#he's threatening some poor sod that probably tried to pull one over on him

[placesyoucallhome]

Some rules are made with all intentions to break And he defends it with a warped rationale And I've seen what happens to the wicked and proud When they decide to try to take on the throne for the crown

#q'ruhka #art #needed a little break from dresses maybe #he is still a violence-happy skypirate after all #lots of phone doodles this week hhh #he's threatening some poor sod that probably tried to pull one over on him

[emwritesfootball]

Her Majesty's Men 2 | Mason Mount

Word Count: 1,512

Warnings: mentions of drugs, but that's about it. An intro to the Men

- - -

Notting Hill, London, England

Declan double- and triple-checks the address that Mason sent him as he walks the streets of Notting Hill. It’s for a pub he’s never been to before, but he’s heard rumours about a secret underground club modeled after the American Prohibition Era that has exotic dancers.

“Dec! Hey!” Mason greets Declan the moment he walks into the pub. “How have you been?”

Declan shrugs, hating that he has to break the news to Mason like this. The two of them grew up at Chelsea’s Academy together, remaining friends even when Dec got let go. A few years later, Mason was let go, too, and the boy in front of him seems to be doing fairly well. “West Ham let me go last week.”

Mason curses, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, mate. Can’t believe they can just let us go like we’re expendable.”

“Yeah.” Declan smiles ruefully, sighing. “I’m staying with my sister but I know she wants me to get a job - I want to get a job - but I don’t know where to start. I remember at that party last year with the rest of the Chelsea Dropouts where you mentioned something about working for the Queen and-” Declan pauses, confused as to why Mason is howling with laughter. “What’s so funny?”

“You think- ahaha - you think I work for the Queen?! Oh, my god!” Mason wipes tears of laughter from his eyes. “I guess you could say I work for Liz, but not in the way you think that I do…”

“Liz? You call the Queen by a nickname?!”

Mason snorts, the laughter threatening to return again. “How about I show you instead?” He looks at his watch, draining his beer, and Declan finds himself doing the same thing. “Follow me, Deccers.”

Declan follows, his mind slightly occupied with the fact that he saw Mason drop two £20 bills on two pints at the bar before walking away.

The rumours were true. Declan can’t figure out how he couldn’t hear the raucous laughter and thumping bass from the DJ in the booth. He’s pretty sure he recognizes the DJ, but he’s impossible to place from so far away. Instead, Declan focuses on Mason, watching as his ex-teammate weaves through the crowd. It’s all women, he realizes, but then someone slaps his ass as he walks past and he turns to find an older woman looking at him appreciatively.

“Are you one of them?” She asks, shouting over the music.

“Who?” Declan responds, confused.

Before she can reply, Declan feels Mason’s hand wrap around his wrist and pull him through a door. The music dampens, seeping through the door, but only to provide a backdrop. “Don’t stop for the vultures, mate. Although, I think that one’s more of a cougar than anything.” He laughs at his own joke, shaking his head.

“Hush! Like you haven’t thrown yourself to the cougars more times than any of us!” Jack Grealish’s Brummie accent gets Declan’s attention.

“Sod off!” Mason rolls his eyes, turning to Declan. “Don’t pay Jacky Boy any mind - he’s just here for the brainless hen party pussy. You might remember him from a couple friendlies between our academy teams, but I guarantee you that Jacky here probably doesn’t remember you; poor boy doesn’t even remember his own name half the time.”

Jack flips off Mason, but he keeps talking. “These are the lads that make up Her Majesty’s Men. We’re all football-academy rejects, so it’s like a family since we all know what the other’s been through. Stonesy - you’ll meet him in a bit - kinda brought us all together. It was pretty much his idea.”

Declan looks around the room, realizing where he is. The room looks like a changing room except instead of kits and boots and training gear, there’s costumes everywhere. A ratty futon that’s seen better days is against one of the walls; Jack ‘Jacky Boy’ Grealish sits on it, and something about the way he’s sitting on it tells Declan that the futon isn’t for anyone but the ex-Villa Academy player.

“Right. Anyway, this is Happy Ending Harry. Gave his youth to Tottenham, but she was a cruel mistress.” There’s a mirror with lightbulbs around it that looks like it was either stolen from Marilyn Monroe or a fifteen-year-old girl, Declan isn’t sure which. Harry Winks sits in front of the mirror, checking out his reflection as he puts on...blush? Declan wants to ask but can’t bring himself to form the words. Harry’s too lost in his own world to do much of anything, almost resembling a Ken doll in a way that both intrigues and intimidates Declan.

“Big Dick Dier. Loaned from Portugal to Everton, but you can see how that turned out. Man can speak at least two languages but there’s not a woman out there who cares about that once they catch a glimpse of what the Big Man is packing.” Eric Dier picks himself up off the floor after doing a round of push-ups, giving Declan a nod in greeting and going back to the sewing machine to work on… a g-string? Declan’s a little disgusted but he’s glad he’s not the one handling that. The man’s wide shoulders and large hands radiate Big Dick Energy and Declan would be lying to himself if he wasn’t at least a little curious to take a peek at that pecker.

“Last but not least: Tarzan Ty.” A man with dreads stands in one corner, stretching. He’s got tattoos and a massive scar on his knee that Declan’s curious about but knows better than to ask about. He looks familiar but he’s definitively older than the rest of the lads Declan has met so he’s not sure he recognizes him from any sort of training academy. Mason starts his introduction, but Ty cuts him off.

“Tyrone Mings,” he says, introducing himself for Declan. “Southampton Youth ‘til oh-nine. They let me go ‘cause I was too short - joke’s on them.” Ty laughs and Declan joins in. “Got a serious question,” he continues, shoving his non-scarred knee in Declan’s face. “That look ashy to you?”

“Uh…”

“Here,” Mason giggles, tossing him a bottle of what looks like self-tanner but Declan doesn’t question it, squirting out some of the lotion and preparing to massage it into Ty’s knee. It’s the oddest thing he’s done since being let go, but Declan just tells himself that he’s rubbed weirder substances on his own joints. He realizes that Mason was right - this place, this group of ex-footballers, really does feel like a family. He’s only been here a few minutes but already the camaraderie is there. Big Dick Dier teases Happy Ending Harry’s appearance like the two of them were teammates at Tottenham or something; Tarzan Ty has what appears to be a ritual, shoving Declan’s hands off his knee once he realizes the new boy was actually going to do it.

“So, here’s how it works. We do a group act first, then solos, followed by hot seats. If everything goes well, we get these birds all jacked up and then we raise the price of the hot seats so don’t fuck it all up for us, all right? That’s it, that’s all ya gotta do.” Declan tries to focus on what Mason is saying but it’s damn near impossible as he watches Eric stick his dick inside of the contraption and start to pump, his cock stretching to an absurd length. He quickly realizes that Eric’s got his dick inside a penis pump, watching as the big man’s already-big cock grows like the Grinch’s heart. Eric’s sporting the most insane look, his jaw slack but his eyes intense like he’s focused on something else, taking deep breaths as his cock stretches longer.

A voice entering the room cuts Mason off, the DJ coming into view. He’s speaking, but Declan can’t understand him. “This is Kyle, our DJ. Kyle, Deccers; Deccers, Kyle. He’s gonna be giving you the cue before each act.” Kyle hands Mase a water bottle filled with something and Mason’s eyes light up. “Pregame! That’s what I’m talking about!”

“It’s the love potion,” Kyle says in a weird voice, giving Declan a wide-eyed look.

“What is this? Strawberry?” Mason inspects it, pouring some of it into the cap and downing it.

“It’s a little mixture,” Kyle explains at Declan’s confused expression. “Got the recipe from a friend in Miami. He calls it Hey Juice.” Declan’s been around enough drugs to know that it’s GHB, but he keeps his mouth shut. “If you drink the whole bottle you’ll go ‘Hey!’” He flamboyantly sways and snaps his fingers. “You’re gonna like it, bro. Give it a sample.”

Declan holds up his hands, taking a step back. “I’m good, mate. Maybe tomorrow night?”

“That’s cool. More for me, I guess.” Mason shrugs, downing another cap.

The sounds of the crowd cheering start to seep through the walls, a man’s voice coming through too. “All right, all right, all right!”

“That’s Stonesy. Let’s get you ready.”

<< >>

#her majesty's men series #declan rice imagines #mason mount imagines

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

SKIN DEEP—a fic

So Rainbow had a pretty funny exchange on Twitter yesterday about the Watford crew and teenage acne, and in particular if Baz would have acne. Which she said he most certainly would. So, being me, I had to go write a fic about it. Because I have no chill and even less self control. So here is a slightly crack-y fic, set at pre-canon era Watford, as hormones start to surge and Simon becomes pimple obsessed.

Screen shots of Rainbow’s tweets at the end of this post, to prove this lunacy had a real life prompt.

Simon and Baz fourth year, as the ravages of adolescence commence. Pimples, blemishes and spots. Questionable concoctions. The roots of Baz’s immaculate skin care regimen. Some things even a vampire can’t avoid.

Skin Deep

Year Four

Simon

I’m just about to splash water on my face when I notice them in the mirror. I mean, I’ve been expecting this to happen. I saw the older boys go all spotty at the homes. There’s no way I’d be lucky enough to be spared.

But fuck it all. I’ve got one on the side of my nose, two on my chin and one right between my eyebrows. How did I get all these pimples in one night?

I’m half tempted to think Baz spelled me. But that’s not his style, he doesn’t sneak about doing something like this, even though he’s a prick and a plotter. No, he did things like this when we were first years, but now when Baz spells me he wants everyone to know what he’s done.

Makes a production of it, the wanker.

Like when he knocks my boater off. Spells my shoes untied during class, so I trip when I stand up. Or seals the lid on the butter dish at breakfast.

If Baz was going to spell me spotty he’d do it in on a Monday, right before class, when everyone would notice. Not in our room, on a Saturday morning, when we’ve got nothing to do and nowhere to go.

He’s still asleep so if he did do it, it must have been in the night and really what would be the bloody point of that?

I have to reluctantly admit it’s probably not him this time. It’s me. I was just hoping this particular stage of puberty would just pass me by.

The other milestones have been coming one right after another though, so I guess I’m not that lucky.

I’ve got hair in more places now.

And I grew three inches this summer (Baz grew four, the tosser, so he’s still taller than me).

He’s taller but it’s like he fits in his body. Glides when he walks. Smooth as silk on the pitch. Bloody infuriating, is what it is.

I feel like a marionette on a string, my arms and legs all out of sync, knocking into furniture and tripping over my own feet, even when my shoes are tied.

And my voice has been doing that stupid thing where it gets all deep mid-sentence, and then it goes up so high I sound like Madame Bellamy. It’s bloody awful. Baz always gives me shit about it --“going to break into song for us, Snow?”

He’s such a prick.

I lean in closer to the mirror. The ones on my chin are small. It’s the nose one that’s a disaster.

No help for it. I’ll ask Penny if there’s a spell at breakfast. Though I doubt there is, seeing as Agatha’s been spotty for weeks and I know she’d use a spell, if there was one. Penny says Agatha spells her hair to be that straight and shine like it does. I wasn’t sure I believed her but some days it’s got a bit of an uneven wave to it so I wonder if Penny may be right.

*******

“No, Simon, there isn’t a spell.” Penny is using her patient voice with me, which means she thinks my question is unbearably stupid. She leans across the table to peer at me over her glasses. “You’ve hardly got any.”

“I might only have four now. But just you wait. They’re bound to get worse. With my luck I’ll be covered in them.”

“You don’t know that. And even if they do get worse it’s human nature! The universal teen experience!”

I groan.

“It won’t be that bad, Simon. Besides everyone’s spotty.”

“Baz isn’t spotty.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not Baz again, please.”

“Have you seen him, Penny?”

“I see him every day, Simon.”

“Yes, but have you really looked?”

“Obviously not as intently as you.”

“I live with him!”

I get another eye roll.

“He’s not got one spot! I tell you, it’s proof he’s a vampire. You can’t go through normal adolescence and be as pristine as all that.”

“Everyone goes through puberty at different times. He’s probably not at that stage yet.”

“He’s taller than me!”

“He’s always been taller than you.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“It’s not like he has any control over that, Simon. It’s genetics.”

I know that. I know height isn’t something that you can magick. But it just doesn’t seem fair that each time I grow enough to catch up to him, he grows too.

He did it last summer. Did it again this summer. Even grew over the Christmas holiday this year, the jammy bastard.

And now I’m sprouting pimples right and left and he’s across the dining hall with his flawless, pearly grey skin. Not a spot to be seen.

Typical.

****

I can tell I’ve got more when I wake up. Bloody hell. The old ones dry up and get crusty and new ones take their place.

My face feels heavier this morning. I grimace and I know there’s one on the side of my nose again. It pinches when my cheeks move so it must be massive. And the one on my chin itches— it’s probably grown overnight, red and welted around that nasty white center. I can’t even imagine what my forehead looks like.

I’ve tried everything.

Washing my face twice a day.

Alcohol to try to dry them out (didn’t do a thing, except make my skin all flaky so I looked like I had dandruff and the pox).

I borrowed some ointment off of Gareth. (He’s worse off than me, the poor sod, just a face full of them.) (Which should have tipped me off that whatever he was using wasn’t working.) (Got an earful from Penny about that.)

I had some sort of allergic reaction when I used his, so my face was itching, red even in the areas between the spots, and felt like it was on fucking fire.

Practically scrubbed my face off trying to wash it away.

Of course, Baz walked in right as I came out of the en suite. Did a double take at the sight of me, the wanker, then raised that eyebrow of his and curled his lip up in a sneer. Leaned forward and studied me for a moment. My face got even hotter. I don’t like it when he stares at me like that, all intense and focused. Like he’s plotting the best way to end me without triggering the Anathema. Makes my stomach twist, it does.

Made me wish my wand wasn’t half way across the room.

But I know Baz won’t risk the Anathema. He’s never done anything remotely threatening in our room. (It’s another story out of our room.)

He’d crossed his arms over his chest after he was done inspecting me and smirked, the tosser. “You know, Snow, between the excessive quantity of moles, infinite number of freckles, and extraordinary collection of pimples you have on your face, I don’t think I can actually see anything resembling skin anymore.”

He’s going to make me trigger the Anathema one of these days.

I ended up having to see the nurse for it, when I couldn’t stop scratching at my face. She rolls her eyes almost as much as Penny. It’s not like I can help being there so often. I’ve got missions. Important work for the Mage. It’s what I do.

She’d shaken her head at me and cast some spell that made the itching go away but didn’t do a thing for the bloody spots. Looked bored and put upon even doing that, she did.

This teen experience is a bloody nuisance.

I’m more and more convinced Baz is a vampire. The entire class looks poxed except for him. Like we’re in the middle of a plague while he’s all alabaster skin, unblemished and smooth, immaculate and bloody flawless.

Perfect, just like he always is.

Wanker.

Baz

Snow is an absolute spotted mess. It was entertaining at first, to watch him peer at himself in the mirror, hear the muttered curses as he would catch sight of each new blemish.

But I’m actually finding myself almost feeling sorry for him now.

Almost.

He’s standing at his mirror, turning his face this way and that, grumbling to himself as he inspects his reflection.

It’s something he does on a daily basis since his skin condition deteriorated so precipitously. I should probably stop needling him about it.

But I won’t because he actually seems quite bothered by it. Can’t let him think I’m going soft.

