sorry. I know this can’t be easy for any of you-”

(as he speaks, he lets his other hand subtly gather up the fabric of Arthur’s cloak, for his own sake or Arthur’s, he’s not sure)

“-but I need you to trust me. Believe me, I’m not trying to get myself killed permanently... I mean dying even temporarily isn’t exactly fun but... you know. I’ll be fine.”

It’s Gaius that replies first. The others were especially worried about the physician, he was practically Merlin’s father at this point, and none of them thought they could cope with having to comfort the man if they lost Merlin.

“It’s not that we don’t trust you, Merlin. We’re just... worried. And it’s not like you’re well known for considering your own safety when it comes to planning for any sort of conflict.”

Merlin looks as if he’s going to protest, but Gwen beats him to the punch:

“Don’t argue Merlin. You can’t deny that you have a habit of jumping head first into the fray.” She says it with a small smile, but it’s weak, and Merlin suddenly feels guilty for all those times he’s worried his friends.

He threw himself into situations he was sure he would be able to survive, without considering the fact that none of the people he cared about had the same assurances.

His reply makes everyone chuckle

“Yeah, well. You know me. I’ve never been much of a planner.-”

The Sorcerer squeezes Percival’s hand once more, before continuing:

“-But it’s late, and if we want to get up early we should head to sleep.”

The group nods in agreement, and all begin to shuffle to their bedrolls, having hushed individual conversations as Arthur declares that he and Merlin would take the first watch.

(No one questions it. They rarely set watches nowadays, Merlin’s wards have become incredibly reliable over the years, but all of them understand that The King and The Sorcerer need this time.)

Other than Merlin and Arthur, Percival was the last to leave his seat, ruffling Merlin’s hair as he gives him a weak smile, before making his way to his roll to undoubtedly toss and turn through the night, like everyone else.

The King and The Sorcerer didn’t move from their spots next to each other, and, at some point during the conversation, Arthur had replaced the clutched fabric of his cloak with his own hand.

They stay silent for a while, not really knowing what to say. Despite everyone’s worries, the rest of the group is asleep after not too long. It had been two days of hard travel and sleeping rough, and no one would admit it but they were all exhausted.

Both of them seem to realise that there was little chance of them getting to have those conversations at a later date. The two of them struggled individually on what would be worse: forcing the conversation now before it was too late but knowing that might be the end of it, or leaving everything unsaid and leaving Arthur with the regret.

Merlin was inclined to leave it unsaid. As far as he was concerned, he would still be fine (though he was now unsure if he was right, or if he was just in denial).

Arthur wanted to get it off his chest. He may be a tad emotionally constipated, but Merlin is... well... Merlin. It took him a while to realise his feelings for Merlin, but once he did, it was like an unending avalanche.

On some level, Arthur knew that Merlin felt the same, but would it be cruel? Or distracting? For him to voice it now, before everything?

He remembers saying weeks ago “We’ve plenty of time before things kick off” . But that time had passed. It had flown by. Arthur thought he would have forever with Merlin, even when the war was declared he wasn’t worried. But suddenly there was no more time. He might lose him tomorrow.

Did he want to taint what few hours they had left with an emotional confession that could wreck them both? Or should he leave it, steadfast in the belief that Merlin knew. Which would be crueller?

In the end, Arthur decided that he wouldn’t be able to live with it: the doubt, the regret, if he never said anything, and... something... happened.

He grips Merlin’s hand tighter in his own, and swallows, but before he could say anything:

“I know.” Merlin doesn’t look at him when he thinks it, but squeezes The King’s hand in return.

“No, I... you have to let me... I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t, so just-”

Merlin does look at him then, and gives him a gentle smile to stop him rambling:

“Ok, Arthur. I’m here, I’m listening, I hear you.”

Arthur meets his gaze, a steady stream of tears down his face that causes Merlin to frown slightly:

“I... Merlin-”

Arthur struggles with the words, thinking back, he can’t remember a time he’s actually said them out loud. Ever.

He clears his throat, straightens his back, and steels his eyes. Merlin deserved the truth. And Merlin felt the same, he had never been more sure of anything:

“Merlin, I love you. And if you don’t come back to me at the end of tomorrow, I will never forgive you.”

His resolve cracks slightly at the end, but Merlin smiles at him fondly, teary eyed himself:

“I love you too. And I already told you, Arthur, I will always come back to you.”

Arthur grips Merlin’s hand tighter, and buries his head in the Sorcerer’s neck. Merlin wrapped his arms around him, and leans back against the log they were sitting against.

They fall asleep like that, the two of them wrapped in Arthur’s cloak. At some point during the night, Arthur’s head had slipped down onto Merlin’s chest, but neither moved. If anything, Arthur found he could sleep easier with Merlin’s steady heartbeat in his ears.

The Gang woke when it was still dark, but not in the way they had planned.

They all wake with a start, automatically pulling out swords and summoning weapons, before they realise that the blizzard like wind and deafening roar, was just Kilgharrah, landing on the edge of their camp.

They settle for only a moment, before they realise that Merlin hadn’t summoned him, which meant he turned up of his own volition, and that meant he brought news. And knowing Kilgharrah, it probably wasn’t good news.

Merlin approaches him quickly, a frown on his face and Arthur close behind him:

“What is it Kilgharrah, is Camelot ok?”

The Dragon lowered his head to meet Merlin’s worried stare before replying:

“Yes, the city is safe, young Warlock. I have left Aithusa to watch over it whilst I tracked you here. The army you face is in front of you, not behind you.”

Morgana speaks up quickly after that, a frown on her face:

“What army? I haven’t foreseen any big battles in a while, believe me, I’ve been looking. The only people that should be in that meadow, is us, and whoever... and one other man.”

Kilgharrah looks over the group slowly before looking back at Merlin and replying:

“It appears, Emrys, that you will finally get a chance to show off the extent of your power. An army is waiting for you, in that meadow, and you are the only one with the capacity to defeat them.”

Merlin takes a deep breath, and clenches his hands (one of which is quickly taken by Arthur. Another example of neither of them knowing which of them the action was meant to comfort):

“I don’t know if I’m that powerful Kilgharrah, I’ve never-”

“The only reason you do not know the breadth of your power, is because you’ve never before come even close to your limits.”

“But I-”

“Your magic is tied to nature, Emrys. Use it. Bend it to your will. The entirety of the world will move at your whim, you need only ask-”

Before Merlin can reply, or ask what the hell that means, Kilgharrah lifts his head suddenly, as if hearing something, and looks briefly to Merlin once more as he replies, before flying off:

“Have faith, young Warlock, in yourself and in destiny. I must leave you now.”

Everyone stands still, not quite in shock, but definitely confused, all bar Merlin, who just looks annoyed:

“Fucking typical. What’s the use of being a Dragon Lord if my giant pet lizard is going to be so bloody cryptic all the time.” is mumbled by the Warlock, as he looks towards the sun, just about rising over the horizon.

He sighs once more, before:

“Come on then. I suppose that was a good a wake up call as any. We should pack up and get going if we want to get a look at this army.-”

The next bit is mumbled to himself as he lets go of Arthur’s hand and wanders off to dismantle the wards:

“-And I suppose I now have half a day’s journey to figure out to beat it. That’s just great.”

It only takes a moment before the group launches into action, now freshly tense at the revelation that there was an army, and there was only ten of them.

They had faith in Merlin, and Morgana was there as well. And if everything really went to shit, there could be two dragons there to lend a helping hand (or claw) as well. But still. An army. That was big.

They’re riding out on the last leg of the journey within an hour, everyone having regained the tenseness that they had on the first day. Though all of them are slightly comforted by the fact that Kilgharrah hadn’t mentioned Merlin dying. He may be a cryptic bastard, but that definitely seemed like something he would bring up.

Gwaine’s directions and timings were accurate, they reached the edge of the seemingly empty meadow around half an hour before the sun hit the centre of the sky.

They remain hidden in the trees, Merlin casting a quick enchantment to shield them from being detected, before looking to Morgana and nodding.

The two of them close their eyes and stretch their arms forward, towards the meadow. A few mutterings and tilted heads later, they open their eyes. Merlin looking grim, but determined, and Morgana looking scared.

Lancelot is the first to speak:

“What is it, what’ve they go out there?”

Merlin looks at him briefly, before darkly saying:

“Why don’t I show you?”

With that, he once more raises his arm towards the meadow. His eyes glow brightly and he speaks quietly, other hand clenched at his side.

After a few moments, tendrils of light extend from his fingertips, and snake out around the perimeter of the meadow. Once the meadow is surrounded, Merlin twists his wrist sharply, and the tendrils turn inwards, shooting towards the centre point. After only a few metres they seem to meet an invisible barrier, and explode upwards towards the sky.

The light is blinding enough to force the gang to all shield their eyes, but they quickly open again when they hear an uproarious cacophony of noise.

What they see, is a huge army gathered at the far end of the field, packing up camp and preparing to move off, in the direction of Camelot.

It takes only a moment before a voice rings out above the noise, coming from somewhere around the edges:

“THE BARRIER IS DOWN!! WE CAN BE SEEN!”

A voice answers back, shouting for everyone to be prepared, that they would be noticed soon, and that the fight was coming to them.

Arthur furrowed his brow before quietly:

“That was their King, I recognise his voice. He must have sorcerers with him to keep the barrier going.”

Leon answers first:

“This is why our scouts haven’t seen anything, there’s been nothing to see.”

Merlin once again begins muttering to himself, drawing everyone’s attention to him (and also reminding them that apparently, Merlin had the power to take out the whole army) :

“Well, at least it’s smaller than I was expecting, underestimating us apparently. Sorcerers could be a problem though. Hmm.”

Morgana speaks up:

“I feel three. powerful, but not really fighters. They’re here for the barrier, and they don’t seem particularly happy about it either-”

She looks towards Merlin, face serious:

“-If you make it clear who you are... they might join us.”

Merlin hums thoughtfully, before replying:

“Depends entirely on if their fear of me outweighs their fear of him.”

The Gang looks taken aback at the mention of fearing Merlin. Elyan quietly saying:

“Why would they fear you? I know that you’re Emrys and everything, but I thought it was a Druid peace-keeping sort of thing you had going?”

Merlin looks back at the group, anger on his face, as he responds darkly:

“They’re threatening Camelot, her people, her King. I’m very much pissed off right now, of course they should be scared of me.”

Before he has time to say anything else, they notice that the army is about ready to move out, and Arthur gestures everyone to quickly get back and hide as he rushes towards Merlin:

“Merls! Ok... so, in the vision, the field was already empty when it started raining, and we have maybe 15 minutes at most before then, so what happens? Whatever we do, we need to do it now, they’re about to leave. Or maybe the field was empty because we let them go?”

Merlin responds quickly:

“No, we didn’t see the whole field in the vision remember, and this half is empty-”

He thinks for a moment, and Arthur looks towards the army, before looking back at the others, and then finally settling his eyes on Merlin once more:

“-Put your crown on, you and me are going to march across there, and they need to know who we are. The others will stay here, out of sight.”

Arthur looks worried, and put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder:

“You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

Merlin smiles back at him:

“Nah, figured I’d just wing in. Come on, I’m Emrys. I got this in the bag.”

Arthur frowns as Merlin chuckles, before grabbing his crown from his saddlebag. The others looks to him questioningly, but he just shakes his head, and gestures for them to stay hidden. They don’t look too pleased at that, but they follow his orders, and hide themselves and the horses among the bushes.

The King and the Sorcerer take a deep breath, before looking at each other and nodding firmly. They march out from their hiding spot amongst the trees, and make a beeline for the army, walking confidently.

Merlin made sure to walk just a step behind Arthur, and it takes only a few seconds for a lookout to spot them and yell.

The two of them stop in the middle of the empty space as the whole army looks towards them, their King stepping forward:

“Ah! King Arthur-”

The way he says King, like it disgusts him, like Arthur doesn’t deserve the title, has Merlin fuming, but he doesn’t step forward just yet.

“-It would seem that you have bought your druid pet, to beat my army. I WILL SEE YOUR HEADS ON SPIKES!”

Spittle flies from his red face as he screams the last part, and Merlin sees the way Arthur clenches his hand. Before his... friend? (can he say that after last night?) can reply in anger:

“Introduce me, and then go back to the others. I’ll be fine, he’s clearly underestimated me.”

Arthur’s back straightens, and he leaves his face blank as he shouts his reply to the angered King:

“You clearly underestimate us. This-”

(he gestures absentmindedly to Merlin, who steps forward and allows his eyes to begin glowing.)

“-is Emrys. He will make quick work of your... army.”

Neither of them pay attention to his reply as they look at each other. The glow fades from Merlin’s eyes as he puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder:

“Trust me, go back to the others and I’ll take care of it. All of nature is at my fingertips, apparently. Go, I love you.”

Arthur clenches his jaw and nods, before turning and walking back to the others, smiling to himself as he notices the almost transparent shield that had formed around him as he walked.

Merlin takes a few steps towards the army (which is getting louder and louder as the King makes his way through the ranks, shouting encouragement and rallying them) before stopping in place and frowning.

Unless he wants to cause issues with time, he should probably keep it as similar to the vision as he can. He looks to the side, the same place he had seen himself look four days ago, and speaks:

“ I’m sorry. But it’s coming. I can’t stop it, I tried. This is the only way. Just... relax... it’ll hurt less. Four days.”

He narrows his eyes and focuses, and he can just about make out a hazy mirror image of himself stood a few feet away:

“Arthur loves you... me..... us. Don’t let him down.”

The image fades as he takes a deep breath, and continues his march towards the army.

There’s a clap of thunder, and suddenly the skies open, Merlin frowns to himself as he mutters:

“Oh for fucks sake, why am I always right?”

The army begins their sprint towards him, and Merlin stops his quick pace, planting his feet, and raising his hands to the sky. The Sorcerer figures that there’s already a storm, and a storm is part of nature, right? He might as well take advantage.

The golden glow from his eyes is almost blinding as his brings his hands down quickly, palms facing the floor. Lightening strikes the ground with a flash and a few hundred of the men at the forefront of the army fall to not rise again.

Merlin grunts as he realises he’s going to have to try a lot harder if he’s to succeed in taking out the 12,000 angry arseholes running at him.

He continues aiming lightening at the fastest knights, nearest the front, taking out groups of them at a time.

He feels another magical presence, and he glances to the side to see a young woman at the edge of the meadow, clothes in tatters and feet bare. She meets his gaze and nods, before looking to the army and shouting a spell. The ground shakes slightly and a large chunk of the army falls into cracks into the ground.

Those his lightening had not touched finally come within reach of Merlin, and he has to jump back as swords reach for his neck. He swings one of his arms in a wide arc, and a burst of blue fire elevates the war cries around him, into screeches of agony.

He has to banish dark thoughts as the stench of burnt flesh reaches his nose, and he swings his arm wide once more, the same again.

Now with a little more space to move, though with little time before he’s crowded again, he kneels, and slams closed fists down into the mud.

The moment his skin touches the ground, the whole meadow shakes, much more than it had previously, and the whole army stumbles and falls.

There is a moment of silence and calm once the shaking stops, everyone trying to regain their bearings, but it doesn’t last long, as the ground opens. Sinkholes and cracks expand all across the meadow, thousands of men screaming as they fall into unknown depths, or drown in mud.

Merlin stares out in wonder as he realises he hasn’t said a word since the battle began. He had used no spells, the world around him simply understood what he wanted, and obeyed his orders. Nature bending to his whim indeed.

His thoughts last only a minute before he forces himself to concentrate once more. He can feel the three other sorcerers trying to protect themselves, and prevent anyone from escaping. Looks like Morgana was right. Though they were exhausted from holding the barrier in place, and even if they hadn’t been, even combined, their power was nothing compared to Merlin’s.

He pulls his arms from the ground, palms facing towards the sky (which is still pouring). As he does, every crater, every pit, closes with a snap, the field seeming suddenly much emptier as half the army, and all the previous bodies, disappear into the mud.

Only a thousand or so men remain, and, ignoring their cowardly King’s shouts (he was hidden somewhere to the right of Merlin, out of his sight. Hmmm. He would have to take care of that later.) they try to scatter into the woods surrounding the meadow.

Merlin closes his hands to fists. Vines and roots burst from the ground, all sharp thorns and gnarled wood as they speed towards the fleeing soldiers.

The screams grow louder once more as all but a few of the knights are pierced, and wrapped, and dragged towards their muddy places of burial.

Merlin stands once more, and tilts his head towards the trees with a silent request.

He smirks as the sounds of wolves reach his ears, howling and growling and rabid through the trees. That’ll do it. No one would be able to outrun them.

The battlefield lay empty. The bodies having been swallowed by the earth, or still running around piss scared in the woods.

Merlin turns towards the sorcerers standing twenty metres away, meaning to promise them safety and amnesty in Camelot, because of their immediate willingness to help, but before he can say anything, he sees their eyes widen as they look behind him in horror.

He gasps in realisation, and goes to turn and defend himself, but before he can, he staggers suddenly forward as he feels a bursting pain in his spine and spread through his chest. He looks down to see the front of a sword poking out from where his heart should be.

With his last few seconds of lucidity he jerkily waves his hand behind him and feels the King (”How could I have fucking forgotten about him? I was thinking about him literally 3 minutes ago??”) stumble back a few steps, leaving the sword behind.

Merlin falls to his knees, still staring at the end of the blade, blood dripping from his mouth as he hears an agonised yell from across the meadow.

He finally falls completely, his face angled towards the floor and his eyes fluttering as he hears a metallic *swoosh* and a *gargle* and a *thump* behind him, before Arthur falls to his knees at his back.

The last thing Merlin remembers, is hearing Arthur muttering something or other as he gets pulled towards him, but by the time his eyes look to the sky, his mind, and face, are blank.

THIS IS COMPLETED, PART 5 (link at the top, and in the masterlist) IS THE FINAL PART!

