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mayhemories · 1 year

Note

Neteyam x readers kids to lovers eventually, before WOTW bc I carnt handle his death

Eywa, A Sign

Ohhh it kills me, I love this boy. He died for what? Pandora Jesus better resurrects him next time, or I will have words with Mr Cameron. Not sure if I did your request justice, hope I did <3

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Reader (James Cameron’s Avatar)

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: None? Just straight fluff. Reader is an orphan trope/parental death. Mentions of death.

Words: 1.58k

Author’s Notes: Neteyam is roughly 18/19 here, Reader is 18, Lo’ak and Kiri are 17, and my girl Tuk is still the same. Set before Way of the Water.

Please note that the reader utilises she/her pronouns. If you’d prefer male or gender-neutral pronouns in fic I’m more than happy to repost a male or gn version of the story, otherwise include any pronoun preferences in the request box!

Read below the cut

Many Na’vi died following Toruk Macto. Either due to the impact of the battlefield violence or, their wounds upon return to their clan. Your parents, two brave Omatikaya warriors, died at the hands of the Sky People during a routine raid on supply shipments.

Jake and Neytiri were quick to take you under their care, love and protection. Practically becoming one of their own. Being a few months younger than Neteyam and a year older than the twins, Kiri and Lo’ak, you slipped right in.

Jake was never afraid to reprimand you like you were his own, either. Like the time you were twelve, Lo’ak eleven:

“Now what did I tell you two?” Jake had you and Lo’ak lined up against the wall of the clan stronghold, sprung by the Olo’eyktan from the moment you came sneaking back in after curfew.

“Don’t be in the forest after eclipse-” You and Lo’ak mumbled under your breaths, knowing that Jake wouldn’t let up.

“Yes! That’s right, don’t be in the forest after eclipse!” he said, exasperated, holding his hands above his head, dragging them down across his face. “And where were you two knuckleheads?” His face was annoyed, though his eyes were soft. We were his kids, god forbid anything happened to us.

“Look dad (y/n) had nothing to do with it, it was all me-” Lo’ak started, but you finished,

“Sir, Lo’ak didn’t want to go, I wanted to go.” You and Lo’ak shared a small smile, he was your brother, through and through.

Jake shook his head, hands on hips.

“Go, go, both of you. Wash up.” He was stern, but as you two skxawngs ran past him you saw the gentle smile lay on his lips.

As you got older you noticed Jake becoming harder and harder on his boys. For whatever reason Lo’ak almost gave up on pleasing Jake, felt like he could never be enough for him, a spec of dust compared to Neteyam’s glittering gold. Maybe that was why, why he was so impulsive and reckless, consistently. Any attention being good attention for Lo’ak. Regardless of his intentions, you liked that about him. He encourages your sense of adventure like a brother should, was always there to catch you when you fall. Neteyam and Lo’ak were different sides of the same coin, both living to please Jake in one way or another. Jake saw himself in Lo’ak and that scared him, you knew that,

But Neteyam…shit, Neteyam.

You always saw Neteyam differently. As kids, he felt too cool for you to be around. This developed over time as you, yourself developed. As you felt awkward and out of place in your body, tail giving away every thought and feeling, Neteyam got taller, got broader, got sweeter. As an awkward teenager, your little soft spot evolved into a full-blown crush. You kept it under wraps sure, Lo’ak teasing you here and there but he never thought anything serious of it. Shit, you tried not to think anything of it. He was the future Olo’eyktan, he was the future of the clan.

Now, freshly eighteen you were considered a woman: A relatively fierce Ikran rider, bow made from wood of the tree to replace the Hometree that was lost to the Sky People, a hunter. You surpassed any ritual trail of clan-life easily, save for one. Save for probably the most important one.

Finding a mate.

So, here you were, kneeling on the beautiful deep green moss surrounding the base of the Tree of Voices. The tree was glowing purple, fading to a light pink and back again, streaks of white travelled up and down the tendril of the tree, where you’ve made the bond. The hum of the ancestors created a white noise in you mind, helping to create a true vision. Praying to Eywa always gave you a sense of calm, like all anxieties were being blown right through your body, energy settling itself back into the world.

“My dear All-Mother Eywa, I come to you now for guidance, for advice.” You started, clamping your eyes shut to encourage any kind of vision, so that you may see into the realm beyond that of physical sight.

Neteyam knew it was wrong, to listen to your private prayers with Eywa. But he did not make a move to leave his advantageous spot, hidden amongst trees and rocks, he could watch you freely. His whole life felt like it revolved around you, and your alluring presence, strong heart, strong mind.

Neteyam officially became a man the year prior, it was expected of him as the future clan leader to have already chosen a woman. And, in some ways he had. It had always been you, it was always you. Neteyam loved you, and it was never as a sister as Lo’ak has. When you were children you would play family. Neteyam was the dad, you the mum, Kiri and Lo’ak the kids. Neteyam knew from a young age that he didn’t want to play family with anyone else.

He assumed Neytiri always knew, too. She never pressured him in claiming a mate, or even talking about it. Jake, well he was less switched on when it came to Neteyam’s shy nature. He was always pestering Neteyam about it-

Jake had flown Neteyam and himself to a floating mountain so that him and his first born son could speak freely: “Look, I’m not even saying you have to mate straight away! But at least court someone Neteyam, you’re the future of this clan-” Jake started, but for the first and last time in his life, Neteyam cut his father off.

“I am waiting for (y/n)!” Neteyam yelled, holding the bridge of his nose, anticipating that Jake would come back with a raised voice as he most often did. It did not come. Instead Jake closed the distance between him and his son, wrapping his arms around his beautiful baby boy, who wasn’t a baby anymore. Neteyam loosened, wrapping his still lanky arms around his father. With his chin resting on Neteyam’s head, Jake chuckled:

“Well then, wait for her as long as you need.”

“I love her.” Neteyam admitted quietly.

“I know you do, kid.”

Neteyam shook the memory from his mind, and focused back on your kneeling, praying figure in front of him.

“My mother Eywa, what am I to do?” You felt exasperated, lost. “I… I am afraid that the one I love does not love me Eywa.”

Neteyam’s chest tightened, although he always knew it was a possibility that you may not want him, he tried his hardest swaying anyone else’s decision in the matter. The glares he had sent to all the young na’vi during their teen years, and at your own ceremony of womanhood, Neteyam made it clear with growls and possessive hovering that he was waiting for you. Although, maybe he could’ve made it clearer to you.

“Great Eywa please, please show me a sign that Neteyam and I will be named mates.” you whispered, scared to admit his name in the scenario, aloud.

Neteyam felt like he could vomit. He slowly approached you, kneeling beside you, as if he were beginning to pray, himself.

You could feel his heat, his being as he sat down, you didn’t need to open your eyes to confirm. Besides that, you could feel all the blood drain from your body and rush back up to your cheeks and ears. Clearing your throat, you decided that this was a good a sign as any.

“Neteyam” You opened your eyes, his beautiful warm honey ones already locked on your face, “how much of that did you hear?”

Neteyam hung his head in shame, shaking some of his braids from their resting places, blood rushing to his cheeks.

“I am so sorry, I know I shouldn’t have listened to your private words spoken with Eywa.” Neteyam spoke softly, like he always did with you. “But I could not help it, especially knowing you have not chosen a mate yet.” Neteyam spoke around a lump in his throat, “I needed to know why.”

Your mind was rushing a million miles per minute. But fake bravado was something that Lo’ak taught you, and something you could hide behind.

“You know, you haven’t chosen anyone either. My ceremony was last week, yours was last year.” You said, catching his eye again, with a slight smile on your lips. Neteyam laughed. Shit, you loved that sound. You could die happy now, hearing his laugh.

“I have chosen,” your stomach dropped at his words, though sensing your anxiety Neteyam wove one of his hands with yours, and pinned you to the spot with his warm eyes. “I just had to wait a year for her to choose me too.”

And all at once it felt like Eywa had breathed life into you, and Neteyam. Like your soul was made of milk and honey and you were going to flow on forever.

You kissed him, your hands cupped his beautiful face, his slender fingers settling on your waist, nestling between beads and cloth.

He came out of the kiss laughing, needing air. You let out a laugh too, keeping your foreheads together.

“I see you.” You whispered, still scared that if you speak too loud this dream will dissipate into the colours of Pandora’s jungle, floating away from you entirely.

“I have only ever seen you,” Neteyam said, smiling. His silver freckles set alight from the glow of the Tree of Voices.

Happiness was simple.

#avatar twow #avatar 2022 #avatar 2009 #avatar #neteyam x reader #neteyam #neteyam sully #jake sully #neteyam sully fluff #loak #loak x reader #loak x reader platonic #jake sully x reader #jake sully platonic #jake sully domestic #avatar domestic

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m-oddinsdottir · 2 months

Text

🍒☀️💋.

HERS

Venetia Catton x fem!reader

Summary: another normal summer at Saltburn, however, this time the secret can’t be kept anymore.

Warning(s): oliver quick

Note: I just can’t believe no one has made a Venetia one shot yet

A message appeared on the screen of your phone, the blue light that radiated from it brightened up the frown in your face as your lips pressed together in a thin line. «Don’t get mad, love. But this Ollie you told me about, he’s here.» You couldn’t help but scoff, so, in the end, Felix did invite him regardless of yours and Farleigh’s complaints.

One of your hands passed through your eyes for a second trying to cover your sight from the bothering light. Then, you texted a quick response. «Fucking Felix. I’m almost there.»

You weren’t the best of friends with Oliver, at first, you tried to be nice, you were keen on making new friends and adding more variety into your group. However, there was something off about him; sometimes, you had caught him staring at you through the distance which wouldn’t be weird if he didn’t have that oddness in his eyes, that creepiness, that… You couldn’t even describe it.

So, of course, you told Venetia who reassured you saying that it was probably you being paranoid. Which would be coherent due to your tendency of freaking out in the most insignificant situations. If it weren’t for Farleigh, who thought exactly the same, maybe not for the creepy part but he also knew he didn’t particularly enjoy Oliver Quick’s presence.

Felix, on the other hand, seemed to have become so close to him in only a few months. It wasn’t a secret that Felix attracted people, not only due to his appearance but also because of his personality. He was extroverted, had a great sense of humor and on top of that he was kind, maybe too much sometimes. This last trait was the reason why he had invited Oliver “Er… It’s just that his father has died” You remember him explaining to you why it wouldn’t be just you four that summer which sounded like pity.

Venetia usually invited you to spend each summer vacation in the manor as you couldn’t visit your family because of them living too far away. You just couldn’t afford the trip. But of course that wasn’t the only reason why, the box dyed blonde and you had been dating for almost two years now. It all started when Felix invited you to a party in Saltburn where you met his parents and, specially, where you met his sister. It was an instant connection, you remember being in one of Saltburn’s multiple balconies when she appeared, her long gown shining under the moonlight and the cigarette hanging from her lips “And you are…?” She had asked uninterested “I can think about a tone of adjectives but I will let you discover them for yourself” Then, you told her your name and the rest was history.