I wasn’t joking the other night, when I mocked him. I don’t think he has a span of skin left that doesn’t have some manner of spot or blotch or freckle on it. At least he’s stopped with the alcohol washes. He was shedding more than a snake when he was doing that, leaving errant flakes of skin all over the bathroom sink.

Disgusting.

Whatever he’s doing certainly isn’t making anything better. Making it a far sight worse by my estimation.

He’s literally a textbook illustration of acne vulgaris. The full range: from red and bumpy spots, to glaring pustules, to crusted over, scabby craters.

More like a walking dermatologic visual in actuality. You could slap a label on him: progressive stages of teenage acne and the entire range of pigmented facial anomalies.

Although they weren’t really anomalies before the acne got to Snow. His moles and freckles just seem to fit with his tawny skin—vast arrays of constellations scattered across his face, mapping out patterns against the smoothness of his complexion.

I don’t know what I’m thinking. What absolute nonsense. Snow’s freckles are a travesty.

And he’s anything but smooth complexioned. He’s more of a lunar landscape than Shakespeare’s damask’d roses.

I can’t be arsed to mess with him now though. I’m too comfortable under my blankets.

It’s far too early for anyone to be up, but Snow’s probably readying himself to head off on one of the Mage’s blasted missions again. Despite the fact that it’s a Sunday morning and by all accounts he should be doing what the rest of us are—having a lazy lie-in.

I watch him from under half-lidded eyes, the blankets pulled up to cover the bottom half of my face. He growls one last time, savages his curls in an attempt to tame them, and then charges out the door. It slams shut behind him, further proof that Snow has no regard for the niceties of sharing a room.

Thanks to all his thumping about, I’m now wide awake. I try to go back to sleep, try to will myself into a drowsy oblivion, but that ship has sailed. No Sunday lie-in for me and I lay the blame directly on Snow.

I stay under the covers for a bit longer, dreading the chilly walk to the en suite, but eventually my need to piss outweighs the comfort of the bed.

It’s not until I’m washing my hands and happen to glance up at the mirror that I notice.

There’s a pimple on my nose. Not just on my nose—at the very tip of it. Right in the fucking center of my face. If it were anywhere else—my forehead or my cheeks, for example—I’d have some chance of hiding it. But this. I can’t hide this.

And I can’t hide the one on my chin either. Bloody hell.

I shouldn’t even have pimples. I should by all rights be immune to this. I don’t get sick, I’m not prey to infections—how the bloody hell have I ended up with acne, for Crowley’s sake? It should be one of the perks of being undead—imperviousness to the ravages of teenage skin eruptions.

For half a minute I wonder if Snow has spelled me, in retribution for my insensitive commentary on his facial imperfections. But there is no possible way Snow could have managed a spell this precise, this nuanced. I’d be covered in boils, like Job himself, if Snow had attempted to pox me.

That’s not to say that this is acceptable. It most assuredly is not. And there’s no bloody spell for it. Dev’s been spotty since last year and he and Niall have yet to find anything that does more than slightly diminish the redness.

It’s fine. This is fine.

It’s not fine.

I need to call home and talk to Daphne. Surely she’ll have some advice for me.

Simon

The sunlight filtering through the window wakes me up. I’m still knackered from yesterday. Didn’t get back until well after midnight and I’ve got class in just a bit. I stretch and groan as my shoulder pops. I wrenched it trying to free my sword from that basilisk’s skull last night. I roll my neck and pull myself to a seated position.

Baz is already up. The door to the en suite’s closed but I don’t hear the water running.

My stomach growls. I’ll have time for seconds if I get to breakfast early enough. I’m just about ready to head down there when Baz comes out of the bathroom, steam drifting behind him and bringing the scent of his shampoo with it. It’s some posh brand, in sleek, artistically shaped bottles.

Penny says it smells like cedar and bergamot. I’m not sure what cedar and bergamot smell like. All I know is that the scent is unfairly pleasant.

Unlike Baz, who isn’t pleasant at all.

He looks murderous at the moment, eyebrows lowered, eyes narrowed. He’s an arse in general but more so in the mornings. He’d sleep late if he had the chance—he’s rarely out of bed before nine on weekends, the tosser, not unless he’s got exams to study for or an away match.

I’m trying to stay out of his way as I leave but I make for the door right as he crosses the room to his wardrobe and we do this awkward half step to avoid each other.

And that’s when I see it.

He’s got a pimple on his nose. Right at the tip of it, where it comes to a bit of a point. It’s nothing compared to any of mine. I’d hardly notice it on anyone else but this is Baz.

It’s stark against his pale skin, raised and just slightly reddened.

Fuck. He’s got one on his chin as well. Two, actually.

Baz has spots.

Trivial and hardly noticeable ones, but still.

I open my mouth to say something then think better of it and hightail it down to breakfast.

I still can’t quite believe it.

Baz has spots.

Penny is disappointingly unimpressed by this unexpected and highly irregular development.

“Simon, we all have spots. This is not some earth-shattering revelation. It’s puberty. A normal part of human development. We’ve been over this.”

“No, but this is Baz. Baz, Penny. He’s not human.”

Penny rolls her eyes again. She rolls her eyes rather a lot, I’m thinking. “He is if he has spots, Simon. I’d say this disproves your vampire hypothesis for good.”

“Maybe vampires aren’t immune to acne.”

“Simon.”

“Maybe it’s some plot. He probably magicked them up himself, the scheming prick.”

“You’re relentless! First you’re outraged that he doesn’t have spots, now you’re complaining that he does! For Merlin’s sake, Baz has finally shown himself to be as imperfect as the rest of us, so let it go, Simon.”

“He’s not imperfect. Far from it. Even his pimples are impeccable—small, unobtrusive, uh . . . restrained.”

Penny stands up, takes her plate and glares at me over the top of her glasses. “That’s enough, Simon. You’re being absurd. No one has perfect pimples.” She stomps across the hall to deposit her dishes, turning back to give me a disapproving look.

I scowl at her. Baz walks in as Penny goes out.

She’s wrong this time. Penny’s not wrong about much, but she’s wrong about this.

Baz’s pimples are fucking perfect.

It’s so fucking unfair.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383057

#carry on #baz pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #my fics #my writing #pimples #rainbow’s twitter #watford #rainbow said Baz has acne how could I resist writing this?

[oumaheroes]

Rotten Luck and Mistimed Attraction

Summary:

Arthur Kirkland had waited all of his 27 years to meet his soulmate. The words on his arm were the first he'd learnt to read and he was prepared for the day that he'd finally hear them spoken. Although, of course for him, even the greatest moment of his life wasn't going to go as planned.

...............................................................................................................

Chapter 1: An Unideal Meet-Cute

Arthur didn't consider himself a very unlucky man, most of the time. On the contrary, he was probably considered by other people to be quite lucky, or, at least, not doing too badly for himself.

He was lucky enough to have done well at his exams, gone to a good university, and from there he was lucky enough to obtain a high-class degree in engineering. He was then lucky enough to secure himself a nice entry level job with said degree. At 27 he was on the way to owning his own flat – not something most people his age could boast about- and his commute to work wasn't terrible, despite the length. His family, whilst they weren't the closest with each other, certainly weren't horrendous and despite what his friend Alfred said he wasn't bad at making friends. There were just very few people he wanted to make friends with. But the few friends he had he was very close to.

Therefore, if anything, he was actually doing alright for himself. Sadly, Arthur Kirkland would not personally call himself a lucky man because every now and again something so terribly unlucky would happen to him that it would set back all of the luck he had managed to accrue by about 50%.

One major factor aiding this self-perception was that he was always losing things. Phone, keys, debit card; if it was loose and could fit into a hand it was high risk loss material. As a young child his parents found this out rather quickly when he'd often misplace his toys, but it only started to become a fixture of his personality after his dad had given him a £20 note when he was seven and instructions to get a pint of milk from the local corner shop. On the way there he'd either let go of or lost the money and afterwards neither of his parents were willing to trust him with the responsibility again.

The biggest and most painful loss coming from when he was seventeen, Arthur had worked all of the summer and saved up all of his money in order to buy his first motorcycle. He'd loved the thing, passed his test on his first try and happily told anyone who'd listen all about it, only to put his keys down somewhere on a night out and get it stolen after only 3 weeks of having it. He'd had to walk the 3 miles back home in the rain because no one would pick up their phone to collect him and he had no money for the bus.

Other than losing things, there was also the time when he was eleven; he'd finally been allowed to go to town by himself, a big deal at the time, to meet his friends. Enjoying his newfound freedom, he'd decided to pop to the off-license beforehand to get some sweets, feeling very grown up with the luxury of not having to ask first. However, upon entering he was promptly grabbed by a security guard and pulled into the back room where the police were called to arrest him. It turned out that a boy, around his height with his colouring, and wearing the same damn jumper of all things, had been caught by CCTV stealing quite a bit from not only that shop, but quite a few others that day. He was delivered home in mortification to his mother, who found the whole situation oddly endearing, and his brothers, who never let him forget it from that day forward.

His most exhausting unlucky moment came at university. He'd spent month after month toiling over his research for his dissertation essay only to submit it and have it pulled up for plagiarism. Somehow, he'd managed to unknowingly copy over 60% of content from other essays despite having never seen them before. Threatened with suspension, it was only after a few mental breakdown and weeks' worth of submitting evidence and writing emails that he was able to prove that, despite what it really did look like, he had in fact written the thing all in his own words.

He was also unlucky in another, more intimate, way.

Arthur had known all of his life that the meeting he'd eventually have with his soulmate wasn't destined to be...perfect, as it were. The words inscribed on the skin of his left arm, in deep black ink for all to see, read: 'Fuck, I don't have time for this,' leaving Arthur no doubt that he was in for a bit of a challenge.

He was more bothered about it when he was really young. When he'd first been told what his tattoo was for, he'd burst into tears. The idea that someone who was supposed to love him unconditionally could already hate him was the saddest thing he could think of. His brothers didn't help matters by teasing him that the reason he'd got his particular tattoo because he was so grumpy.

'Or!' Patrick, his second eldest brother, used to like to crow at him, 'Or, maybe, it's just you! Imagine that, they take one look at your face, think you're a troll or something and then realise just what they've been stuck with.'

Owen muffled his laughter with his sleeve. His own soulmate tattoo, a nice and friendly, 'Oh thank God,' meant that he was quite looking forward to his own meeting. Normally adverse to picking on his youngest brother too much, this was the one topic where Arthur's youngest older brother always felt as though he safely had the upper hand.

Thankfully, it was the one act of teasing Arthur that Ian didn't participate in. On his oldest brother's arm was a rather ambivalent 'really, it's you,' which could be read one of two ways. It made Arthur grateful that potentially he wasn't the only one in his family or social circle with difficulties in meeting his supposed 'perfect match.'

His concern with the whole thing only grew worse the older he got and the more people he met. Every new person had such lovely things written for them, the traditionally lines one could watch in soap operas and read about in soppy love books: 'You're more beautiful that I could have ever imagined,' or 'Oh, it's finally you!' Either that or the banal ones.

The banal ones, personally, Arthur thought were far worse. At least his was recognisable, as potentially confidence destroying as it was. Some poor sods were stuck with a 'hello', or a 'nice to meet you.' Ones like that meant that one's soulmate could, quite literally, be anyone. Arthur had to count his blessings where he could.

But although his soulmate would at least be easy to recognise, Arthur would lie awake at night worrying about what on earth could happen in his future for his soulmate to utter his tattoo upon meeting him. None else he met seemed to have a tattoo which could be interpreted as disgust and, as much as his friends tried to convince him otherwise, the flittering looks of pity they gave his arm said everything.

That was fine. He could cope with that. Sure, it was unusual. Sure, it made him self-conscious and uncomfortable when people stared at his arm for too long. However, he refused to let this become a defining part of his life and worked hard to minimise the time people spent talking about it or focusing on it.

But today, today might be the unluckiest thing that had ever happened to him.

He'd managed to get off work early, for once. He worked for quite a small company but business had recently picked up, so usually he had to stay a few extra hours or take on a few more projects than he'd like just to maintain their growth. It wasn't a big deal, if anything it only helped him – the more experience the better. But today he'd finally cleared a big enough dent in his to-do list to allow him to leave on time with the rest of the rush hour.

As soon as it hit half 4, he clocked out, shrugged on his coat, and left the office to come out onto the street below his building. It was busy, hundreds of others were leaving at the same time and he had to push against the flow of people to travel in the opposite direction.

Making his way to a pedestrian crossing, Arthur shuffled his bag strap on his shoulder and tugged his coat closer to his body. This January was a colder one than usual. There was a lot of traffic, he hadn't considered it was going to be this busy. At 7pm there were always far less people.

The light for the cars turned red and Arthur impatiently watched the pedestrian light, waiting for the sign that he could cross. A few seconds after the cars stopped - there it was.

Moving with the crowd he pushed forward only to bump into the wide back of the guy in front of him. The man didn't seem to be moving, nor did he look like he was going to be anytime soon. Muttering to himself, Arthur made to step around him only to be blocked by someone coming from the other side. Now beyond frustrated, he tried to go to the other side but when he glanced up to see that the lights had changed and the cars had once again started to move.

Bollocks, he wasn't going to leave early again if this is what constituted as rush hour. The traffic coming in in the morning was enough, he didn't need this. A crowd had started to gather around him again, pressing in to an uncomfortably squash. Grinding his teeth together Arthur tried to school bubbling temper and made to move away from the immovable statue of a human in front of him, only to have someone crash into his back. Taking a deep breath in he decided against pushing them back and instead tapped his foot in irritation, willing the lights to change.

'Fuck, I don't have time for this!'

Arthur didn't need to feel the slight tingle on his arm to know what happened. His breath caught. The speaker had the gruff voice of a man and their voice came from somewhere behind him on his right. This was it, that was his soulmate. A bubble of relief grew in his chest. After all those years of worry, his soulmate's ire wasn't directed at him after all! He couldn't wait to tell his brothers, he the look on Owen's face would be priceless.

He made to turn around, to say something back, but before he realised what was going on the crowd surged forward and dragged him along with it. Cold fear quickly replaced any happiness he'd felt.

Desperately, he tried to stop himself. Twisting around he tried to catch the eye of whoever had said those damn words but he could only see women standing behind him, looking rather annoyed at the hold-up he was causing. But there, pushing out of the huddle to walk in the other direction, was a man with shoulder length blond hair. His face looked stressed and he was striding away into the masses on the street and away from Arthur.

'Wait!' Arthur struggled around an old lady with a particularly large carrier back and made it back onto the pavement. Frantically, he craned his neck, hoping to catch sight of the man's head again and caught sight of him in the distance away, mixed in with the crowd.

'Hey! Excuse me!' He looked down for a split second to avoid a wayward child and then, that was it. He looked up again but it was too late, his soulmate was gone.

Arthur tried to catch his breath, feeling the panic well up inside him. He swivelled to his left, just in case the man had crossed the road but there was no one over there who looked even slightly familiar either. There wasn't even a huddle of people surrounding Arthur now but there were just so many of them and they were all moving so fast in so many different directions that it was hard to keep track of anyone, let alone someone who was obviously in a rush to be somewhere else.

Arthur stumbled his way to the nearest building and leant against it weakly, heart hammering in his chest and the sound of his own breathing in his ears. Oh God. Oh God. It had all happened so fast, but that was it. He'd met his soul mate and he hadn't even managed to meet him.