Let me know if y’all want my thoughts on anything in particular :)

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revswanson · 2 years

Text

i finally wrote the fic nobody asked for about uncle, pearson n some of the women leaving beaver hollow in late chap 6 and well it turned out a lot sadder, and longer, lol, than i thought um but hello here it is

His home… his ever-changing, always-moving, sometimes-bloody home on the top of this shitpile of a earth with these shitpiles that call themselves humans. He loved them, he loved it. He really, really did. What was left of them. What was left of it. But he wasn’t going to stick around to see it get worse. How could it get worse? He said to himself, but he knew that it could. He watched them blow a hole straight through Molly. He watched Dutch, over all those damn years, and he still couldn’t decide if the man had changed or if he’d been like this all along.

Uncle sighed, tilting back the last of his bottle of beer, taking a look around him. The girls were working, or trying to… there wasn’t a lot to work for. He remembered sitting at their sides, listening to Javier play away, watching the women sew and wash and wondering if they’d ever get away from all of this. Them, not him. He had never once thought he’d leave these people. Just yesterday he told Arthur he wasn’t going anywhere. But things were getting bad, and he just wanted some damn peace and quiet. He kept watching as Tilly and Marybeth and Karen embraced one another, having a somber conversation amongst them. Tilly cracked some kind of joke and they all giggled, tears on their faces dripping into their smiles. They were so strong, they are. Uncle realized he couldn’t leave them here.

Strauss was already gone. Arthur kicked him out, in a big scene. Reverend was gone, hopefully on his way to his own redemption. If it was out there for him. And everybody else was dead or trying to be. He just needed to get the girls out of here, and see to it that Pearson got someplace safe too.

He stood and he walked over to the women, bowing his head a little bit- ashamed of what he was about to say. “I think it’s time we get out of here ladies. We’ve outstayed our welcome. Don’t wanna see what happened to the rest happen to you. I don’t care much what happens to me but I don’t wanna die here either, looking at Micah’s ugly face.” He tried to laugh, but it came out sounding more like a sob. The three of them looked at him and they looked at each other.

“Uncle, you get outta here, but there’s still work to do around here…” Marybeth started. Karen shot her a look. “I… I love these people.” Marybeth covered her freckled face, her small but strong body racking with sobs.

“I do too, Marybeth, but he’s right.” Tilly said quietly, looking at something that wasn’t really anything at all, staring into the sky and wishing she could just be… up there. “You saw what happened to Molly. And to Susan. They don’t care about us. Arthur does but he’s not well… I’m not sure what’s going to happen to him but frankly I don’t think you guys wanna stick around to see it.”

The quiet was loud. “You guys?” Karen interrupted the silence. “You’re coming too, you know. What else you got goin’ on?” She laughed, trying to ease the tension.

“I’ve got to stay here. I love that damn kid, Jack. I’ve always wanted a kid of my own. I don’t know if I’ll make it out of this place to have my own, but I have to see him get out of here. Preferably with his parents, but if that can’t happen I’ll make sure he makes it.” She broke, her shoulders falling and her voice, too. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Uncle admired her so much. He wondered to himself if Jack and Abigail and John really would make it out of here, too. He wondered if he’d never see them again. Shaking away the idea, he gently patted Karen’s back and then Marybeth’s. “We’ve gotta start packing up. It was time to go, a long time ago. I’m sorry that I didn’t get you guys out of here sooner.” He wondered, too, what would happen to them.

“Get your stuff. Grab a horse. I’ll take you ladies into town, probably Valentine or somethin’.” He looked over at Pearson, finally, working away at his wagon. He wasn’t sure if the man would be willing to leave. He slowly walked over, thinking of the stories and the long conversations and the songs they’d shared together. The drinks, the dark nights illuminated by the trusty lantern always at the table.

“Pearson, buddy,” he mumbled, “I’m getting out of here. Taking the girls somewhere else. I think you should too.” Pearson looked up at him, hands covered in the blood of the animal he was prepping. For what, for who? There is nothing, nobody… Uncle peered into the man’s eyes and he couldn’t keep his gaze- he had to look away. The pain that was there in Pearson’s face was written in every line, was dripping from his eyes and forcing his whole body to shake. “We’re going to die here… Come on.”

That was all that was said between them for a long time. Pearson quietly gathered his things. He quietly finished cooking one last bowl of stew. He quietly sung, and hummed, and cried. He got his horse ready, quietly, and quietly he helped the women onto theirs.

Uncle patted his horse, Nell, giving it some extra feed for the ride ahead. The poor girl was getting older every day, just like him, and just like him he wondered how much longer the mare had left. He hoped this trip, wherever it took them, wouldn’t be too much for her. He wasn’t sure if it wouldn’t be too much for him.

The women packed the few clothes and items they had onto some camp horses, picking the ones that looked the strongest and the calmest. Together the five of them stood- Pearson, Uncle, Marybeth, Karen, and finally Tilly; she was still looking into the sky, afraid to look at the faces of the people she knew she may never see again. She was almost certain of it.

Together they stood. Looking at what was left of their camp. The camp that they had lovingly put together, here in and near this damn chilly, wet, cave. The camp they had torn down and rebuilt time and time again, carried in wagons that each time they rode went down in numbers as did their group. From Colter to Horseshoe in many wagons, and from Shady Belle to here in much fewer. They embraced one another once more, and Tilly slipped the only money she had into the pockets of the women that had been her best friends. Like sisters to her… stealing each other’s clothes, chuckling over boys and bullshit. She was going to miss them, and it was going to kill her to watch them ride away.

She helped them all onto their horses, and she thanked Uncle and Pearson for doing this. And for everything they had done for her. “Thank you, Miss Tilly.” Uncle said genuinely. “You’re a great girl. You’re gonna make it out, too. You’re gonna have a beautiful little baby. And you better marry rich, because you deserve to live like a queen.” He grinned. “Just make sure to call for me so I can come drink all your fancy flavored booze.”

The five of them laughed, one last laugh. One last, good, hearty laugh. Deep into their stomachs, rising from the parts of their souls that they’d thought died with Molly and Susan- for Karen, with Sean, and for Marybeth, with Kieran. But that laugh would never die: that laugh would echo through the woods of Roanoke, reaching the ears of every wild animal and the God that had forsaken them all.

And they rode away. Tilly did not watch. The noise the hooves of those horses made would never leave her mind as she listened to some of the only friends she’d ever had ride away, leaving her with angry men and a family that should have gotten themselves gone years ago and Arthur, dying and constantly on a mission to save everybody but himself.

Arthur’s voice echoed in Uncle’s memory, tearing him apart with every gallop away from that place. Away from his friends. The only goddamned family he ever had. He was never an angry man- well, not for the last few decades at least. He prefered to walk away from confrontation; of course he could handle himself and was a hell of a shot, but he didn’t like being in the position to need to be. But right now, as he rode back towards Valentine with Pearson and two of the best women he’d ever known, he was mad. Incredibly mad. He pictured himself punching the same spot on Micah’s face so many times that it ceased to look like Micah’s face, he imagined the cold barrel of his gun against Micah’s forehead, he thought about what it might feel like to watch the last breath leave Micah’s stinking mouth. But he couldn’t bring himself to want Dutch dead. The man that had taken him in, given him the benefit of the doubt time and time again… Saved his ass. Despite it all, he found himself wishing the best for the man. He wanted him to get out, too. Get out of his own mind, or what had become of it. Part of him thought that maybe Dutch could still change, part of him was afraid that he could still become worse.

He broke the silence that was only previously broke by the horses whinnying and snorting as they got more and more tired. “It’s goin’ to be well dark by the time we get there. I’ll pay for us all to get a couple of rooms at the inn, and in the mornin’ we’ll get together and get to the store and get you ladies some supplies. I dunno where Pearson is goin’ but I’m thinkin’ I’ll go south. Far. Maybe I’ll go to Mexico and get me a new wife.”

“And maybe I’ll strike gold,” Karen laughed. “But I’ll probably just go back to robbin’ guys that think with their woodies.”

The clerk at the inn acted like he’d never seen a group of robbers and sinners and alcoholics and beautiful women and everything else they were. “I need two rooms.” Uncle said slowly, like the man could very well be a four year old child that needed simple explanations. “I will pay for them. Perhaps a bath for each of us.”

“Okay…” And that was that.

Pearson still hadn’t said a word. He didn’t need to. They all knew what he was feeling, and they all were feeling it too. Aside from being exhausted from the trip and increasingly worried about what they were going to do next, they were all just rearing from the loss they were all experiencing. The loss they had experienced.

They took turns getting baths, and they took turns staring at the wall as they waited for sleep to come.

Pearson let Uncle take the bed on accord of his bad back, and Uncle threw him down an extra blanket off of the bed. They sat in silence, in the dark. No crackling fire. No singing. No beer.

"Hey," Pearson finally said. "You want some?" Uncle felt a cool bottle touch his knuckles, and he couldn't help but grin, unseen in the dark but the endearment lighting up his soul.

"Hell yeah, I do!"

They drank, and the silence wasn't so painful anymore. It was silence shared between friends, between two men that had seen it all and somehow seen nothing but the asses of the horses in front of them and the empty pockets of the pants they'd worn for weeks… heard nothing but the same lies out of the mouth of the man who claimed to love them, who claimed he would put his body in the ground in the place of any of them when the truth is that he would gleefully put each of their bodies aside.

And sleep came, bringing to them and the girls each their own dreams of the past and of what the future could be.

The sun rose and with it, Pearson. He missed the days where he awoke even before the sun to begin his preparations. He missed the days where he'd shout that dinner was up and many smiling faces would happily eat his carefully cooked stew. It was hard to cook for that many, hard to keep them all happy. But he was going to miss it. Wanting to feel useful, he decided to head down to the store himself and set up a tab and get everybody what they'd need, at least for a few days.

Soon after he shut the door, Uncle woke too. He couldn't help but gasp as he startled awake from the sweetest dream of a person he'd once loved and lost. He was alone, now. Alone in a hotel room in Valentine, of all places, having lost his family and home, if you could call any of it any of that. He realized that this was the first time he had woken up alone in a very long time. He may not have had a bed at camp but everywhere he chose to sleep, when he would wake up no matter the time of day or night he would be near one of his friends.

Not anymore.

He realized Pearson was probably at the store, and he got his things gathered to go wake up Marybeth and Karen to meet him there. They looked like they'd gotten a good enough rest and Karen appeared to have had a drink herself… already, today. Uncle grimaced but said nothing, knowing that he would sound like the biggest ass in the world telling her to slow down on the drinking when it was his breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"Let's go, girls. Pearson's probably touching all of the tomatoes."

Uncle and Pearson packed new supplies- food and clothes and such to last maybe a few weeks- onto the womens' horses and their own and nobody was quite sure what to say.

Marybeth tapped her feet, looking between Uncle and Pearson like she expected one of them to burst out with the best idea ever at any moment… but nobody had a clue what to do. "I'm no Arthur, ladies. I don't know what the right answer is. I think, I guess you should stay here in town for a while and maybe get some work, some nicer horses. Some husbands, or whatever. Whoever. Just find people, to be with. Don't be alone. But don't get yourselves involved with crazy people, either!... I just don't know." Uncle couldn't look at them, he needed a fucking drink and he just couldn't bear to think about what could happen but he couldn't just stick around and risk them all getting found and questioned. He knew how weird they looked already: an old drunk, two pretty girls (one also drunk), and an… also drunk weirdly-dressed man whose hands were stained with animal blood.

"Pearson, what about you?" Marybeth tried to sound hopeful, but her soft voice was coated with sadness, "Where will you go now?"

He thought for a moment. "I'll probably ask around the shops about some work. It's all I can do. They look like they've got enough people all around here but maybe they know where work is needed elsewhere."

"You still thinking of Mexico, Uncle?" Karen slurred.

"Nah," Uncle paused to fish a carrot from his pack for Nell, his trusty horse who had indeed made the trip. So far. He hesitated to think about it any further. "I don't know if me or my horse can take it. It's pretty wild land from what I hear. Me and Nell are probably gonna go die somewhere nice and quiet." He was only half-joking, partially dreaming of the long sleep and seeing his… well, everybody again. But part of him, again, thought of John and Abigail, for some reason. He remembered how much they had all loved the plains, and Blackwater, and the land there. "I'm only pullin' your tails, we're just goin' to go south and see what it all looks like nowadays. It hasn't been too long but time changes things fast. It sure has changed people fast."

"You'll never die, Uncle," Karen placed her head on his shoulder, standing there beside the Valentine grocery, "You're going to live forever. You'll outlive us all!"

"Lord, I sure hope I don't. It'll be awfully quiet without your nagging- I think I'll still be able to hear it when I leave here." Uncle patted her knotty-haired head and moved to get onto his horse.

He didn't want to leave. He wanted to drop dead here, in this beautiful place. Not Valentine, the shithole. This place, next to some of the only people he had left. The only people he knew were still alive and still cared about him, in some small way.

"I better go. I'm goin' to start crying and that'll be too dramatic, I want you to remember me as your smiling Uncle." He ran his calloused fingers through Nell's mane and looked at the girls and at Pearson. "Please survive."

"Of course we will, you old coot," Karen grinned her drunken, sarcastic grin.

Pearson handed Uncle a bottle, capturing the man's hand in his as he does so, "This'll help you survive. This is some of my favorite stuff, imported from across the very waters that I once traveled. I hope to see you again one day and share another drink, even if it's in Hell, my forsaken friend." A few fat tears dropped down his face as he finished his monologue, another actor in the horrible play this has been.

Forever the court jester, Uncle made a funny face and put his hand over his heart. "You're the best, Pearson. Thanks for keepin' me fed and bein' company while the camp slept. I really do mean it, but I'm bad at these kinds of things and I'm really tryin' here." He smiled at them, tears gathering in his tired eyes. "Just think, right now, Arthur's probably beating Micah's little ass to high heaven. I only kinda regret not stayin' behind to cheer him on."

Marybeth checked the buckles on Uncle's saddlebags and packs and made sure he was all set, and Karen snuck a bottle or two of beer out of her stash into one of the bags. "Get on, go," Pearson grumbled. "And try not to get yourself killed fighting a fight that's not yours."

"I pick what fights are mine to fight," Uncle said matter of factly, "But, yeah, I'm pretty tired of fightin'. I'd rather go back to farmin'."

Nell the second, named after the first best horse Uncle ever had, named after someone he held close to his heart, went to sleep and did not wake up again. The last thing he had left of that time, with those folk. On the way to Tumbleweed, what would hopefully be their last stop for awhile, the horse had begun to really make some noise and started to limp. Beside himself, Uncle had quickly made camp and laid close to the fire with his horse, watching her closely. She fell into sleep and he tried to do the same, going in and out of it with fragmented dreams of home, or well, the general idea of it. He woke up surrounded by dark and a fire that had gone out and such quiet. The horse was not breathing. He cried for her, and then he put the fire back on and warmed his hands on it, wondering if he'd be able to sleep any more.

He wasn't, and he watched the sun rise thinking of all he had loved and lost in life, all of the ways he grew and all of the ways he fell just too short. In a while he'd do what he could to properly send off his Nell the second, and a while after that he'd make it to the road to hitch it to town or whatever. Whatever… Until then, he was going to lay here, listening to the sound of his own breath, proud and jagged and existent despite all odds. Tilting back a sip of that bottle Pearson gave him, his mind sung to him like that damned machine in Dutch's tent…

He sung along, smiling to himself and looking back on a better time,

"I ain't got no father,

I ain't got no father,

I ain't got no father

To buy the clothes I wear.

I'm a poor lonesome cowboy,

a poor lonesome cowboy,

I'm a poor lonesome cowboy,

And a long ways from home.

I ain't got no mother,

I ain't got no mother

To mend the clothes I wear.

I ain't got no sister,

To go and play with me.

I ain't got no brother,

To drive the steers with me.

I ain't got no sweetheart,

To sit and talk with me.

I'm a poor lonesome cowboy,

And a long ways from home…"

#red dead #rdr2 #rdr2 uncle #marybeth gaskill #karen jones #simon pearson #rdr2 fic #idk what to tag this with but #if you like it lemme know and stuff

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chocolate-parfait · 3 years

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omg i adore your writing so I want to get in here before the crowd lol, if you wouldn’t mind could you do C, K, and Y on the prompt list for Arthur from IkemenVamp or Mitsuhide from IkemenSen?

i hope you have a marvelous day/night whatever the sky is painted at the moment and thank you!!

Thank you, honey! Enjoy🥰🥰

Arthur

Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

Arthur is a spontaneously affectionate person and is always seen touching you in some sort of way. It can just be resting his hand on your leg or holding your hand under the table, his gestures can vary from the most genuine expressions of love to more teasing ones like his slender fingers traveling a bit too high up your thigh.

Other times, usually at night, he can get very clingy and needy, but do not blame him; it's more than natural for people to require attention late at night, and if you're at the beginning of your relationship then he may still be struggling with his trauma, so indulge him and keep him company in his room. Sit in his lap or play with his hair, he will be putty in your hands. During said moments he will be especially vulnerable, and you'll be able to take the lead with ease. He particularly loves it when you hug him to your chest and caress his head with utmost affection; it makes him feel safe, protected and loved. Plus!! he gets to hear your heartbeat, a reminder that you're there with him

In general, Arthur is a natural when it comes to affection (PDA in particular), but every now and then you may catch him off guard with random kisses on the cheek and be blessed with the sight of his cute blushing face. Actually, all you need to do is to be bolder than usual when he's least expecting it; he will flirt right back of course, but those few moments of delighted shock from his part can be quite the fuel for both of you

Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

His kisses are either tender, playful or just sloppily needy. Most of the time he goes for the more playful ones, which involve suppressed smiles, giggles and hands squishing the other's cheeks. His tender kisses are the closest you'll get to a chaste peck. Arthur may have his boyish side, but he always kisses you to either make you flustered, because he's horny or because it's a spontaneous gesture of love. They are born from a sudden surge of love, but Arthur isn't capable of expressing his affection in a way that mirrors the pureness of his feelings, not when he's so damn horny all the time-

One of the hottest things ever is when he sighs and groans inside the kiss. It gets the both of you going so much, it's always a nice way to start a tiring night and a makeout session.

Yes (how would they propose to you?)