Despite this, nobody knew. Not your friends in college, neither Elspeth nor Sir James. The only ones that knew were Far and Felix, however it was hard not to when you two were all over each other during the summer.

But now, with Oliver also there… He couldn’t know, if he did everyone would also do and Venetia and you were just not ready for it. More you than Venetia, after all you didn’t want everyone to think that you were with her just for her family’s money. Everyone would have thought that as you had never told anyone you were also interested in girls neither have you ever shown it as your whole dating history was filled with guys. To be honest, you didn’t even know it yourself until you met her.

Soon, you arrived at Saltburn. A soft smile was placed in your lips trying to act as if there was nothing wrong by the time you entered the place. Duncan, the butler, welcomed you with his usual seriousness and your smile grew due to the sight of a familiar face.

"You know we will carry your luggage, my lady. There’s no need to carry them yourself.” He said while a few other workers grabbed the bags from your hands.

“And as always you know I don’t like to be a burden.”

Duncan shook his head, a complicity look in his eyes. “A guest like you would never be.”

A laugh escaped from your chest and then you rolled your eyes playfully. “Lord, that’s for sure.”

Duncan waited for your luggages to be carried away before speaking again. “Let me escort you to the dining room, the Catton’s are having lunch.”

You raised an eyebrow as you started to walk with the main butler. “Just the Cattons?”

“I’m afraid not.” He answered so a sight was forced to leave your lips.

With the company of Duncan, you entered the dining room finding there the whole family… and Oliver. You restrained from rolling your eyes.

“Darling! You’re finally here.” Elspeth stood up to greet you, she hugged you and then held your cheeks with affection “How can it be that you get prettier every summer?”

“It’s just you Elspeth who sees me with loving eyes. And I should ask the same for you!” The blonde smiled as a response to the compliment before stepping away from you. “Oh, darling” The oldest woman laughed as you approached the rest of the family members.

Sir James welcomed you with a big smile in his face as you gently squeezed his shoulder. Then you walked towards Farleigh, hugging him from behind as you surrounded his shoulders with your arms placing a kiss in his cheek. “Finally, you’re here. I couldn’t bare it any longer” He murmured so you laughed “Don’t worry, we will team up”

Then you approached Felix and your fingers gently brushed through his long hair under the eyes of Oliver. Felix looked up with a pout in his lips. “I’m sorry. I recall what you said but…” He said in a sight before you interrupted him “There’s no need to, it will still be a great summer. I’m sure.”

Lastly, you eagerly walked towards Venetia who was waiting with a tempting smile on her dark lips. Her big eyes travelled through your body up and down as you tried to cover the excitement held in your body to finally have her in your arms.

You hugged her from behind, burying your face in the hollow of her neck. Breathing in her scent, your lips pressed a soft kiss in her pale skin being covered from her parent’s eyes thanks to her long hair. “I missed you” You just whispered before stepping away from her.

“I missed you too” She whispered back.

The moment lingered for a few seconds in time as you looked into each other’s eyes, despite this it was soon broken apart by another voice. A new voice, a voice that didn’t belong there.

“That was it? I was expecting something more… enthusiastic.” Oliver’s voice, of course it was him talking. You stood up, stepping away from Venetia as your eyes locked into his’.

“What do you mean Ollie?” A fake smile was placed on your lips as you turned around slowly to look at Felix, scared that he could have told him something but he looked as confused as you.

“Well, darling, if I haven’t seen someone so dear to me in such a time I would be more…” He spoke with innocence in his voice making a frown appear in your face “I don’t think you have a say in how I greet this family”

Oliver smiled while tilting his head, he had a confused expression as he looked around facing the reactions of the other members. “Not this family but your girlfriend…”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. How could he know? You looked at Felix dead in the eyes, maybe he had told him while being drunk. That was the only reasonable explanation, Farleigh couldn’t have told him anything and it was shown in the way he stood up, hands clenching and unclenching under the table “What the hell Ollie?!” Felix spoke more loudly than the tone he would usually speak in.

The room suddenly stopped before spinning around, you heard Elspeth call your name but you couldn’t hear any of the words that slipped from her lips. Venetia looked at you, she was worried, you could sense it but you were unable to speak or even move.

“What? I… I thought everyone knew” Oliver looked confused and you heard Farleigh’s voice filled with anger afterwards “Clearly not everyone did! But how do you…?” His question was soon answered by the boy “I was in the bathroom when Felix was talking to you about it… I just overheard it but it’s not a big deal, right?”

Once again, you looked at Felix whose eyes darted around the room in a mixture of confusion and worry. Then, you stormed out of that place leaving behind the voice of Elspeth calling your name and a fast trace of footsteps following you.

You walked towards the room you were usually assigned before someone stopped you grabbing your wrist and making you turn around. Encountering Venetia’s eyes, a shaky sight left your lips by the same time your hands began to shake. “I didn’t… I didn’t want it to be like this.”

Venetia smiled as she placed a rebel strand of hair behind your ear, her hand cupping your face as you moved yourself closer to her trying to calm down. You wrapped your arms around her waist, moving your head from her hands to hide it in her neck.

“Love… It’s alright. My parents they won’t be mad, I’m sure they even suspected it.” At a slowly pace, her fingers traveled through your back in a known pattern that made you sigh again. “I… It’s just, fucking Ollie”

“Yeah” She laughed softly stepping away slightly to look into your eyes “Fucking Ollie”

Venetia caught a glimpse of your lips before meeting them in the halfway of the path towards your room and also your heart. Each time you were with her, every single caress, every hug, every kiss, it just contributed to her sticking into you even deeper. Your foreheads pressed together after the kiss, making your even breathing mix with hers and for a moment you were unable to open your eyes. You just wanted to stay in her arms forever.

sorry if there’s any grammatical mistake or similars, I haven’t written in english for such a long time lol

pt. 2??

#venetia catton #venetia x reader #venetia catton x reader #saltburn #saltburn x reader #felix catton #farleigh start #oliver quick #saltburn oneshot #saltburn fic #salrburn imagine

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anxiousnerdwritings · 1 year

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What would happen if Aunt reader had died rather than Lily? Like she takes the curse while protecting Harry but Lily and James are still alive?

Lily and James would be distraught. Lily especially takes it the hardest, she’s absolutely torn apart by the death of her sister. All this time she made it her life goal to protect and keep her younger sister safe, it was her responsibility as an older sister to do so after all, but in the end her beloved sister died protecting Lily and her family. Her sister died protecting Lily’s child and Lily would be forever grateful but that loss would never go away.

Lily would never truly recover from the loss of the Reader, she tries to go on with her life and raising Harry but she can’t help but think about how her sister should be alongside her every step of the way. Harry wouldn’t get to experience and make memories of his own with his precious aunt, he’ll never get to have any of it all because some crazed dark wizard stole it from him. From all of them. If anything the only thing he’ll ever really remember of his aunt is her sacrifice and the last words she ever said protecting him from Voldemort. Something that will later on haunt him once they’re made more apparent. But Lily wouldn’t let him grow up completely without the Reader, she makes sure he grows up knowing everything possible about his aunt, how much she cared about him, and how much of a prominent pillar she would have been to him. Every happy and meaningful moment ever regarding the Reader would be shared with him, to the point that he could recite them all on his own. Not to mention how much meaning was held for her among Lily, James, Sirius, Lupin and others as a whole. Lily would want Harry to know just how loved his aunt was and for him to grow up loving her all the same.

Petunia would wholeheartedly blame their sister’s death on Lily and her family, but mainly on Lily and Harry. If it weren’t for them her sister would still be alive. It overall causes an even more intense and detrimental riff between the two. Lily already blames herself enough for the Reader’s death but Petunia takes it to a whole other level. She even once told Lily that it should have been her who died, along with her freak child, that she selfish lives on when it should be their sister who should be here right now. Even though it was only ever uttered once it was more than enough to forever affect Lily, those words echoing in her head whenever the chance arose. Words she herself believed more and more as the days went on.

James would feel utterly defeated and useless. Of course he was happy and extremely grateful that his family was alive and well but his sister-in-law was his family too it was all at the cost of her that they were here now. If only he could have done something. If only he had his wand that night maybe the Reader would still be alive. If only. James knows very well what his wife is going through, they were all destroyed by the Reader death; Lily, him, Sirius, Remus, they all were going through it but he knew damn well his wife was having the hardest time and understandably so. All he could do was be there for her and help as much as he could/needed to with Harry to take some stress off of her. Although, caring for Harry seemed to be a way to keep herself occupied so her mind wouldn’t stray too far into the depths. James desperately tries to help Lily in water way he can, he doesn’t want to lose her either and there’s a good chance he might given just how severely she’s been affected by not having her beloved sister in her life anymore.

As heart wrenching and how selfish she knows it is to leave James and Harry, Lily would be more than temped to follow the Reader into the afterlife. She knows it’s terrible, she knows she needs to be strong for Harry especially and to be there for him but she can’t help but contemplate being reunited with her sister again and more times than not it sounds so appealing. But than Lily is reminded of the fact that her sister died so that Lily and her family could live, so giving that up would take away from the Reader’s sacrifice and Lily couldn’t do that. Instead she would live for the both of them.

Also, Lily would be absolutely over the moon if she and James had another child who grew up to look and act just like the Reader. Not only does she get a second chance at having a piece of her precious sister again but Harry will get to have some semblance of his aunt too. And seeing Lily so overjoyed is more than enough for James. The only difference is that this time around Lily will only be all the more intense and over protective of lookalike!Reader and she wholeheartedly will raise Harry to do the same. James takes notice of the overwhelming extremes his wife is taking this time around but he can’t blame her and would only enable her further.

#yandere lily evans #yandere james potter #yandere petunia evans #yandere harry potter #yandere harry potter concept #yandere concept

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adharastarlight · 5 months

Text

Tis The Season

Four: Mail

Jegulus, where Regulus lives with Sirius and Sirius is... alluded to being the boss of some shady shit and James is a bodyguard. Idk it was late and I was sleep deprived

Regulus never got letters, which is why it was so odd that for the past few days he’d practically run to the letter box and retreat into his room. It was even odder that Sirius could hear him giggling from his office. He’d never actually seen what happened, he’d only heard it from the first room next to the front door. But today? Today, he stood in their kitchen and stared at the door, trying to figure out what magic it now possessed.

At exactly ten twenty five, Sirius heard Regulus’ alarm go off. At exactly ten thirty, Reg walked out of his room, stifling a yawn and went over to the door. At exactly ten thirty two a letter fell through the slot into his waiting hands. It had been the same for almost a week.

“Reggie?”

The younger brother froze where he stood for a second before turning to face him. Sirius usually had a meeting at ten fifteen which lasted until eleven. “Good morning, don’t you have a meeting?”

Sirius held up his phone, the screen showing he was indeed on a call, but muted. He tapped his ear where he had his headphone and smiled, “I’ll know if they need me, it’s the same boring drivel.”

“You’re the boss, why do you even need to be in all of the meetings?”

“I’m a hands-on boss. What’s the letter?”

“It’s nothing.” He shifted the weight of the paper between his hands slightly and forced a convincing smile, “do you want to order in tonight?”

“You never get mail.”