What if his soulmate hadn't heard him? Or worse, what if he was never supposed to hear him; not everyone had a tattoo. He could have been Arthur's soulmate, but maybe Arthur wasn't his- a one sided match. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and tried to calm himself down. It was okay, this could still be fixed. This wasn't the end; dammit he wouldn't let it be. There were websites for this sort of thing, Facebook even could work. He'd watched reality TV shows before about situations like this, everyone had. Poor souls who missed their opportunity to get to know their destined life partner and were now condemned to search forever and hope that they meet again.

He’d always read or watch stories like that with pity, but also with a grim fascination. Fleeting encounters on public transport, or meetings as children where they couldn't stay and swap contact information. There were hundreds of books and plays written about it alongside depressing love songs and operas. They made for great stories.

He'd never even considered that that could happen to him. This happened to other people, it wasn't ever supposed to happen to Arthur.

Arthur tried to swallow; tongue heavy. He couldn't tell his mother; he couldn't tell his brothers. It was hard enough trying not to break down on the floor now without thinking about other people and the look they'd give him. No, Arthur refused to become like those people on the TV, he wasn't some old sop who was just going to sit about lamenting this, he was going to fight as hard as he could.

With one last look around, just in case, he resolved to himself that no matter how long it took or what he'd have to do, he was going to find his soulmate again. Pushing away from the wall, he set off in the direction of home, stubbornly ignoring that little voice in his head that whispered that, despite all of the tough words, that might well have been it for him.

His soulmate could very well be lost forever and there was nothing he could do about it.

#APH #APH England #APH France #aph fruk #hws fruk #au #my writing #allheroeswearhats #hetalia #Soulmate!AU #Why on earth do I have so many different writing styles #it's a PAIN

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Slytherin Sirius who is attracted to James and is the only one who can prank him but does so secretly. Gets caught one day which leads to confession also sirius telling james about his family. Maybe a little angsty confession with eventual happy ending. Thank you.

((A/N: Black-typical abuse))

There were parts of Hogwarts that Sirius really liked. Being away from his parents was the biggest one, but pranking one James Potter was up there. Bloody king of Gryffindor, loved by all and a cliche to be so perfect. 

The downsides of Hogwarts were more than he could really count, and most of it depended on his mood. Having to deal with a bunch of blood purists spitting filth came to mind. The classes. The professors hating him. His dormmates hating him. Pretty much... everyone hated him actually, with the exception of Regulus and a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that he'd tutored in transfiguration. He couldn't wait to get out of this place. Out of the entire magical world to be honest. He loved magic, buggering breathed it, but the only escape from his family was to run off to the muggle world and he was going to do it once he graduated. Reg was the best thing about his life, and when he'd mentioned this plan, Regulus had said he'd visit. He'd called him mad first, but eventually he admitted that he would keep in touch. 

So yeah. Hogwarts life sucked arse, and all he had going for him here (other than his brother) was a fancy for James Potter, who probably knew he existed just so he could avoid him. Great and Noble Houses were like that, and Sirius being at the top of their year was just an extra tick up. James Potter knew who he was, he just didn't care. So Sirius pranked him for fun, made sure no one outside of Slytherin knew it was him, and had the time of his life. Somewhere between spiking Gryffindor table's pumpkin juice with firewhiskey and becoming an Animagus just to mess with him because of his Grim-looking form, Sirius had to stop other people from pranking James. Because where Sirius did it with (mostly) good intentions, some of those pricks were looking to hurt, and he didn't care for that shite in the slightest. Two more months. Two more months, and he'd graduate Hogwarts and be in the wind. He'd finally get to take the fucking Black Family ring off, and he wouldn't have to ever wear it again. All he had to do was keep on the way he'd been doing, and he'd be fine. 

So of course, everything went to hell in a Merlin spiral. He hadn't had time to put his hair up this morning, and he was having trouble finding his arthimancy notes, so as he was walking down the corridor he was rifling through his bag, holding quills inbetween his teeth as he tried to find the stupid thing. It was being a bit of an arse about the whole thing, but Sirius needed to find it and it wasn't showing up. 

And who the sodding hell should bump into him like that than James Potter, knocking him flat on his arse and scattering his items along the floor. "Shit," Sirius bit out. He was pretty sure he'd just bit his tongue while falling, so he'd be dealing with this for the next week or so, on top of however many times he wanted to think about the fact that James Potter had just run into him like so much rubbish. Well, except maybe it wasn't like so much rubbish because he was apologising now, helping gather Sirius's things. 

"Sorry mate, I wasn't even looking where I was going, I was just trying to get away from Filch." 

"Did you succeed?" 

"What?" James Potter asked, looking surprised that Sirius had said anything. 

He raised an eyebrow. "Did you get away from him?" 

"Oh! Yeah, just a bit of a run, he's not actually good at tracking me down. I didn't think he was good at catching anyone until Mulciber got caught with his trousers down," he snickered. 

That was because Sirius had set him up to be caught, but he wasn't going to admit to that. If word got around, his parents would probably send him a hexed letter for doing something to a potential ally-- even though he knew his parents thought the Mulicber's were idiots who were only useful as extra bodies. The Black parents were fun that way. "Yeah well. Ta." Sirius shoved everything back into his bag. Except for the notes he'd been looking for, which he shoved in his robes's pocket so he'd be able to find it again. 

He must have imagined the way James Potter's face fell, because what? "Oh right. Course. Sorry again for running into you." 

"It's fine," Sirius said, trying to find a quick way of getting rid of his quills without them snapping. 

Nothing was forthcoming, so James bloody Potter had the time to say, "You're a lot nicer than everyone thinks." 

Sirius looked up at him, confused. 

He shrugged. "I mean, I was half convinced you were going to threaten me for not paying attention to where I was going, and instead you're acting like I'm the one people are scared of." 

"No one's scared of you," Sirius said, because the thought was rather laughable. Although, there were a few arsehole Slytherins that probably were afraid of him since he'd been quick to draw his wand before he'd become Head Boy, but he wasn't going to mention that. "And no one thinks I'm mean," he added, rolling his eyes. "They don't think anything about me." He'd been pretty careful to not interact with anyone because if he talked to people, word could get back to his parents and then he'd be well and truly trapped. He was the heir to the House of Black, so sure, maybe people did have opinions about him, but it wasn't anything accurate. He got to his feet, throwing the strap of his bag over his shoulder. 

"Now that's a bloody lie," James said, also standing. "Plenty of birds talk about wishing they could shag you." 

Sirius snorted. "Talk to a lot of birds about me, do you?" 

"No," James said, too quickly and with the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks. 

Sirius paused. Really? James Potter thought he was pretty. He chuckled, adjusting his bag so it settled more comfortably. "Whatever gets you through the night, mate," he said, patting James on the shoulder as he started walking towards the Great Hall again. "Have fun avoiding Filch." 

*

The first time James ran into him, it was clearly an accident. The second time was clearly planned. His fake, too-loud, "Oops!" echoed through the otherwise empty corridor, and Sirius glared up at him from where he'd fallen on his arse. This was making a bad day worse. He'd be sore for the rest of the day, and he wasn't very pleased to be dealing with that on top of the stinging pain his arm was giving him every time he touched his wand. 

"Sorry," James said insincerely, offering him a hand up. 

Sirius grabbed his hand and gave a solid yank, pulling him down. He landed on top of Sirius, which probably hurt him more than it hurt James, but the surprised widening of his eyes was worth it before he toppled over. 

"What was that for?" James asked, trying futilely to untangle himself. Somehow their bags had gotten twisted around and didn't want to separate. 

"For knocking into me, you berk." Sirius punctuated his statement by shoving James, forcing him to fall to the side. 

"I didn't mean to." 

Sirius turned his head and slowly raised an eyebrow. 

James had the grace to finally admit that he'd been caught. "Sorry, I just- I didn't think you'd talk to me otherwise." 

"Have you ever tried 'hello'? I hear it's a great conversation starter." Worked for Regulus, if you took his word for it. Frankly, Sirius had his doubts. Any time he said hello to someone, they got all squirrely, but James probably didn't have that same problem. They both got to their feet, and Sirius gave his hand a swat when he tried to pick up Sirius's bag for him. 

"Fine I'll try that." A beat. "Hello." 

"Why are you being weird?" 

"You just said-!" 

"I said to start a conversation! We were already talking. Do you have any friends? I used to think you did but now I have doubts." 

"Of course I have friends." 

"Well go bother them," Sirius grumbled, storming off. 

Or at least he meant to storm off, but James followed after him. "What are you in such a piss-poor mood for? Yeah I could've just come up and talked to you, but I thought I'd save your reputation some damage from being seen with me. I thought you'd be fine with it since we were sort of getting on last time." 

Sirius was too exhausted to do a subtle work around that revealed nothing but got James off his case. Too bloody tired to deal with that shite. "Just fuck off." 

Instead of getting offended and leaving per what Sirius was hoping for, James stopped him with a hand on his arm, looking concerned. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," Sirius said, trying to wrench his arm out of James's hand, but his grip was firm. 

"Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing? You sort of look like-" 

"Let me go," Sirius said, and this time he grabbed his wand, shoving the tip of it against the bottom of James's chin. He had to grit his teeth against the warning tingles of pain, but it worked, and James's slowly loosened his fingers until Sirius couldn't feel him anymore. 

"What's wrong with your wand?" he asked, still looking worried. 

"Nothing," he snapped, shoving it back in his robes. This time when he stormed off, James didn't follow him. 

* "Not to put too fine a point on it," Regulus said, rubbing at his eyes tiredly, "but I don't think that giving him chocolates counts as a prank. It's just giving him a gift. You're allowed to give people gifts if that's what you want." 

"Oh shut it why don't you." Admittedly, buying a few dozen chocolate frogs to release in James's dormitory wasn't his best idea for a prank, but it was the only one coming to mind so he was going to do it. 

"Wouldn't you be better off pushing him against a wall and snogging him?" 

Sirius looked up and glared at him. 

"It would be easier than this, and less of a headache for me." 

"If you're going to take the piss, you might as well help," Sirius said, throwing a bundle of frogs at him. 

Regulus had a few options here. 1. Leave. 2. Keep complaining until Sirius threw more things at him. 3. Keep complaining but help so that Sirius wouldn't throw him out, and that had the added bonus of him not having to really move. Option number three it was. 

*

"Here," James said, shoving a truly pointy object at him. 

He put it against Sirius's chest and then let go, so Sirius's arms came up to catch it automatically, turning it so he could identify it. Belgian Honeydukes chocolates, very expensive and hard to get your hands on. Sirius blinked, then looked up at James. "What's it for?" 

"Eating, you pillock." 

"Why're you giving it to me?" 

"So you can eat it." 

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I got that thanks. I meant why are you giving me chocolates like we're a bloody couple?" 

"The chocolate frogs?" James said pointedly. "Nice spellwork there, but I figured this was more straightforward." He smirked, tapping the top wrapper. "Bit more clean too. Let me know how they are, yeah?" With that, he turned away and went about his day like he hadn't completely bewildered Sirius in less than a minute. 

Sirius watched him leave until there was nothing left to watch, then looked down at the gift. 

*

Sirius held up a bottle of firewhiskey with a grin. "Not as nice as yours," he told James, "but a good way to ring in your birthday." He jerked his head to the side, towards the Quidditch Pitch. "C'mon." 

James laughed and they immediately started walking. "Technically I should confiscate that, you know. I am Head Boy." 

Sirius sent him a sideways look out of the corner of his eye. "Technically you shouldn't be flirting with the Black Heir either, but here we are." 

"Here we are," James said, smile widening. 

It wasn't a long walk to get out to the Quidditch Pitch, and then it was just them, the grass, and the stars twinkling brightly above them. They made their way there mostly silent the closer they got, not wanting to be caught but both of them old hat with it by this point. The Quidditch Pitch was an overlooked rendezvous for students since they thought it was too open. The truth was that it was so dark that it wasn't easy to be spotted, and unlike in the stone corridors, noise didn't bounce around out here. Sound didn't really carry unless someone was yelling, and Sirius didn't think there'd be any of that this time. 

Sirius plopped down on the grass and broke the seal off the bottle. "So," he said, holding the bottle out to James after he joined him on the ground. "Any big plans with your friends tomorrow?" 

"The usual party. I know you're in Slytherin and usually aren't invited, but you can come if you like." James knocked their shoulders together with a grin. "It'd be nice to have you there." 

Sirius wanted to go; he'd always wondered what the other common rooms looked like, especially Gryffindor. The problem was of course, that he was a Slytherin. There was a reason he was never invited beyond the obvious point that he and James hadn't exactly had a talking-to-each-other relationship up until recently. "Nah, I wouldn't want to crash." 

James took a sip from the bottle, blowing out a smoke ring a moment later. He handed it to Sirius, who took a pull then-- because he was a showoff-- did a heart. After he did it, it occurred to him that maybe that was too heavy for the fun little celebration this was supposed to be. He could only do rings and hearts in smoke, and James had just done a ring. Therefore, a heart. It didn't bother James though, he just smiled and leaned against Sirius's side like they were old friends. Or perhaps new lovers. 

"What're you planning on doing after Hogwarts?" Sirius asked. Partly because he was curious, and partly because he was a masochist. It's not like James's plans were going to line up with his own. Thinking that sort of way was romantic hippogriff shite anyways. This was a school time romance, if that. 

"Quidditch," James asked, no hesitation. "Teams've been sending me offers. All I really have to do is negotiate with Puddlemere and I'll be set for the rest of my career." 

"Puddlemere?" 

"What's wrong with Puddlemere?" 

"Nothing, I just thought you'd go for a team with a little more history." 

James rolled his eyes. Sirius wasn't looking at him, but he knew it was happening. "Just because they're a new team doesn't mean they're not good." 

"Sounds like a ready-made excuse." 

"You're such an arse," James said fondly. "What about you? What are your big plans for after Hogwarts?" 

Ah. For some reason, Sirius hadn't expected for him to return the question. "I dunno," Sirius lied. 

"You do so. C'mon, I told you." 

"Promise you won't tell?" 

"I promise. Now what is this so secretive plan of yours? Going to join the Harpies so we'll be on opposite sides?" 

Sirius snorted. "No." 

"You'll come to my games, won't you?" James teased, turning to look at him. "I'll make sure you get good seats." 

"No I er, don't think I will go." 

James's little smile slid off, and he was left looking confused. "Why not?" 

"I'm not sticking around." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"My parents and I don't... exactly see eye to eye. As soon as I graduate, I'm out of here." 

"Leaving Britain?" 

"Leaving the magical world," Sirius corrected. 

That got a bigger reaction out of James than the possibility of leaving Britain had. "What?!" He startled, spinning so that he was completely facing Sirius now. The sudden move threw Sirius off balance, and he wobbled for a moment before righting himself. "Are you joking?" He saw Sirius's expression and how clearly he was being serious. "You're not joking. What're you- I mean, why? You and your parents don't see eye to eye, that's fine, just get a flat of your own for a few years, it's what I'm doing." 

"They wouldn't let me get a flat on my own." 

"Then you could stay with me! It's not like they can stop you from leaving the house, right? And okay, we're not the best of mates now, but that'll change, we could totally make something work." 

"James. It's not... it's not like that. It's not that simple. It's not a matter of getting out of the house and then I'm free to do whatever I want. I'm the heir to their precious Great and Noble House, and they're not going to let me have a life they don't control. Unless I get away entirely. If I fuck off to the muggle world, they won't want me back." 

"But you're their son. Why wouldn't they just let you be happy?" 

Sirius laughed without any humour in it. "If that's what your parents are like, cheers mate. You're the only one." 

"They can't be that bad," James said, but he didn't seem to sure about it. 