He would be so, so nervous and fidgety!! He would annoy Theo so much that the guy would probably start threatening him to just go and propose already. He'd plan everything in advance, but then something would go wrong towards the end, destroying his chances of looking as smooth and cool as he wanted. You're out taking care of your detective commissions, just as usual. He got half the city to help him in his scheme, and without you knowing, he's slowly guiding you towards a very fancy dinner in an equally fancy restaurant. Because of a very “weird” twist of events, you have to infiltrate said restaurant in search of a lost object/a piece of information. Guess you'll have to wear your best dress! When you're least expecting it (or probably after Arthur tripped over his own words and you caught up to his act), he gets down on one knee and proposes to you. The poor man is trembling, and his blue orbs are clouded over with insecurity. Despite all you went through, he's still set on the idea that he doesn't deserve you, that you're with him just out of pity, that you'd be better off with someone else. Say yes, and you'll see him struggling to recover from the most dumbfounded of expressions you have ever seen.

“S-so, ___, would... would you give me the honor of becoming your husband?”

Mitsuhide

Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

He mainly loves two things when cuddling with you: the size difference and the satisfied expression on your pretty face.

When in bed he loves laying behind you, arms wrapped around your waist and pulling your body flush to his. Sooner or later you always end up facing him, and he seeks out the warmth of the crook of your neck, placing feather-like kisses on your skin as he traces the contours of your features.

He absolutely adores it whenever you reach for his face and rest your palms against his cheeks. He just really likes feeling your warmth in general, but this gesture is, to him, a very explicit display of affection coming from both. After all, how many people do you think have ever managed to do such thing to THE Mitsuhide Akechi's face? That's how much he trusts you! Also, his body temperature is, for some reason, always pretty low, and your body heat is very comforting, especially in winter. Sometimes he will take one of your hands and place a lingering kiss on it.

Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

His tongue may not function properly when it comes to foods but oh boy do you taste divine. It must be his brain tricking him or else he wouldn't be able to explain such a mystery. Is this what he has been missing all his life? Surely, he has a lot of catching up to do...

Mitsuhide likes kissing the back of your hand and giving you a tender peck on the cheek every now and then. He'd rather not do it in the streets or while under the eyes of possible enemies (they might end up targeting you), but he's totally at ease in front of people he trusts, like the warlords and such. If it makes you blush as red as a tomato then all the better! You know how much he loves your flushed face.

In the privacy of your quarters (or in the hallways, when no one's looking) he's way more comfortable and laid back. He will push aside his own needs just to see you covered in the most beautiful shades of embarrassment. He will kiss you until you're breathless, and he will use whatever part of his body to help his lips in such task. Be it his teeth, his hands or even his voice. Mitsuhide will shamelessly and mercilessly kiss you until you can't take it anymore and your mind's going blank with satisfaction.

Yes (how would they propose to you?)

He would prepare in advance, but he wouldn't set up a scene or anything. He would ask you the question during a very intimate moment, and his tone and gaze, solemn yet tender, would convey all the feelings in his heart.

Maybe on the day of your anniversary, or just a particular night where you find yourselves enjoying each other's company in the privateness of your quarters; the moonlit room would fall in a delicate silence as soon as the words fall from his lips, almost as if even the walls had fallen under his magical spell. You stare at him for a few seconds, surprise written all over your features, breath caught in your throat. It'd be a miracle to find the strength to refuse him, not that you want to, of course.

He’s not feeling nervous, either. He has already acknowledged a long time ago the sincerity of your feelings. How could he even question them? All he can do is swear to protect you from the dangers of his job and to give up anything in the world for your happiness.

#500 followers special #answered #ikemen sengoku #ikemen vampire #ikevamp scenarios #ikevamp imagines #ikevamp headcanons #ikesen imagines #ikesen scenarios #ikesen headcanons #ikesen mitsuhide #ikevamp arthur #akechi mitsuhide #arthur conan doyle

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dibbiedabbiedoobie · 2 years

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Mint

Another one based on a voretober prompt -- 2021 this time, Mint. Set in the same ‘verse as Caught Red-Handed, but like... nebulously after that fic. So not a direct sequel, more just placed vaguely in that world. I’ll probably work on a proper sequel at some point, but rn I’m just off loading a bunch of stuff lol. This is also based on a real dream I had! It was wild but very comfy and nice. I think I woke up before the actual vore, sadly, but I do remember waking up feeling very comfy and loved so I suppose it wasn’t all bad.

Word Count: 891 Fandom: In/cep/tion Tags: safe vore, willing prey, willing pred, small bit of foodplay, fluff, pred!arthur Summary: Arthur wakes you up for a midnight snack.

You're still not quite sure how you ended up here. Arthur woke you up at some ungodly hour in the morning, asking something about mint that you don't remember. You'd been barely awake and had just nodded so he'd let you go back to sleep. In hindsight, that was probably intentional. You shift, just a bit. There's no comfortable way to lay on the jello you've found yourself on. It's a bright blue, translucent. You suppose the fact that it's broke up into cubes beneath you don't help with comfort. You aren't sure of the flavor, but you're half-tempted to try. You're considering it until Arthur walks back into the room, catching your attention. He has a spoon in hand and a shit-eating smirk on his face. You glare at him, but it's half-hearted at best. You generally can't bring yourself to care that much about these things anymore. It's far too early, and you want to sleep. His stomach seems softer and comfier than laying on blocks of jello. "Are you alright?" he asks, in the way he always does. It's a genuine question, making sure you're okay. He always makes sure to ask regularly, especially before he swallows you. It's the polite part of "polite little shit" shining through, and you really do appreciate it. "'m fine," you interrupt yourself with a yawn. You'd thought you were a little more awake now, but maybe not. "Just... hurry up. Sleepy." Arthur snorts. "Well then. I was going to try the jello, but if you're so insistent..." He sets the spoon aside, then gently picks you up by your sides with his index finger and thumb. "Wait!" you shout, and he pauses, concern written all over his face. "I'm fine," you assure him. "Just... lemme taste it." His expression eases, going from worry to amusement. He carefully turns you over, holds you close enough to grab a small piece from a corner. As you put it in your mouth, he turns you back over. "Any good?" "It tastes like shit." You stick your tongue out, nose wrinkled. "Mint? Really?" "I didn't chose it," chuckles Arthur. "Dom bought the wrong one. I figured I might as well get some use from it." "If you'd wanted a taste tester, there were easier ways to get them." "Maybe, but very few can be a stand-in treat." He lifts you closer to his face, then pauses; waiting for confirmation. Biting back another yawn, you just nod. Arthur opens his mouth, tipping his head a bit, before he carefully begins to lower you inside. Hot and muggy rises up your legs, and his tongue rises up to cushion you. It's firm, but slimy, and wraps around your body as he pushes you further inside. It's all a familiar song and dance, and you relax into it. His lips close gently around your chest, his fingers carefully supporting your back as he gets a good taste of you. He hums, contented, but doesn't dwaddle. Flicking his head back properly, he loosens his jaw and swallows thickly. It drags you down quickly, sends you squishing into his throat up to your hips. Scrunching his face, he gulps again, pulling you properly into his gullet. You're a little bigger than he expects sometimes. He brushes his fingers against his neck, feeling the bulge you make as you trudge deeper into his core. He always did like that, being able to track you through his body. Knowing where you were, even inside him, makes him feel more comfortable about your safety; granted, there weren't very many places for you to be in his body, but he likes it anyways. Once you're beneath his collarbone, he wipes his mouth of drool. He'd liked your flavor, but the hint of mint had been a delectable improvement. If he thought he could get away with it, he'd try to do it a bit more often. There's a pressure in his chest, and then you squeeze down into his stomach. It gurgles a greeting, churning at you eagerly. You suppose it has been a bit since dinner. "Are you okay?" Arthur's voice rumbles around you, low but clear. "Fine, Arthur," you reply. You squirm, settling into the gentle curve of his belly. "Good. Let me know if that changes, okay?" "Mhm." You don't expect him to hear you, but that's okay. This is part of the song and dance, too: making sure that you're okay, that you know you can leave any time. It's familiar and appreciated, but common enough that you both know that there's no real problem. Arthur's stomach churns at you more, soaking you in even more spit and fluid. You don't mind, though. It's warm in his tummy, and soft. A better bed than the one outside. You're used to it trying to process you by now, and you know it won't hurt you. You can feel Arthur stroking at you gently outside. He probably isn't trying to coax you to sleep, but that's the effect. With everything so soothing, your body is quite aware that it's Too Damn Early in the morning, and there's a lot of sleep to be had. You settle, then give a soft pet to the nearest wall. "G'night," you murmur, far too quiet to hear. You let your eyes close, and then you're asleep.

#dibbiewrites #safe vore #nonfatal vore #endosoma #extreme cuddling #v.ore #v0re #in/cep/tion #voreception #soft vore #unwilling prey #willing pred #fluff

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oddaodd · 3 years

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· What’s Going On? ·

Request : “Hey! i was wondering if you could do aTommy x reader X john one shot where she dated john but married tommy and after the wedding she’s confused about which one is the father of the child... maybe some fighting between brothers, Polly angry, Arthur trying to help but only making things worse lol” by the lovely @idgaf2022

Author’s note: I had so much fun writing this! I hope you enjoy it and have the loveliest of days! ❤️

Warnings: mentions of smut and pregnancy.

Y/n was gleaming after her wedding, and how wouldn’t she? Tommy and her had always had a thing even before he popped the question. However, John and her had also had a thing going on well before Tommy proposed.

Her and John were on and off. They would seek comfort in each other and when their needs were satisfied they usually went their separate ways with some sentiment in between at times.

It was pretty much the same with Tommy, only that it was harder to get the sentiment in at times.

The last time y/n slept with John was the night before Tommy proposed and Tommy couldn’t wait till after the wedding to consummate the marriage, that and y/n’s emotions after he asked her to be his lead them both to y/n’s bed.

So when in the betting shop one Monday morning Polly grasped y/n’s breast and with a gasp said “you’re pregnant” scarcely a month after she and Tommy spoke their vows, y/n just couldn’t allow herself to be merry for the doubt of who the father was, was present in her mind.

Polly noticed the fear imprinted in y/n’s face and tried to comfort her.

“Oh love it’s not a bad thing, I’m sure Tommy will be happy about it”

Y/n was hyperventilating by then. How would she tell Tommy? She could just hide it of course but she didn’t want to lie to him.

“This can’t be” y/n muttered between deep breaths.

“Don’t be scared, a baby is a good thing” Polly soothed “unless you don’t want kids...”

“I do want kids” y/n sobbed

“Then what’s wrong?”

Y/n took a deep breath before blurting out “I’m not sure Tommy’s the father”

Polly’s mouth opened in shock. “Who then?”

“John” y/n finally managed to say before breaking down crying into her hands.

As if the timing couldn’t be any worse, the doors of the shop opened and In came y/n’s husband, with John and Arthur close behind. Y/n tried to dry her tears but Tommy noticed nonetheless, he was by her side in a matter of seconds.

“What’s wrong, y/n?”

Y/n shook her head. She wished more than anything that she didn’t have to go though the conversation that was coming but she wasn’t naive enough to indulge in the fantasy of never telling Tommy.

“I’m pregnant” she confessed, her voice merely a whisper.

“That’s great news love” he said with a barely there smile.

Polly placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder which prompted him to look at her. His face turned from happy to serious.

“What’s going on?”

Y/n forced Tommy to look back at her by gently cupping his face with her delicate shaky hands.

“Let’s leave them the room” Polly said ushering Arthur and John outside. The latter putting up a bit of resistance but going anyhow.

“I want you to know I love you so so much” y/n began “and I’m so sorry, Tommy”

Tommy took a hold of her wrists and took her hands off his face. “Just tell Me”

His cold tone made y/n’s fear and sadness increase significantly.

“I don’t know if it’s yours” she broke down again, going to cry on his chest.

Tommy wrapped his arms around her as he tried to process his wife’s confession. He never expected her to cheat, it wasn’t like her. His deep thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening again and Polly’s shouting after John.

“Not now, John” Tommy warned dangerously cold.

“I have the right to be here” John bellowed .

Y/n looked up to Tommy and her guilty eyes told Tommy just why John felt righteous to be in the presence of such an uncomfortable situation.

“Him?” He asked, his tone still cold and perfectly collected.

Y/n just managed to nod.

At this Tommy let go of her and began pacing around the room. The silence was as thick as molasses as Polly and Arthur watched the scene unfold.

“I’m sorry, Tommy” y/n began but was shortly interrupted by John

“Are you sure?” He asked going over to her.

“Yes”

“Was it after we got married?” Suddenly spoke Tommy

“No” y/n said walking over to him. “No..”

“Don’t lie to me” he warned.

“It was the night before you proposed”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” He asked in indignation.

“She doesn’t owe you any explanations” John interrupted.

“This is between me and my wife”

“What if it’s mine, the baby. What are you gonna do then Tom?” Incited John.

“Stay out of it” Tommy began “I’m warning you”

“Thomas, calm down” Polly tried

“It’s not your business either Polly” Tommy retaliated.

“Maybe it won’t be that bad” began Arthur trying to ease up the tension “You can be co-fathers”

Tommy and John both looked at their brother apprehensively.

“Or you can just leave it John, you have enough children as it is already” he continued trying to make up for what he had just suggested.

“Arthur, shut it” hissed Polly.

Tommy sighed and turned to walk towards y/n, prompting her to look at him with his finger once he stood before her. Her eyes were bloodshot and guilt ridden. He wiped away some of her tears, his eyes much more tender than before.

“Let’s go home” he said

Y/n nodded and took his hand in hers as they exited the room. He didn’t shook her hand off making her finally feel at ease.

“It better be mine, eh? he whispered in an odd tone. Not cold and nonchalant nor loving and tender.

Back in the room John stared at the door, a million thoughts rushing through his mind.

“It may be for the best” Polly soothed.

“You can still be the uncle” tried Arthur.

“Arthur...”

“I’m just saying”

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @nyotamalfoy @peakyxtommy

#tommy shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby angst #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby one shot #thomas shelby angst #john shelby #john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #john shelby one shot #john shelby angst #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders request

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bookstantrash · 3 years

Text

A/N: Here we are folks. The chapter y’all have been waiting for. I’m hoping it reaches your expectations because I was dying to write it.

Huge shoutout for the gc — specially @thewayshedreamed for her mind blowing theory, although I tried to make it less angst lol — for all their hype and ideais for this chapter 💜

In which she makes a friend, Part Eleven

Cassian woke up late. He was sure of that because of two factors:

One, the birds were chirping louder than when he usually woke up, the sun high in the sky given the sunlight entering the bedroom through the curtains.

And two, Nesta was fast asleep in his arms, her vanilla and lavender scent all around him.

He took his time watching her, as he did not know when he would have another opportunity.

Nesta looked younger like that, her face relaxed for once, mouth partially open as she slowly breathed. Their legs were intertwined, his free arm somehow having ended up in her hair, holding her close, as if during the night he had gotten afraid she would disappear.

Cassian had nightmares of that. Of waking up and finding her gone, snatched out of her bed once again in the middle of the night by his enemies and killed. He would wake up panting and reaching for a dagger he kept in his bedside table, his blood roaring at him to kill whoever had touched her, to find and protect Nesta.

It usually ended up with him pacing in front of her room for a few minutes, her steady heart beat easing his worries after a while. He would then return to his room and go over some reports from Rhysand and Azriel or look over some camp matters until the sun was rising.

Last night had to be the best night of sleep Cassian had had in the last two years. Maybe in all five hundred years of his life.

He signed, willing his thoughts to not go down that path. To not wonder too deeply about the reason why Nesta Archeron affected him like she did, since the first time he saw her at her father’s house when she was still human.

Willed them to not think how she seemed to fit so perfectly against his body, as if they had been made for each other.

To stop thinking how her bare skin would feel against his, her soft lips kissing his own.

To stop thinking of her running her hands over his body, pulling his hair.

The sounds she would make when he kissed her, properly this time, without death hovering above them.

If she was a screamer or a beggar or a talker and how it did not matter anyway because he would make sure to pleasure her until she was screaming his name, until she was begging him for more, until she was saying how good he felt and how none of those other males back in Velaris had given her a speck of what he was giving her.

How he would take care of her afterwards, how he would kiss her lazily and sweetly, and how he would not let her go for a long long time, satisfied to just stay holding her.

“That is nothing but a distant and impossible dream” he murmured, daring to gently run his fingers in her silky hair “I have to be grateful for what I have and do not desire for more.”

Cassian felt Nesta stirring in his arms, mentally cursing himself for waking her.

“Javy ju” she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep, slowly blinking at him.

“Javy ju, anahí” he answered a little breathless, being hit straight in his stomach by the fact that she had remembered the Illyrian greeting.

Nesta was about to say something when Cassian felt her whole body froze, blue eyes widening as she looked at how close they were.

And that is when he felt it. His morning wood.

Cauldron that was embarrassing. If Nesta did not think lowly of him before — he knew all those times she had called him a pervert or a bastard had been nothing but empty words — now she surely did.

He quickly withdrew his wings, Nesta squinting at him momentarily due to the sudden brightness.

But before Cassian could get up and put more distance between themselves, hoping to save some face, Nesta placed a hand firmly on his shoulder, keeping him still.

And she smirked.

“Wound a bit tight these days? she said, throwing his words from yesterday back at him.

“You can not blame my body for reacting at you” he tried to sound as if he was teasing her, but his words came out softer and truer than he would like “Have you looked at yourself?”

“You mean my too thin and bony body?” she snorted, dismissing his words “You must be really desperate.”

If Nesta had said that to him months ago, he would have been inclined to agree with her statement — not that that would have stopped him from thinking her beautiful. His feelings towards the strong minded female were not purely physical attraction. It went beyond that.

“You can not be blind to not see how your body has changed since you started training and eating more regularly” he said “I still wish you would eat more, but you can not deny that you have gained muscles and some weight back”

“Are you calling me fat?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Cassian laughed at that. Nesta had a sense of humour that sometimes reminded him of Azriel.

“You fill your leathers much more now” he answered, the hand in her hair sliding along her arms “You have gained muscles here”

His hand travelled down her front slowly, making sure to avoid her breasts, although all he wanted was to finally know how they would feel beneath his touch.

“And here” he gently squeezed her waist.