Regulus shrugged, “well I wouldn’t know what it was unless I’d opened it, hm?”

“Oh, right of course. But our mailman does his deliveries at eight and no one else has access to the foyer. Unless you’ve given them the code?”

“I’m not an idiot, Sirius, besides, plenty of people have the code.”

“People who work for me.”

“You are indeed the boss.” He shifted his weight again and rubbed at his eyes, feigning more exhaustion than he was experiencing. “Can I go back to bed now?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes at him, “is there a security breach, Reggie?”

“What? No!”

“You can’t trust everyone, you know?”

The younger scoffed and moved to walk past him but he was stopped in his tracks by his brother stepping practically into him. He glowered at him, “move.”

“This is serious.”

Reg rolled his eyes, “no, that’s you. Now budge.”

“You might like them, Reggie, but it’s not safe for anyone to have that code other than the people I directly give it to.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I know all about the bloody business. No need to remind me. I’m perfectly safe. I don’t even open the bloody door.”

The older brother straightened up, “Regulus.”

He groaned and lifted his tee slightly to show the gun resting in the elastic of his shorts, “happy?”

Sirius stared at him for a moment, “where did you-”

“Oh please. Did you think I thought you were the CEO of a tech company? I’m twenty-three, Siri, I’m not naive. You could keep me locked in this apartment forever and all it would show me was the ways out.”

“I told you not to… it’s not safe, Regulus!”

“Well, I’ve not died yet. You might as well train me, I’ll be joining the others anyway.”

“Don’t be absurd, and don’t change the subject. Who did you give the code to?”

Regulus just smiled, “I didn’t.”

“Then-”

“You did. They’re on your payroll.”

“Everyone on my payroll is in the meetin-” he broke off and stared at the letter, then at his brother’s face, at the door, back at his phone. He hung up without a word and called a different number. “My baby brother? Are you kidding me, James?”

“Hello to you too.”

Sirius cursed under his breath and Reg was mildly worried he’d snap his phone in half, “did you tell him?”

“No, of course I didn’t. He’s not an idiot. He’s known for years.”

“He’s- you’ve known for years?!”

Regulus shrugged and smiled again, “most of your plans would have failed.”

“You messed with my plans?”

“I fixed them.”

He glared at him somehow more but turned his attention back to James, “I told you to guard the fucking perimeter not drop off love letters.”

“You can’t assign me as the bodyguard to someone so beautiful and expect me to just be fine.”

“I will kill you.”

James scoffed and the brother’s heard the door to the foyer open. Reg felt his cheeks heat and he quickly ducked into his bedroom to change, “no, you won’t. I’ve kept him safe for years.”

“Whilst what? Flirting with him?!”

“Sure… flirting… yep. Anyway, I'm almost there, one second.” He hung up the phone and there was a very smug sounding knock on the door. You might be wondering how someone could make a knock sound smug but if anyone could, it would be James Fucking Potter.

Sirius typed in the code to unlock the door and flung it open with a dramatic huff, “you’re dead, Potter.”

“You’ve said. Where is he?”

“I hate you. I’m the bloody boss and-”

Regulus walked out of his room in a hoodie Sirius distinctly remembers not buying, “hey, mon amour. Sirius, breathe. I mean, this is really your own fault. If you’re going to lock me in here and the only man I’d have access to is this fucking hot? Your own fault.”

“I-”

“Careful, mate, you’ll catch flies if you keep gaping like that. Hi, sweetheart, c’mere.”

He smiled and walked over just slow enough that it could be considered walking before jumping up and giggling when he was caught by the brunette. He wrapped his legs around his waist and knocked their foreheads together, “hi.”

Sirius was staring at them again, his mouth still agape, “you- he- you’re… you’re dating?”

“What did you think it was?”

“I don’t know! A secret admirer thing! How did you two even-”

James smiled, “when you go out on business, I mean, really he’s far safer with me in the apartment than me just strolling around outside.”

“And I’m much safer going out with him than sneaking out alone.”

The older brother threw his hands up in defeat and walked back into his office, holding out a gun to Reg, “come on then, we better get started on that training. And get rid of that piece of shit, you need a proper gun now.”

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xjustakay · 7 months

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(10/5) prompt: eerie — 1,436 words (literal haunted house date night; 0/10, james does not recommend - cw: talk of death/murder, ghosts, general creepy weirdness) @jegulus-microfic

James is a weak, weak man, he’s decided.

Because, here’s the thing: ghost stories? He can usually laugh them off; he’s got no real life experience with the concept of the supernatural or the dead sticking around with the living. He’s watched movies, seen some stories told online, but there’s a degree of separation from them, you know? A screen. A promise that it’s not actually happening to him.

But now? Now there’s no screen, no separation; he’s walking right through one. Checking out an old abandoned house that’s supposedly haunted by the family that died there isn’t at all James’ idea of a romantic evening, but there he is. All because Regulus batted his pretty eyelashes at him with his lip caught between his teeth. All because Regulus hit him at just the right moment with a sweetly murmured ‘please, baby, I want to check it out.”

Ergo, James is a fucking weak man, because he’d been powerless to say no to his boyfriend in the moment.

The old floor of the 19th century mansion creaks beneath their every step. It’s clear that very few other people have been brave enough to enter the blocked off old home —there’s a thin layer of dust coloring everything a muted grey beneath the blue-white glow of the moon slanting through partially-boarded windows. There’s still furniture covered in moth-eaten sheets in each room they pass, too.

It’s eerie, how there’s still a whole life left behind there, despite the fact that it’s been ages since anyone called the place home. James swallows through a tight throat as he follows at Regulus’ side, each of them with their phone in hand, flashlights on. Regulus is too excited, even as he tries to disguise it —an unstoppable enthusiasm in his continued curiosity about all things spooky and strange when he peers through every doorway to see what’s there.

“How are you not freaking out right now?” James asks, whispering on instinct.

“It’s just a house,” Regulus replies at a normal volume, shrugging.

He points his flashlight up at a family portrait hanging over the fireplace in the musty-smelling library that they’ve entered. A man and woman stand stiff-backed behind two identical twin daughters in the painting, five years old at most. The mother has distant eyes and a forced smile on her face while the father looks too serious, obviously tense. The two little girls both smile, one with teeth, one tight-lipped; the only thing that seems to notably set them apart.

James swears that when he takes a small step to the left that all four pairs of eyes follow him. Oh, he’s going to throw up.

“What happened here, again?” He asks. Hates himself for doing so, but his own curiosity can’t seem to be helped.

“Winifred Manning went mad after having her daughters. She’d been told by a doctor she wouldn’t survive having one child, much less two. She ended up convincing herself not long after their birth that they were sent as an omen from the devil,” Regulus explains calmly, head tilting as he looks up at the painted family. “She tried to kill them.”

James gulps. “Tried to?”

“Well, suppose she was successful eventually, considering,” Regulus says. “She tried to poison them for a little while, but the nanny caught on, told her husband, Nicholas.”

James stares at the tense-looking man in question, wondering if he wasn’t looking so uneasy in the pose for the family portrait because he knew. Knew what his wife thought, knew she was trying to get rid of their children.

“So how did they actually die then?” Again, James hates that he’s asking, but he’s clearly blocked out the couple other times Regulus has told him bits of this story before coming here.

“Well, ultimately she drowned them in the bath.” Regulus delivers the news so casually, ignoring the way James winces. “Just left them in the water afterward and returned to playing the piano in the sitting room, that’s where Nicholas found her when he came home. Then he heard the water left running upstairs, found the girls there. And in a madness of his own, having his daughters taken from him and knowing his wife was insane, he stabbed Winifred to death.”

“Jesus,” James wheezes.

“Not a lot of that here, I’m afraid,” Regulus snorts.

It might be a good joke if James weren’t feeling chilled down to the bone at present.

“What happened to Nicholas after all that?” Evidently he’s just going to keep digging himself deeper.

“He hung himself in the attic,” Regulus answers simply. He turns from the fireplace and shines the beam of his phone’s flashlight over the covered furniture leading toward the attached sitting room. “Now people think this place is cursed. That because of the nature of their deaths and the madness they all stemmed from that their spirits just… stayed here. That’s why no one’s touched it in a couple decades.”

“And you wanted to come here?” James lets out a nervous sounding laugh.

Regulus glances at him over his shoulder, lips curled in a smirk. “You’re terrified right now, aren’t you?”

“The fact that you’re not is also of concern to me, but we’ll address that at a later time.” James can’t help the way his lips twitch when Regulus laughs at that.

Turning to face him, Regulus tucks his lit up phone in his back pocket and steps closer. He smooths both hands up and down James’ chest, head tilted back slightly to be able to look up at him.

“I never did thank you properly for coming with me,” Regulus murmurs.

James gives a tilted nod of his head. “True.”

“Should I do that, you think?”

“Here? Now?” James chuckles, nerves still present in the sound. “Bit disrespectful, don’t you think?”

“I think if the ghosts were actually still around, they’d have let us know by now.”

“Okay, hate that you just put that thought in my head.”

“Let me distract you, then.”

Regulus lifts one hand to rest at James’ jaw, easing up on his toes to bring their lips together. And honestly, James does have to give it to him —it fucking works, it’s an excellent distraction. Hard to be afraid of ghosts when his free hand is curling around Regulus’ hip. Hard to be worried about much of anything when Regulus is trailing his tongue over his lower lip before licking right into his mouth.

His hand moves from Regulus’ hip to slide along the small of his back, encouraging him to arch his back the smallest bit. Regulus hums into James’ mouth the moment their bodies press firmly together, his arms both looping securely around the back of James’ neck. A cool breeze passes outside, cutting through shoddily boarded windows and making James shiver just as much as the feel of Regulus sinking his fingers into his hair.

But then, distantly, there’s the tinkling sound of a piano. A slowly building sound that travels along the high and low keys in a melody somehow both pretty and eerie at the same time. It’s Regulus tensing in the curl of his one arm that tells James it’s not just his looming anxiety making him think he hears it. It’s real. Regulus clearly hears the piano, too.

They ease back from kissing, wide hazel eyes on Regulus’ face as his dark brow furrows for a long, anxious moment. The piano continues to play. Sounds like it’s in the next room over; the sitting room attached to the library.

“If this is a joke, it’s not funny,” James whispers shakily, some small part of his brain hoping that it is that simple. That his boyfriend thought it would be hilarious to play a prank on him, hide a speaker in the other room before they came —James might even be proud of him for it after the initial terror wears off.

“James, that’s not me…” Regulus whispers back, grey eyes staring past him, over James’ shoulder toward the open doorway into the room the piano seems to be playing from.

There’s a sudden loud creak followed by a thud upstairs, a door thrown open maybe, that makes them both jump. The piano continues, undisturbed, in the other room. Past the rush of his heart in his ears, James thinks he can hear running water now, the pitter patter of dripping on the hardwood floor above them.

Regulus fists a hand in the front of James’ sweatshirt, yanking as he hurries out of the library the way they came in. “Alright, time to go.”

“Yeah. Yep. Yes, absolutely.”