"Did you know I've got a family wand? I told them I didn't want to go to my cousin Narcissa's wedding, and they hexed it for a week so that any time I used it, it hurt my arm. I don't think me being happy has ever occurred to them." 

James looked horrified. "But that's- that's-" he made a noise of frustration. "You deserve better." 

"Well thanks, but that doesn't change anything." 

"But... you're leaving." 

"We barely know each other James. I'm sure as a professional Quidditch player you'll have plenty of people vying for your attention." Sirius would have kept talking, but that was when James kissed him. He tasted like smoke from the firewhiskey, and Sirius felt like he was going to get drunk on that alone. He didn't pull back, he just pushed forward and kept on until they were snogging, James sat on his lap like there was nowhere else he wanted to be. 

Sirius had no idea how long they sat there kissing, but a chill had set in everywhere he wasn't touching James and the massive clock tower striked midnight. "Happy birthday," Sirius muttered, and he felt James smile as he dived back in. "Mm, we should head back inside. We have classes tomorrow." 

"Who gives a fuck," James said, but Sirius wasn't engaging him anymore, ending their kisses with short pecks. 

"C'mon, we've got to get back." 

*

Sirius had to go home for a weekend to attend Narcissa's wedding. Regulus wasn't forced to go, but as heir to the house, Sirius's presence was required. James had tried to find a workaround so Sirius didn't have to go, but all his ideas would have ended with Sirius getting hurt. 

"Hullo love," James said, kissing the top of his head before sitting down next to him on the sofa they'd transfigured last time they came to this abandoned classroom and claimed it. 

"Mm." 

When James flopped on the couch to join him, Sirius winced. Then James noticed the arm he carefully had draped over his torso, like it was aching. "What happened?" James asked, immediately concerned and moving carefully to get closer to Sirius's side. 

"The usual. I mouthed off, Mother didn't take kindly to it, and out of the goodness of my heart I decided to not ruin Cissy's wedding." 

"Leave." 

Sirius startled. "You want me to go?" 

"Your family. Leave your fucking family behind, they can't keep doing this to you! You're going to die because of them." 

"Don't be dramatic James, I'm not going to die." 

"They keep hurting you." 

"Yeah hurting me in some sodding bid to change how I act. If they kill me, they're never going to change how I act." When he saw James's mulish expression, he sighed. "I like the thought James. Really, I do, but I only have to make it a few more months before I'm gone for good." He wiggled to the side, laying his head on James's shoulder. "Thanks for looking out for me." 

"Lot of good it's done you," James muttered. 

"It's done plenty, stop whinging." 

They didn't say anything meaningful for a while, bitching about homework and the upcoming NEWT's and some of the professors. James talked about Quidditch some more, and Sirius now knew more about Puddlemere United than he could ever want to. James was all glowy and happy though, so it's not like he minded. "Do you want to go to the muggle world?" James asked when there was a lull in the conversation. 

"What, right now?" 

James snorted. "No, after graduation. You said that's where you're going." 

"Yeah." 

"If you could stay here with your family leaving you alone, would you? Or would you still want to go to the muggle world?" 

"It doesn't matter because it's not going to happen." 

"Humour me." 

Sirius sighed, thinking it over. "If they'd leave me alone, I'd stay. But it doesn't matter, James. So long as I'm a Black, I'm theirs." 

"Yeah I know," James said, but the wheels in his mind were turning. 

*

Of all the things to happen at dinner, James Potter banging a box in front of him while he was sat at the Slytherin table was not something Sirius expected. "Er." Sirius blinked at it, then looked up. "What is this?" 

"Surely you recognise a present when you see it." 

"Yeah but it's not real clear why." 

"Stop being so bloody difficult and open it." 

"Er, alright." Sirius reached for it and was about to slide the bow off when he paused. "Aren't you going to sit down?" 

James was still standing opposite him, hands on his hips and a rather determined look on his face. "No." 

"O...kay." 

"Is it more chocolate?' Reg asked, peering over his shoulder in interest. "The last one was delicious." 

"It's a bit small to be chocolates." 

"Good things come in small packages," Reg said, swatting his arm in annoyance. 

"It's not chocolates," James said. To avoid more hitting because it looked like Sirius was going to say something back and he didn't want to deal with the fight it would escalate into. 

"It was obviously not chocolates," Sirius added, and Regulus started pouting, muttering something about how it could have been. The box could have fit a few good sized bars but the last ones James had given him were considerably bigger. If Sirius put his hands together side by side, he could cover almost the entirety of the box. He set the string to the side and tore through the paper in a single large rip that he tossed in Reg's face just to be an arse. Regulus was used to that, so the paper died in a quick flash of fire before it made contact. 

The present... well, it looked like a jewelry box, something that a necklace would come in. Sirius opened it. A necklace was nestled in soft black velvet, rubies shining in the patterned silver chain. The top of it was a choker, individual lines of braided silver dripping from the collar, getting longer the closer to the center it got. Bloody gorgeous is what it was, and it was far too easy to imagine what it would look like against his skin. He snapped it closed, face flaming. "Hey," Regulus protested since he'd closed it before he got a good look. 

"James," Sirius hissed, "what the hell is this?" 

"Well I thought it was pretty obvious," James said, frowning slightly. 

"What it is, is obvious. What is not obvious is why. James, you can't just- you- oi!" Sirius snapped, saved from his fumbling when Reg stole the box from him and took a look. 

"Sirius, this is a betrothal necklace." 

Sirius reached for it, but Regulus held it out behind him so he couldn't get anywhere close. "Yeah I noticed thanks, now give it back." 

"Why is Potter giving you a betrothal necklace?" 

"A very good question." For the moment, Sirius gave up trying to get the box back and shifted to look at James. Regulus did the same, and James found himself the center of attention from more than just the two members of the Black Family in front of him. 

"You're proposing?" Reg asked. He turned to Sirius. "You didn't tell me it was that serious, what the hell." 

"That's because it's not," he hissed. "James, I appreciate... whatever the fuck it is you were trying to do here, but return the necklace before your parents find out and kill you." 

"Why would they kill me?" 

Sirius opened his mouth to explain that most people don't get engaged in school, and they certainly don't do it to people they've been dating for less than a year. 

"They already know," is what James followed it up with, and all that came out of Sirius's mouth was a squeak. 

"They what? And they're okay with it?" 

"No offense Sirius, but how else would I have gotten that?" he said, gesturing to the necklace that was still in Regulus's possession. "And there's no returning it even if you say no. It was a custom order, I wasn't going to ask you to marry me with something pre-made." He made a disgusted face to show how horrible he found that idea. 

"Why are you asking me to marry you at all?" Sirius asked, because that was the heart of the matter, and it seemed to be the one question James was avoiding answering. 

"Because I love you," James said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, even though that was the first time he'd said it to Sirius. "We were talking the other night, remember? You sounded open to it." 

"Did I?" Sirius muttered, but his time for panicking about this was over. He'd become an Animagus for this guy, there was no way he was going to actually say no. "Give it here, Reg." He half waited for Regulus to give it to him and half snatched it out of his hand. "If you ever," Sirius said, getting to his feet, "do something like this again I'm going to bloody murder you." Sirius grabbed the front of his robes and yanked him in for a kiss. Over the table wasn't the most comfortable thing ever, but it was a short kiss so he didn't care. 

"Is that a yes?" 

"Of course it's a yes, you prick. Sit down, everyone's staring at you." 

There was so much about that that was wrong that Regulus's brain shorted out and he just sat there silently, not pointing out that people weren't going to stop looking if James sat. 

"Are you going to put it on?" 

"Aren't you supposed to put it on me?" Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Traditionally, but I'm on the wrong side of the table. I think if I tried to touch you right now your brother might stab me." 

"He would do nothing of the sort," Sirius said, giving Reg a warning glare that promised pain if he did decide that stabbing James was fun. 

"True, I have to save all my stabbing tendencies for anyone that wants to take the piss about the mess you've just made." 

"I didn't make a mess," James said, sounding affronted. 

Sirius didn't take a side verbally, but he pat James's hand all pitying like before going back to his dinner. 

*

Sirius tucked a finger under his hairline and swept it across, holding his hair up and out of the way as James put the necklace on him. It clasped into place, but James didn't take his hands away immediately, rubbing Sirius's shoulders for a moment. "Not too tight?" he checked. 

Sirius swallowed reflexively against the new weight, but it didn't feel constricting. "No, it's good." He let go of his hair and it fell back into place. He trailed a hand over the front of the necklace reverently. "Not that I'm complaining, but are you sure you thought this through? You're going to be stuck with me for a while." 

James hummed, wrapping his arms around Sirius from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder. "That was sort of the idea. The whole idea, to be honest. Getting you away from your family is a bonus. Well, family minus Regulus, I'm guessing?" 

"Yeah." 

"Problem solved." James turned his head, kissing Sirius's cheek. "Also, I know red's not exactly your preferred colour, but it's a Potter family one so there wasn't much I could do about it." 

"No, I like it. Red's good." 

#prongsfoot #marauders #fanfic #james potter #sirius black #regulus black #filled #no voldemort au #hogwarts time #getting together #slytherin sirius #secret relationship #siriuslystarbucks #Anonymous

[harveywritings92]

Soulmate AU: Jacob Frye x reader

Soulmate Timer with a slight twist; timer counts down as you get closer to your soulmate, when you're finally in range/found them their name appears on your wrist. So, You don't lose or get them confused with someone else. 

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Y/n sighed for the umpteenth time this evening, here she was dressed as a princess at a royal ball hosted by the bloody queen! and all she wanted to do was go home, sneak out to a club and watch some brawlers get their teeth knocked out...But her harpy of a mother had turned her crazy dial up more so than usual, and decided to forbid Y/n from having a soulmate and she will marry a well off son of noble's family.

Which was just ridiculous! How can one just forbid fate? well, her mother answer was simple "I ignored the timer and married your father and it worked out well." The y/ht girl scoffed and rolled her eyes! Yeah, Mom screams and Dad drinks a real fucking fairy tale that! Well, hopefully destiny will play in motion and she'll meet her soulmate tonight...But Y/n was having her doubts.

The h/c grimaced her body...it was suddenly hot and tingly she coughed struggling to breathe 'Damn corset...' she wheezed tried shifting it around in a poor attempt to loosen the awful contraption and get some wiggle room, unfortunately her actions attracted the wrong sort of attention as a blond man found her alone and fiddling with her bust...a dark smirked graced his lips.

The man smirked and approached Y/n who was too preoccupied with her wardrobe to notice the threat, until a slimy voice greeted the h/c over the muffled music. "Ello there poppet.~" Y/n felt a chill go down her back as she turned around to face the strange! Well actually he wasn't really a stranger on closer inspection he was that banker's son her mother tried to force her to talk to, before wandering away from the ball, And for good reason he made her skin crawl with the way he was eyeing the women.

The y/ht girl remind quiet as she backed away only for her back to hit a wall, he had her against a pillar as alarms were going off in her head! she opened her mouth but nothing came years of being told: "ladies should be seen not heard" echoed in her head, a load of bullocks that is! what if the lady wanted to be heard due to just such a situation?!

"Now, what's pretty little thing like you doing alone out here, waitin' for someone?~" He purred caressing the nervous girl's cheek as Y/n finally found her voice "I-" only to be quickly interrupted. "Ah, there you are Love!" both Y/n and the man turned towards the voice, the h/c felt her breath hitch when she saw the man coming towards her. 

He was tall, muscular and roguishly handsome...his hazel-green eyes held mischief, curiosity and affection when he looked at her, but it was soon replaced with a deadly gleam; making Y/n's unwanted guest take step back. "Sorry I'm late, my sister was nagging me." He said wrapping his arm around the e/c girl's waist pulling her close, "I-it's fine" she stammered out feeling her face heat up in embarrassment at how small she sounded.

Her mysterious hero however found Y/n's timidness amusing as his lips formed into small smirk, while keeping his eyes trained on the blond man, who clearly didn't like having his toy taken from him, "Who the hell are you?" He demanded puffing out his chest and narrowing his gray beady eyes at the stranger in attempts to intimidate; Only it failed. Honestly it was like a rat trying to stare down a wolf.

"Her husband, if it ain't bloody obvious you thickheaded sod." The mystery man proclaimed briskly as the angered man immediately turned purple then looked down at their hands searching for their rings; they weren't wearing any, and went to smugly point that out only for Y/n's savior to flash his wrist at the man, her e/c eyes widened as warm fuzzy feeling settled her stomach there on the stranger's wrist was Y/n L/n...then that means! she glanced down at her gloved arm and went to see; only for her presumed soulmate to squeeze her hip, clearly telling her 'Not here, wait till he's gone!' ....

She looked up at him as he briefly side glanced her then turned his attention back at the banker's son who looked a less scary to her. "Now I suggest you leave us, Unless you want to start eating all your meals through a straw..." the brown haired man growled venomously while cracking his neck and slipping on some brass-knuckles, The blond man went pale and ran with his tail between his legs. Y/n relaxed for a split second only to yelp in surprise when she was swept off her feet into a tight hug then set back on the ground.

"You have no bloody idea long I've wanted to meet you, love."

"Likewise Mr...."

"Frye, Jacob Frye." He introduced kissing her hand causing her to flush, causing him smirk, "You've gone pink again." he teased caressing her cheek then frowned when he noticed Abberline watching him from behind a pillar mouthing 'we have to go..'  Y/n blinked why he was suddenly upset and went to see what was bothering him, Only for Jacob to pull her into quick passion filled kiss he pulled away took one last look at her face, then took confusing Y/n.

"Jacob?!"

"Sorry Love, after I'm done I'll find you I promise!"

Y/n nodded and watch him and a guard disappear into the palace, leaving the bewildered girl wondering just who Jacob Frye was? Only to be pulled out of her thoughts by her seething mother stomping towards her and grabbed her arm before snarling out. "How dare you? embarrassing me like this! Crawford Starrick is in attendance!? this could have our chance to get you wedded! and you go running off?" Y/n yelped in pain when her mother slapped her leaving a scratch on Y/n's cheek from her mother's ring hooking her, the y/ht girl bit the inside of her cheek as she tried not to cry.

the enraged woman dragged her daughter out of the ball and towards their carriage her father was waiting inside drinking from a flask before glaring miserably at his feet. Listening to his wife rant and insult their daughter, he briefly glanced up at the h/c blank doll like face and winced his forlorn expression screamed 'I'm so sorry.' before looking down at his feet again.  

The next night it was 8 pm Y/n was woken by a chill in the air causing her shudder, E/c eyes opened as she looked around her room confused she saw her was window open, alarmed she sat straight up went to the window; the curtains were fluttering in the wind as her e/c eyes looked around the yard cautiously; Not seeing anything or anyone the h/c girl had assumed maybe she had opened it and forgot? Y/n wouldn't put it passed her it had been a long night she could hardly remember all she glanced down a her arm and frowned...

Jacob Frye was written on her wrist, her parents saw it her father looked genuinely happy, but her mother had a conniption going on tirade about how no child of hers was going to marry some guttersnipe gang lord! and forbade her from leaving! Y/n did something she hadn't done before she told that fat cow "No." which earned her another slap which the h/c responded by holding her ground. "You can hit me all you like it, won't change my mind!" this pissed her mother off to no end and threatened disownment!

She smirked smugly at her daughters surprise bemusement before Y/n suddenly broke out in smile causing her mother's brow to furrow. "Thank you, I'll be sure to write!" the h/c chirped and went to go pack a suitcase, only for her mother to screech suddenly grabbing Y/n by her hair and drag her all the way up to her room. "You will not marry that filthy clod! you will stay in this room until you've regained your senses!" the old woman bellowed before ordering two guards to lock the door and don't let her daughter leave!