“Cassian…”

“And here too” he added, fingers dancing along her leg where her nightgown had exposed some skin.

Nesta took a sharp intake of breath, her pupils dilatating

He was walking on thin ice, he knew that. His words at Nesta were nothing but desire and longing veiled by teasing he knew Nesta believed in.

Cassian had no one but himself to blame for that.

“So I am desirable because of my body?” her voice had a bitter tone, and Cassian quickly corrected her.

“You are desirable because of this, ” he touched her temple, moving then to lay his hand over her heart “and this”

“Lying will not get you anywhere bat” she turned her face and made to get up.

“I’m beyond lies right now, Nesta” he said, pulling her flush against him, gently grabbing her chin and tilting her face up.

Her gray-blue eyes seemed incredibly bright, looking straight at Cassian, as if she could see his very soul.

He did not hide from it. He met her stare head on, not daring even to blink.

“Why do you run from me?” his voice so low it was almost a whisper “Why do you hide yourself?”

“Why do you run from me?” and her voice carried so much hurt, so much feeling and rawness that Cassian knew she had let one of her iron walls fall “Why did you drop my hand that time? Why look for me only when I’m alone?”

Her words pierced his heart. He had not know. Had not known how much she was hurting, what she may have thought his actions appeared to be.

“Why do you bother so much when not even my own family cares for me?” she snapped, and for a split second Cassian thought Nesta was going to cry.

“Your sisters love you, Nesta” he said softly.

“I believe you made it abundantly clear last solstice I was unlovable”

“Your sisters love you. I can’t for the life of me understand why, but they do.”

He flinched, cursing himself for his past actions.

“I have never regretted something as much as the moment those words left my mouth. I was rude and insensible,” he brushed her cheek with his thumb tentatively “ and none of those things I said were true. I hope someday you will forgive me.”

“I said some rude things to you too,” she whispered “Would you be able to forgive me?”

“I never took them to heart” Cassian gave her a watery smile “I knew it was a way for you to push me away and that you did not mean them sweetheart”

A lonely silent tear fell from Nesta. Cassian gathered her closer, and she buried her face in his neck.

“Hush now xe nhia. Aan arevanque”

They stayed like that, with Cassian running his hands through her hair and talking with her in Illyrian. She hadn't cried more than that single tear, but she trembled slightly sometimes.

“Nes...I have been meaning to tell you something”

“What is it?” she asked, looking up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You don’t have to answer me or say anything at all, I just—”

“Cassian, out with it” she said, anxiousness lacing her every word.

“Since I met you I—”

But whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the sound of dishes falling and a curse coming from the kitchen.

“Kaelin,” Nesta said sighing “I better go see what he is doing when he should have been resting”

Cassian agreed with her, and a part of him was glad they had been interrupted. He still had much to make up to Nesta, his feelings would have to wait a little longer.

“What were you going to tell me?”

“It was nothing” he gave her a reassuring smile “Go see Kaelin. I can tell you another time”

Nesta hesitated, but his kind eyes were enough to make her trust his words.

“Thank you” and with a quick kiss on his cheek she was gone.

Cassian was so stunned he had to pinch himself to make sure he had not fallen asleep again, staying in bed for a few minutes more until he could put himself together.

~•~

The clock’s ticking was the only sound in the room, neither Cassian or Kaelin talking.

Nesta had left after breakfast, saying Esmée had lifted her resting order to help the healer collect a rare flower that only blossomed every sixty years.

After reassuring her that he knew which medicine to give Kaelin in case the kid felt pain and that he would make sure he rested, Nesta left them promising to return as soon as possible.

Kaelin was a bit awkward around Cassian at first, probably embarrassed about crying in front of him. It bothered the General to the point that he lent his copy of ‘King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table’ to the young illyrian.

“This book is very precious to me,” he had told Kaelin “as it was the first I managed to finish once I learnt how to read”

Kaelin had taken the old book with the utmost care, and Cassian almost laughed when he saw how slowly the boy was turning the pages, almost afraid of damaging it. And with his attention fully on the book, Cassian could work on Kaelin’s solstice present without fearing it would be seen.

Because Cassian was working on expanding the old storage room near the birch.

He was designing a room for Kaelin to sleep. If the kid was to live with him and Nesta definitely — or at least as long as he wanted to — Cassian could not let him keep on sleeping on the sofa.

He had been working in secret to refashion the space. Had worked until dawn on it two nights ago when he had rescued Kaelin from the bullies. Maybe two weeks more only and it would be ready on time for the Winter Solstice.

Thinking about the birch made Cassian realise how sore he was, both from the training, working on the bedroom and the time spent hunched over the piece of paper drawing the room. A trip to the birch would help relax, which gave him an idea.

“Hey kid,” he called, catching Kaelin’s attention “I don’t know if Nesta told you, but we have a birch here. How about we go? It would help relax you”

It was a tradition for male Illyrians to go birching — be it with family or friends — as a form of bonding.

And Cassian did want to get closer to Kaelin. He saw a lot of himself in the orphaned kid.

The young one, however, did not seem to find the ideia appealing at all.

“I— it would be an honour sir, I mean, Cassian, but I—” Kaelin blushed deeply while trying to politely refuse Cassian’s invitation, stammering and tripping over his words.

“You know what? Why don’t I go first and you get there after I’m done?” Cassian shrugged, seeing Kaelin sigh in relief.

It was a step too far it seemed. Maybe Kaelin was uncomfortable because they were not closer — although the objective was for them to get closer — maybe he is shy or maybe embarrassed because he is not as muscled as the other boys his age. Cauldron knew how much extra practice Cassian himself had done when he was younger, wanting to get as strong and muscled as Enalius, their warrior god.

He would have to work a little harder if he wanted to make Kaelin feel as comfortable with him as he was with Nesta. They were both males, so it should be easier for them to bond despite meeting the kid after Nesta.

“You can bond in other ways” he muttered to himself as he got dressed in his room, drying his hair.

It was then that he realised he had forgotten to leave Kaelin a second towel, in case his got too damp because of the heat in the birch.

Grabbing a towel he goes to the birch and opens it.

“Kaelin, I forgot to give—” he stops himself when he sees that Kaelin is naked, head thrown back against the wall, completely relaxed for once.

Yet all that easiness goes away once he hears Cassian’s voice.

“I’m sorry. Here’s your towel” stammering, he quickly leaves the white towel on the bench and closes the door, internally beating himself for forgetting to knock.

Kaelin had wanted to go alone and Cassian invaded the kid’s personal space and now he would hate him and—

Cassian stops in front of his room, thoughts finally catching up with his brain.

He remembers the ugly bruises along Kaelin’s ribs, their purple and green colour already fading to yellow and has to reboot his memory for a second.

He’s almost sure he saw boobs.

But boys don’t have boobs. He knows that.

And he could not possibly be confused because of the heat or the smoke inside the birch—

But he recalls how Nesta is so protective of Kaelin. How she almost seemed afraid for him to meet Azriel, how Kaelin had cried and said nobody could know he had activated his killing powers because they’d look too much into him.

And suddenly it clicked.

Kaelin was a girl.

~•~

Cassian was very close to having a mental breakdown.

Kaelin was a girl. A girl. As in boobs, periods and weird hormones.

And he had seen him — her, naked.

Cauldron, he was knee deep in shit.

After walking in on Kaelin, Cassian had been unable to leave his room. He was sure she would want some time alone to process what had happened and that he now knew her secret.

Because Kaelin was a girl.

“Gods, where is Nesta when I need her?” he grumbled, running his hands on his hair.

Nesta knew it all along and was helping Kaelin hide it. It was a noble thing to do, but also so reckless. If the wrong person discovered it they could be killed. He would not put it past the Illyrians to do that.

He had to talk with Kaelin. He had left her alone for long enough. If he did not talk with her now he would have to wait for when Nesta arrived, and that was a talk Kaelin did not have to be present.

It was a little past the time for lunch, so he had the perfect excuse to knock in Nesta’s bedroom and ask Kaelin to come out.

Except when he did that nobody answered.

Kaelin was not there.

“Fucking hell, not again” Cassian swore, quickly going out and getting airborne.

Kaelin was still hurt so she would not be able to fly. He had a chance to catch up with her given that she was walking.

And to his luck he found her not far from his cabin.

But she was not alone.

“Are you sure you are a boy? Look how skinny you are”

“I am a late bloomer” she answered an older Illryan, making him and the other one beside him laugh.

“Late bloomer? That is girl talk, ain’t I right Bjerke?”

“Take off your shirt, boy. Show us those muscles” the male, Bjerke, said.

“Thank you, but no. I have to go” Kaelin tried to go past them, but was held back by Bjerke.

“Here Falk, hold this thing while I help our friend”

As Cassian got closer, he realised Kaelin was holding his book, which was teared from her grasp by Bjerke, who started trying to undress her.

Blood roaring in his ears, Cassian dropped in front of them, his siphons flashing.

“Let. Go. Of. Him” he gritted out, and the males froze.

In front of them stood the General Commander of the Illyrian armies.

The Lord of Bloodshed.

And he was not happy.

“We were just talking to him” Falk said, his voice hinting at his fear.

“He said no” Cassian growled, seeing Kaelin’s clothes messed up.

All Cassian could see was Kaelin's scared face and remember when Nesta had hinted about being attacked when she was human.

He still wanted to know who that piece of shit was.

Would take his sweet time making him suffer for what he did.

“I think it’s best that you go” he snapped, and Bjerke let go of Kaelin, taking a step back “If I hear you were bothering someone else again — be it male or female — you will want to have never been born. Are we understood?”

Both males assured Cassian it would not happen again, and were airborne within minutes.

Kaelin straightened her clothes, grabbing the fallen book and dusting off its cover.

She still refused to look at Cassian.

“What am I going to do with you kid?” he sighed “Nesta will kill me once she discovers I let you out of my sight.”

That caught the young girl’s attention. She finally glanced his way, searching Cassian’s face for something, anything that would give away that he was angry with her or that he was going to expose her secret to someone.

She found nothing.

“I… I am sorry I lost lunch” she mumbled.

“Good thing I have not eaten yet” giving her a reassuring smile, he ruffled her short hair “Let’s go home and eat before Nesta arrives and kill us both.”

“Yeah. Let’s go home” Kaelin answered, and it seemed a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arinbelle @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan @valkyriewarriors @moe8 @illyrianwitchling13 @silvernesta @bri-loves-sunflowers @queenestarcheron @imwritingthesewords @vasudharaghavan @rainbowcheetah512 @darkshadowqueensrule @letstakethedawn @starlightorstarfire @city-of-fae @thalia-2-rose @nestaarcher0n @rowaelinismyotp @julemmaes @dontgetsalmonella @alinaleksanders @lysandra-tiara9 @inardour @hikari274 @fatimafares123 @angelina-figjam

#nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm books #sjm fanfic

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years

Text

Tea Party:

A/N: So Tumblr has been a bitch and not showing certain things in the tags so I’m reposting this requested fic lol.

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Some fluff, Slight smut, Swearing, Fighting, Blood, Drinking/Alcohol, etc.

Word Count: 3,425

Characters: Tommy x Reader

Summary: Y/n helps Ada Shelby on a whim, saving her life and earning some praise from the Shelby family, but little did she know she’d fall for one of their most respected members.

Summary of Request: “Reader saving one of the Shelbys from their enemies and taking them home safely and the family being thankful. A few days later the enemy goes after the reader thinking she works for them and they destroy her shop, house, or car. The Shelbys find out about this and offer help, and she becomes closer to the family and everybody really likes her and she starts a relationship with Tommy. I’d like angst, fluff, and smut.”

Requested by: Anon

It was a bleak winter evening the night you met Thomas Shelby. The stars were shining and the moon was illuminating the dark roads of Small Heath, giving you an rare view of the town. You had just finished packing up your small jewelry stand that you had set up near where your families vardo was parked. This was one of your more frequent stops as there were always locals wanting to buy jewelry for their loved ones. In return, this made you a nice familiar face amongst the dreary town.

In the distance, you heard screaming, but it wasn’t one of children playing or couples yelling, it was fearful and full of anguish. Before you knew it you were running towards the sound. Yelling for your mother to keep an eye on your stuff as you dashed off into the unknown. Your heart beat frantically as the shrill screams got closer, causing a shiver down your spine as your eyes adjusted to what lay before you in the dark alley. A woman seemingly around your age was lying there in a pool of blood, a cut running across her arm and a stab wound to her abdomen. You cringed at first, but having seen your fair share of blood due to your family throwing punches and hunting, it made you a bit less squeamish. You carefully crouched down beside her, pulling off your scarf as you gently placed it over her abdomen.

Her eyes were closed and her voice was horse when she spoke.

“Please don’t let me die out here. Please take me back.” She said crying as she finally glanced up at you.

“I-I won’t let you die love you’ll be fine...where do you live? What’s your name?” You asked applying pressure to her wound as she screamed out in pain.

“A-Ada...Ada Shelby...I don’t want to go home. Take me to my brothers.” She said frantically trying to get up.

“Hey hey easy, it’s okay I got you. Where are they aye?” You asked as you draped her arm across your shoulder and helped her walk down the dark glass-like roads.

“The betting shop on the corner. You really don’t know do you?” She asked.

“Know what Ada?” You asked, leading her up the street.

“Usually if I say the last name Shelby people run or they look at me like I killed their whole family. The Shelby’s are part of the Peaky Blinders...does that ring a bell?” She asked wincing, signaling for you to stop for a moment. As you both caught your breath, you shook your head no.

“I don’t know how you couldn’t tell but I’m not like most people. I’m not from here. I travel with my family and I come here often to find work and to sell jewelry, but other than that? I’m on the road.” You said looking at your flat shoes, nothing compared to miss Ada’s fancy heels.

“I see...what’s your name?” She asked smiling slightly.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You said, grabbing her arm and helping her walk towards the brick building up ahead.

You led her through the doors, the scent of whiskey and cigarettes filling the dimly lit lobby.

“Polly! Tommy! All of you bastards help me please!” She said yelling as the scarf grew more saturated with blood in the short time you walked her in. She was paling and you sat her up in a nearby chair as you heard everyone running over.

“My god what happened! Arthur, John, get the first aid kit now!” She yelled as Tommy came over, a worried look on his usually stoic face. You grabbed your coat, applying pressure as Ada winced until they got back with the supplies.

“I was walking here from my apartment. Tommy, I think one of Changretta’s men got me. They had those awful tattoos on their necks. They fucking cut me and stabbed me. I can’t die not like this.” She said putting a hand on her pale forehead.

Tommy looked at her concerned, his eyes going down to you as you sat by her holding her other hand.

“Who are you?” He asked angrily.

“Y/N Y/L/N...I heard her when I was packing my jewelry stand up. I ran over to help her. I didn’t see where the men went though.” You said looking him in the eyes before helping Polly prep some gauze. You took your glove off and urged her to open her mouth.

“You’ll want to bite down on something. This is going to hurt.” You said before pouring some of the whiskey on her abdomen while Polly poured some on her arm. Ada screamed through the cloth, earning concerned glances from some of the unrelated workers in the shop. You poured more, making sure to flush out the wound before quickly threading a needle.

“I can stitch if you’d rather not go to a hospital.” You said. Polly eyed you and Ada nodded as you began. Tommy watched as you worked, neatly stitching the small puncture wound closed.

Polly gently wrapped her arm with gauze and you helped Ada up to wrap some around her waist. After that, she gave you a hug and you went to grab your coat.

“No dear, here I’ll wash these, it’s the least we can do. Thank you for saving our Ada, Y/N.” Polly said smiling.

“Of course...I couldn’t let something happen knowing I was that close.” You said, messing nervously with the gold necklaces draped around your neck.

“So you’re travelling with the other gypsies up the road aye?” Polly asked.

“Yeah. my family likes stopping here, good business since it’s busy usually.” You said.

“Oh I’m very familiar. I grew up traveling. I think I’ve seen you before...you sell the beautiful necklaces.” She said smiling, putting your nerves at ease.

“Yeah...” You said.

“C’mon we have to find them. John you get the guns, Arthur you get the ammo.” Tommy said lowly walking by you.

“Are you going after them?” You asked him. He stopped in his tracks as his eyes pierced yours. He nodded and lit a cigarette staring at you as he waited for his brothers.

“You going to kill them?” you asked.

He smirked and looked over at Ada and Polly and then back at you.

“No I’m just goin’ to see if they want to have a tea party.” He said dryly joking.

You nodded, knowing the real answer. To be honest you’d do the same if someone came after your family.

They soon left, leaving you with Polly and a groaning Ada.

“You’ve not heard of the blinders?” Polly asked gathering your blood soaked clothing. You shook your head, yet preparing yourself for her explanation of the family business.

Later that night, you were taken back to where you family was parked by one of the Shelby’s drivers. Thanking him as you were helped out of the fancy black car. Your family came out of the two vardos and ran towards you enveloping your frame in a hug and asking where you had run off to. You hesitantly told them, knowing they were more likely to know who your new acquaintances are.

Your father tensed up and so did your mother, but you reassured them and could tell they were still happy you stopped to help someone.

The next few days passed and you spent them selling various necklaces and then deciding to go into town with your parents. You all bought some supplies and various things, and then returned a few hours later. While unpacking your latest haul, you heard an oddly familiar voice outside. Carefully stepping out, you saw Ada and Tommy talking with your parents. They seemed at ease as you heard Tommy speaking with your father. As you walked up you saw Ada smile and go in for a hug. You embraced her gently to avoid ripping her stitches and then stepped back.

“Hello Y/N. We wanted to thank you.” He said smiling slightly, handing you your jacket and scarf from the previous night, no sign of blood on them. They were soft and smelled rather floral.

“Oh thank you. And it was no problem really Mr. Shelby.” You said, catching him looking at you as you glanced up from the coat in your arms.

“Call me Tommy.” He said, another small smile playing at his lips.

Your parents excused themselves knowing this was more your business than theirs, and you hugged Ada once more before waving them off.

A thought crossed your mind though, making you smirk.

“Hey Tommy!” You asked, causing him to stop with Ada, the two of them looking at you.

“How was the tea party?” You asked smirking.

“Great...a little bloody though.” He said smirking back.