#jegulus #jegulus microfic #when the ghosts haunting a house crash your already creepy date #this got away from me #but it was fun so lmao #good job guys #kay’s microfics #kay’s writing

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myriadparacosm · 1 month

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SMALL DROP OF Ambrosia (Chap.6 of Black Beats Black - Hanahaki)

Just a little glimpse of a short scene (:

“Sometimes I wish he had killed me.”

Sirius blinked, shifting ever so slightly even when their noses are already close to smooch. Remus wanted to gently bite it, pinch it or pet it up to the bridge before kissing, but he stayed put. He loved the proximity and he kept his eyes on his canopy. Sharing a bed was starting to be tricky as they grew up but it brought the chance to stay close, in an almost embrace, where their skins meet and their breaths play together in the quiet night.

“I don’t,” he simply replied.

They always had muffliato spells when they joined one or the other in a bed, simply to talk or bask in their presence. Sirius had always been fond of touch but he only acted on it after the winter break of their first year; it started with James then he grew confident to try his luck around Remus and Peter. They never did much outside from just laying beside each other, sometimes they hug when one can’t calm down and they might have fallen asleep once or twice like that. Remus hoped it would be one of these moments again but he kept his body still.

He roughly cleared his throat, blinking in the dark and breathing in the slight smell of ink and fresh honey that followed Sirius. His arm itched and thrumed menacingly, especially where the scar of the bite had sunken under new ones.

“I wouldn’t be a monster.”

“You would be dead,” Sirius pointed out and swallowed, echoing unconsciously into Remus because their whole bodies are weld and warm. “You are not a monster Moony. This bastard is. But you’re better.”

“You don’t understand,” he argued.

The first time Remus had shifted, he woke up in a pool of blood without real conscience of what is real. He figured that he died and a large part had wished so behind his nebulous eyes. The one side that might have hoped to live had been torned off from his body, leaving a false arm in its stead - mangled and gnarled into a gross piece of flesh.

Greyback’s bite disappeared under it but it still slithered to grab Remus by his throat. His whole arm is a mess of scars despite the intense healing his father tried, giving him back his arms but not his will. This spot where the bite was is always the focus of Moony on very bad nights before attacking somewhere else.

“Then, I would die too.”

“What?”

His eyes turned blurry at his hasty glance, finally taking in the sight of Sirius tucked right against him. Dangerously close on his single pillow and gripping all his thoughts with a grin. Two little moons stared at Remus, glimmering and so silver it’s uneasy but he would drink it in. There was no cold living under thick black lashes. He had always hated the moon after getting bitten except for these two small ones that smile, laugh and whine like pure magic.

“I wouldn’t want to live if you didn’t. I won't be happy.”

His words were clear. So simple that Remus got his breath shaken and trembling for a minute. Sirius’ lips fell shut in a crooked manner, almost shy and yet bold, calling him to challenge - just I dare you.

“You would,” Remus replied, ignoring his laboring heart and the gasps under his skin where the beast crawls. “Not much would change if I wasn't here. You wouldn’t even know that I’m not here.”

“I would,” he argued without any argument.

“You would have never heard of me-”

“I would still miss you,” Sirius cut and this time their nose kissed. “Moony, I would always know that something is missing. Even if I don’t meet you at your glorious scrawny eleven years old or years later, decades, centuries. I will know. You are not here and I won't be happy until you are. It doesn't feel right.”

Remus swallowed the incessant desire to wolf Sirius. “You wouldn’t know,” he weakly said as their breaths restarted together.

Sirius didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. His lips curled in a trembling way and he blinked with a mist. One of his feet slightly brushed Remus’ ankle as his eyes fell shut, head tucked against his.

“I will always wait and look for you. Even in another universe, Remus.”

They are still in the same universe, less than a year later, but strangers. Remus thinks that he still knows Sirius. He hopes so, but he doesn't quite know.

This chapter is already 30 pages long and I'm not even half-done (: (help)

(I'm looking for a beta-reader for this story, and maybe others, if someone enjoyed this short passage)

#hp marauders #marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #my writing #hanahaki au #Black Beats Black #myriadparacosm #happy ending #sirius loves remus #remus loves sirius #But I will break them both

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creativepawsworld · 2 months

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Silence - Chapter 57

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x OC

Summary = The Long Awaited Wedding Day

Warnings = Language...Grammar...Death mentioned....violence implied...fluff...cute moments...wedding...alcohol

Word Count = 3,787

Note =Firstly, I am sorry for the wait. I am honestly considering ending this story here and there abouts because I feel I am not giving it the love and attention I have in the past and I know you are all frustrated waiting for updates or at least the scattered updates can be annoying and I get that and apologise. I do hope if you are reading this that you enjoy it and thank you so much for sticking with me. Love you all 💙

Always please give love to @forgottenpeakywriter aka Selene Shelby for the artwork for this chapter. She made this month's ago and I finally get to use it.

Standing in my former bedroom in my parents’ home wearing a wedding dress felt surreal. It was truly happening. I was getting married. But it was so much more different than I could have ever imagined. I was now a mother, to the most perfect little angel. The relationship with my parents was much better than it was four years previous and my best friend, my true best friend was dead. My brother James Adler. But I knew he was beside me today. He wouldn’t let me go through this day on my own.

I could just imagine his words now, ‘I can’t believe you fell for Thomas Shelby when I told you not to. And now you are marrying him?’. I can imagine him chuckling in my ear as he fixed the lapels of the suit he would wear to my wedding. He would talk me through my nerves for the day, assuring me everything was going to be okay.

Before he died he knew Tommy made me happy. Anyone could see how happy that man made me. I’d happily shout it from the rooftops if I wasn’t afraid of heights. I had truly and utterly fallen in love with that Peaky Blinder Devil, Thomas Shelby and I didn't see that changing anytime soon.

Looking in the mirror I brushed down the beautiful lace of my dress. I was ready, all I had to do was wait for one of Tommy’s men to take me to the location. I didn’t know where the wedding was, Tommy wouldn't tell me. He kept everything about this wedding hush-hush.

I didn't know if this was because he thought I might change my mind and say no or if it was just his need to have control after what happened at the Derby when he nearly lost his life. Either way, I was happy to let him take the lead, I was kept busy with our daughter.

I walked down the stairs, my father looked handsome dressed in a beautiful hand-tailored suit he had created himself for the wedding, while my mother wore a beautiful blush pink dress. She was making tea, ushering a small piece of bread towards me, wanting me to eat it. But I shook my head. My nerves were too much, I couldn’t eat a thing.

“Butterflies” I shake my head holding my stomach. I look down at my daughter's bassinet. She was sleeping soundly, small coos coming from her pink lips every so often. She was honestly the most beautiful little girl I ever laid my eyes on. I could stare at her all day and never get bored.

“B…b…beautiful” My father tried to speak, walking over to me and placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. A proud look in his eyes as we looked at each other. He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze as he nodded.

Today was a big day for all of us. For my parents, it was the day they officially loose their daughter to a man. For me, it was the day I married the love of my life. The father of my child. Today was the day our families joined together and become one.

After a moment of silence, a loud bang was heard at the door followed by a loud voice walking into my parents’ home. I looked around at the front door to see John walking into the living room.

“Alrigh’ Ana ready to get hitched?” John grinned, nodding at my parents in acknowledgement. “Well shit, don't you look beautiful. Like an angel”

“Thank you, John” I whispered. The butterflies had exploded from my stomach and were working their way through my body. I could feel tingling sensations in my arms, it was like electricity in my fingertips.

“Nervous? Aye, big commitment this “ John nodded reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a flask. “Want some? Might settle the nerves” He chuckled with that cheeky grin of his, blue eyes shining with mischief.

“I’ll pass” I chuckled “How is Tommy?” I asked biting my lip as I played with my fingers nervously.

John licked his lips as he debated how to answer the question. “Tommy is Tommy” John chuckled. “He seems cool, and in control but he is probably a nervous wreck under that stony face that you seem to love." John joked, licking his lips. "You’re a special girl to him Ana. I’ve never seen him like this over a woman”

“Really?” I asked a small smile pulling at my lips.

“Well no actually, there is one other girl he acts all goofy for…” John trailed off that cheeky grin of his growing. “And it is my perfect little niece sleeping all precious in that cot” He spoke looking over at Roselle. “I still can’t believe Tommy helped create something so innocent and pure”

“Tommy is a good man, John, you know that” I smiled walking over and placing my hand on his shoulder as we stared at my sleeping daughter. “You all are”

John pursed his lips before nodding his head. “Maybe” He sighed before rubbing his hands together “Alright we gotta move, cars out front I’m driving, Mr and Mrs Adler you can ride in the back with Roselle, Ana in front with me."

******

The drive felt like it took forever but when I looked at the clock it had only taken twenty minutes. John had driven us to an open field that usually lay empty, only today it was filled with different, brightly coloured vardos and several people. They were all around small campfires. There were people I didn’t recognise and a few I did.

In the middle of all the vardos and people was a walkway, lined with candles and flower petals. At the end of the walkway was an arch, a beautiful arch filled with flowers of all different colours. Haybales lined each side I assumed for our guests to sit. I slowly exited the car in my wedding dress admiring the view, my parents got out behind me with my daughter. I noticed that she was awake and decided I wanted to hold her to help settle my nerves.

I looked up at my mother and father who both nodded proudly. It was evident on their faces that they to appreciate Tommy’s efforts to make the venue beautiful. In the distance I saw, Arthur, Ada and Polly. They seemed to laughing and enjoying themselves, each one looking beautiful and dressed up for the occasion.

It was only a matter of minutes now till we became family, officially.

John whistled rather loudly drawing the attention of some of the men who in turned to alert the others. It was rather amusing to watch, as each man whistled to the next signalling my arrival, the guests all seemed to make their way towards the haybales to take a seat.

When word had reached Polly she quickly walked in our direction, a surprised look on her face as she eyed me from head to toe. “Ana my dear I’ve never seen you look so beautiful. This dress is so you” Polly grinned the seconds she reached me. “My grand niece is awake I see, excited for the big day” She cooed stroking Roselle’s cheek.

“Polly this place, how did you all get a field to look so, wonderful?” I asked softly. This setting was much better than I could ever imagine. It was better than a stuffy church wedding I always dreamt of, it simply surpassed it in every level possible.

“Tommy, the boy has an exquisite vision when given the chance” Polly smiled “Alright almost show time, let me take the little lady, your mother can follow me and we shall see you at the other side Mrs Shelby” Polly smiled taking my daughter from my hands and walking with my mother to seat down.

“You feeling good Mr Adler?” John asked offering him a sip of his flask which my father happily accepted. “Almost showtime, whenever the band starts playing just walk down the middle, Tommy will see you at the bottom” John winked, taking back his flask and going to stand next to Arthur.

I bit my lip realising that John, Arthur and Finn were acting as groomsmen for Tommy and I had no one representing me. In that moment of weakness, I realised I probably should have spent more time making friends and trying to have a life outside of Tommy and even Roselle.

My father gently stroked my arm offering me a small smile as he rubbed my upper arm carefully. Before I could open my mouth to speak we were joined by Esme, Ada and Lizzie.