Then turned back to Y/n smiled maliciously "Starrick by be out, but I met this nice banker with a son just perfect for you.." she sneered Y/n felt her stomach drop when she realized who her mother was talking about...before her door slammed locked leaving Y/n trapped, the h/c frowned as she ran a hand through her hair and hissed. she pulled her hand back found little specks of blood on her finger tips mother's nails must've cut in her scalp, Christ, that woman has a hell of a grip! with a sigh she went to wash up and go to bed.

"Why the long face love?" Y/n gasped and whipped her head towards the voice there sitting at her desk was Jacob Frye flowers in hand and smirking as she ran up and hugged him, His smirk morphed into a frown noticing the bruises on her face and his thumb gently traced over the scratch on her cheek. "Who did this?" he asked concerned though Y/n didn't miss the promise of returning the favor in his voice, making shiver go up her spine.

"M-my mother, saw my wrist she kind of lost it." she mutter Jacob's eyes developed an odd almost glow to them as he scanned her up and down before his gently ran a hand through her hair making her wince finding the bruise and more scratches her mother had left from grabbing her hair, his frowned deepened. "I take this isn't the first time she's done something like this?" Jacob asked ask Y/n sighed sadly "No, she's always been like that, she even forbade to seek you out and-" she and Jacob stiffened when they heard footsteps and the two dashed for her bed, and laid in an awkward position to try and hide Jacob!

The tall man had his arms around her waist and his face in her chest, Y/n grabbed a pillow and made it look like she was hugging it; just as the bedroom door open! The soulmates held their breaths no doubt both could hear and feel their hearts drumming against one another's as quiet footsteps crept into the room, then they heard the window close and whoever came in leaving and second later a guard saying "Her window was open, you probably just heard someone in the street talking..."as their voice fade away the two sighed in relief as Jacob pulled himself out from under the covers a laid down next to Y/n with a smirk. "Y'know this isn't bad sight, you in bed laying in my arms..." he cooed as Y/n blushed then sadly averted her eyes.

"You might not another chance." His brows furrowed confused. "What do you mean?" he pressed wondering why he wouldn't share a bed with her again? "That man the one from the ball, my mother planning to marry me to him!" she said feeling her face hot as tears welled from her eyes, suddenly Jacob pulled her into a heated kissed more intense then first one she gasped feeling his knee between her legs pulled himself on top of her.

Jacob pulled away his eyes had darkened with need. "Trust me love, that won't happen, not if I can help it!" he said with determination his eyes had that odd glow to them again as he surveyed her room listening carefully to any disturbances, then looked back down at Y/n an idea already forming as he pulled himself off the bed trying to calm his other intentions down. "Your going have to get changed, do you have any trousers?" he asked Y/n brows furrowed in confusion.

Y/n was shaking like a leaf as she clung to Jacob's back while he scaled down the side of her house she finally let out a sigh of relief when her feet finally touched the ground, Jacob was shaking, but not from the cold. but from trying not to laugh at Y/n for thanking god and practically kissing the ground as they crept through the garden, they pause when they heard her mother talking through an open window. Y/n felt sick when she realized her mother was making wedding arrangements with the banker and his son just like she said would, without her daughter's permission! She heard the banker ask if Y/n was truly alright with this, her mother lied through her teeth insisting that her daughter was ecstatic!

Jacob tightened his jaw before gesturing for the h/c girl to follow him they made to the front gates, the assassin waved at a group of people dressed in green and gold, they nodded and ran at the gate guards. one of the men pushed a guard to the ground and a woman stole another guard's hat causing the guards to chase them away from the house, the soulmates were home free!

Jacob led Y/n down an alley and the two kept walking until they reached a more populated area and Jacob explained bluntly they were eloping, with a twist! they were getting married tonight, and he going to drop her back home in an hour or three, then they'll let her mom go with her little scheme and she'll be in for a nasty surprise on the wedding day!

Y/n felt giddy as Jacob explained his plan, But a sudden thought cause to her pause, how could they get married tonight? don't they need a few days to register with the city or something? "Oh don't worry love, I got some people who owe me some favors." He grinned Y/n was confused just who the hell was she marrying? her curiosity was again roused when she saw Jacob leading her to a train.

"Wait, why are we getting on a train?" the brown haired man paused realizing he'd forgotten to tell her he lived on a train."It's kind of my home, come on I'll show you." he said grabbing her hand and taking her into a car where she was greeted by more people dressed in green and gold, a woman who kind of looked like Jacob, a Indian man, a police inspector and tired old man still in his pajamas holding holding some papers.

The woman introduced herself as Evie Frye, Jacob's twin sister and her husband Henry followed after then Inspector Abberline, the rooks and finally the old man introduced himself as Judge Monroe. apparently Jacob saved him from a house fire some Blighters had started when he refused to give them some documents that would give them ownership of an orphanage, So yes he owed Jacob big time.

Y/n was surprised to find the judge had all the necessary paperwork for them for them to sign, Jacob's sister and his friends acted as witnesses to the whole ceremony. when everything was said and done Jacob took Y/n took a small date. 

He was very happy to find a sneaky and mischievous side to his new wife, when he brought her to a fight club, worried she was going to be upset only to find h/c girl would often sneak out of her house from time to time to watch the fights or rigged a fake door-chime under her desk to distract her mother whenever she was on rant ladies this and high society that!...

Y/n watched her new husband in awe as her took down his opponents with ease, he was showing off to some extent as he would taunt and fake-out his opponent and then knock them out, it made Y/n and the rooks holler and cheer, when he finally won it was a riot the crowd erupted in cheers as Jacob happily walked up to Y/n a gave her quick kiss on the forehead before waving his hands at the crowd, then had few pints with his wife as the two exchanged stories and got to know each other.

Later Jacob snuck Y/n back into her house they shared one last kiss before the gang leader disappeared into the night, It went on like this during the course of two weeks, And y/n's mother suspected nothing! she was busy planner her wedding, hell she didn't even notice her daughter seemed happier then usual her father did however, the h/c was tipped off that the old man knew something, but wasn't saying anything. 

That's why she and father got along, they too much alike! and always had each others back, Maybe that's why he's offering her a sip from his flask as the carriage was drawing them closer to Y/n's doom, the h/c frowned as she glanced down at his hand when something caught her eye...A name on her father's wrist.

Her eyes widened slowly looked up at her father's face, he grimaced and fix his glove; the one he claimed covered up a burn, Y/n was stupefied before slowly dissolving into empathy.

"Daddy...when did?"

"...two weeks after your tenth birthday."

"B-But I don't underst...why would you stay?"

Her father held his hand up to quiet her down. "I wanted to but, then I walked in on your mother yelling at you and destroying that quilt your aunt left before she passed." Y/n remembered that day, that was the day her mother started acting cold and abusive towards her. She couldn't remember what she had done, but she could remember a tea cup being thrown at her; being hit with a book and then her mother cutting up her aunt's quilt... 

"I couldn't just drop everything and leave you with that witch." He mumbled sadly Y/n felt her stomach flop realizing her father had stayed with her mother because of her, the h/c felt tears burn her eyes as her father reached up caressed her cheek. "Now, Now none of that...She'll be upset you ruined her make-up." he cooed even though he was feeling disappointed in himself that he was the one enabling his daughter's misery.  

Y/n took a deep breath as they approached the church, a valet opened the door and Y/n was helped out by her father and led down a red carpet as her eyes scanned the crowed and did a double take when she noticed something in the crowed. Something that never leave her mind, something she'll forget for the rest of her natural life.

A lady twirling a parasol, who had a mustache...

Wait...

That's no lady!

It was a man dressed a woman who smiled and waved at the weirded out bride, for a few moments Y/n looked like she was having an out of body experience, as she tried processed who the man was? she'd seen him before...then the pence dropped.

"Abberline?!" she mentally screamed, a wheeze escaped the stunned girl's throat nearly dropping her bouquet in the process! The inspector winked brought his finger up to his red lips as Y/n and her father kept walking down the aisle and into the church.

The decorations were bright,expensive and tacky...different from the simple and short sighted decorations the rooks had made and put up for their boss and his lady’s special night, Y/n frowned as she scanned the church's interior, all this pastel pink,white and bright green really destroyed it's old Gothic charm and...was that Evie? she glanced near the rafters where she thought she saw a hooded figure move out of sight, So then she really did see Mr. Green in the back of the church...come to think of it security was rather lacking, the h/c had noticed the lack of guards around the church.

She knew for a fact her mother hire extra guards to help make sure Y/n stayed in and Jacob stayed out..."Nothing was going to ruin this day for us!" is what her mother said as the maids got Y/n dressed, Too bad her mother didn't take into account that the filthy gang lord who was destined to be with her daughter was a highly skilled, cocky and stubborn assassin. 

Y/n was lost in thought that she hadn't noticed she was at the alter until she felt her father let go, she looked into the sleazy face of the man her mother picked out, his beady gray eyes held a sickening gleam that made Y/n feel dirty and violated by the mere thought of what he wants to do with her.

The priest began his hold speech about love, togetherness being faithful and then he said the magic words. "If there are reasons why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace..." Y/n glanced at her mother's smug face thinking she's won, 

when a loud voice bellowed from the back "Yeah I got a reason, that's my wife!" in an instant Mrs. l/n face dropped into one of disbelief, horror then contorted into anger, as she and half the church turned to face Jacob Frye. who was in the back of the church leaning against the door frame. 

Smirking at the overbearing woman's red face she finally stammered out "Wh-What nonsense is this?! Security!...Security!!" she shrieked loudly while stomping her feet but, none of the guards came,as the guests all gawked at Y/n's mother like she was possessed.

Jacob ignored her as his hazel-eyes landed on the blond who was touching his woman, the blond scoffed as him "As if I'd believe that a second time." the brown haired man's eyes darkened dangerously as he pushed off the wall began stalking towards them he spoke up.

 "I assure you sir, this time I tell the truth even got a copy of the certificate." He said waving a letter in the man's face. the L/n's lawyer who was also invited took the envelope from him, and read it over he recognized Judge Monroe's signature. Then blanched when he found a second letter from Queen Victoria!?

Who congratulated Jacob on his marriage. "What Mr. Frye says is true, this wedding is illegal and invalid." people started murmuring and getting up to leave.

Jacob held his hand out to his wife who smiled taking his hand and the two walked out of the church happy and content that the plan went off without a hitch, that was until Y/n's mother who was now frothing at the mouth started screeching. "I won't accept this! Y/n get over here now!!" Her daughter just ignored kept walking. "You will do as your told young lady! or else I'll-" She was cut off by Y/n's father throwing his flask down and bellowing.

"M/N, SHUT UP!?" A pregnant silence echoed through out the church as he wife looked like he'd slapped her across the face as he continued to let everything he's been holding. "19 years, I had to listen to you throw tantrums and control our lives, not anymore!" his wife gawked at him like fish.

 "I'm taking a page from my daughter, I'm leaving." He declared before locking eyes with a redheaded man who was sitting in the back, the two smiled at each other fondly, before his soon to be Ex-wife snapped out of her shock and screamed "You can leave me, I f-" She was cut off by F/n mocking her "I forbid it...Sorry dear, but I'm not one of your servants, have a nice life." He sneered and walked away from her, as the redhead man followed after him.

They ran into Jacob's group who were deciding how to get back to their train with Y/n dressed like a kidnapped princess, when she noticed her father. the Frye twins subconsciously stepped in front y/ht girl who looked at her father curiously, While her husband and sister in-law were thinking he was there to take her from Jacob.

 Only for the man to hold his hand up in surrender. "That's that was very madden thing you did back there, You have my respect boy" he held his hand out and Jacob’s eyes widened as he hesitantly shook it.

"Take good care of my daughter, she's the only good thing that came out of that nightmare."  

"I will, I promise sir"

"Good, Y/n? thank you."

He said hugging his daughter before leaving, Y/n's brows furrowed curious why her father thanked her when she noticed the redheaded man wanting in the carriage her father was getting into, she smiled happy as the carriage disappeared around the corner. "I can't wait to get you out of that dress." she heard Jacob whisper huskily but, not to her...

Y/n jumped when she heard someone getting shoved and a male voice yell "Sod off ya bloody git!" she whipped her head around to see Jacob on his arse laughing while Abberline still in a dress was stopping away to find somewhere to change.

Evie nudged Henry "Erm, were going to find a free carriage." he explained as he and the female Frye twin scurried away leaving the soulmates alone, Jacob regained his composure and turned too face, Y/n who was fiddling with her dress's corset trying to loosen it a bit so she could breathe, "Oi, come here." he said holding his arms open, the h/c blinked as her husband pulled her close.

She heard his hidden blade eject and felt it glide along her back, the dress suddenly felt looser and Y/n took a breath no longer having her chest and insides being squeezed to death! "Now, is that better?" Jacob asked recalling how he bumped into Y/n at the ball, how hard she was breathing and ran away before could he say anything, then he felt his timer go off! and saw her name on his wrist and immediately went after her, only to find her backed into a corner by that blond rat.

"My hips are gonna be sore later..." She moaned as Jacob gave her a wolfish grin which confused Y/n.."What?" her husband snicker pulling her close "Oh, nothing love, just thinking about the fun were going to have tonight.~" he purred kissing her on the forehead as Evie and Henry pulled up in a carriage. "Well then shall we Mrs. Frye?" he held his hand out to her and Y/n smirked "Oh, yes we shall." and two soulmate took the first steps into the rest of their lives.

End.

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I'm not about this ending. Like it feels rushed y'know? But I really couldn't think of anything.

#assassin's creed syndicate #assassin's creed x reader #soulmate au #jacob frye x reader #oneshot #long post #Henry Green #evie frye #inspector Abberline

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Such a Softer Sin (Chapter six)

(Chapter one)

(Chapter two)

(Chapter three)

(Chapter four)

(Chapter five)

A lot of sad feels in this one. Warning; it's intense.

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When Murphy and Connor got home the next day, they found a tray of lasagna on their table with a little note on top with directions on how to heat it up. They'd been miserable all day at work knowing they wouldn't get to see her and Murphy was brooding something fierce about the fact she was going on a date with someone that wasn't him or his brother.

Enjoy it as much as I do ;)

Lila

xoxox

They grinned to each other and after eating it, they had to agree, she did making a fucking mean lasagna. The boys talked about everything other than the elephant in the room, Lilas date, they both wondered if she would be okay, but neither wanted to vocalise it, not wanting to think about her with some other guy. They got showered and dressed and headed out for McGinty's, hoping some alcohol would make them feel better.

They were wrong, dead fucking wrong, after being there for an hour they didn't feel any better despite the many beers and shots they had drank. Aileen walked over with two beers, setting them down in front of them.

“What's up with the two o’ ye, ye look bloody miserable.” She asked, glancing between them both, it was unlike the twins to behave this way, they were always laughing and joking, teasing some poor bloody sod, usually Rocco, and just causing mayhem wherever they went. They had done nothing but mope since they got there and she had a good idea why. Murphy just shrugged, practically pouting as he lit what was probably his millionth smoke since he’d got there. The burning in his lungs was a welcome distraction from his thoughts at that moment.

“Nothin’.” Connor grumped as he sipped his beer.