You nodded and waved them off, putting on your coat and placing your scarf in one of your pockets. When you tried to pull your hand out, your fingers brushed against a piece of paper. You gently pulled it out, and opened it so you could read what it said.

“Y/N Y/L/N,

I apologize for being so frank last night. Per my aunt Polly’s request...as well as all of my sibling’s, I have written this as a thank you for saving my sister. She has been talking non-stop about the events that transpired and about you. Something about how we should meet more often and that you seem like a good fit for me? I can’t say no to her though, since she practically begged me to write this.

Therefore, since we didn’t meet in normal circumstances and since I can’t help but to agree, I’d love to ask you out. I’ll be at the shop tomorrow evening at 6. If you’re interested, I’d love for you to come by. I look forward to getting to know you and discussing the “tea party.”

~ T. S.”

You smiled at the small letter and laughing at the assumed inside joke between you two. You’d barely met the man, but if his family felt this strongly, you figured it couldn’t hurt. You’d been single for a long while, the constant travel putting a strain on any relationship you attempted to have in the past.

The next day you spent the day rummaging through your various dresses, picking out a lacey white one. You slipped it on and checked your makeup in the small mirror in your vardo before heading out, wrapping your coat around your shoulders. As you made your way through the streets you eventually got to the shop and walked in nervously. It was a drastically different atmosphere compared to the other night, men were roaming about yelling out various numbers and the other women among them were typing and making calls.

You saw Polly in the distance and smiled when she saw you come in. She quickly walked over, giving you a hug.

“What are you doing here dear? Is everything alright?” She asked.

You smirked. “I’m um, here to see Tommy. I got a letter?” You said, holding it in your hand.

“Ah that. I’m glad he got to writing it. I’ll show you to his office.” She said, taking your hand.

She knocked and he answered, letting her in with you following behind.

“I have a visitor Tommy. Be good. She said nodding towards him and leaving.

Tommy smiled and stood up, eyeing you as you walked towards his desk.

“I see you got the letter...would you like a drink? I have whiskey and.....whiskey.” He said, walking over to his stash of the brown liquid and crystal glasses.

“That’s a hard one...I’m going to have to go with the whiskey.” You said smirking.

A minute later you were holding a cold glass, sipping on it as you sat in one of Tommy’s leather chairs.

“So about the tea party...I’m assuming my aunt told you about the peaky business right?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You said, fiddling with your necklace.

“Does that make you scared?” He asked. You thought for a moment, but you decided to take another chance.

“Not really. I’m here aren’t I?” You said.

He laughed lightly and took a drink, sitting down beside you.

“You said you agreed to their request of meeting me...is that true?” You asked. Tommy got up after a moment and put his hand out for you to grab.

“If it weren’t, we wouldn’t be leaving.” He said. You took his hand and laughed as he pulled you through the lobby and out the doors of the shop.

“Where the hell are we going?” You asked seeing the sun was setting over the town.

“The Garrison. I figured that it’d be more of a date if I took ya somewhere.” He said ushering you inside the pub. The smell of smoke and various alcohols filled your nostrils as you took your coat off and placed it with Tommy’s.

As you all talked the night away, you grew more drowsy and he walked you back towards your vardo. But in shock, you stood there looking at the sight before you. The wooden planks holding up the intricate structure were torn off, and the inside was destroyed. You ran over to your parents and saw them picking up pieces of clothing and random trinkets the assumed robbers left behind. When you walked back and checked your living space you saw a black cross-like design had been painted on your door.

You looked at Tommy with hot, anger filled tears in your eyes.

“Who did this? Who fucked with my family aye?” You said walking up to him and shoving him in the shoulder. He barely moved as a an angry look overcame his features as well. You stormed off and rummaged for a handgun you had in your purse, never feeling the need to use it until now.

“You know who did this don’t you. Don’t fucking lie to me Tom.” You said cocking the gun and checking the bullets. He watched you as you angrily paced, and walked over, gently placing his hand over the barrel of the gun.

“I do know. It’s the same gang that attacked Ada. We...unfortunately have a vendetta with them. But going out there and shooting random men isn’t going to stop this.” He said looking at you. You were shaking slightly at the sudden rush of emotions as the alcohol still burned through your system.

“They took almost everything from us. Where will we go? Where the hell will we live? I though you took care of them last time!” You yelled, easing the handgun down and shoving it back into your purse.

“I have a spare property down the road, you all can stay there. Don’t worry Y/N I’ll make sure they won’t live to see tomorrow.” He said before you threw him into a hug. You cried knowing your family was safe, but also at the thought of losing all you’ve worked for. Your life was in that small space and it was all gone or severely broken, and your heart was too.

“C’mon, I’ll send some men to come help them. I’ll take you to the shop, and you’ll stay there until I get back ok?” He said. You nodded and followed him to the shop, this time in a much more sullen tone.

He immediately called everyone into the meeting room and he let you sit by Polly as he spoke. You quietly told her what happened and she sighed. The rest of them you had assumed liked you after saving their sisters life and all, and so they all got ready, cocking their guns and putting on their razor caps. Ada came over to you with tears in her eyes, taking your hands in hers.

“Oh Y/N I’m so sorry to have dragged you into this.” She said. You smiled and reassured her she wasn’t at fault. As the night drug on, you discussed your new living situation and were alerted by some of Tommys men that your parents were safe. You cried with relief, sitting in the meeting room shakily. Polly came in a moment later, with some tea, knowing you needed something to calm your nerves.

“Thanks.” You said, feeling the hot steam against your lips.

“No problem. Don’t worry about him, he’ll be back. He always is.” She said staring out at the night sky through the dusty window.

You nodded, sitting there as you let your mind wander. You looked up after a long while, your eyes growing heavy, and decided to concentrate on the clock. It was almost midnight.

Before your mind could race to where your new love interest could be, he thankfully came through the doors with his brothers, as they hollered and sat their weapons down.

You stood up slowly, as you saw Tommy walk towards you. He had a cut on his forehead and a slightly busted lip.

He said nothing as he came to you, the adrenaline from the night coursing through him as he embraced you, catching you by surprise. He then kissed you, his lip burning slightly as he kissed you, but nevertheless he continued. When he stopped, you stood there gazing into his eyes.

“They’re gone. You don’t have to worry now.” He said. You nodded and hugged him again, feeling him planting a kiss on the top of your head.

“Well are you going to invite her over or are you going to fuck in the lobby?” Arthur shouted as John and the others laughed. Tommy turned around slightly and gave him a look and then turned back to you.

“Would you like to go now?” He asked.

Your cheeks heated up at his brothers remarks, but you decided to take him up on the offer. “Yeah, as a matter of fact I do.” You said, and before you knew it you where being led out to his car and driven to his house, nervously awaiting what was to come. As soon as you got to his estate, he led you through on a tour. Your eyes widened at the grandiosity of the place. You had rarely seen a place like this, only imagining them in fairytales. You looked around as he led you through, stopping lastly at the main bedroom which you assumed was his.

You had just enough time to revel at the room before he kissed you again, making you giggle slightly as he snaked his arms around your waist and nipped at your neck. As he worked his way down, he undid your dress, letting it slip down your frame as he went to lie back on the bed. You hesitantly undid his shirt and pants, slipping them off as he watched you.

“Are you sure you want to?” He asked.

“Never been so sure in my life...” You said before straddling his waist. He smirked, and kissed you as you continued your movements making him fall for you more with each second that passed.

After your night together, you decided a couple of days later on another date, more-so like a re-do since you both were more drawn to each other. As time went on, you became closer with his family, while yours acclimated to their new temporary surroundings. And over the upcoming weeks you managed to land a job with them, helping you to earn some money and helping your parents to get a new vardo to get them back on their feet. After a couple of months you had been able to attend more of the family meetings, after deciding to stay at Tommy’s place instead of travelling. And after some odd weeks later, a new gang problem arose, giving you that same fearful feeling that you had some many months ago. Before heading out, tommy cocked his gun and checked the bullets making sure each one was accounted for, and walked past you with his brothers towards the door.

“Hey you forgot something...” You said smirking as he smiled and walked towards you kissing you.

“No more tea parties alright? You be careful okay?” You said. He chuckled and winked at you before heading out the door, going out to deal with death and destruction once again. As much as you hated him being gone, you loved when he came back, and his family did too of course, especially since you’ve made him a bit nicer. As you walked back to your desk and picked up where you left of with your work, you smiled, knowing you made the right choice and took the right chances.

Tag List:

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma

#katiesanons #katiesrequests #katiesfics #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders oneshots

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mikkomacko · 3 years

Text

Christmas Magic 5

Here it is! Only a month late lol. Thank you for being so patient with me, enjoy!

Jingle Bell Rock flows throughout the mall for the umpteenth time in the hour and a half that Harry and y/n have been there. She's still a bit sniffly from her cold, the congestion often giving her headaches but she's fairly certain that the pounding in the back of her skull is the result of Christmas shopping.

"Do ya think she'd rather have a Goofy in her stocking or a Minnie?"

Harry's holding both plushies in his hands, eyebrows knitted in deep thought and she's tempted to laugh from how seriously Harry's taking shopping duty. He'd picked out his gift for Ophelia easily, deciding she'd absolutely love a pair of roller skates and some new clothes from him. It was almost magical watching him easily navigate Toys R Us and pick out the gift, no hesitation about whether it's the right gift or not. He just knew. But now, now that he's shopping as Santa and not as dad, every little item is debated.

"Oh God, maybe she'd prefer Pluto?"

Y/n does laugh this time when he turns back to the wall of stuffed animals in the Disney store, more fear in his eyes than she thinks belongs in the eyes of someone with a medical degree. Harry whips around at her giggle, nose scrunching in annoyance. "What's so funny?"

Adjusting her purse on her shoulder, she moves closer and takes the toys out of his hands. "She's your daughter Harry. You know everything about her, including which character she'd love most." Harry huffs as she puts the toys back on the shelf with their clones.

"But this isn't from me, s'from-" Harry throws a quick glance over his shoulder, lowering his voice to a whisper, "Santa and he doesn't know her like I do."

Defeated, Harry turns to face her and with a pout that greatly resembles his daughters, Harry hunches over to lay his cheek on y/n's shoulder and bury his nose in her neck. She wraps her arms around him, lightly scratching at his shoulder blade.

"You're thinking too much babe," she says "you know she loves Goofy." He hums, nodding just once and he breath is warm on her skin when he whispers, "but she's already got a Goofy."

Ophelia wouldn't mind another Goofy, y/n knows that, but she decides to just stay quiet and endure a long day of shopping with Harry. After all, this is for his daughter and she'd do anything for him and his baby.

"Hello?"

Harry squishes his phone between his ear and shoulder, folding a pink pair of pajama pants and tucking them into Ophelia's flower printed suitcase.

"Hey there," Gemma greets, "m'leaving the house now so I'll be there for my little one soon."

Through the phone he can hear the sound of Gemma's car starting, the engine humming lowly. Tucking an extra pair of underwear and socks into her bag, he gasps. "Your little one? I think you mean my little one!"

He zips up her suitcase, now gripping his phone in his left hand and then setting the bag upright on the carpet. "Well tonight she's my little one."

Ophelia laughs from the living room, the sound warming Harry's chest. "Suppose that's fair," he agrees "but just for tonight. I want her back tomorrow."

"Morning or noon?" Gemma asks with a sly tone, hinting towards something.

Harry's ears grow hot and he perches himself on the edge of Ophelia's bed, scratching at the back of his neck. "Depends on the nipper." He remains casual, but his mind flashes to the box of condoms now sitting under his bathroom sink, knowing they're the reason he asked Gemma for a sleepover with her niece.

"So if she wants to go home at 3 in the morning tonight-"

"You call and I'll go get her." He replies instantly. "No matter the time or what I'm doing I'll go get her."

Gemma hums. "And this girlfriend of yours..."

His heart thumps loudly. "Yeah?"

"Would she care if you had to come get Ophelia?"

Harry doesn't even have to think about it and that makes him happy beyond belief. "No. She'd probably beat me getting there if m'honest." It may be a bit of an exaggeration because God knows Harry would move mountains to get to his daughter, but he also knows that y/n would be right there with him.

"Good," she says "just wanted to make sure you weren't shagging the wrong kind of gal."

He snorts. "Don't have to worry about me."

She gasps, "so it is a shagging date!"

Harry's entire face turns hot, embarrassment prickling his skin which he thinks is odd considering he has a bloody child and everyone knows he's not a 30 year old virgin. Still, his voice cracks when he exclaims "Gemma!"

Her cackle is loud and obnoxious through the phone, obviously pleased with herself. She's never missed an opportunity to make him flustered like that so he's not surprised.

"I have good intuition." Harry says, changing the subject back to their previous topic.

His sister clicks her tongue. "That'd be more comforting if you hadn't knocked up Isabella. Bloody b-"

"Gem," he interrupts, voice stern. He knows he screwed up in college, knows Isabella used him, but she also gave him Ophelia and a part of him will always thank her for that. "S'in the past. I've grown up."

The line is a silent for a moment, followed by her defenceless sigh. "I know Harry. I'm proud of you but I just-you're my baby brother. And she may be Ophelia's mom but I'll never forgive her actions."

And he can't argue with that. Gemma has every right to feel the way she does especially because he knows it's born out of her love for her family, but he wishes she weren't so bitter about it. Bitterness makes the bones brittle, he's been told.

"Don't have to forgive her but can you forgive me at least? I have a part in this too."

She exhales, annoyed. "You don't have a part in her not being the mother Ophelia needs and you don't have a part in the way she treated you."

Harry feels like he does. He should've been tougher, stronger, better, anything to make Isabella stay in Ophelia's life. He's not going to say that to Gemma though. "Yeah," he mumbles, hating how much this phone call has brought his mood down. "I'll uh, I'll see you in a bit Gem."

"See ya Harry." Gemma says, sounding tired herself. Every time they bring up Isabella it's exhausting and they never get far in their conversation. Maybe that's why the topic is avoided. That and Harry doesn't like talking about the woman he once loved.

Mood gone sour, Harry tucks his phone into his pocket and collects Ophelia's suitcase, carrying it out to the living room.

Arthur Christmas is playing on the TV and much to Harry's amusement, y/n is laughing at it more than Ophelia. He's not even sure what's so hilarious about the movie but she's laughing so hard her shoulders have curled in and her whole body is shaking.

"Auntie Gem will be here in a moment for you Fee." Harry says, pulling his daughter's gaze from the television. He places her things by the door, turning back to the couch just in time for Ophelia to launch herself at him. Used to the terrible habit, Harry easily catches her against his chest.

"Gonna be a good girl, yeah?" He asks, tucking a wild curl behind her ear. The little one nods, eyebrows furrowed in determination. "Gonna have fun with auntie?"

"Always have fun with auntie Gem." Ophelia promises, her features easing into a smile.

"I know you do," he kisses her forehead. "Gonna miss me?" His question brings a little frown to her lips and she tucks her face into his neck when she whispers, "Gonna miss you a lot daddy but I'll see you tomorrow."

Her little reassurance makes him laugh. Sometimes she's like a bloody adult in the body of a five year old and it never fails to amuse him when she 'parents' him.

"Yeah," he swears "you will, nipper. As soon as you're ready to see me I'll be there, okay?" Ophelia nods as best she can without leaving her cozy cove in his neck. "I mean it babycakes, whenever you're ready, yeah?"

"I know daddy."

Before he can ask another overprotective question, there's a knock on the front door. Ophelia wiggles out of his arms, screaming as she bolts to the door and pulls it open. "Auntie Gem!"

"Why hello sunshine!" His older sister, stepping into the apartment and lifting Ophelia up for a cuddle. Y/n climbs off the couch, attaching to Harry's side like a lost puppy. He takes her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly.

Ophelia's feet touch the floor again and Gemma looks up to greet Harry and y/n. He speaks first, tugging y/n closer to him.

"Gem, this is my girlfriend y/n."

Gemma's eyes look over y/n, analyzing. She always been a good judge of character and he can't help but want to jump with excitement when his sister smiles and shakes y/n's hand.

"Gemma, it's lovely to meet you." She responds, clearly pleased with the vibes she picked up from y/n. Then she turns to Harry, raising an expectant eyebrow. Smiling, Harry releases y/n's hand to wrap his arms around his sister's shoulders.

"Hiya squirt." Gemma says teasingly, reaching up to pinch Harry's cheeks. He scoffs at the nickname. Gemma's always called him that because he was always a smaller for his age. Too short and too skinny, then too short and too chubby, but somewhere around the age of 20 he evened out. Now he stands a foot taller than her and could easily throw her over his shoulder if he wanted to. But the nickname still stuck.

"Daddy my boots!" Ophelia comes barrelling into his legs, a pink snow boot clutched in each of her little hands. He crouches down in front of her, helping guide her feet into the thick shoes and lace them up. Y/n suddenly comes up behind her, carrying her puff coat. They bundle her up tight, knowing that the snow in London has been especially abundant this year.

"Arms please," she requests, Harry leaning back just in time to catch her gentle smile. Ophelia spreads her arms, allowing y/n to slip in over her shoulders. "Thanks sweets."

"Thank you y/n." Ophelia replies, waiting patiently for Harry to zip the coat. He can't help think about great of a team they are, y/n slipping a beanie over his daughter's curls as he drags the zipper up to her chin.

A perfect team, actually.

"This is the cringiest Christmas movie I've seen."

Y/n rolls her eyes, swallowing down the bite of chicken fajitas that Harry had cooked for dinner. He's sat next to her on the couch, mismatched-sock clad feet up on the coffee table and he's wearing an adorable-y amused expression on his face.

"That's what makes it good," she reasons "plus the knight is cute."

Harry scoffs, looking at her as if she were crazy. "That guy? Sir Cole?" he mocks in a posh accent. "His name is literally circle." She can't help but laugh, watching Harry's cheeks redden. It's obvious her comment has made him jealous and she finds it very endearing that he thinks he's got competition.

"Sorry it's not as original as Harry, your highness."

Face growing even redder, Harry shoves a bite of food in his mouth. Y/n laughs again, leaning forward to set her plate on the table. He's staring too intently at the TV, trying to ignore her as she scoots closer to him and cuddles into his chest. He doesn't move a muscle.