“You didn’t think we’d let you enter into this lion's den alone did you” Esme smiled sending me a wink.

“You may not have chosen us to be your friends but we sure as hell are your family” Ada nodded.

“You’ll need all the support you can get marrying Tommy Ana. But there is no better woman for it” Lizzie smiled offering me a hug which I gladly accepted.

My heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest at the overwhelming support of these girls. Ada’s words in particular stayed with me, of course, these women were my family. We had been through so much over the past few years how could I have not thought of them as friends? I did have people outside of Tommy and Roselle, yes Tommy may have introduced us but our bond was much deeper than that now.

Hearing music, the girls squealed in delight, making a show as they walked down the walkway John had pointed out earlier. When Lizzie finally moved aside I saw Tommy, he was standing at the other side his face stoic where he stood. His hands were clasped together in front of him, he was wearing a beautiful navy blue suit that just made his eyes pop. He had a beautiful white flower on the lapel of his suit, letting everyone know he was the groom.

“R…ready” My father grimaced slightly in pain but smiled through it as he offered me his arm. I gladly took it feeling the butterflies float all over my body, images of falling entered my head so I gripped tightly onto his upper arm. We started to slowly walk down the pathway, I tried to keep my head up, and shoulders back and reach Tommy without falling and making a fool of myself. With each step I took I felt like it was lasting forever, the walkway seemed to be growing instead of shrinking. Would I ever make it to the end?

I was so consumed with my thoughts that it was only when my father placed my hands in Tommy’s did the panic, stop. I instantly recognised his touch and I felt relief. The weight had been lifted and everything seemed right in the world. I look up at him smiling brightly as he gazed into my eyes, a small smile tugged on the corner of his lips.

“You look beautiful” He smiled, reaching up and cupping the side of my cheek and jaw softly in his hands. His thumb gently stroked along my cheekbone.

“And you look so handsome, I love the navy on you” I smiled a bright toothy smile as we looked into each other’s eyes.

The moment was broken by Johnny's dogs clearing his throat. I glanced at him briefly before turning to Tommy, he was officiating the wedding? I asked with my eyes causing Tommy to chuckle.

“He knows what he’s doing, he blessed John and Esme’s’ wedding I thought he could do ours too” Tommy grinned, sending a quick wink as he positioned us in the middle of everyone’s eyeline. Front and centre where the bride and groom should be.

“Alrigh let’s get this wedding going before Tommy holds it off any longer eh?” Johnny Dogs spoke rather loud so everyone could hear. His statement made the guests chuckle in amusement. A small dig at Tommy for the length of time he waited before finally allowing us to wed.

*****

The wedding ceremony went off without incident, something I was grateful for considering who I was marrying and the gang I was marrying into. It seemed that everything was finally at peace. Major Campbell was gone along with all our problems, at least that's what it felt like. As far as I was aware we could now have a normal life.

Tommy could continue his work with the factories and betting shop, yes he fixed races but he had police officers on his side it wasn’t something he would be arrested for now Campbell was dead. They would continue looking in the opposite direction.

I hadn’t had any more threats of incidents with the Italians and Tommy seemed to be caught up with planning this wedding and keeping his business operating in both Birmingham and London to even consider going after them. Things were finally, as normal as they could be.

After saying our vows and having a few pictures taken, the party had truly begun. The Shelby family, along with my own and our friends were celebrating our union. Whiskey, rum, beer and gin were all flowing. Where Johnny Dogs once stood was now a giant bonfire where people danced around.

Tommy had invited most of the people from Small Heath allowing them to celebrate with us, showing he was still a man of his people. Each guest had brought food for everyone to share, members of the Lee family that Tommy invited brought meat that they cooked on the open bonfire.

I took a moment to feed my daughter away from the madness that occurred after our ceremony. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it I loved it I just needed a moment to breathe and relax. A moment to digest everything that has happened today. I was finally Mrs Shelby.

Mrs Thomas Shelby that was a lot to digest. I was now a wife.

I sat humming softly to my daughter as she ate from my breast. It was hard manoeuvring myself from the dress while holding a small baby but I managed it. Lost in my thoughts I felt a presence sitting down next to me. I looked over finding my mother, a small smile on her face as she gently stoked Roselle’s head as she ate.

We sat in silence for what felt like forever. The sound of my wedding was in the background, I could hear Tommy shouting at his brothers and his men that there would be no fighting at his wedding. He knew I didn’t like violence. There was still a part of me haunted by the time Tommy was being beaten to a pulp thanks to Sabini and his men all those years ago. It was one of the scariest experiences of my life, I truly thought I was going to lose him.

After feeding my daughter, I looked over at my mother. “Would you like to nurse the wind from her?” I asked softly to which she nodded, taking the infant from me and rubbing her back as I got my wedding dress back on. “She’s getting so big already isn’t she?” I smiled with a small laugh.

My mother nodded, she was happy that was the main emotion but there was also sadness in her eyes. “James would have loved to be here” She spoke.

It took me a moment to realise that actual words had left my mother's lips. My eyes widened and I sat in shock I couldn’t believe it. I looked down at her as she nursed my daughter, feeling the need to pinch myself. I hadn’t heard my mother's voice since her attack almost a year ago.

“Mother I…”

“I know I wasn’t fair on you or James for that I can only apologise.” She whispered, tears falling from her eyes. “I said and did things I am not proud of. I tried to force my beliefs, and my ways onto you and I can see now that it was wrong. What your father and I did was wrong.”

I remain quiet when she brings up the arrangement she and my father made with the Italians all those years before.

“You have a good man now who will protect you from the mistakes your father and I made. We can’t apologise enough because it will never be enough but we will do everything we can to make it right.” She continued, saying the most I think she has ever spoken to me throughout my life. “I want to thank you for letting us be involved in Roselle's life”

“Of course, she needs to know her grandparents, you’re the only set she has” I whispered feeling emotional at this conversation. It was a lot to process, there were apologies, truth and the fact it was the first time she had spoken since the attack. It felt like a lot to handle.

“Go now and get something to eat. You must be starving” She spoke holding my daughter tight against her chest. “She is just so precious, I’ll keep her safe”

I nodded leaning in to hug my mother “Despite the past, I still love you very much” I whispered in her ear before going to get myself something to eat. Due to my nerves all morning I didn’t eat and now the main event was over, I was starving.

When I rejoined the wedding, I looked around finding Tommy laughing with his brothers as they drank their sacred whiskey. His tie was undone and his suit jacket was long gone. He looked so comfortable, so relaxed. I couldn’t help but admire him, for the first time in a long time, it seemed like his mind was at ease.

There was no planning, no next steps. At least that’s how he presented.

I got myself a plate of food when I felt his arms wrap around my waist from behind, his face buried into my neck. He placed soft kisses along the back of my neck, his teeth nibbling every so often.

“I am a lucky ass man eh” Tommy chuckled into my neck.

“I feel the same way Tommy” I smiled leaning into his arms, simply enjoying his strong embrace.

“Where’s Rosie?” He asked going back to nibbling along my neck and shoulder.

“My mother has her and Tommy…” I spoke turning around to face him and putting my plate of food down. “She spoke to me”

“Who Rosie?” Tommy asked confused. I could tell he had a lot more than a few glasses of whiskey to drink if he was slow to catch on to who I meant.

“No my mother” I chuckled “Are you a little drunk Mr Shelby?” I teased running my hands up and down his chest.

“Only slightly” He chuckled holding me close, hands on my hips “Your mother spoke to you, words? Not hand gestures?”

“Actually words Tommy” I nodded.

“That’s…what did she say love? She didn’t upset you?” Tommy asked and I shook my head, explaining to Tommy the entire nature of our conversation. “But you're happy?”

“I’m happy” I nodded, I loved that Tommy cared. He just wanted to make sure that I was okay, that nothing upset me today of all days. I loved his protective nature. He was truly everything to me.

As Tommy and I spoke, my mother returned Roselle as she and my father were going home for the evening, a peaky blinder would be taking them home and staying with them for protection as usual. Just because things were quiet didn’t mean that Tommy let up on the security.

“How do you feel about making a few more like her huh? I’m sure Polly will take her tonight for a few hours…we could make another and another and another…”

“Easy Mr Shelby” I giggled at him, biting my lip. I loved this side of Tommy. The happy, carefree Tommy who smiled and was happy.

“Ah, now Mrs Shelby you can’t deny a man, a groom his wedding night with the most beautiful bride in the world.” Tommy grinned leaning in close, cupping my face with his larger hand. “You can’t deny me, my wife, you are mine now… my property”

“God Tommy when you talk like that you make it hard to resist”

“That’s the point my love” Tommy grinned leaning in to kiss my lips carefully. “Let’s find Polly so I can take my wife in the way she deserves. You got it?”

“I got it” I grinned. I felt so happy, so free. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt like I was in heaven. On cloud nine. This night couldn’t have been more perfect if I had tried to make it so.

Tommy had called Polly over passing over our daughter before tugging on my hand towards a vardo that sat far from the wedding. “We will still be close if she needs us my love but I need to make you mine tonight Mrs Shelby.”

“I’m ready to be yours for the first time as your wife Tommy” I smiled leaning in to kiss his lips. "I can’t wait”

As Tommy and I walked towards Vardo, we were cut off by Finn running past us like this life depended on it. I looked after him with confusion when I noticed Arthur coming up behind him, an angry scowl on his face.

“Ignore them we have bigger things to worry about” Tommy shook his head with a sigh as we moved towards the beautiful red vardo with yellow and orange delicate patterns. Opening the door I could see a small frown on his face as he made eye contact with John, silently warning him to sort it out.

“They are drunk and having fun Mr Shelby. Just let it go”

“I fucking warn 'em love that’s what bothers me” He spoke as we entered the small vardo. It was beautiful inside. It looked incredibly homely and unbelievably comfortable. I lay back on the small bed looking up at Tommy with a sultry smile.

“If you’d rather deal with that than be here with me…I understand” I whispered licking my lips.

“That is never going to happen Mrs Shelby” Tommy grinned, his mood shifting as he fell on top of me making sure to land on his forearms so he didn’t hurt me. But I could still feel his body pressing into mine. He leaned down kissing my lips deeply as I relaxed into the mattress. "I love you, Mrs Shelby"

"And I love you, Mr Shelby"

Taglist

@shelbyteller @seleneshelby @forgottenpeakywriter @babayaga67 @sweetmilkshakeluminary @slutforcoffein @sydneyyyya @happysparklingshadows @margew76 @midnightmagpiemama @pierre-gasssllyy @duckybird101 @muhahaha303 @thenattitude @dolllol2405 @citylights31

Anyone wanting on or off the tag list please just let me know💙

#tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby #peaky fucking blinders #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #cillian murphy #peaky blinder fanfic #silence #oc #thomas shelby x oc

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kiwi2229 · 5 months

Text

The key

(James Potter / Regulus Black | 1 273 words)

For @jegulus-microfic prompt: Locket

CW: past injury

Part 1

James abruptly pulls back as he remembers his training. They are in the war after all. He has to fight himself to let Regulus out of his arms. He clears his throat. Moody would kill him if he didn’t stick to protocols. Well, he has Regulus Black in his house, Moody would probably lose it either way.