“Mhm...And yer sure it’s got nothin’ te do with a pretty redhead that ye both seem so fond o’?” She asked with a knowing smile. It turned into a full on grin when they both looked at her like they'd been caught out, mildly horrified and embarrassed faces and she swore the tips of Murphy's ears turned pink. The boys hadn't realised just how obvious it was that they liked the lass, obvious to everyone but Lila it seemed. Aileen didn't know how the girl seemed so oblivious to the fact the boys thought the world of her. Aileen was glad the twins were looking out for the girl though, she adored the boys and knew they would do what they could to keep her safe. She just gave them both a quick pat to the hands before turning and walking off with a smirk, leaving a glowering Murphy and a grumbling Connor behind of her.

Lila got out the cab after her date as she walked up to her apartment. She’d had a nice time, they ate lovely food and chatted. She doubted it would turn into anything. He was handsome and nothing but a gentleman, but there just wasn't anything there. She found herself comparing him to the twins yet again and she knew that wasn't a good sign if she wasn't just thinking of him for him. He didn't make her laugh like the boys did, she didn't feel at complete ease with him like she did with them, he just didn't make her feel anything close to how she felt with the boys and she knew it was stupid since they were only friends. She was wearing a pretty black sleeveless dress with a sweetheart neckline. It cinched in at her tiny waist and then flared out, ending just above her knees. She got her keys out and opened the door. It was 11pm so her granda would most likely be in bed, she tried to be quiet as she slipped inside. There was something in the air, making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle up, a sense of foreboding, and when she walked into the apartment further, she saw her grandfather lay on the floor unmoving. It felt like her heart exploded in her chest and her stomach lurched as she ran over, kicking her heels off in the process.

“Granda?! Granda?!” She sobbed, grabbing his face and looking him over. He was unresponsive and when she tried to find a pulse, there wasn't one. She was hysterical, running to the phone and calling an ambulance before returning to his side. Despite deep down knowing it was too late, she hoped she was fucking wrong.

“Granda, please wake up! Please!” She begged through her tears, feeling like her heart had been stabbed repeatedly. It didn't take long for the paramedics to arrive and one of them ushered her out of the way so they could tend to the man. It was too late though, he had been dead for at least an hour they said and she felt the intense guilt that she hadn't been there. That she had been selfishly on a date.

When they called the time of death, she felt her stomach clench painfully and ran to the bathroom, emptying it of the fancy dinner she had just eaten. One of the paramedics came in, helping her and checking her over after she was done. The girl was in shock and he wasn't happy to leave her on her own.

“Is there anyone we can call ma’am?” He asked looking concerned. She shook her head, her whole body was trembling and she looked white as a sheet.

“N-no...I can’t...can't stay here.” She muttered, looking out of it.

“Is there anywhere you can go?” He asked her, eyeing her carefully. She nodded and sniffled, wiping her eyes as her tears subsided, the shock taking a vice-like grip of her. The paramedic nodded, feeling satisfied she would be okay.

She wasn't sure how long she sat on the bathroom floor, she barely heard them removing her grandfather's body or telling her they were leaving. Eventually, she stood, not bothering to put her shoes or jacket on since she was so out of it as she left the apartment. Her feet carried her to the twins, the cold hard floor hurting her feet but she didn't even notice it much. She was in a daze, her body trembling violently by the time she had reached their door. She was much paler than usual and her mascara had run down her cheeks. She raised a shaky hand to knock on their door, swaying on her feet feeling light headed.

The boys were settling in for what was an early night for them when they heard the knock. They glanced to each other confused by who was knocking at this time, but a choked sob on the other side had them making a dash for the door. They hadn't expected the sight that greeted them, Lila had makeup running down her cheeks and her whole body shook as she sobbed, she had no jacket despite the chilly air outside and no fucking shoes on. The boys first thought was that something happened on her date and she had been hurt, and the fucker was going to be very sorry when they got their hands on him.

“He’s dead...granda...he's dead.” She cried, her hand over her heart like she was trying to stop it from falling right out. Connor grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut like he was in physical pain at her words and seeing her so heartbroken. Murphy's brain couldn't catch up with himself as he just stared at her for a moment. His heart felt like it was squeezing so tightly in his chest that it was about to implode. Her gut-wrenching sobs echoed in the hallway and it was enough to snap the boys back to the moment. Connor wrapped his arms around her, pulling her inside as Murphy shut the door. She was clinging to Connor like her life depended on it, practically wailing and it was heartbreaking to watch.

Murphy swallowed thickly and turned away, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes trying to stop the onslaught of tears that were threatening to fall. He felt like he could feel her pain, like actually feel it and it was killing him.

“Hush now lass, we got ye, yer alright.” Connor soothed softly, holding her tight as he rubbed her back. Her body was shaking badly as the sobs wracked her body and Connor looked over his head to see Murphy wiping his eyes as he turned back to face them. Connor gestured for him to take over and he did, Connor going to make a cup of tea for the poor girl.

“C’mon love, let's get ye sat down.” Murphy's voice was a little hoarse and thick with emotion and he was trying his best to be strong for her sake. It wasn't like he’d actually known her grandfather, but he knew he was Lilas life and now he was gone, and hearing her pain, seeing it on her face, it was the worst pain Murphy had ever been through.

He led her to his bed, pulling her to sit with him and she sat with her legs across his lap, her face buried in his neck as she continued to cry. Murphy gripped her tightly, a hand in her hair stroking, trying to comfort her even just a little. He was willing the lump in his throat to fuck off so he could talk to her.

“S’alright m’girl, let it all out.” He soothed, resting his head on hers and closing his eyes. Connor watched them as he made the tea. It was hurting him to see her this way and he could see Murphy having the same issue. But once again Murphy wasn't very good at trying to keep himself in check or at least hiding his feelings, and he could see clearly how badly Murphy was hurting, it only doubled Connors pain.

He brought the tea over, sitting in front of the pair as he set it down on the floor to cool a little.

Both boys had noticed her dress and how her hair was pinned up all fancy like with some wispy bits framing her face, she would have looked lovely if it wasn't for the fact her heart had just been ripped from her chest. Connor reached out and stroked her back, sharing a pained look with Murphy. They weren't good at this, comforting lasses, that wasn't what they did. They had no idea just what to do to make things better.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Connor asked hesitantly, his hand still rubbing soothing circles on the exposed skin of her back. Of course, the old man had been sick, but he just wanted to make sure he knew what had happened. She raised her head a little, sniffling and hiccuping as she wiped her eyes, which was pointless as more tears just followed. Murphy's hand was still in her hair and massaged her scalp and he looked at her sadly. She wouldn't look at them and shook her head, her breathing erratic as she tried her hardest to calm herself enough to talk.

“I came back...and he was just...he was...oh my god its all my fault!” She was bordering on hysterical and Connors eyes widened at how she could think such a thing. Murphy's arm tightened protectively around her and he clenched his jaw, he was angry at her for thinking she was to blame for this but it wasn't the time to fucking shout at her. He just had to keep his mouth shut.

“Lila, it wasn't yer fault. It would o’ happened wit’ or wit’out ye there.” Connor soothed, trying to reason with her, but it just made her cry harder and Connor realised he was absolutely fucking awful at consoling women.

“But I wasn't there Connor! He died all alone! I was fucking selfish and he died alone! I should have been there!” She was almost hyperventilating now as the sobs tore the breath out of her little lungs and Murphy's eyes stung once again with tears. He pulled her closer, letting her bury her face in his neck once again.

Connor wiped a hand over his face, he was at a loss for words and he thought about going to get Aileen because he had no fucking clue what to do. He looked at Murphy and noticed tears streaming down the lad's face, his head was resting on Lilas and he had his eyes squeezed shut with a clenched jaw and Connor could see he was at the end of his rope with restraining himself not to break down as his chest heaved.

“Yer alright Lila, ain't yer fault. Ye couldn't have known love.” Murphy whispered tensely through his tears, feeling like his chest had been ripped open and his heart torn out.

They sat like that with Murphy's hand in her hair and holding her tight, Connors hand rubbing smooth circles on her skin, the both of them muttering soothing words to her until she passed out in Murphy's arms. Murphy looked at Connor desperately and Connor knew right away he needed to get Lila off him. He scooped the girl up and lay her on the mattress, covering her up. Murphy dived off the bed and grabbed his smokes before all but throwing himself out the window onto the fire escape. Connor knew to give him a minute and he heard Murphy's choked sobs from inside, it made a lump form in his own throat. He looked to the lass and she was out cold, so Connor got up and climbed out of the window.

Murphy was sat against the wall with his knees up and his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with his sobs. Connor crouched in front of him, stroking his hair as his own eyes started to sting. But he had to be the strong one, he always had to be.

“Come now Murph, I got ye.” Mimicking almost the same thing he’d said to Lila when she got here. Murphy reached out as if to anchor himself on his brother, his hand winding around the wrist that was stroking his hair and clinging to him.

“Christ Connor, why her? Why does she have te go through this?” He asked sounding broken through his tears. He didn't know how to answer him, he was wondering the same thing. The boys had faith that everything happened for a reason and it was her grandfathers time, but it didn't sting any less to see the aftermath of it.

“It’ll be alright brother, we have te be strong for the lass.” He soothed, still stroking his hair. Murphy nodded and sniffled, wiping his eyes as he inhaled deeply trying to calm himself down. He hated breaking down like this but he knew it needed to get out of his system, and he rather it happened when she was asleep than in front of her.

“What now?” Murphy asked, his voice raspy and low as he glanced at his twin with glassy eyes. Connor tugged his lower lip through his teeth as he thought for a moment.

“We need te talk te Aileen, she won't be fit for work for a few days. And we need te check if her Ma even knows what happened.” He sighed as he stood up, holding his hand out to Murphy to help him up. When they both stood, Connor pulled Murphy into a tight hug, they were both feeling her pain and they needed each other just as much as she needed them. As long as they had each other they'd be okay. They went back inside and Lila was still asleep in Murphys bed, so the boys got into Connors, deciding to share and not make her uncomfortable. They had no idea what the next day would bring except for more heartache but they vowed to be as strong as they could for her. It was bad enough she was grieving, but to have found the body herself and then be placing the blame on herself, they knew it would be hard for them all to deal with. They just had to be there for each other, if they could do that then they could make it through.

#boondock saints #boondock saints fanfic #murphy macmanus #murphy macmanus fanfic #connor macmanus #connor macmanus fanfic

[jasleh]

Suddenly, Horns

(or, Reasons Why Experimenting On Yourself Is A Bad Idea)

(Jericho and screenshot edits by @cyranoix )

Jarexx held the bottle containing his newly completed potion in his hand, swirling it gently as he contemplated it. Behind him, Sunstone twitched in his sleep on the rug. The potion was a new invention. Recent events had made him aware of the fact that not all threats to his life involved poison. And not all of those other threats could simply be shot. An image of Zura standing over him, hand crackling with dark energy, flashed through his mind and he shuddered, banishing the thought as quickly as possible. He was weak, and so very breakable.

He had taken inspiration from pluto - a drug that temporarily increased strength and turned skin hard like iron. The substance had come into use after he had… left the business, so he had picked up a sample on the black market to reverse engineer. He wanted the strength enhancement, but not the skin hardening. Not that such a thing wasn’t a valuable effect, but it would not work well for a permanent enhancement. Instead, he had aimed for something that would strengthen his bones instead, making them much harder to break. He judged that with his reflexes - which had almost certainly been enhanced when he was a young child, although he did not know for sure - increased strength and enhanced bone structure would likely make for a decent defense if needed.

It had taken a good deal of calculation, and a few rather esoteric ingredients, but he was fairly certain that the liquid in the vial would do what he intended it to do. It would not be suitable for wider use, even if he hadn’t intended to keep it to himself. One ingredient in particular would have rather… unfortunate effects on anyone of Ishgardian descent, but as a lalafell that was hardly something he needed to worry about. However, now he once again faced his perennial problem when it came to new potions. Lack of test subjects. No matter how solid he believed his theory was, the only way to find out what the mixture actually did was to drink it… and hope that it didn’t do something terrible. Like kill him.

Now, if he was his cousin Zazalika… well, first off he wouldn’t have spent so much time carefully crafting the theory first, but that aside - he would have just pulled some poor sod off the street and force fed the potion to him… and then tried to break his bones. He was not Zazalika, however. Jarexx had never tested a potion on another person, save only when he was working on his hangover cure. And that had been only because he wanted to test it first on natural hangovers, not the alchemy-initiated ones he had been dealing with at the time. Hungover people, however, made for singularly willing test subjects. Still, he hadn’t spent all these nights and evenings working on this thing just to stare at it. Jarexx pried out the stopper, took a deep breath and let it out slowly to settle his nerves, and then drank it.

Almost immediately, a wave of pain hit him. He gasped, and the vial slipped from his hand as he fell to his knees, hands rising up to his head as though he could push the pain back. Fortunately, the bottle bounced rather than shattering, likely due to the short distance it had to fall, but he was in no state to observe it. All his focus was on the pain in his head. Beneath his hands, he felt bumps form. Sharp bumps. Oh gods what have I done to myself? He cried out as his elbow was jarred - a worried nuzzle from Sunny.

“Get back!” It was more a gasp than a yell, but the coeurl backed off obediently, making a worried whining noise. Jarexx didn’t hear it. The bumps were still growing, and the pain with them. He cried out again as the sharp points burst through the thin skin on his scalp and between his fingers. Blood began to flow, dripping down the sides of his face. Oh gods oh gods oh gods. Panic and lightheadedness intertwined and he fought both back as best he could. Blood. That was blood. He needed… he needed something to staunch it with. Cloth. Something. He stumbled to his feet, moving almost blindly towards where he kept his towels. His stomach lurched as he reached to pull one out. His hand was covered in blood. He grabbed the top towel and brought it up to his head before falling once more to his knees. The bumps - the horns - had continued to grow, and he had to wrap the towel around them.

Pressing the towel to the wounds, he tried to slow his breathing. Pull it together Jare, this isn’t the first time you’ve been hurt. It isn’t even the worst you’ve been hurt. Besides, head wounds always bleed a lot, don’t they? It’s probably not as bad as it looks. That was, of course, setting aside the fact that he seemed to now have horns. The dragon blood. Had to have been the dragon blood that did it. Jarexx wanted very badly to find a mirror, but he was still lightheaded, and almost certainly still bleeding. He needed help. At least it felt like they had stopped growing, or maybe just slowed down.

Jarexx shifted the towel around carefully, until he could more or less keep the towel in place with one hand, then pushed himself to his feet once more. With shaky steps, he moved over to where he had left his linkpearl. He put it in his ear, then promptly sat down on the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest. He tapped the pearl to open up a channel, then returned his hand to the towel.

“Jericho?” His voice trembled, but he couldn’t help it. Jarexx stared across the room, looking blankly at the splatters of blood on his floor, and at the worried coeurl that watched him. “I… fuck. I need help. Can you come to my apartment?” It was still early evening, surely the man would still be awake. I just pray that he’s better about keeping his linkpearl close than I am.

The voice echoed distantly across the aether streams and resonated the pearl belonging to Jericho Brandt. He was sitting in his dim chambers, two books across his broad thighs and a journal he’d been scribbling in open on a table next to him. A topaz carbuncle sat statuesque just beyond it. The carbuncle was half the size of an adventurers’ and fit comfortably in the space while eschewing a gentle glow that did more to illuminate the man’s texts than the sputtering candle next to it. Of the two orange elongations on its head that which gave the suggestion of ears, one twitched as the disembodied voice from the linkpearl vocalized Jericho’s name. The aether-creature blinked through a distant stare as Jericho turned to look at it. Its small jaw fell open an inch and his linkpearl rolled from the back of its engineered throat to rest at the front of its lower jaw, stopped by a small row of toothlike protrusions. It wasn’t unlike an eerie candy dispenser in this fashion. Jericho reached over and took the pearl from the carbuncle, applying it to his ear just in time to hear Jarexx’s desperate request.