"Don't be a baby," she begs with a pout, peering up at him through her eyelashes. "Harry is the name of royalty. Like a king. Cole is the name of some random guy that becomes a knight. Everyone loves a king.

Harry's lips twitch, much to her delight, and then he's chuckling quietly. Finally, he rests his arm around her shoulders and tucks her into his side. "Since m'royalty I demand you wrap Christmas presents with me."

"Demand?" She scoffs.

He nods. "King's order. He's absolute shit at wrapping and Santa's supposed to be good at it. Think the princess is getting suspicious."

Y/n warms at the thought of Harry up late on Christmas Eve, cursing and mumbling as quiet as possible to not wake Ophelia, frustrated when he rips the corners of the paper or makes it too short for the gift. Luckily for him, she loves wrapping gifts.

"Well the peasant has got no say in this. Bust out the paper Styles." She agrees, pushing herself up from the couch. Harry catches her hand, tugging her back into his lap.

"Not a peasant love." He states quietly, sealing the words with a kiss to her mouth. "Could never be a peasant."

Blushing, she rises with him, following him to the bedroom to retrieve the gifts and wrapping supplies.

A stack of gifts with pretty bows and tags, and two cups of hot cocoa later Harry finds himself sprawled out his mattress next to y/n. She's got her left hand in front of her face, pouting at the Barbie bandaid on her pointer finger, a casualty of the Christmas season. Paper cuts are common when you can't stop giggling and admiring the pretty wrapping paper.

Laughing to himself, Harry reaches over for her hand and presses a kiss to it. "All better sweetheart. Got a dad's magic kiss."

Y/n gasps dramatically. "Oh thank you so much! I'm afraid I would've bled to death!"

"Not on my watch," he promises, rolling onto his side and draping his arm over her tummy. She tangles her fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp until he was a puddle of mush on the mattress.

"You're a good dad Harry." She whispers as if she's afraid to say the words that make Harry's veins flood with joy. "Like incredible actually."

Flustered and flattered, he smiles shyly, "Really?"

She doesn't hesitate to nod, rolling onto her side to face him as well. "I don't know how you do it but it's really admirable. I remember dad always wanted to pull his hair out with me. Seems like you and Ophelia are best friends."

It's incredible to Harry that she has no idea what those words mean to him. He remembers holding Ophelia in the hospital, a tiny pink bundle in his arms that had no idea it'd be just the two of them against the world. He remembers being terrified, wanting to throw up and move back home with his mum because he really didn't know what to do. He just wanted to be a good father for his baby girl.

"There were times when she was a baby and it felt like everything I did was wrong." He admits, "Wanted to pull my hair out too."

He knows now is the time to tell her. If he wants this to go further, to take that next step she needs to know his and Ophelia's story. That way she can decide if she wants them or not.

"I want to tell you the story of how I got Ophelia," he says, palms starting to feel a little sweaty. Y/n looks surprised but nods anyway.

"Only if you want too."

He pushes himself to sit up against the headboard, y/n following. "I do want to. If you're going to be a part of our lives you deserve to know...."

Isabella was the girl of his dreams. At least at the time she was. Where he was quiet and timid, she was outspoken and confident. Where he was cautious and analytical, she was reckless and carefree. Anyone who knew them, knew they were polar opposites. Beautiful blonde hair and icy blue eyes, Harry had been stuck on her since the first day he saw her. It was sort of like a movie if he's being honest. The nerdy and awkward boy falls for the older, popular girl. Never in a million years did he think he'd ever end up with her. He didn't have anything going for him. He was 23, living with his best mate and trying to become a male nurse. He wore chunky glasses, his hair was always a terrible mess of frizzy curls, and he wore the same white tee-shirt and black jeans every day. Nothing remarkable about him. Hell, he'd never even been kissed let alone slept with anyone.

And Isabella was nothing like him. She was remarkable. She was going to school to be a dermatologist, starting a bit later than him because she wanted to travel and hang out with friends before she committed to school. She never dated, though she knew everyone and everyone knew her. Harry knew she partied and drank, knew she had sex whenever she wanted to and he loved that about her. He desperately wanted the ease she had. Isabella didn't worry about school, didn't worry about love, didn't worry about her future. She was a wild spirit.

He looked up to her so much. And that's why he got attached to her so quickly. His mother always told him he has a big heart and that it'll always be unstoppable in who it wants to love. Evidently, she was right. After his first night with Isabella, an embarrassingly short first time for him, and a lesson on how to use his pretty hands to make her feel good, Harry knew she had him. Every thought he had was about her. Dreams of her in his flat, his hands in her shiny hair as she kissed every inch of his body and loved him. In his dreams, she loved him.

In real life, she just wanted to have fun with him. They slept together a few more times, enough for Harry to build up enough stamina to actually have her coming on his dick and not his tongue or fingers, but that was it. She turned down his invites to hang out, to study, and when he finally asked her on a date, she turned him down then too. And then she stopped seeing him.

Beautiful Isabella, who could never be tied down. She would never belong to anyone or anything. She would never want to. A month of heartbreak later, she showed up on his doorstep.

"I'm pregnant Harry," is what she had said, and her voice that used to hold so much allure now held contempt. She was now stuck, tied down to a child, committed to the baby and some sort of relationship with him. Exactly what she never wanted. "and I can't raise it. I don't want to raise it."

Even after how much she hurt him, he couldn't bring himself to be angry when they reached the agreement that she'd have the baby but Harry would be the caregiver. He was grateful that she let him have a say, that she didn't automatically decide to not have the child. He loved her and he'd take anything he could get from her, even if it was just her child. And that was all he got. He missed most of her pregnancy, caught up with school. And he knew a part of it was how much Isabella hated him for putting a child in her. He knew she blamed him and that's why she didn't want him around much. He hates to admit it, but he knew that she hated their baby too. He knew from the moment they saw the first ultrasound and her terms for the baby were put in place.

She doesn't want to be in its' life. No phone calls, no texts, no pictures, no claim on her birth certificate. Nothing to show that the baby was hers too. It broke his heart all over again to know that their child would never know a mother's love all because Isabella couldn't love Harry. She hated the baby because it was half him.

From the moment Ophelia was born, it was clear that she was his daughter. She already had dark hair, already developed his green eyes. Her lips took the same shape as his, and her nose was just a tad too big for her face. Just like her father. Nothing about her hinted at her being Isabella's daughter.

Harry took that as a sign. He needed to let go of his first love. If he were meant to always want her, to always have her with him, their child would've carried some semblance of her. But she didn't. It was as if the universe knew it would be just Harry and Ophelia.

Isabella left the hospital a few days later, changing her number and her school. Harry was blocked on everything, as was his family. She wanted nothing to do with them.

As for Harry, he went home to his apartment, introduced his baby to her uncle Niall, and then showed her the corner of his room that was now hers. A crib and a little dresser, squished into his already crowded room.

It was him and Ophelia against the world. He always thought that she was the only girl meant to be in his life. It would take a miracle to find a woman that wanted a dorky, single father who spent too many long hours at work.

But sometimes miracles happen.

Harry's skin prickles with nerves and his tongue rests heavy in his mouth. Y/n is holding his hand, her thumb tracing the cross tattooed by his as he anxiously awaits a reaction from her. The first thing that comes out of her mouth is not what he's expecting.

"You wear glasses?"

Shocked, he stutters. "Uh, y-yeah I do but that's....what?"

Y/n shrugs, frowning down at their intertwined fingers. "How come you never wear them?"

Again, Harry's shocked and a little confused. That definitely wasn't the detail he expected her to focus on but at least it's a simpler topic than the woman that abandoned his daughter. "I wear m'contacts when you're over."

She finally looks up at him, eyes wide with concern. "You're not supposed to sleep with those on! Your eyeballs could've melted!"

He can't help it. He bursts out laughing, eyes squeezing shut as his chest jolts with the joyous sound. "Sweetheart, one night every few days isn't a big deal." He says once he's finally calmed down.

"It is to me," she mumbles with a pout, slipping a leg over his thighs and pulling herself up to straddle him. "I bet you look hot with glasses."

His heart stutters, hands instinctively holding her hips. "Y-yeah?" He stutters, painfully aware of the fact that he hasn't had sex in six years and the last time he did, he was left heartbroken.

"Yeah," she assures softly, cupping the sides of his warm neck. Her hands are gentle and tender, a grounding force he didn't know he needed until now. "You always look good though."

That's a nice thing to hear after spending your whole life as the scrawny nerd that stands sort of funny because his left leg is just a bit shorter than his right. It's a pain in the ass on his back and he should find someway to alleviate that discomfort but he can't begin to think about how right now because all his blood is quickly rushing to his cock.

"Not as good as you," he replies in earnest, eyes never straying from hers. "never as good as you."

Y/n responds with her mouth on his, slipping a hand to tangle in the curls that meet the back of his neck. He hums into her lips, a current of electricity budding between them and spreading throughout his whole being. He doesn't have much experience but he swears kissing someone has never felt like this.

His fingers slip under the hem of her shirt, feeling the soft skin on her sides. As it trying to get even with him, y/n's hands move to his hips and clutch the edge of his tee-shirt, dragging it up. Harry's brain feels fuzzy and light, floating in lust as they both continue to strip each other of their clothes. By the time he's sat in just his boxers, fingers toying with the waistband of her underwear, he can't even remember how they got here. He hates himself for it, wishes he remembered every little detail, but there's time for that later.

"I've got-fuck," he smacks another kiss to her mouth before continuing. "got condoms, in the bathroom." Y/n kisses him again, reluctant to pull away but she's just as desperate as him. Harry had intended on nipping into the bathroom to retrieve the rubber but y/n is quicker, removing herself from his lap.

"Be right back!" She calls over her shoulder, panty clad bum disappearing into the restroom. Harry takes a second to ground himself, breathing smoothly as he drops a stern look to the throbbing bulge in his boxers.

"Don't embarrass me," he mutters, "know it's been awhile but it's gonna be even longer if you come in the first five minutes." Mentally praying to a higher being, Harry moves to sit on the edge of the bed just as y/n returns with the black box. His cock twitches, overwhelmed with the fact that she grabbed the whole fucking box and not just one little pack, and his hope of lasting long enough for her weakens a bit.

She retrieves a packet from the box, laying the container on the bedside table. Harry rises from the bed, hands trembling and chest fluttering. He's reaching for the band of his boxers when y/n moves to the edge of the bed, sat on her knees in front of him.

"Can I?" She asks, her own fingers gripping the last article of clothing on him. Swallowing thickly, he nods and then she's pulling them down his thighs, over his knobby knees, and dropping them to his ankles. He kicks them off, eyes locked on her reaction.

Just seeing her face, eyes dark and mouth dropped open has him frantic. He tears open the condom, fitting it over his prick and tossing the wrapper to the side. "Can I be on top?"

Y/n is already moving to lay back against the pillows, nodding. "Fuck, yes please." She breathes, gripping his shoulders when he covers her body with his. They're mouths meet in the middle while Harry slips her underwear down her thighs. It takes some awkward wiggling and kicking, but she gets them off eventually and that's all that matters.

Harry grips himself, lining his cock up with her slit. "Never done it like this," he admits quietly, lips brushing hers. Y/n wraps her legs around his hips, pulling him in closer. "was always on bottom."

"Are you okay doing it this way?"

He smiles, butterflies swarming his chest at her sweet words. "Of course I am. Wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to try it." And she kisses him again, urging him to sink into her with a tightening of her leg. Harry complies, a wheezing gasp leaving him as he slowly presses into her.

He's had sex before, obviously, and he knows how fucking good it feels, but nothing compares to the feeling of being with y/n. Maybe it's the new position or because it's been so long for him, but it feels euphoric. Like if he keeps fucking her, eventually he'll die from too much pleasure in his veins. He can't help but think it feels magical as he rocks his hips into hers, listening to y/n mewl in his ear. That's the only explanation. It has to be magic.

Magic isn't real, he reminds himself, trying to ground himself to the beautiful beneath him. She's all he should be thinking about.

And she is, because he fails to notice the snow that has suddenly started glittering past the bedroom window, shimmering more than any snow he's ever seen.

She's lining the roof of the gingerbread cottage with green icing, sticking gumdrops on it when Ophelia bursts into gleeful giggles. Y/n glances up from the icing bag, heart swelling to a size so large it could burst as she watches Harry and his daughter. He's got Ophelia in his lap, two large biceps wrapped around her little body to hold her squirming limbs still as Harry blows raspberries into her neck and cheek.

"Daddy!" Ophelia bubbles through laughs, "your whiskers daddy, no!"

Her words make Harry laugh loudly into his daughter's neck, eyes squeezing shut and shoulders shaking. The vibrations must tickle her even more because Ophelia's laughs grow louder and she wiggles liked a cooked noodle. A baby hand slips free, slapping at Harry's cheek and smearing crystal sprinkles across his scruff.

"I'm telling Santa you hit me!" Harry exclaims like a child tattling to a parent. Ophelia immediately freezes, eyes widening in fear as she turns in Harry's lap to face him.

"No daddy," she cries, cupping his face in her sticky hands. "please. It was an accident, I'm sorry daddy!" Y/n bites her lip to hold back her smile, watching Harry maintain his facade of hurt.

He shakes his head. "I have to. Santa has to know who goes on the naughty list."

Trembling lips place an apologetic kiss to Harry's cheek. "B-but m'not naughty! You told me I was a good girl!"

Harry finally cracks, giggling as he snuggles his anxious daughter into his chest. "Fine I won't tell," he concedes, "but you gotta give me a real kiss nipper."

Complying, Ophelia places a sweet kiss to Harry's puckered lips. He dots a few more to her face, gently tickling her with his beard before settling back into decorating. They're both working on putting buttons on the gingerbread snowman when Harry steals y/n's attention from her window decorating.

"What are ya plans for Christmas love?"

Pursing her lips, she shrugs. Her father was never big on Christmas. Of course they celebrated it, but he lives in Washington and she lives in London now, and Christmas has never been big enough to them for her to fly overseas. She typically spends the holiday picking up extra hours at work or hanging with some friends.

"Don't really have anything planned. I just go with the flow of the day." She explains.

Their eyes meet, Harry's narrowed under furrowed eyebrows. "Ya don't go with family or friends?"

"Not worth the flight honestly. My dad usually goes on fishing trips anyway and I hate fishing."

As if he can't believe her words, he shakes his head and runs a hand over his face. "Shouldn't be spending Christmas alone pet." She shrugs, used to it just being her. "Guess I'll have to drag you up North with us."

His smirk is beautiful and alluring, making her mouth ache to meet his, but that thought is buried under the alarm sounding throughout her brain. Head home with Harry?

How is she supposed to manage that?

#christmas magic #harry styles #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #single dad harry #dad harry #harry styles au #one direction #smut #harry x reader #angst

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tiredcowpoke · 3 years

Text

TITLE: The Ease of a Storm PAIRING: Arthur Morgan/Reader. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: A thunderstorm rolls in while you and Arthur are in the wilderness. WARNINGS: Thunderstorms, I guess? It’s mostly fluff. NOTE: I’ve seen a couple works where Arthur comforts the reader about a fear of thunder, but usually I sit there like “can’t relate” because I love thunder. To an extent at least. lol So, I figured I’d write something for people who like thunder and standing around in the rain as much as I do. I miss it in the winter where I live. Anyway, gender neutral reader! Kind of short but to the point and fun to write, so hey. There’s also a bit of a personal headcanon in there too.

Despite the pine tree, you could feel some wetness soaking into the fabric of the jacket you wore.

Thankfully, you had the foresight to take a heavier one that you usually wore, so the chill that settled didn’t effect you much. You could see your breath somewhat as the rain poured down on the ground around you, the branches of the tree at least making it only somewhat of a light spray. However, you had long since smelled the wet earth before the first drops fell where you were.

You had been sitting in the tent, reading, as Arthur had managed to doze off beside you in the late afternoon. Given the ride out to where you were near Strawberry, you weren’t sure if he was really out for the night or just napping. Still, the man deserved it. You had been acutely aware of just how much he worked for the gang, much to your own frustration at points when you just wanted to see him, have moments like earlier where you both could relax. That or when you wanted to help, but he brushed it off.

Still, it was nice to see. However, you weren’t all that inclined to join him and you had been getting a little restless when the first winds of a storm swept through the area. Luckily, the wind wasn’t too strong, just enough to add some chill and bring the rain your way. Normally, you knew you should have woken Arthur up and said something about the storm--it was still early out, maybe you could ride into Strawberry later if it gets worse.

Really, the idea of rain had gotten you a little excited. It had been enough for you to wait it out a bit before getting up and exiting the tent, wandering over toward the tree that you currently were standing under.

For once, your mind felt blank. At ease.

You could hear the rain falling against the ground and leaves of the trees, looking out over the small ravine as you watched the rain fall. You watched the dirt paths below, the odd rider racing through, hands keeping their hats securely on their heads as they rode through the downpour. There was the odd animal that would scurry across the paths down below, and you could hear them moving around near where you were. However, it didn’t seem like it was any cause for concern for you, your arms crossed in order to keep some heat in your jacket. You just listened, letting time pass.

There was no gang, no Arthur, no task at hand. Just you.

Though, your gaze flicked upward, catching a quick flutter of light in one of the clouds that loomed in the distance. Sure enough, there was a low rumble a few moments later, making a smile spread across your face.

However, you couldn’t hold onto the moment. Not forever, anyway. As the thunder settled, you heard a familiar voice call your name. There was a notable sound of alarm to it, making you turn to glance back toward where the camp was. You could see your horse standing under the tree you hitched her to, tossing her head somewhat but otherwise seemed unphased. Still, you shifted to push off the tree somewhat, hand coming down to rest against your holster.

“Arthur!” you called out, almost cursing yourself at possibly leading trouble your way instead of just heading back. Still...well, he had called out first.

Sure enough, you heard a rustle and hurried footfalls coming your way, as much as the rain threatened to drown the sound out as another rumble of thunder filled the air. Arthur walked toward you, hand resting on his hat as you relaxed somewhat.