Regulus tries very hard to mask the disappointment on his face. James reckons he has to be exhausted because he doesn’t do a good job. “Right. Sorry, I know it is probably you, the wards wouldn’t let you through otherwise, but I have to make sure.” Regulus nods in understanding. “So, question, something you would only know…” James wonders but his mind is blank. All he wants to do is take Regulus inside. He has no idea what happened but it’s apparent the boy went through hell. He is shivering, his clothes soaked. It’s raining but why didn’t you use magic to shealt the raindrops?

Regulus bites his lip waiting nervously. James wants to be the one that has his teeth on the lip… “Where did we have our first kiss?”

There is a flick of a smile on Regulus’ lips. “Well, the first one was behind greenhouses, but it was bearly a kiss since I ran away the second it happened. I always thought the one on Quidditch stands as our first. I like that one more, less panicky.”

It’s enough. The boy in front of him is really Regulus. “Come in.” James takes a step back letting Regulus into the hall. Regulus wraps his arms around himself still shivering. Here under the light, James can see how bad the boy really looks. Deep purple bags under his eyes, dirty ripped clothes, pale skin.

“What happened?” James asks as he reaches to him again to tug the strain of hair behind his ear. “Regulus, you are burning up. Why are you soaked? You will get sick.”

“It’s raining.” Regulus matters as the weather and James’ question offended him.

“There are charms for that.”

“I didn’t want to risk them finding me,” Regulus explains and looks down at the floor where droplets of water are dripping. James shakes his head. Priorities.

“Come on.” He takes his hand and leads Regulus upstairs to his room. The house is empty with Sirius and Remus on the mission. He opens the door to the bathroom gesturing Regulus to go there. “I’m gonna give you some of my clothes after you take a bath.”

He quickly searches his wardrobe. He picks up shirt and trousers and a warm knitted sweater, which he is sure is Remus’. He comes back to the bathroom only to find Regulus still standing in the middle of the room. He puts a hand on his shoulder, so he can walk around him when Regulus jerks away. James never saw the boy this terrified, and all it took was James to touch him. What happened to you, love?

“I can’t,” Regulus says looking at the bathtub eyes filled with fear, his whole body still.

“What? Reg, you are hypothermic, we have to get you warmer.” James explains confused about what is the problem. Does Regulus not want James to see him naked? He can leave him here alone, even tho he doesn’t want to. It feels like if he let him out of his sight Regulus would just disappear. Maybe Regulus would let him stay if he just turned around or…

“I almost drowned,” Regulus whispers, and James can see the shiver run down the boy’s body. “I… can’t. James, I can’t…” He helplessly gestures to the tub.

How could this happen to us? What kind of world do we live in, where we have to fear for our life? He almost died. My Reggie. Almost died. I nearly lost him. We are too young for this.

“How about we don’t fill the bath but use the shower?”

“Will you stay?” As soon as the words leave Regulus lips James can see the regret. He refuses to let Regulus take it back.

“Of course, I just got you back. I’m not leaving you.”

Regulus sits in the bath, his knees tightly pressed against his chest. He looks small and fragile. Something Regulus rarely looked like. James is kneeling next to the bath shower head in one hand and foam in the other, the sleeves of his sweater are getting wet.

James hasn’t noticed how skinny the boy is under the coat. As he washes Regulus' body, he sees dark bruises all over, but especially on his right side. But he is more concerned with the deep scratches on his arms and shoulders.

“Reggie…” James whispers as he tries to clean one of the cuts as delicately as he can. Regulus shifts to the side and rests his forehead on James’ chest. He can’t see his face, but going by the shutter breaths, he guesses Regulus is either crying or on the verge of tears.

“I wanted to come back to you. That’s why I didn’t give up. I needed to see you one more time. James…” Regulus chokes up a sob. “I just wanted to see you. Just once. I thought I was about to die, and all I could think about was you. I miss you.”

“I’m here and I'm not leaving.” James nudged Regulus to lift his face up. There was such grief in his eyes, tears streaking his cheeks in constant stream. James leans in to kiss his forehead. “Reg, what happened to you?”

“I stole something from him. Voldemort. And then I hid until they pronounced me dead. I think he didn’t expect anyone to survive that.”

“Why didn’t you come here right after?”

“I wouldn’t put you in danger. I was even afraid to use magic in case they could trace me. I found a ruined building and I stayed there, but then it started to get cold and…” Regulus looked up at him and James’ breath was caught in his throat. Because Regulus is here, talking to him and touching him. James will never let him go. He made that mistake once and he would rather die than see the boy leave again. He will take care of him.

“I wasn’t sure I was allowed to come,” Regulus admits and looks at the dark mark on his forearm. James covers his hand with his own. He helps Regulus get out of the bath and wraps him in a warm towel. He feels relieved the boy stopped shivering again.

“On what side are you on now?” James asks instead of answering. Regulus frowns and he looks tired.

“If I say against Voldemort, would it be enough?” He says nervously. James kisses the top of his head again.

“What did you steal?” James remembers. Regulus slowly crosses the bathroom to his coat. Without a word, he pulls out a silver locket. Jewelry? Really?

“What is that?” He asks and reaches towards the locket. Regulus snatches it from his reach like it would bite James.

“Don’t touch it!”

“You are touching it.” James objects.

“It doesn’t matter what it does to me. I just refused to let you touch it. You… you are light, and this is dark. Nothing dark should touch you. Ever.”

James looks at the locket more carefully. Most dark objects have this aura around them, if you train your senses enough you should be able to feel it. But this doesn’t feel like anything James ever saw. “What is it?”

Regulus shifts his gaze towards the locket with such an intensity James is surprised it doesn’t burst into flames. “The key to defeat him.”

#I just remembered the old microfic and wrote this part 2 #James takes care of Regulus #regulus black #james potter #james potter x regulus black #james x regulus #jegulus microfic #jegulus #marauders era #marauders #kiwi2229 writes microfics

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jupitersrising · 3 months

Text

To me, Lily was a solider, Regulus was a spy, James was a healer. She was on the front lines every time, a war general’s right hand. He was forced to be a deatheater by birthright and found a way to escape it. He was Poppy Pomfey’s apprentice and war medic.

It’s that Lily was always violent in her love, up until the moment she died. She was vicious and cutting and loved far too deeply to lose anyone. If that meant being the only thing standing between her friends and death then so be it, she’d stand there forever. James, though, he doesn’t know how not to save people. He has to, just has to. It’s a deep ingrained urge in him. He patches them up when they’re hurt, he keeps them from falling to far. He has to, he doesn’t know how to be anything else. He’ll stay as long as it takes to fix them, even if that’s an entering to wait. He doesn’t want to be anything else.

Regulus was afraid. He was good at pretending he wasn’t, most people wouldn’t be able to tell. Not with the way he held himself and the way he got information back to the Order. But he also wouldn’t run, no matter how terrified, he was more afraid of running for them than he was of being a spy.

Meaning, if Lily were to open that Godric Hollows’s door that night, they might have lived. Because Lily wouldn’t run, not when death was knocking on her door. Not when James was upstairs because he wouldn’t take his eyes off their son for a single moment. Not when Regulus had risked it all to tell them that they were coming for their son. If one simple, small thing had changed maybe they would have made it.

#Idk that’s how I think of them at least #solider lily and healer james is my canon actually #the marauders era #the maruaders #james potter #lily evans #regulus black #jegulily #vauge jegulily #And if most of my version of Lily is based off of Crimson River’s Lily then what

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scripts4dreamers · 1 year

Text

Not Your Hero. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five

AN: Whaaaaaaat? A chapter of a WIP? From me? Insanity

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Mags Flanagan, James Karakus, Annie Cresta

Pairings: Finnick x reader

Spoiler(s): None

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation

Prompt/Inspiration: House in Nebraska - Ethel Cain

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While the games are on, no one ever really leaves the viewing room. Finnick knew that, all the mentors did, but for you this was a whole new experience. He watched you pace like a caged animal, stress eat from the neverending flow of food brought in by avoxes, and talk with James in a low voice whenever something happened. He knew for a fact that you didn’t sleep at all. Some of the others did, he did, but you just sat on the couch every night with your knees pulled up under your chin, staring at the screen.

Because of that, you watched Adam Donaldson die in real time on the second night. Finnick had stayed up with you, sitting in a shared and quiet vigil because, if he was honest, he’d seen it coming. Maybe you’d seen it too, because the first tear had slipped down your cheek before the careers had even noticed the smoke from Adam’s small campfire and made the connection. Finnick wished he could say it had been quick and painless, an arrow to the heart, a snapped neck. It wasn’t. It had been a slow day and Finnick knew better than anyone how those kids were trained, first and foremost, to entertain. He tried not to watch Annie, tried not to watch you watching Annie, reminded himself not to tell you that Annie was a good girl, really, that she was just doing as she was told. Compassion would come later, he promised himself, for now you were living one of the worst moments in a mentor’s life. You wouldn’t appreciate a spirited defense of your tribute’s killer.

It took the careers three full hours to finally put Adam Donaldson out of his misery, and you didn’t make a sound the entire time. You didn’t shift or move or eat. You barely blinked. Adam screamed and bled and died, and Finnick watched you bear it, adding another lost life to the list of sins you could never really really be forgiven for. A few mentors tried to stop by and comfort you but you brushed them off or snapped for them to leave you alone, like an animal in a trap. Finnick was the only person who was spared your annoyance so he held your hand and didn’t let go. He didn’t try and tell you that it wasn’t your fault, he knew you wouldn’t have listened. Instead, he just promised that it would be over soon. Just hang on, he whispered again and again, just hold on for a little longer and then it’ll be over. If nothing else, it would be over.

When the dust settled and the remaining body fragments had been collected, Finnick had watched something in you deflate and his heart pinched. He knew that moment, the pain, the guilt, the relief. You’d made it through. You’d gritted your teeth and made it through.

“First one’s the hardest,” Haymitch had slurred, shocking Finnick, who hadn’t thought Haymitch had even noticed what was happening, “Gets easier,” he shrugged, “or so they keep telling me.”

You gave him a look, as though you were weighing up the benefits of biting his head off, but eventually you just nodded, “Thanks, Haymitch.”

“Don’t thank me,” he replied, “I didn’t say it gets bearable.”

Finnick felt a rush of protectiveness sweep over him, but he forced himself to just stay at your side until you assured him that you would be alright, and then he allowed himself a rest. You returned to your pattern. You watched the male tribute from Four get beheaded by a rival a few days later, watched Serena slip away into the darkness, clutching a bleeding shoulder that wouldn’t heal, watched Annie’s psyche start to crack as she isolated herself and cradled the air, imagining it was her partner’s bloody body. And you told it all to Finnick each morning in a dull, monotone voice, the bags under your eyes getting darker and darker with each passing day. He wanted to help. He wished that there was something he could say or do to help you deal with the grief, but he couldn’t. He had to focus, to keep his eye on the end point and, right now, he had other things on his mind.

Annie was AWOL.