His thick brow creased in business-like concern but something further gnawed at him; the lalafell wasn’t one to ask for help, even his simpler ministrations were denied in the past. “You’ve not told me where you reside,” Jericho began, his voice very practiced to stay calm in emergencies. “Jarexx?”

Oh thank the Twelve, an answer. Jarexx gave the address, a flat in the Mists. His voice still shook, but the relief in it was clear. “I… I’m pretty light-headed, but I should be able to get up to let you in. I think.” If he hurried, anyway. Jarexx considered the door and decided he should probably try to move closer to it once he was done with the linkpearl. It would be wisest to just… unlock it in case he passed out before the half-elezen arrived, but even now his paranoia wouldn’t allow that.

Jericho fumbled his books out of his lap as he stood. His small carbuncle leapt from the table and waddled quickly over to where his medical supplies were. It chirped at him, an alarm to let him know where his things were. He walked over to the bag and lifted it up as the creature hitched itself onto the man’s shoulders.

“Jarexx, listen to me, do not let yourself sleep. You need to let me in. I swear if I have to break that door down, you will be the one paying for it.”

Jericho threatened the lalafell in a stern tone as if he was a parent with a troublesome teen. He stood clear of his own furnishings and evoked aetherial transportation, warping himself from his home in Gridania to the small aetheryte set up at Toise’s HQ in Limsa’s housing quarters. Once apparated and whole, the carbuncle bounded from its master’s broad shoulders and immediately grew in size. The half-highlander hitched himself onto the creature, now large and strong enough to carry him. They bolted off toward the address given. Once there, Jericho banged the door with the heel of a strong fist.

Once Jarexx heard the link close, he called to Sunny. The coeurl came over quickly, and he fended off the worried nudges with one hand. “Easy boy. I just need your help to get over to the door.” The coeurl backed off slightly, and Jarexx muttered an apology as he grabbed onto the base of one thick whisker to pull himself up. The cat didn’t complain, but pulled his head back more to help pull Jarexx to his feet. Keeping a steadying hand against the coeurl’s shoulder, the two made their way over next to the door. Jarexx directed Sunny to lie down, then sat down against him and brought his knees up again, waiting for Jericho to arrive. It occurred to him as he waited that, given the nature of towels, he probably could have picked a better item to try to stop the bleeding. Too late now though.

He didn’t have to wait long. When he heard the knock he called out, “I hear you, give me a minute.” He pushed himself once more to his feet and unlocked and opened the door. He was not looking forward to explaining this, but more than anything, he just wanted his torn scalp healed… or at the very least properly bandaged.

The face that greeted Jericho was one that could have belonged to a dead man. The medic's spearmint eyes grew wide at the bloody, pale visage that was hastily wrapped in equally bloody clothes. He didn't question it beyond an initial, audible gasp and then hastily made his way inside, careful to respect Sunny's space especially when his master was so hurt.

Jericho set down his tools and open his bag. His carbuncle uncurled from his shoulder and loafed next to the bag, ready for orders. The man pulled out a well-used book and a few vials. When he lifted himself away from the bag the glowing carbuncle bounded into it and nosed out the bandages.

"Find a comfortable seat, this is going to sting," Jericho ordered.

“It already fucking stings,” Jarexx muttered. He hadn’t seen the alarmed expression, but the gasp had been less than reassuring. He didn’t bother moving to one of his chairs, he just let his knees collapse under him and sat where he was. Besides, the floor already had blood on it. The chairs didn’t.

Sunny was watching Jericho with some suspicion, but stayed where he was. Jarexx waved a hand in the coeurl’s direction, reinforcing the command. Then, he let his other hand drop from the makeshift bandage. The towel began to unwind, but didn’t fall off - the horns and blood both keeping it partially in place.

Jericho donned a pair of clean gloves and carefully knelt himself down, too aware of his own poor balance combined with the slippery floor. He reached out for the towel when he realized there were two protrusions sticking out from the lalafell's head at a strange angle. His jaw went slack a bit, his thoughts immediately going to the fact that something was impaling his patient. It started to become difficult not to question this situation. The man sucked in a breath and began to gently unwind the towel while his carbuncle pattered up to drop off the bandages. The creature was perfect to carry his sanitary tools, having no actual contact with anything but clean aether.

As he lifted the towel free he realized from the breakage in the skin that nothing had impaled his small friend but was, in fact, jutting from the lalafell's skull. He made a face, swearing he saw bone beneath the painfully stretched and broken skin. It was minor compared to the gore he'd witnessed on battlefields prior but it had been a while and he had been able to push such things out of his mind.

Jericho flicked a hand over the worn journal next to him. The pages flipped open like a breeze had caught its cover. The book turned itself to a specific glyph and he lifted an aetherial copy of the drawing from the paper, letting it hover and materialize for a moment between his palm and the yellowing pages. He turned the palm over and the glyph, hovering inches from it, obeyed and followed his movement. He brought it to Jarexx's head and the oozing wound began to scab. Jericho studied the lalafell's face as he did this, his expression stern and calculating.

Jarexx winced and hissed in a breath as the cloth was pulled away from the wounds. He nearly gasped as the aether finally reduced the pain and his eyes finally opened enough to get a good look at Jericho’s face. He didn’t much like the expression there. He kept his mouth shut at first, staring back defiantly… but then the scabs began to itch, and he spoke in an effort to distract himself from it. Scratching would not be helpful right now.

“This isn’t what I was intending to do, I will have you know.” He was still a little unclear on what exactly he had done, if he was being honest.

"So you did not intend to grow a pair of..." he stopped and studied for a moment with the word 'voidsent' on the tip of his tongue but he was uncertain that was the term he wanted to use. He produced a clean cloth and soaked it with a clear, strong smelling liquid from one of his vials. It would be easily recognizable as a wound cleaning agent, the type to cause just enough of a sting as to punish the wounded for their carelessness but not cause further agony. Jericho was uncertain if he should apply magics to this sort of thing... perhaps if he started out slow. As he cleaned the area he pushed matted hair out of the way and he snorted a laugh, his recollection of creatures coming back to him, "Ah, they look of catoblepas horns. What have you been playing in?"

“I don’t know what they look like,” Jarexx muttered grumpily. “Ow! Fuck that hurts.” He didn’t fight it though, instead curling his hands into fists at his sides and squeezing his eyes shut. “The dragon’s blood must have - ow! - had an unexpected - godsdamnit do you have to be that rough? - unexpected interaction with one of the other ingredients. There was catoblepas eye in there too.” Gods he needed a fucking mirror. Not that all the blood would help him get an accurate idea of just what had happened to his head.

Jericho paused in his ministrations and glanced down at the dramatic lalafell. He rolled his eyes and put the cloth down. He knew this twerp was stouter than perhaps he even realized. Jarexx wasn't the punching bag that their cohort Cyranoix was but he had seen the man take a lightning strike straight through his veins and still have the fury to breath.

The field medic made a noncommittal noise and raised his palms to either side of Jarexx's temple. "Fine. If you won't stomach practical medicine then we shall try aetherial mending. Pray, do report to me if you begin to feel an unwanted reaction." He warned in a less than comforting, robotic tone. He palms began to produce heat, then light, then radiating beams of energy which dusted crystalline sparks into the air. Jericho was a practiced healer even if he didn't have the stamina of other, more naturally gifted adventurers. He'd press the healing aether harder as he examined Jarexx's reaction both on his face and the surface of his forehead.

“Man’s allowed to complain when he’s hurt,” Jarexx muttered. Even so, he didn’t argue. He’d been hoping for magical healing in the first place. He couldn’t help making a slight gasp as the aether flowed into him, and the scabs began to turn to fresh scar tissue, the jagged edges of skin smoothing and adapting to the new obstructions. The pink scars seemed rather more red and irritated at the points where they came in contact with the horns, as though the skin wasn’t sure how to interface with them. Even so, there did not seem to be any adverse reaction to the flow of aether. For the most part, the horns seemed… well, rather like they belonged there.

Jericho observed the changes and deemed it fine to keep going for as long as he felt necessary. The small, citrine carbuncle sat next to him as if to play his nurse. When the magics finally faded he put his hands down and took a deep breath. A smirk appeared on his face, "You might have to throw out any collection of hats that you have acquired." He glanced about the room for a mirror.

Jarexx raised a cautious hand up to his head, feeling around the new additions to his skull. He grimaced at the sticky blood. Still sore too. “Ugh.” He felt further up, exploring the length of one horn. No, there would be no hiding these. “Good thing I’ve never been much of a one for hats,” he said. Had they been much smaller, he likely would have become a hat person, but it seemed he was just going to have to live with them… or saw them off. And after the pain of them growing in, that second option didn’t sound at all appealing. He certainly couldn’t think of a way to make a potion that would get rid of them. It would make him uncomfortably recognizable, but that was no longer quite the concern that it had once been for him. Fortunately.

Jericho stood up and brought the items he was using with him. The carbuncle leapt up to his shoulders, its near weightlessness having no bearing on his unsteady feet. "Care to tell me what you were planning on doing if not spontaneously growing horns?" He asked with an ever-present smirk as he returned the objects to his kit. He was becoming far too amused by how much dirt he was able to accumulate on one soul.

Jarexx scowled up at the man in a distinctly ungrateful manner. He opened his mouth to say it was none of his damn business, but then considered just how much blackmail Jericho had on him. Even so, he answered begrudgingly, and as vaguely as possible. “It was supposed to be an enhancement. Not the first one I’ve made, but…” he gestured vaguely at the horns, “This was an unexpected side-effect.” His previous venture into such things had been an unqualified success, with no side-effects to speak of. This time… he wasn’t even sure if it had done what it was supposed to. He’d lost too much blood to be in any fit state to test his strength, and he wasn’t about to try breaking his own bones.

Perhaps being vague and choosing those words was not the wisest decision in seriousness as Jericho's smirk was suddenly partnered with a snort to contain his laughter. "An enhancement, huh?" He cleared his throat. "Ah, but I suppose men have done more desperate things." He lifted his medical kit. "How are you feeling? Lightheadedness abated?”

“A strength enhancement,” Jarexx snapped, glaring at Jericho. He was unable to keep his mouth shut after such an insinuation. “You’ve seen how fast I can move when I have to, yes? My memory? The fact that I can take a gun blast right by my ear without flinching or losing my hearing? You think I came by those things naturally?” Of those three, only the ear enhancement was one that he was completely sure of, given that he had done that one to himself. Even so, he was almost certain the other two had been things done to him. In his rush to defend himself, the inquiry about his condition went largely unnoticed.

Jericho raised a palm in a peace offering, "Of course, of course." He was not bothering to cover his amusement, however. His bedside manner always left his patients feeling rather neglected but he never failed to get a straight answer when he wanted one. "And your head?" He repeated.

Jarexx continued to glare for several more moments, as though to emphasize his point, but he did finally answer the question. “I’m not exactly in a hurry to stand up again,” he said dryly. His gaze shifted from Jericho to look around his small apartment. “Ugh, what a mess.” Blood had splattered on the floor over by the alchemy furnace and the dropped bottle, and he spotted a few bloody hand prints, including a few on Sunstone. Not to mention the blood-soaked towel on the floor next to him. He noted to his disgust that some had even made it onto the rug.

As Jericho removed the freshly reddened gloves from his hands he joined Jarexx in a gaze around the room. "You should tend to it before those stains become an eyesore. If you're hale enough, I shall leave you to do so as I'm still quite exhausted from picking up after your last relationship with chaos."

Jarexx returned his scowl to Jericho. “That was organized chaos,” he said almost accusingly. “And I had hoped that it would be left alone unless I didn’t come back. And yes, I can clean it myself.” He would have to clean himself first, or he’d just make it worse. Gods, he must look like a horror show. He really hoped he could get the blood out of his jacket. He liked this jacket, and gods knew he wouldn’t be able to get another one. He got to his feet, still grumbling under his breath, and stumbled a bit once fully upright. He put a hand to his head. “Gah, too much blood,” he muttered. As he did, he noted with disgust that he’d left yet more bloody hand prints on the floor when he pushed himself to his feet.

Jericho's smirk softened. The way the two exchanged verbal blows one wouldn't even think that he'd have come running like he did. Clearly the lalafell was feeling more himself, however, even if he did have a little bit extra on the top. The half-elezen shook his head in surrender and put his hand on the door to leave, "Perhaps I can beg you to take it easy, or at least indulge in a glass of juice after I depart." His doctor's orders never got very far with this one but he tried anyway. He raised his hand in a humble farewell.

Jarexx grunted something non-committal, and his eyes drifted over to the booze stash on the table by the door. Probably the closest thing to juice that he had, but Twelve knew he could use a fucking drink. Definitely not what Jericho had intended, however. “Sure, whatever,” he muttered, still holding his head, then looked up one more time at the taller man. “And uh… thanks.” Remarkably, it only sounded slightly begrudging.

#FFxiv #lalafell #FF!Jarexx #blood #I do apologize to people for whom the cut does not work #but I'm very proud of this #and I think Henry did an amazing job on the screenshot edits

[jsoler-writing]

Luck

“Close that blasted gunport ya cockgobler, we're wet enough as it be!”

A soaked woman yells from the other side of the dimly lit room. Other members of the crew soon join her in protest trying their best to secure cargo, guns and livestock in place as the ship rocks heavily in all directions.

The man ignores them. Even if he wasn't too busy pouring out the contents of his stomach out of his body, the rain crashing on the deck above hits too hard to allow their complaints to have any effect.

On the other side of the deck, the captain speaks with his officers in hushed tones. “Well I reckon we are mighty fucked this time captain...” - the boatswain says, furtively looking around - “the storm seems nowhere near its end and even if by some miracle she doesn't sink or a lightning strikes the mast we also have to deal with the fact that both food and water are running dangerously low.”

“We could get some rainwater. Not like its about to run out or anytime soon.” - says the first officer.

The boatswain laughs at the suggestion, “Unless you want to dry up faster than your wife when she sees your ship make port, I wouldn't advise that. We'd get as much salt water as drinkable one.”

“If any of you have a better suggestion I am willing to hear it.” - the officer angrily crosses his arms over his chest.

The captain holds his hand up signaling  for them to stop talking and looks up as he stands, his head tilted to the side as if searching for some sound coming from above, “Anyone else hears that?”

Slight ‘tumps’ are heard on the wood, a dragging sound across the deck and the noise of cloth on the wind is unmistakable. A rope has come loose and the sails are unprotected.

The captain assess the crew, covering the entire deck with his eyes before he calls upon his first mate and yells, “Attention crew, we have a situation!”. He coughs before continuing, “As some of you possibly have possibly heard, a rope that was  holding the sails folded has come loose. Now, someone needs to go up there and tie it up or we risk losing them.”

The captain pauses taking a bundle of sticks from his jacket’s pocket, passing them to his officer and signals with his head for him to pass them around.

“I will not be the one to send any of you to the hell outside nor will I pass this responsibility on to another. So let lady luck make the decision.”

The officers walks slowly across the deck, each one of the members of the crew raises a trembling hand to draw a stick as the second and third officer compare their sizes. A middle-aged man named Marcus draws the shorter one.

He slowly stands, looking to the captain and the officers as if waiting for any one them to tell him it was a joke. Nothing else is said so his shaking grab onto the ladder and his legs fail him as he makes his way up the stairs. Making a quick prayer before opening the port to the deck.