“The hell’re you doin’?” he asked, accusatory but otherwise fine.

“Watching the storm,” you replied, turning to lean back to where you were against the tree trunk, beckoning him over with a small wave.

Arthur walked up beside you, pressing shoulder to shoulder as he tried to shelter himself under the same tree. As much as you weren’t freezing, the little warmth that offered was appreciated. You were fine with lapsing back into silence so you could listen to the downpour, but with Arthur there with you, you knew it would only be a while until he filled the silence.

However, you weren’t expecting the touch of sheepishness.

“Used to be...scared of storms. When I was little.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he replied around a sigh, “They used to get me bad, but after my mother passed...well, my ol’ man weren’t all that nice ‘bout it. Learned to stop cryin’ about them, but they used to make me anxious and thunder made me flinch well into me bein’ a teenager.”

“They don’t now,” you observed as a somewhat louder clap of thunder almost drowned out the last of his words--he hadn’t even blinked.

“Yeah, I stopped ‘round the time I got used to gunshots,” he replied, pausing a moment, “...and Hosea helped.”

“Hosea?”

“Yeah, think...think he noticed, when I was young,” he replied, a somewhat far away look in his eye as he continued, “About a year after I joined him and Dutch, he used to see a storm roll in and would linger about ‘round me. Tried to do some readin’ and writin’ too, if the storm weren’t too destructive. Eventually, he’d pull me away from camp and we’d watch it roll in if it weren’t too miserable. We were out west then, too...would feel the heat drop off and you just knew.”

“...I’ve always liked thunderstorms,” you admitted, “and rain. Ever since I was young. I’d get scolded a lot, running out into the rain and the mud whenever one would roll around.”

“You and I was two different kids, then,” Arthur commented, “Couldn’t catch me inside anywhere unless there was a storm.”

You let out a small hum in agreement, leaning against his side as you rested your head against his shoulder. The leather of his jacket had gone somewhat cold in the weather, some wetness on your cheek but you were getting rained on already. Though, Arthur shifted to wrap his arm around you and hold you closer to his side. You ran over what he told you in your head, seeing that scared little kid in your mind's eye (and tried not to think too deeply on his family life back then. He had mentioned a few things about his father, you were aware of what he was like.) Though, the Hosea story warmed your heart a bit.

Admittedly, you had noticed the photo of him, Dutch, and Arthur on the side of the wagon back at camp. When you first saw it, it was strange to see the younger versions of themselves. Though, you could imagine Hosea from that photo sitting on a bedroll under a tarp, trying to read to Arthur and them sitting together at the edge of camp.

There was some envy there, admittedly. You never really had much of a father-figure in your life. Then again, Arthur may not have either, if he hadn’t have joined up with the gang.

There was a history you felt relieved to be let in on, among other things that had developed as you and Arthur got close.

“I never took you for the storm watchin’ type,” he commented after the lingering silence, your head shifting somewhat from his shoulder.

“I never took you for someone who fears them,” you returned, letting out a small chuckle at the look he shot you.

“When I was a kid,” he stressed, “I ain’t no more. Don’t make me regret tellin’ you that.”

“I won’t,” you replied with another small chuckle, “I’m glad I heard it from you, I’m sure Hosea would have brought it up eventually. He does like to rib you.”

“He sure does…”

You smiled, reaching up to turn his head so you could kiss him. You held the gesture for a few moments, Arthur letting out a sound from the back of his throat before he pulled away somewhat.

“You’re soakin’ wet,” he commented, causing you to scoff lightly.

“You’re being dramatic. I’m a little damp.”

“No, seriously, I don’t even know how you’re not shiverin’,” he returned, though he didn’t shove you away from him as he glanced out toward the ravine again, “Though, hate to cut your fun time out here short, but that gets any closer and we might have to think about headin’ into town. I may not be scared of thunder no more, but I’ve seen what lightnin’ does.”

“...Yeah,” you admitted--you had been noticing the distance of the flashes and the volume of the thunder had been getting closer and louder.

“I’m sure it’ll be just as nice to listen to from inside that hotel in Strawberry,” he commented, stepping away from you.

As he did so, you could feel the coldness of the air seep in pretty quickly--maybe you were getting a little soaked. You cast one last glance out toward the gathering storm before turning and following him back toward the makeshift camp. As much as you loved storms, a warm bath seemed nice too.

#my writing.#arthur morgan x reader

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nextstopparis · 3 years

Text

i tried writing this last night but then tumblr deleted it for some reason??? so i am back again lol bc i like to spite the universe and ~push my luck~ ig. ANYWAY. i was thinking of arthurs last (ish) interactions with his parents and it was interesting that in both cases they were ghosts so. i watched the scenes back to back to see if there were any ~parallels~ and lo and behold,,,,,

SO. not that im a film major or anything so i really dont know much. but both uther and ygraine are sort of introduced the same way. they're at a distance and move towards arthur/arthur moves towards them upon revelation that it is, in fact, the parent. but thats not the part about the technical aspect of the scene i want to talk about. i want to talk about this:

(2.08 and 5.03)

the colouring. the whole scene with ygraine (2.08) is in soft yellows and oranges and gives a more or less golden feel. its all warm colours. the scene with uther (5.03) on the other hand, is all bright and harsh lighting. shrouded with white and blue. its all cold colours.

and its just so significant to me because the conversations arthur has with both of them sort of follow each other? and his interaction with both of them is just so... telling. like it follows PERFECTLY with the significance of the lighting decisions. ygraine is warm and motherly with him. uther is cold and direct and more a king than a father. (also, when uther escapse and is in the 'real world' or land of the living or whatever, he's very much still. blue.)

now, there are a few parts of the conversations that i think connect to each other, but lets just start with the introductions:

ARTHUR: Mother.

YGRAINE: My son.

and,

ARTHUR: Father.

UTHER: Arthur.

which like. ok. this one is a bit more whatever. bc i guess its not that big of a deal and i can definitely be reading into it but. but its in the same format regardless of the insignificance and also. its pretty minor but it kind of struck me how ygraine, who wasnt really given the chance to be arthur's parent, immediately calls him "my son" whereas uther, who was given that chance, who had YEARS of being a parent to his child, takes a more formal... "arthur"....

compared together, ygraines greeting feels like a mother finally greeting her son whereas uthers feels like. idek. not a parent seeing/being able to speak to their son for the first time in years, in any case.

anyway, moving on. i won't write out the entire conversations, but basically, with ygraine - arthur apologizes to her because he blames himself for her death, and then is told by ygraine that it isn't his fault and that, actually, it's his father who's to blame.

with uther - arthur tells his father that he thinks of him often, that being king is very lonely and that sometimes he wishes his father was there beside him to ease that loneliness. uther immediately replies to him and says that arthur wouldn't want him at his side, because he would not like the things uther has to say [about his kingship, presumably, although the attack is very much a personal one but like. i digress, i guess].

and then these two conversations happen immediately after:

ARTHUR: What do you mean?

YGRAINE: It is not important. What matters is that you lived.

ARTHUR: Why should my father feel guilty?

YGRAINE: It is better left in the past.

ARTHUR: You cannot leave me with more questions. Please.

YGRAINE: [proceeds to tell him about the conditions of his birth]

compared to,

ARTHUR: What do you mean?

UTHER: [proceeds to tell him what he has to say about his kingship]

hmmm. one is QUITE A BIT shorter than the other one, huh? INTERESTING, huh? now, you're probably thinking. why is it that big of a deal. so let's just. get one thing clear, here. both parents in this situation are fully aware how negatively arthur is going to be affected by the thing they are being asked to speak of. they are both COMPLETELY aware that what they say next is NOT something that arthur will take lightly. they both KNOW that these two things (THAT THEY BOTH BROUGHT UP WITHOUT HIS ASKING but im not even gonna TALK about that part) that they will say to him are going to UPSET HIM. like. really completely shift his views and make him very - probably unimaginably to most people - upset. they are FULLY AWARE OF THIS. to reiterate: they 100% KNOW that their SON who has done EVERYTHING TO JUST TALK TO THEM ONE MORE TIME is going to be distressed in light of whatever it is they are going to say.

and still. uther doesn't hesitate AT ALL. he doesn't backtrack. he doesn't say "well never mind that. how have you been" or whatever. he literally JUMPS at the opportunity, not only to use this LAST CONVERSATION WITH HIS SON to tell him how much of a failure he thinks he is, but to do so FULLY AWARE that it's going to crush him. HE DOESNT FUCKING HESITATE. HELL. YOU CAN ARGUE THAT HE LITERALLY BRINGS IT UP FOR THE SOLE PURPOSE OF TELLING ARTHUR HOW MUCH HE HASNT MET UTHERS STANDARDS. oh my god. oh my GOD. you don't understand.

ygraine, at least, backtracks. you can see that she regrets bringing it up. you can tell that she realizes "oh, well gee, this is probably the last opportunity i have to speak with my son for a long while, maybe i shouldnt make this experience SO FUCKING NEGATIVE for him. this is important. i need to prioritize making it a GOOD experience for him. there are better ways to spend the (first and) last conversation with your son than telling him things that will only upset and distress him" which is. you know. HOW ANY DECENT PARENT SHOULD FUCKING REACT????? BUT NOT UTHER!!! OH NO. THIS MOTHERFUCKER DOESNT GIVE A SINGLE SHIT ABOUT ARTHUR AT ALL WHATSOEVER. AS LONG AS HE SAYS WHAT HE WANTS TO SAY. AS LONG AS HE THROWS THIS ONE LAST TANTRUM. NOTHING ELSE MATTER. HIS FUCKING SONS EMOTIONS AND MENTAL WELL EBING? FUCK THAT! UTHER DOESN'T CARE!

like. seriously. what the ACTUAL FUCK. you don't even understand this makes me so angry. so im just going to. move on. but just know how fucked up this is and how angry it makes me.

ANYWAY. there's also this parallel that makes me wish i was the one who'd stabbed uther:

YGRAINE: [...] It makes you no less my son, nor me any less proud of you.

compared to,

UTHER: How can I be proud of a son who ignores everything that I taught him, who is destroying my legacy?

which. honestly. is just SO self explanatory in its WHATTHEFUCK-ness that i dont even know what to fucking say. uther KNOWS how much his approval means to his son. he KNOWS how much of a fucking knife to the heart that one sentence is. and he SAYS IT ANYWAY. i also, while typing it out, realized the use of "son". like i find it interesting that ygraine makes it clear that arthur is hers whereas uther calls him "a" son. nothing special, nothing personal. he creates distance there.

it just makes me so fucking angry, especially because like. the last time they spoke. he FINALLY was acting like a fucking father, you know? told him he loved him and that arthur will be a good king/that he's been ready for a long time and this just. this just COMPLETELY undid all of that. this completely took everything back and im so. like this is SO FUCKED UP. god i dont even know how to describe how devastating this must have been to hear and especially with how cruelly uther put it like. how are you going to say this to your fucking kid? how are you going to spend the last few minutes you have talking to you kid, telling him that he's ruined everything just bc he didn't do it *your* way and that you CANT be proud of him. how are you going to do that? what the FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!

ugh. anyway. i think you get it.

these two lines i also found very eerily similar to one another (ofc i will explainskjfsj):

ARTHUR [to Ygraine]: You cannot leave me with more questions. Please.

and,

ARTHUR [to Uther]: This... can't be the last time I'll ever see you.

and let me tell you. the 5.03 one breaks me every fucking time. but they're essentially the same plea, to me, because the situation is so similar in both episodes. arthur is given the chance to speak to his parents again, or finally, and he jumps at it. he does anything just to be able to speak to them ONE LAST TIME, to get to know them more, to ask them things, to have their council. arthur reached out to both of his parents in an attempt to just talk to them, and look where that left him.

he's pleading with them to just. please. please don't make this one chance ive taken be in vain. please don't leave me like this. please don't let the last time i talk to you be this. talking to you was supposed to make things better, easier. this can't be the last time i ever see you because its made everything worse. please dont leave me with more questions. please dont leave me with more doubts.

and it just. absolutely CRUSHES ME. god. this poor boy just wanted to see his mom and dad one last time, you know? this child who never really had a parent but always craved the love of one just chased it as far as he could and he's begging both of them to make it worth it and just. GOD. oh my god.

there are other slight parallels too, like:

YGRAINE: Do not let this knowledge change you.

vs,

UTHER: Think about everything that I have said to you. It isn't too late.

which is, lol. complete opposite sides of the spectrum. uthers telling him, he can still change, "you can still make me proud, it isn't too late" and ygraine is saying "don't change, im already proud of you as you are".

theres also:

ARTHUR: I'm so sorry.

YGRAINE: You have nothing to be sorry for.

ARTHUR: It was my birth that caused you to die -

YGRAINE: No, you are not to blame.

ARTHUR: - I cannot bear the thought that you died because of me.

YGRAINE: Do not think that!

which isn't exactly similar, but kind of close, to...

UTHER: It is your duty to strengthen and protect the kingdom. You have failed.

WHICH OK JUST STICK WITH ME FOR A SECOND. i know they dont sound very much alike at all, but they kind of do to me because. one is ygraine completely taking the blame off of arthur's shoulders, while the other is uther putting all of the blame on arthur (and telling him that he's a failure). so like. kind of similar? like ygraine is telling him he's not to blame for her death (even though it was his life that hers was traded for) and uther is telling him that, by ruining UTHERS legacy, camelot is going to be destroyed because of arthur.

finally, the end. i find it interesting that, really, the conversations with uther and ygraine show that uther, more or less, didn't change at all:

YGRAINE: [Uther] sacrificed my life so the Pendragon dynasty could continue.

and,

UTHER: Arthur, no. Please. Everything I've done, I've done for Camelot.

which, as we know from their first convo at the beginning of 5.03, he means for HIS legacy. so, uther never really stopped doing literally everything for himself. anyway.

i think those are all the parallels i could find? i just found it interesting how arthurs last conversations with his parents were so vastly different and yet followed each other so closely. anyway, from now on, I am arthur pendragons parents thanks<3

#sorry i was replying to an anon yesterday #and this hit me #but it got deleted before i could post so... i making a separate post lol !#bbc merlin #merlin meta #uther pendragon #arthur pendragon #ygraine pendragon #uther SUCKS ASS club!!!!

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mandelene · 3 years

Note

✈️

I went off on this one, lol. I decided to incorporate the request an anon made a while back asking me to write about Alfred developing epilepsy in high school so here it is, and I hope it's okay!

Just Another Midday Emergency

Word Count: 1580

Arthur can count on one hand the number of times Francis has called him in the middle of one of his shifts at the hospital, and they have always been for emergency reasons, so when he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket as he’s finishing up changing a dressing for a post-surgical wound, his throat tightens and his feet go cold.

He steps out through the double doors of the unit to the waiting room, braces himself by taking a deep breath, and picks up the call. “Hello? Francis?”

“Alfred’s not well and is being taken to the hospital. He collapsed in class and had a seizure.”

The information reaches his brain, but he fails to process it for several seconds. Panic washes over him, but he quickly shakes it off. He has to stay calm and focus for Alfred’s sake. “A seizure? What kind of seizure? Was he awake and aware or confused? Did he have motor symptoms?”

“I don’t know. You know you’re asking the wrong person. The teacher described it as him having spasms, and Alfred didn’t seem to recall exactly what had happened after it was over. He also hit his head on one of the other desks in the classroom.”

“Okay, so he wasn’t aware, and he did have motor symptoms, then,” Arthur confirms, running a nervous hand through his hair. What could have triggered a sudden seizure? Alfred’s never had a seizure before… “Where is he now? The high school called an ambulance, I presume?”

“Yes, he’s in the ambulance. I asked them if they could tell the paramedics to bring him to your hospital. I didn’t even have a chance to see him, but I called him and he was very shaken over the phone. I’m leaving the house now.”

“Good. You did wonderfully, Francis, thank you. I’ll tend to him. Try to remain calm, all right?”

“You as well.”

“Be careful on your way here. See you soon.”

He hangs up, finds someone to cover for him temporarily, and heads for the emergency department. His timing is impeccable today and the universe seems to be working in his favor because Alfred is just being brought in on a stretcher when he reaches the nurses’ station. He’s about to greet Alfred and ask the EMT and paramedic tending to him about his status, but just as he reaches Alfred’s side, the boy has a staring spell, and Arthur can tell he’s no longer alert.

And then, he begins to seize again, arms and legs jerking erratically on the stretcher. Arthur rolls Alfred’s head to the side and holds it still with both hands so he doesn’t aspirate or hurt himself against the side rails of the stretcher, heart pounding.

“Do you want me to give him—?” the paramedic begins to ask, but Arthur shakes his head.

“Wait a moment,” he says, glancing at his watch to track the time.

And then, as suddenly as it started, Alfred abruptly stills once more.

“About thirty seconds,” Arthur reports, a bit relieved. At least the seizures are relatively short, and he’s not in status epilepticus. It could be worse.

He removes his hands from Alfred’s head and brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Alfred?”

“Mrghh…Dad…” Alfred mumbles, looking exhausted.

“I’m here, love. We’re going to take good care of you, all right? Can you hear me?”

Alfred groans quietly and reaches out an arm toward him, so Arthur leans over and embraces him carefully, giving him a gentle hug.

“...Dad…”

“I know, darling. You’re probably very startled,” Arthur says before he notices a nurse standing behind him and steps aside for a moment to let her properly triage him. When that’s all done, and the nurse assigned to his care arrives, Arthur helps her move him to a room. He’s pleased to find out that Dr. Gilbert Beilschmidt will be the pediatrician checking on him. Gilbert is good. He’ll do what Arthur asks him to do.

And apparently, he wastes no time in coming in to assess Alfred right away.

“Oh, kiddo. What happened to you, huh?” Gilbert says by way of greeting. He gives Arthur a nod of acknowledgment and asks, “Why is it always your kids, Kirkland? Something's always going on with them, it seems like.”

“They like to keep me on my toes,” Arthur replies, staying glued to Alfred’s bedside. He can’t imagine how frightening this must all be for him.

“The nurse gave me a rundown, but can you tell me what happened in your own words, Alfred? I wanna hear it from you.”