Losing Ajack had broken something inside of her. You’d told him the whole story; about how he’d gotten into an argument with the boy from District one, how they’d pushed and shoved at one another until the boy from one had picked up an ax and ended it, hacking at Ajack’s neck while his partner held Annie back. Apparently she’d screamed at the boy to stop, begged him even, and after Ajack’s head had been completely severed, she’d held his body for so long that the hovercraft hadn’t been able to collect it until the early hours of the morning. After that, she’d vanished, disappearing into the bush without any supplies. Whenever the camera found her now, she was muttering to herself, or fiddling with her fingers, or staring out into space like she wasn’t there anymore.

Finnick had never felt more helpless. He’d chewed his nails down to the beds, and used every tool of persuasion in his arsenal to keep sponsors from pulling out. He supplied Annie with food and water, with sleeping gear and climbing supplies. None of it had helped. Now, as he clung to the very edges of his sanity and wracked his brain, he had to admit: he was out of tricks. There was nothing else he could do. The sponsors had pulled out in favor of the pair from district one; Annie had no weapons and, even if she did, she was in no fit state to use them and, worst of all, it had been nearly two days since the last gruesome death. That usually meant one thing; the crowd would be getting antsy and the gamemakers would be planning something awful. He watched Annie’s lifeless body on the screen as she twitched and muttered in her sleep, his heart twisting into painful knots.

“Finnick!” Annie screeched, giggling as she scrambled up the rocks and away from his attacks, “Stop! I don’t want to get wet.”

“Why?” he laughed, pushing up off the ocean floor and letting himself float on his back.

The cool water lapped against his temples, filling his ears and cradling his body in its strong, reliable arms. He loved the water, lived for it. There was nowhere that he felt more at home, or more like himself than when he could taste saltwater on his lips and feel sand on his skin. His stomach churned with anxiety and a mixture of fear and anticipation, but he breathed in deep, filling his lungs with bright sunlight and the smell of warm ocean rocks and let the rocking of the waves soothe him.

Annie was perched on the rocks like a seabird, her long dark hair swirling and tangling in the wind as she watched him swim, a kind of quiet longing in her eyes. Not for Finnick himself of course, but for his comfort, for his ease in the ocean. Annie was terrified of the sea, she always had been. She was a strong swimmer, as all the kids in district four were, but she’d never trusted it, never truly believed that it could carry her and support her weight. She always felt, privately, in the back of her mind, that it was just waiting to drag her under, to a dark watery grave. Finnick opened one eye and gave her, what he hoped was, a confident smile.

“Like what you see, Cresta?” he joked

She scoffed, a delicate blush coloring her cheeks, “You wish.” she paused, worrying at the inside of her cheek, “How are you never nervous? It’s reaping day, and you haven’t even broken a sweat.”

Finnick pushed forward, tipping into a steady tread, and shrugged, “Nothing to be nervous about. We’re fourteen, Annie, it’s not going to be us.”

“It might be,” she argued, “York said that none of the older kids are volunteering this year.”

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

Annie shrugged, “They just aren’t.”

“But they have to.” He insisted, “That’s the rules.”

“We haven’t won in years,” Annie reminded him, “I think they’re just sick of volunteering to die.”

Finnick pressed his lips together, feeling the cold hand of dread creeping into his chest again. No volunteers? That was unheard of. What would happen now? A normal reaping? Could anyone be picked now? Could he be picked? He met Annie’s eye and saw his own terror reflected there in vibrant sea green.

“It won’t be us, Annie,” he assured her, hoping that he sounded more confident than he was, “I promise you, it won’t be us.”

Finnick’s eyes started to sting and he swore softly under his breath, burying his head in his hands and carding his fingers through his hair. It felt like his heart was shattering piece by piece and dragging him down into the depths along with it. Out of the corner of his eye Finnick saw a familiar shadow and, despite everything, some of the tension in his shoulders relaxed. You collapsed onto the couch beside him, reaching out and resting a hand on his back comfortingly. God, he hated how good that felt. He hated how he longed to lean into your touch, to bury his head in the crook of your neck and weep like the broken boy he was. I’m just a kid! He wanted to scream, I can’t do this! I can’t do this anymore!

“I know, Fin,” you whispered, as though you could read his mind, “you’re doing so well.”

A tear slipped down his cheek and he shook his head frantically, “Annie’s screwed. The sponsor’s are gone, she’s barely eating. There’s nothing I can do to save her.”

You were quiet for a moment, “There’s never anything we can do, really. It’s always just a big gamble.”

“I know but-”

“And you aren’t out of sponsors. I spoke to my guys and they’re going to back Annie since-” You pressed your lips together, “since Adam’s gone and Serena-well-she’s not going to be able to hold on much longer.”

Finnick’s head shot up, a mixture of relief and incredulousness filling him so suddenly that he wasn’t even sure he’d heard you right.

“What? Y/N, no-I can’t accept that.”

You shrugged, a hint of a sad smile at the corner of your mouth, “Good thing you don’t have a say then. Take the help, Finnick. If not for you, then for Annie. She needs you on top of your game right now.”

He remembered the way Adam had called for his mother, how you’d flinched as each slow, deliberate cut had chipped away at the person he’d been until there was only a bloody corpse. Annie had been a part of that but, looking at you now, it didn’t seem to matter.

He shook his head again, the momentary relief being swallowed up again by hopelessness, “She can’t win. She can’t even seem to walk in a straight line right now.”

For a long moment you just watched the screen together, two victors acting in perfect synchronicity. You watched the pair from district one slice through the underbrush like demigods, looking powerful and determined and painfully self-assured. Smart money was on them, anyone could see that. They had everything on their side; all the training, all the sponsors, all the gear and, most dangerously, that deadly team mentality that would keep them together until it stopped serving them. Finnick knew how powerful that bond could be, it had kept him alive more than once during his games and his every instinct told him it would get this pair through it too. However, as useful as weapons, sponsors, food and allies were, you’d had none of that. You’d been alone from the moment you were reaped. You had no skills, no real buzz, no friends. No one had given you more than half a look in the Capitol, and you’d come out on top anyway. The thought gave Finnick hope. Maybe Annie wasn’t completely screwed. Maybe, with you by his side, Finnick could still find a way to bring her home.

---------------------------------

No one had really believed Annie Cresta had a shot. Not James, not Chaff, not Brutus, not Seeder, not even Mags really. When Ajack had died, every reliable metric in the book had said that district four’s hopes of having a winner on their hands had died with him. But every reliable metric in the book had also had you pegged as an early death, so you said fuck the metrics, and believed in her anyway. The more you felt Finnick give up, the harder you believed. The more other mentors started to gently suggest that you let her go and move on, the more vehemently you insisted that she wasn’t out of the game yet and redoubled your efforts. At some point over the past few days, possibly when she’d gone against her team and given Adam the death he’d long since earned, Annie Cresta had started to mean something to you.

She was every discounted tribute, every long shot who got written off and left to die. She was you, and she was the tributes you’d already failed to save and, maybe, if you could find a way to bring her home, you would be able to live with yourself for letting Adam and Serena die. Serena’s arm was infected now, badly. Experts said she had maybe three days of agony in front of her and there was nothing you could do to save her. But Annie was healthy. Some part of her mind had gotten her to eat and drink, she wasn’t physically injured, and a lifetime of having enough to eat gave her stamina.

She could win, and she would, you told yourself again and again. She had to.

You told Finnick too, and when you did some of his old sparkle would threaten to rear its head and he would almost smile. Almost. It never lasted. He slipped in and out, between resigned, grieving and unimaginably tense. Sometimes, you had the sneaking suspicion that your hand between his shoulder blades was all that was keeping him anchored to this reality. So you kept it there, and you fed him bits of biscuits and sandwiches, got him to drink water, shower and sleep, and you wondered how long he would last, and what would be left of him if Annie didn’t make it out.

Selfishly, unforgivably, a part of you wondered if he was in love with her. You would never ask, of course. It wasn’t your business, it wasn’t the right time, but you couldn’t stop the wondering. Was Annie the one who Finnick lay in bed pining for? Was she the woman he daydreamed about and had planned a future with? Did it bother you if she was? Always, it came back to the same single fact; it didn’t matter. You wanted Finnick to be happy, and you needed Annie to come home. That was that.

Some days you were so close to the edge that it was only the memory of Finnick’s voice in your head that kept you from crumbling.

Just hold on, he’d whispered, you’re so strong, you can do this, it’ll all be over soon. It was like a mantra now, more than a prayer, a promise that this too would pass. There would be time to fall apart, time to grieve, just not yet. First you had to get through, and get Annie through.

You spent your 17th birthday throwing a massive party for potential sponsors. It was the event of the season, the magazines exclaimed, absolutely anyone who was anyone was invited. Finnick and Mags weren’t there, a few noted, but that was to be expected this far into the games. Your prep team hid the signs of exhaustion under layers of makeup and pressed fake finger nails over your chewed ones. Your stylist pulled you into a tight, revealing outfit that, months ago, you would have been too self conscious to wear out, strapped you into some heels and you were ready. The music was loud, the press was there and the party lasted all night. You let the tv crews interview you, you gushed about the Capitol, choking down disgust. You danced with those victors who had come in support of you, and you flirted and teased your way to raising enough money to buy Annie some iodine for her drinking water.

Back at the control center, after you had scrubbed off the remnants of the powders and creams and sickly sweet perfumes and slipped into something more comfortable, Chaff brought you a cake shaped like a lightning bolt. James took responsibility for all the presents the other victors, and your various admirers, had lavished you with. You and Finnick ate pieces of cake together on the couch, sighing with relief as Annie successfully treated her water and took her first long drink in two days. You didn’t think about your last birthday.

After Chaff and James had led everyone in a genuinely enthusiastic bout of “Happy Birthday”, Finnick nudged you with his arm, tearing your attention away from the screens, where the pair from one were hot on the trail of the boy from nine.

“Happy birthday, Y/N/N,” he said softly, his deep green eyes sparkling with something so sweet it made your teeth ache, “I-”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you interrupted feeling, with certainty, that he was going to apologize for not being with you in the sponsor pit, “there’s more important things right now.”

Finnick smiled with a fondness that had you feeling uncomfortably found out, and he strung an arm around you loosely, turning both of your bodies so you were facing each other. It was the first time you’d seen him look fully away from the screens and monitors in days.

“I was going to say that I’m…I’m glad we met,” he explained, “and that I hope, for your next birthday, we can do something a little less morbid.”

You pressed your lips together, feeling oddly touched, and tried not to think about how, for that to happen, both of your tributes next year would have to be dead.

“Thanks, Finn,” you said instead, “I’m glad we met too.”

He took your hand and kissed your knuckles gently, sending a tingle of electricity through your entire body as he pressed a small gift into your palm.

“For later,” he explained, as you examined the parcel.

You nodded in understanding, slipped the parcel into your bag and, again acting with the perfect synchronicity of two people with identical goals, you both turned back to your monitors to watch for signs of trouble.