The storm rages on, high winds makes each drop sting like a needle and the heavy downpour makes it so that he can barely see whats a foot in ahead of him. Forcing his eyes he is able to see the exposed sail of the main mast. Stumbling, he holds onto the rigging as he makes his way towards the loose rope. An enormous wave hits, rocking the whole ship hard and water washes over the deck threatening to throw him overboard.

Marcus falls flat on the ground and the torrent makes him slide across the wooden deck. He manages to grabs hold of the mast and hangs on tight, grasping the loose rope and tying it around his waist, cursing his luck all the while. He looks up, weighting every decision of his life that have led him to this point, the mast seems higher than ever before and he spits salty water as he gatters courage until finally begins the ascent.

Every step up the mast takes a monumental effort, the heavy rain makes the notches slippery and the high wind makes it near impossible to keep his balance. "Son of a motherless hog!" Marcus thinks to himself as he slips and hits his face on the wood, biting his tongue hard enough to make him feel the taste of blood. After what felt like an eternity, he finally reaches the top and drags himself to the exposed sail.

The wet cloth is heavy enough to make him almost dislocate his shoulder as he folds the sail back in place, tying the rope as tight and as many times as he can, there is no way in hell and back he is ever going to do this ever again. After the job is done Marcus makes his way down, his only desire, to get out of the ice-cold water and warm himself up with a glass of mead.

As he climbs down, another wave hits the ship with enough force to make Marcus loses his grip, sending him tumbling down bellow. He falls on his back, hitting the ground with the sound of hollow wood and splashing water.

Marcus slowly opens his eyes, the realization that he's survived is quickly followed by the excruciating pain all over his body. He struggles to stand, turning on his side and slowly tries to regain his footing, it is then that he spots a silhouette amidst the rain. It runs towards him and helps him stands, leaning him over its shoulder. A woman, his shipmate Cait.

"What are you doing out here?" He yells, trying to outsound the storm.

"The Captain sent me to help, he thought the sail might be too heavy for you alone."

"Well ain't that sweet." He grins as he spits blood and water onto the floor.

The storm rages on, getting heavier as they reach the door to the belowdeck, Cait tries to pull the port up to no avail, probably locked from the inside and knock with no answer. Both of them start to desperately kick and slam the door, yelling for help, but its to no avail, no one's hearing with the storm as loud as it is and they seek shelter on the stern of the ship, under the cover of the helm.

“Fucking hell on earth!!! I’m going to fucking kill whoever locked that goddamn door!”

“The probably did it so it wouldn’t slam open, old man.” Cait laughs to herself as she sits on the floor.

“Regardless, when we get down there someone is going to get smacked in fucking the mouth.” Marcus says as he drops the weight of his body at Cait’s side, resting his back onto the hull, his face frowning with a mixture of pain and rage.

Both sit quietly for a while, the only sounds being that of thunder, whistles of wind and the roar of the storm. Marcus squirms and grunts checking his wounds and lets out a mumbled complain once in a while, Cait sits embracing her legs as to protect herself from the cold, she ‘sighs’ loudly and breaks the silence.

“Seems like we are going to be here a while.”

“Appears so...” Marcus grunts “Son of a bitch doesn’t seem like its going let up anytime soon.”

“Three nights and counting.”

“Yeah...”

“God knows where the hell we’ll end up after letting the currents take us for so damn long.”, Cait says looking up to the mast.

“Listen, I don’t think anyone is comfortable lying ahull but we’ve got no options lass,” Marcus sighs, “either that or lose the mast.” He stands to look at the ocean, a thoughtful expression on his face. “With any luck, we’ll not stray too far from course.”

He keeps his back turned at her for a while, his gaze lost at a random point in the sea, he has a pained look on his face and his eyes narrow as if he was on the verge of tears. Marcus hand forms a fist as he clenches it.

“You ok there?” Cait asks concerned.

Marcus takes several deep breaths before sitting down besides her again. He closes his eyes before speaking.

“Ever wondered if you’ve taken the right path?”

“What?”

“Did you ever regret the decisions you’ve made? Wished for things to have turned out differently?” He sighs, “I often wonder where I’d be if the steps I’ve taken were… Not these.”

“Oh...” Cait seems surprised at first but laughs it off, “Well, I try to think ahead ya know? If I keep hanging in the past there is no way to move forward. That’s what my granny used to say.”

“Guess when you get older there ain’t much forward to look to…” Marcus looks at his feet and slightly bumps his head onto the hull a couple of times.

She leaves him be for a while, taking in his appearance. Looking at his many scars and deep wrinkles on his wizened skin, moles and other discolored skin patches from long times under the sun color his face. Unkempt hair and unshaven beard make the man look older than he is but she never wondered about his actual age until now. She places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a concerned smile.

“What got you thinking about all that old man?”

The man seems unphased, his eyes still closed. “Yeah… I suppose I brought it up after all”.

Marcus straightens his posture and twists his shirt to dry it a little, he sits on his knees and opens his eyes, although not quite looking directly at the woman. He sighs.

“‘twas a woman, let’s call her… Adeline. I was still young I when we met, the prettiest thing you’d ever lay your eyes upon, her smile made the sun looks brighter and makes your stomach weird and you stutter your words, you know the kind?

“Well, I fancied her and believe you me she fancied me back, but in the end the sea called and although I loved her… I left.” Marcus stops and sighs heavily, rolling his thumbs and looking down to his feet. “Last I’ve known? She was on her way to the countryside with her husband.

“‘tis not as if I wasn’t happy for the lass or even jealous of the poor sod, he seems like a nice fellow. It’s just that, if I stayed, I figure I would have ended up happier in the end...”

Marcus closes his eyes again and lays down, looking at the clouded sky. A lightning illuminates his face, revealing tears running on his face, Cait didn’t miss it.

“Thanks for the tale lad”, Cait says. “Now, how about you hear one of mine?”

The man nods.

She stretches herself and clears her throat, before giving him a sincere smile and begins the tale.

“There was this lad I knew, set himself up pretty well. Married to a kind and beautiful woman, and  wasn't that bad looking either, had himself three kids, and a small but confortable home. He worked as a shoemaker, the first floor of his house served as his workshop.

“The house had been in the family for three generations. All worked as shoemakers and the craft was passed from father to son.

“Well, the kids grow up and his youngest goes up and decides that he doesn't want to spend the rest of his days making footwear.”

“Same story as always” Marcus interrupts, spitting on the floor. “It's always the youngest one too, at least he had his brothers to take his place in the workshop.”

“Or so you’d think”. The woman grins.

“What’d ya mean?”

“The lad never tells that to his father.

“The lad didn't want to continue on the family's trade, the smell of glue and cured leather made him sick of the stomach and the work felt like  cutting his very soul.

“But he never musters enough courage to tell that to his dad.

“So he stays in the workshop, day after day, always thinking about telling his family of his desire but never doing so.

“Anyway the years pass and war comes and both of his brothers are conscripted. He isn't.

“HAH!” Marcus laughs “talk about an unlucky sod!”

“Many would call him lucky that he didn't have to go to war.”

“From what I hear, I’m willing to wager he’d rather be put in the front lines staring at the barrel of an enemy's gun instead of being stuck where he’s at.”

Cait stares at him and blinks a couple of times.

“You’d be correct.”

“The boy keeps working his trade for months waiting eagerly for news of his brothers, where they had been, what they had seen and used the tales to dream of such places. At one point the news stop coming.

“A year later his eldest brother shows up on the front door, only missing both his arms. Another man is with him and tells them that the middle kid had died and congratulates him for his service.

He bows his head, “Fuck me lass, that's a goddamn shame that is.”

“His father takes it hard and starts drinking more and more, find solace at the bottom of a bottle. He tries to drink the pain away but I never knew any man that could accomplish what he was trying.

“One day the boy find his father with a noose in one hand and a stool on the other. He takes them away and hugs him letting him cry for many hours on his shoulder. He talks to his father and convinces him to stop drinking and reassures him that he’d always be there for him and so he gets better.” She smiles.

“Anyway you probably know how the rest goes. He stays home, taking care of his grieving mother and father. Once they had passed away he stays to take care of his crippled brother.”

“That's the least he could do really.”

“Yeah… The last of his days were filled with happiness and he even took a liking to the job, but he never stopped wondering what else was out there and he regretted that until the very end of his life.

“He was old when his brother got sick and managed to tell him his life long secret just a couple months before he died.

“They hugged and sobbed and all that shit but his brother made him promise that he would sell the shop and go see the world. None of them married so he had no strings attached.”

“He did?”

“He sure tried,” she pauses looking up to the sky, “He died of a fever before he could sell the damn place.”

Marcus looks puzzled at first and cracks a smile, “That's a terrible story, ya know?”

“Perhaps it is, but every story has its purpose.” She adds. “Wanna hear another?”

“Sure, go ahead lass. We don't seem to be going anywhere.” Marcus grins and makes a dismissive wave with his hand.

“Very well,” She claps her hands and runs them together, “I met this lass once, good sort. Rich family owned a big plantation on the new world.

“Had the whole world on her hands that one, everything one could possibly desire, but as usually is with young impressionable lasses, she falls in love with the first good-for-nothing adventurous chap she laid eyes upon. A captain by the name of William.

“The captain courts the lass, bringing her gifts, tales and love promises, and she falls right into it. After weeks of effort the man finally gets what he wants.”

“I can imagine how heartbroken she was when he doesn't show up come morn.” Marcus grins and shakes his head.

“Ah, but he does come back!” She lifts a finger, smiling all the while. “Not only that, but he invites her to his ship and crew. And against her better judgement she dives right into the opportunity, packing her things on the same day and leaving under the cover of night.”

“Hah! Sounds just like meself!” Marcus laughs a hearty laugh, wiping a tear from his eye lost in a distant memory for a second. “‘cept for the pretty boy part, that's not where this boat sails to.”

“Continuing on…” she clears her throat, “Our lass spends years sailing across the ocean, never really looking back at the life she left behind. The crew is nice enough to her and she’s in love with William as she’s with the sea.

“They travel from Asia to the Americas and back, travelling most trade routes and meeting exotic places with the love of her life by her side, there ain't much else she could wish for.”

Marcus sighs, “Sounds like a good way to live.”

“It most certainly was,” She pauses, “ but she still missed her family though.”

“Every day she wondered how they were doing. If her sisters married well and if her mom still set up her place on the table.

“Those questions had no answer, not where she was.

“Years pass when they make port near her home again, but doesn’t go visit until the second time. I guess she feared their reaction too much or was afraid of having been forgotten, guess I’ll never know.

“The next time she goes, taking a stagecoach to the farm and arriving early in the morning. She is greeted by a strange man, which demands to know who came into his property unannounced.

“The lass explains that she is the long lost daughter of the family that owns the farm, before she is able to realize how nutty she sounded the man breaks into a laugh. 'I have no daughter girl, now begone from my property and mind you don't step on the coffee sprouts on your way out.’

“You can imagine how shocked the girl was when she heard that. Her family was gone, she didn't even know where they had gone or what have happened. Their sugar couldn't compete with the coffee that was dominating the market? Did they lose it all? Or did they sell it to that man? The clues were all around her, the cargo changed to coffee over the years but she never thought much of it by then now she had all those questions that would never have an answer.

“She could try to look for her parents names on the trading companies or on the sales records.” Marcus interrupts, clenching his jaw.

“She did but she never found anything,” Cait sighs, “every clue just led to another dead end. Until she accepted, that her old self was gone forever.

“After that, the sea lost its charm. The excitement was gone, the travels felt like a chore and the world lost its colors. All was a shade of grey.

“It didn't last long though. One night they were assailed by pirates, the captain fought back but they ended up boarding the ship. What they did to them, I’ll leave for you to paint the picture.”

He waits as if to hear some untold part of the story, when he realizes nothing else was coming he says, “Does your stories ever have a happy ending lass?”

“Real stories seldom have one mate.” Cait shrugs and sits back down. Looking at her nails.

Marcus looks forward to some random point of the hull. He pauses for a while, his expression changing as he puzzles the meaning of the stories and then speaks with an angry tone.

“So both of them had a shitty life with a shitty end so nothing matters, is that what you are trying to tell me?”

“Not at all old friend. Their choices defined their lives as yours did your own. It was just their luck.”

“Wha-”

“The boy wasn't brave enough to follow his dreams and stayed behind. The girl was quick to jump towards the first opportunity and left everything.

“The girl was satisfied with her life but never stopped missing her family and spent the last of her days plagued by questions she’d never see answered. If the boy left the workshop he wouldn't be there to save his father in the end, nor to help his brother.

“Both of them could have taken different paths and they regretted not following them, even blaming the one's they took for their lack of fulfillment. But none of them could possibly know what would happen if they were someone else or of they had taken a different path.

“The boy could have led a life of adventure but could fall into a deep depression by blaming himself for not being there for his father. The girl could have stayed behind and never have found love or happiness for that matter.”

“And your point?” He grunts.

“Your path is your own, and the only one you could have taken. We can blame a choice we made in the past… Or even sheer luck. But the choices you made are the ones that count and you can't circle back to the path already taken lest you get stuck on the road. We must follow our path until we reach our destination, because at one point everyone draws the short stick.”

“I-Ithink I get what you’re saying” He stutters and stumbles upon his words. But seems at ease about it. More as if he was trying to piece together a riddle rather than scared of something. “Wait… Am I dead?”, he adds.

“Oh yes indeed, you fell from the mast and broke your neck.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, that's unfortunate. But you spared poor the captain and the cook the weight of killing you as well.”

“W-What?”

“Oh yes, they are getting desperate with the food scarce as it is and have been discussing the subject for a while. As you said they were running out of options.”

Marcus yells, “THAT'S DISGUSTING! THEY CAN'T-”

He is interrupted as the shut door slams open and both the captain and the cook enter the deck. The captain looks at Marcus body lying near the mast and they argue amongst themselves as they grab his body and try to shove him into a vase. Possibly having lied about gathering rainwater and checking on his well being.

Marcus shakes his head as he watches the men clumsily handle his body, dropping him several times before finally fitting him into the container.

“So… What happens next?” , he asks.

“They are going to drain you of your blood, chop you to bits and mix your flesh with the livestock and the blood with the water and none will be the wizer. And the crew may last a couple of extra days thanks to it.

“Maybe the cook and captain won't be able to stand the guilt of what they’ve done, maybe someone will figure it out, or maybe someone will let the cat out of the bag. I don't know.”

He opens and closes his mouth several times before finally deciding what to say, “Not really what I meant but ok…”

He shakes his head “You are not Cait are you? Who are you?”

“Oh no, she’s back inside. She’ll partake of your flesh just like everyone else and maybe survive the rest of the trip.

“As for me, your captain referred to me as Lady Luck and I am quite fond of that name, so let's just leave it at that, shall we?”

Marcus gives her a nervous smile, “Very well Lady. But what happens to me?”

“You’re gonna take a different road, and maybe rest or maybe try a different path. It's not for me to know.”

“You don't know?” He seems surprised.

“As I said Marcus, we all have our regrets.” She seems disheartened but quickly regains her composure, “Good luck on your journey, it has been a pleasure.”

“Goodbye Lady.” He nods.

They look at each other as his form slowly dissolves into a heavy gust of whistling wind, Lady Luck smiles at him one last times before she jumps overboard, disappearing into the ocean. The next day the storm is gone and the crew finally sees clear skies.

#original story #original character #writing #pirates