Alfred nods, which then triggers him to wince. He has a welt on the left side of his forehead from when he collapsed. “I was in history class and I dunno…It’s a blur. I remember hitting my head on the desk across from me and then my teacher standing over me. And then they called an ambulance.”

“And you’ve never had a seizure before, right?” Gilbert asks, examining Alfred’s forehead before pulling out a penlight and shining it into his eyes.

“No.”

“Okay, look at the light for me, kiddo…I’m gonna put a finger up and I want you to follow it with your eyes, ‘kay…? That’s it…Good. Now, I’m gonna ask you some more questions, and I need you to be a hundred percent honest with me ‘cause I won’t be able to get you the help you need if you don’t tell me the truth. You want me to kick your dad out for this part?”

Alfred seems a little panicked at the idea of Arthur having to leave his side. “No! I mean…He can stay if that’s okay.”

Gilbert gives him a knowing smile and nods. “No problem. So, have you been trying any substances at school? Maybe there’s something your friends have been taking and you wanted to experiment with it? Anything like that at all?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I swear.”

“How about any recent falls or injuries? Did you get in an accident somewhere and hit your head, and maybe you didn’t wanna tell your parents about it ‘cause you were afraid they’d worry?”

“No. Just today when I fell out of my desk in class.”

“Okay, kiddo...Let’s get you some bloodwork and a CT scan to make sure you didn’t seriously hurt your head and to rule out any masses. Then, we’ve gotta get neuro in here to have a look at you. They’re gonna want an electroencephalogram at the very least.”

Alfred furrows his brows. “Electroencepha—what?”

“It’s a test where they’re gonna attach little electrodes to your scalp and check your brain activity for any abnormalities. It takes like an hour or two, and it doesn’t hurt—I promise,” Gilbert explains, giving Alfred’s knee a comforting pat. “Odds are we’re not gonna be able to find out exactly what’s wrong with you or give you a clear answer. You might never have a seizure again, or you might be developing epilepsy—it can happen at any age and sometimes we don’t know why it happens suddenly, it just does. If everything checks out and we don’t find anything serious, we’ll send you home with some anticonvulsant medication to take and have you follow up with a neurologist.”

“…Okay.”

“All right, kiddo. I’ll be back to check on you later. Don’t stress. Your dad’s gonna keep an eye on you for me,” Gilbert says. Then, he turns to Arthur and adds, “I’ll let you know as soon as I know more. I’m betting on epilepsy onset though based on what he’s told me. Don’t freak out, even though I know you will anyway.”

Arthur nods, bids Gilbert farewell for now, and sits down on the edge of Alfred’s stretcher with a sigh. “It’ll be all right, love. Whatever happens, we’ll take care of it,” he assures before placing a concerned kiss on Alfred’s brow. “Also, just a word of warning, your papa is going to be here any moment and will likely be in a panicked frenzy.”

Alfred musters a laugh. “Yeah, he always does that.”

“It’s because we both love you and worry about you.”

“I know. Thanks, Dad…Is it okay to be kinda scared?”

“Of course, it is. Anyone in your situation would be. But the good news is that there’s a very strong chance you’ll feel better with some medication and that there are ways to manage this.”

And then, Francis arrives, pale and trembling. Arthur does his best to explain the situation to him and set his mind at ease, but he might as well not have bothered because Francis runs over to Alfred’s side and starts fussing over him to no end anyway. He strokes his head, tucks him in snugly with the thin hospital blanket that’s covering him, and smothers him in a series of hugs.

Gilbert’s predictions turn out to be mostly accurate. The CT scan comes back fine, and the electroencephalogram confirms a change in brain waves, suggesting epilepsy. Neurology decides to put Alfred through an MRI as well, but as suspected, they’re unable to find a concrete reason for the seizures, which is actually positive news in Arthur’s opinion. At least this means Alfred doesn’t have any tumors or cysts causing the issue and no other physiological abnormalities.

He’s still going to watch him like a hawk from now on though and make sure he stays on top of taking his new medication.

Gilbert was right. Why is it always his kids?

#hetalia #aph england #hws england #hws france #aph france #hws face family #aph face family #aph america #hws america #aph prussia #hws prussia #drabbles #hurt comfort #alfred with epilepsy #reaching out for someone #only 18 more to go lmao 😅

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spookypotato · 4 years

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Wow I loved that ankle fic!! If you are still looking for fics I would really enjoy one where Sirius is caught skating before he’s been cleared, maybe with a couple of the other boys and he gets in loads of trouble, lol dw just ignore if it’s bad idea 😄

1. Thank you! I'm happy you liked it.

2. Oooh yess! I hope I can do this idea justice, because I like it a lot. That's such a Sirius thing!

3. Also I love requests. I have quite a hard time coming up with good ideas but I love to write, so thank you!

Characters by @lumosinlove 💙 Thank you for this universe!

Sirius has been on the ice once, since the 'accident'. It went about as good as watching a toddler take his first steps, but in the end he was able to skate slow laps without falling down. It was stupid. He did this for a living. He had been - not to brag, just stats - one of the best. And now he was sitting on the bench waiting for the team to clear out, so he could go through the pain of skating in a circle for half an hour.

After their practice was over, Sirius went back, to the lockerroom with the boys. He could at least help them theoretically. James asked, how he was doing, as he did each week sometime more than once. Sirius - as he did each week - answered with a: "too slow for my liking". James responsible-motherhen-instict was now, nowhere to be found, when he suggested going skating later that day once even the staff had cleared out.

"You want me to risk my recovery to skate properly now instead of in a few months? Are you crazy!?", is what Sirius should have said.

"So when and where are we meeting?", is what came out of his mouth in a whisper.

That's how after the 10 laps, he did with (almost) ease today, he told Loops, that he was going to stay and do some more streches.

"You can overdo it, you know?", Remus told him, "just be careful alright? I know you'd be devastated, if all of your progress was ruined. And I would be the one having to listen to you whine."

"Firstly, I dont whine. Ever." -thats a lie and both of them knew it- "and secondly, thank you so much for your concern about my well-being, but I'll be careful, mum", Sirius added theatrically annoyed.

"This is literally my job. To tell you to be careful, so that you can play next season."

"So you dont really care about my well-being then, Loops?", Sirius gasped dramatically.

"Dont overdo it. See you tomorrow, Cap."

"Bye, Re."

The rink was silent. It was just him.

Then he nearly fell over as James jumped on him from behind.

Correction, it was just him and James.

"So, you're feeling up to playing?", James asked, standing on his own now.

"Do you really think you can win a one on one against your Captain, Potty?", Sirius challenged.

"Yes. But also I was thinking we wait for the others to join first. They should be here in a second."

"You told the others? If anybody finds out we'll be in so much trouble.", Sirius was beginning to regret his decision.

"So you dont want to play with us?", Finn's voice came out of the tunnel.

"Betrayed by our own captain?!", Logan's voice followed.

The cubs and Kasey stood in front of them now.

"Did nobody of you think it was a bad idea to come?!", Sirius asked.

"Well, our captain thinks it's fine, apparently." "And we found out about it a minute ago that someone will be blocking the rink during goalie-practise times", Leo completed Finn's thoughts.

"So we thought we'd stay with Nut and see if you suck now.", Logan added.

And because Sirius was already excited to just play a little, he answered an "Oh, it's on, Tremzy!" from where he was lacing his skates a bit tighter to give his ankle at least some stability.

Kasey hadn't been much for the idea of his Captain playing again. He knew from his thighs, that disregarding Loops orders, would only lead to a longer break. But since he would have been at the rink because of his goalie-practise anyway, he decided he would stay. Just to keep an eye on them, of course.

Definitely not, because he was missing his captain as much as the rest of the team on the ice.

Once they were all on the ice, James let Sirius choose his Teammates in a three on three. It ended in Potts, Logan and Leo against him, Finn and Kasey.

They all got their sticks and let Sirius' team have the puck first. And so his first after-recovery-game began.

He knew they went easy on him and for the first time he was glad about that. It made the game easier. He got less competitive than usual and thus put less pressure on his recovered ankle.

They passed the puck easily between one another. It felt like he had never been gone. Skating had been so had the first time afterwards, but as soon as he held his stick, he felt like this was were he always belonged.

Sirius got it to Finn and he shot it back. Kasey acting as a player now skated through the middle. He got the puck from Sirius and went for the goal. It hadnt been a bad shot at all, but for Leo there was no fun in letting the puck go in on purpose, so he blocked it and shot it to Logan.

The game went back and forth a few times, Sirius always staying on his good side. He even scored twice. He felt good. It was the first time in a long the he felt truly happy, even.

"Sirius!", came a shout from the boards. It was Lupin. A Angry-Faced Lupin. A kind of Lupin he hadnt seen in a long time. So Sirius decided to better skate over quick but carefully. The others luckily got the hint to be quiet. Or the just wanted to eavesdrop who knows.

"Sirius.", Remus repeated. "I told you to not overdo it-twice, might I add- and you decided playing a game with the team would be a good idea? I'm checking you again and yes, that is absolutely necessary. What were you thinking? You could have undone all you worked for so hard. Not just the last few months but your entire life. You could have never been able to play, do you know that?"

"Yes", Remus was never usually this angry. But Sirius thought he also saw something else in his eyes. Something between relief and excitement, he guessed.

"I hope I scared you enough with that whole speech, for you to not do it again unless I tell you you can, okay?", Loops actually waited for an answer this time. He seemed a bit more relaxed now.

"Ouai, pardon"

"No need to say sorry to me, it would have been your- Well, I do have more work now- actually yeah, say sorry, but it's no problem. I'm honestly just really glad your not currently on the ice with another broken bone.", Remus told him warmly. "Still, dont tell Arthur any of this. All of you!", he shouted to the rest still standing there. " And I will look at your ankle again, if something happens it's better to know sooner than later. Will you wait in the in the medic room?"

"Thanks. Yeah, I'll just take off the skates first.", Sirius answered, while making his way dont to the locker rooms. It was- if he hadnt broken anything again, which it didnt feel like- totally worth it. For the first time in months he actually felt like all the work had made a difference.

"Potts", he heard Loops again, while walking through the tunnel, "Potter, I know this was your idea. Come here and explain yourself."

#harry potter #lumosinlove #sweater weather #finn o'hara #leo knut #logan tremblay #remus x sirius #kasey winter #sirius black #remus lupin #request #fanfic #my fic

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geekys-corner · 3 years

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Mind listing the OCs/personas and a couple facts about them? (Might help with questions lol)

Sure! I’ve written 16 below lmao *sticks in a read more*

Anthony - Originally my version of Anti, he’s now a sweet bean who really likes plants. In his backstory and the start of his story, he was found in a tiny pocket dimension inside his old apartment while he and the place around him fell into disrepair with the only thing truly alive being his plants. After losing his entire family, he was very fragile and hurt himself quite a bit, but my other characters rescued him and nursed him back to health and stability!

Onyx - My angsty punk dude who I adore. He is on the autistic spectrum and is mostly non-verbal, once going 4 months without speaking before breaking the silence to tell his best friend that Viggo Mortenson broke his toe in that one scene in Lord of the Rings. They have a twin sister who is 13 minutes older and a firm witch while he is a firm nonbeliever. Sometimes he goes to the junkyard with a baseball bat to let out their anger.

Leon - His backstory is very dark so I won’t get into it, but he’s a very shy bean with one arm and a love for sewing. He has the fluffiest light pink hair, and is just the embodiment of pastel.

Kyle - The older brother of the duo! He’s friends with Onyx and also has a punk look with spiked blue hair, but he’s an absolute sweetheart! He’s eight years older than his brother, and ran away with him when he was a newborn to escape their abusive mother. He raised Joey on his own in the streets, escaping care systems that would split them apart and shove them in to foster homes, and grew up to be completely independent, albeit unaware of what it is like to have a loving family besides his brother. He may be quick to resort to fight or flight to protect his brother and grumpy to strangers, but he’s built them a good life!

Joseph - The little brother! Joey is a smart little kid, (ranging from 10 - 14 depending) with very bright ginger hair and freckles. He’s on the far side of the autistic spectrum and is completely nonverbal, but he’s very expressive, spunky, and loving whenever he’s able to. He adores peanut butter and milkshakes, and would very happily have them six times a day. While he can’t speak, he will send Kyle countless facts from astronomy or marine life through text at any time of day or night. He’s always seen in his blue skateboarding frog hoodie, a beetle backpack filled with his supplies, and his headphones and tablet. He loves to draw and he’s great at it, and always draws sharks, especially whale sharks.

Caelan - Another punk, but this time in bird form. He is a griffin, and in some AUs a dude with prosthetic feet. He has messy blond hair covering his eyes and is based around an Egyptian falcon. He’s very quick witted and very annoying to people who don’t know him, but would go to hell and back for his family.

Marioma - The model of a modern major general- this dude is the only one like him, meaning he has no AU counterparts! He’s different from my other characters since he’s technically self-aware, and acts in my stories if and when I want him to! He’s a grumpy, determined dude who’s trying to quit smoking per request of his boyfriend, Arthur. Before him, he was a sly, hardened, and cunning man who needed someone to rely on who wouldn’t die on him.

Arthur - Foster fails: 5. He owns a bookstore in the universe he inhabits and, just like Mari, he’s one of a kind! He lives the ideal rainy city aesthetic, with an apartment above his store with open windows, plants, cosy blankets and homemade food, handmade clothing, and animals. He’s got curly hair and his scarf is his comfort item, and he takes in animals if and when he can. He and Mari just live a comfortable life :’)

Clyde - A duo with Anthony, he was originally a version of Henrik, but is now completely different. This boy is a classic OC and therefore my teenage angst punching bag. He’s a doctor in his husband Lucas’ mafia, and is very strong-willed and the biggest sweetheart. He has water powers that I always forget about, and could very easily drown someone if he wanted to. Besides that, he does cry a lot over small things, and Lucas has walked in on him crying over their cat in a business-tie.

Levi - If he and Clyde fused, they’d make Henrik. He’s my 55 year old doctor who just the embodiment of grumpy cat and expresso. He’s very lanky and has joint problems after trauma in his late 20s, and sometimes you can hear his bones cracking as he walks. He has, can, and will slap the sense into Clyde when he needs to and hated him to begin with, but warmed up to him. But, he’s completely different to his husband Sage, and in the end, is a very caring guy who won’t take any shit. He’s also therapist, and gives sessions to most of my OCs- (he’s also the doctor at the end of Don’t Leave! Dr Allison!)

Tyrell (Cloak) - So I split the same OC into two halves, essentially from two AUs but in one? They’re not twins, they’re the same guy with separate families but they’re the same. They’re both POC with the same face, hair texture etc. Cloak-Ty is very grumpy, and is called Cloak because of the cloak he wears in his fantasy-based AUs! He wears an eye patch and lost his eye depending on the AU, and went through a lot. You can tell he’s angsty because half of his hair is buzzed off. He tried to push away his now-husband Demitri, but luckily he’s an absolute himbo who doesn’t know when to quit, and eventually melted through the icy layer to a loving, sarcastic, hard-working man.

Tyrell (Ponytail) - Same as above description wise! He’s taller and buff with a ponytail. He went through the same backstory, but was found by Daniel who took him to Lucas’ mafia where they recovered together and eventually fell in love. Half of his face is badly burned and the eye has pin-hole vision, but it doesn’t stop him from being the best sniper on the team. When at home, he loves tea, hanging with his family, and painting. He’s amazing at watercolour and earns money on the side from selling his work! Sometimes he and Dan team up and draw together!

Bloodbranded:

Wayde - He lives in the Winter Forest Region and hunts for his family with his exceptional archery skills. He’s witty and pretty spontaneous, making him good under pressure, but incredibly reckless. He has a bad claw scar across his right eye which cuts into his hair, but he can see just fine! He has beautiful green eyes with central heterochromia, so they turn brown in the centre. While he may be annoying and hot-headed, he cares a whole bunch and grows as a person to fall in love with Milo. He’s a hopeless romantic and protective as all hell, even when Milo can handle himself just fine.

Felicity - She wasn’t born in the WFR like Wayde, she was adopted by her two mothers and is Wayde’s cousin! She’s a POC with beautiful dark skin, and her parents style her hair in unique braids that are decorated by gold rings. She’s a magic user and a very skilled one at that, even when she’d just started out, and wishes to revive the old form of magic that had been taken over by the modern, corrupted magic form that’s based entirely on nepotism. She uses a staff and a book, and is clumsy to start out, but soon becomes a mage to be admired, or feared if you’re an enemy!

Milo - Unlike Felicity and Wayde, he was born in the desert region, and ends up in the WFR by mistake (which is a vast change in temperature for him). Because of the contrast in temperature, he’s always wrapped up in winter clothes, even in places where the others are sleeveless, just because he’s spent his whole life in the heat! When he’s at home, he lives with his Mother and goes out to collect lightning glass after the nightly storms to sell and turn into jewellery or windows etc. Milo was born deaf and uses sign language to communicate. He’s smart, energetic, and excited to see new things, but can handle himself with ease, and knows how to take care of himself through quick thinking and fighting skills from living in the desert. When he and Wayde start dating, he likes coming up behind him and cuddling him or giving him quick kisses!

Prism - Much like their name, they are very colourful. They are a dragon hybrid and live in a kingdom of others like them, but unlike any other dragon, their scales are - like their name - prisms. They gradient between rainbows across their body, but each scale has a rainbow shimmer when they move. Their wings are like stained glass, and their hair (as of now, it might change) is like labradorite! Prism is mute and doesn’t express much, usually communicating through eye rolls. They live as the King’s new heir after he took them in as he believes Prism is the symbol of their kingdom and species’ beauty. Because of this, they are completely untouched by any blade and don’t have a single blemish or scar as to preserve them. Many guards have died to prevent them from obtaining even the slightest scratch. Beyond their anxiety, they join the crew and act as the voice/sign of reason! Even if they are assigned to their kingdom, they soon learn that their friends truly care about them more than their appearance.

That’s most of my OCs, this is already super long so I don’t want to drag it on! If anyone is interested in any OC, feel free to drop an ask, I’d love to write one shots or answer questions! <3 ^^

#geekyfox1's ocs #oc #oc list #bloodbranded #bloodbranded development #oc description

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