Two weeks into the games, after everyone had written her off, you knew Annie had won. It happened quickly, a few days of rain, some flooding and a crack. The dam seemed as though it fell in slow motion and, in mere moments, all the perfectly laid plans Cashmere and Gloss had been working on all season fell to ruin. Serena barely stirred as the wave crashed down on her, by all accounts she died in her sleep and you counted it as a mercy.

The gamemakers slowed the wave, so it didn’t flatten the competition entirely but, by nightfall, even those who could swim were starting to struggle. The beautiful arena was now entirely flooded and Annie was swimming. Not paddling around, not hanging on for dear life. Instead, for the first time since Ajack’s death, she was virtually coming to life. She gilded through the water like a sea otter, evading the other tributes with ease and finding safe areas to rest away from the dangerous currents and undertow.

“She’s going to make it,” Finnick said incredulously, “Oh my god, Y/N, she’s going to make it.”

You nodded, “Hell yeah she is.”

A few stragglers held on for a while but, after another two days, Annie Cresta was airlifted out of the drowned arena, the official victor of the 70th Hunger Games. When the final canon sounded you couldn’t contain the sound of relief and excitement that slipped past your lips, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. It was like watching a dream play out in real life. When you looked at the screen you saw yourself, felt the momentary rush of terror followed by pure ecstasy as you realised that the impossible had happened: you had won, you were going home.

She had won. She was coming home.

If you were happy, Finnick was joy personified. He leapt to his feet and cheered, laughing with the unrestrained incredulousness of someone who had been well and truly hopeless for ages. You smiled up at him as he watched the screen hungrily seeing, for a moment, his youth written on his body like a sign. It was easy to forget sometimes that he was only eighteen. It was easy to forget that you yourself were only technically an adult with how old and world weary you already felt. You tore your eyes away from Finnick and let them fall on Mags who was weeping silently, a wrinkled hand pressed to the base of her throat as she smiled. She caught your eye and extended her free hand for you to take. You gave it a squeeze and you hoped she could feel your sincerity, how truly happy for district four you were. A year after you had personally ripped their chances away, they were bringing home a win. It felt almost fair.

“I didn’t think I would see another win,” she explained to you softly, “not in my lifetime. I didn’t think I would get to bring another one home.”

“But you did,” you said, looking back at Finnick, “you did it.”

Mags shook her head, giving your hand another squeeze, “You did it, the both of you. Finnick is a wonderful mentor, but even he couldn’t have gotten any more help to her without your sponsors. I won’t forget that.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I won’t forget that,” she repeated, “and I’ll make sure he never does either.” she finished, gesturing at Finnick with her head.

At that exact moment Finnick seemed to remember your existence and he turned back, sweeping you up into his arms and spinning you around like a carousel.

“We did it!” He laughed, “We did it, Y/N, we did it!”

“We did,” you agreed, laughing fondly as you detangled yourself.

For the briefest moment when you broke the contact Finnick seemed crestfallen, but it was over so quickly, swallowed up by his happiness, that you almost thought you must have imagined it. He pulled Mags into a similar embrace, whispering something to her too low for anyone but Mags to hear before looking back at you.

“You and me, Y/N/N, we fucking did it!”

You heard Adam’s voice in your head, saw him strain at the restraints on his wrists as he was tortured and jeered at. His sister had watched that. Sweet, kind Genna, who laughed a little too loudly and never quite knew when to stop being friendly, had watched her older brother get systematically and clinically taken apart and she would probably never be herself again now. Serena had been just kid, she hadn’t even started high school yet. She died after days of agony, with a raging fever. Her father had wept when she was reaped. They had been yours, and you’d been less than useless to them. Suddenly you were so tired, so drained. How many days had it been since you slept? The fragile pieces of you were cracking under the strain. James caught your eye, the corners of his mouth tense with suppressed grief. You don’t know what you were looking for really. Not comfort, not saving, maybe an acknowledgement? The shared recognition that something had happened, something had been lost here.

“You lot better get ready,” James said to Finnick and Mags, coming to your rescue, the way he was wont to do, “Annie is going to need you both. You don’t want her to be alone when she wakes up.”

Finnick looked like he wanted to argue, but a brief word from Mags seemed to remind him where he was. He shot you and your mentor an apologetic look, but you could still see the shimmering, bubbling excitement just under the surface, ready to burst forward at any second.

“Thank you,” he said seriously, “both of you. Just-” he breathed, letting out a burst of relieved laughter, “thank you so much.”

You felt James’ hand on your shoulder, a rough but familiar anchor to reality and you gave Finnick a genuine smile. Just a little longer, you heard him whisper in your mind, just keep it together for a little longer.

“Of course,” James said, speaking for you both, “it’s the least we could do.”

That was a lie, but you all knew it, so it couldn’t hurt anyone.

“I’m so happy for you,” you said, “truly.”

Some of Finnick’s franticness seemed to seep out of him into something softer and fonder and you watched, in real time, as he remembered where you were, what you’d lost, what you’d been through.

“Y/N-” he started, moving as though to step toward you.

Your eyes were pricking now, the suppressed panic and rage rearing its head so powerfully that you were almost frightened of yourself. James tightened his grip on your shoulder and, in one fluid motion, moved subtly between you and Finnick, angling his body in such a way as to not be obvious but still clearly making himself a barrier. Finnick recoiled, a flash of hurt crossing his perfectly sculpted face. You wanted to assure him, your instinct was to reach out and promise that you were fine, that he’d done nothing wrong, that of course you wanted to stay and be with him and Mags, but you were just so fragile. James felt like a lifeline, like your protector, swooping in and delivering you from the private hell you’d been living in and, if you were honest, there was nothing you wanted more than to fall apart in private.

Mags tracked the interaction with her eyes, tugging Finnick’s arm gently as he stared James down.

“Come, boy,” she said soothingly, “Annie will be waiting.”

Finnick gave you one last deeply apologetic look, and then nodded, letting Mags pull him away. James didn’t move. He stayed where he was, waiting until every last mentor, even drunk old Haymitch Abernathy, had slipped out of the control center before he stepped forward and crouched down in front of you.

His face was creased with concern, his dark eyes filled with the deep understanding that only someone who had personally put you back together more than once could ever have, and you absolutely shattered. In moments you had collapsed into a fit of broken sobbing, keening like a wounded animal as weeks of pent up anxiety and fear rushed out at once. To his credit, James didn’t try to calm you down, he just let you cry. He’d always been wonderful at knowing what you needed, how to get you through the pain without smothering you or talking down to you. Even before you were a victor. Even when you were just a scared fifteen year old girl who’d been handed a death sentence.

It felt like you stayed there for an eon, working through every last drop of resentment and disappointment in yourself until there was nothing left but a sort of deep, throbbing ache.

“I am happy for them,” you eventually said, voice shaky through your tears, “r-really I a-am.”

“I know,” James assured you kindly, “I know, but you can be happy for them and furious for us at the same time. I know they were when you won last year.”

You nodded, feeling the first slivers of solid ground beneath your feet again as you wiped your face and took deep, steadying breaths.

“Did you cheer and twirl people around too?” you asked, trying for a joking tone and almost succeeding.

“Oh yeah,” he answered, “you bet I did. I was fist pumping the air and shouting like a maniac, I thought Finnick was going to swing on me. I think I threw a chair.”

“What?” you laughed incredulously, “You did not.”

“I’m pretty sure I did,” James insisted, “Y/N/N I was so proud of you. I cried like a baby for days.”

You sniffed and wiped your eyes again, welcoming the change of topic, “You did?”

He nodded, giving you another fond look and giving your shoulder a squeeze, “You were amazing, you did everything right, made good on every opportunity. I did my job, I set things up but you just…” he shook his head, whistling, “you just ran with it. I’ve been doing this for twenty-three years and I’ve never seen anyone come close to the upset you pulled off.”

You felt something that could have been pride, a stubborn urge to take some pleasure in your win, before the sadness won out again and your lip began to tremble.

“Fat lot of good it did them,” you said, “fat lot of good I did them.”

James sighed, “That’s what I’m trying to say here, there’s nothing you could have done. You made it out because you played smart, you fought hard, you kept your wits about you and you clawed your way to the top, not because I did something to get you out.”

“I had sponsors.”

“Not at first,” James admitted, “not enough, not nearly enough. You convinced more people to put their money behind Adam from the start than I’d managed to rustle up for you. At the end of the day the money means jack shit, there’s only so much we can do.”

“I told them to shift their pledge to Annie,” you whispered, Serena’s shaking body flashing behind your eyes like snippets of film, “I could have poured more into Serena. I told them not to, I told them to sign with Finnick and-”

“And Annie won.” he reminded you kindly, “Those rich idiots will blame you for their massive payouts and they’ll trust you implicitly now. How many more kids will you be able to help with their money in the coming years, hmm? The handful of die hard rich people we still had available to us couldn’t have raised the funds to save Serena from that infection, Ash, you know that.”

“I could’ve done something! I could’ve-”

He shook his head, “No, you couldn’t have. Listen, whatever you think you could’ve done, I’ve tried it. I’ve tortured myself with what-ifs for longer than you’ve been alive, they never work. Trust me, you did everything right.”

You tried your hardest to listen, to really take in what James was saying like he was offering you a balm for your aching heart, but the pain just sat there in your chest, stubbornly refusing to dull.

You felt your eyes start to prick again and you longed for home, for your mother’s embrace and the safety of your room.

“Then why does it hurt so much?” You cried, collapsing into James’ chest again as you devolved into a fresh bout of sobs.

James doesn’t have an answer for that, so he just held you close and tried to be as comforting as he possibly could be. James’ feelings for you were….surprising, to him at least. When he’d turned thirty-nine he’d joked to Ivette that the only thing he wanted for his fortieth was to make one return journey to the district with a living person. Just one, he’d laughed with an edge of franticness, he wasn’t asking for the plethora of success stories the mentors from some of the other districts had, he just wanted one.

It had been a joke, mostly, but here you were. When he’d first met you on the train after the reaping, there’d been a sort of ache in the back of his teeth, like the ghosts of the countless hours spent biting down on his jaw were finally coming back to haunt him. You were so young, he remembers thinking, not yet sixteen and already doomed to die. Only…there was something about you, something in your eyes that felt like defiance. It felt like anger, like the will to live. James had looked at you on the train and had seen himself, but even that hadn’t been enough to override his deep dread. He’d lost too many to have any real hope for your survival. At most, he hoped you would die quickly, and without suffering.

He still did his job, of course. He smiled, he made contacts with possible sponsors, liaised with stylists and publicists, he gave you advice on how to play smart, and he mapped out a place along his spine to tattoo your name, alongside the nearly forty others he carried with him, when you died. Unfortunately, as the big day came closer, James had gotten sort of fond of you. You were funny and smart, and you had a sharp tongue that made him laugh incessantly, but that also spoke to how personable you could be. Your interview had been a smash hit. You had an instinctual knack for grabbing an audience’s attention and holding it. For the first time in decades, James had felt something resembling hope, but he crushed it down. He reminded himself that there was only so much he could do, that personability wasn’t enough. He’d settled down and re-resigned himself to watching you die and delivering you home in a box.

The games started and when you made it through the first day, and the second, and the third, that damn spark of hope had come back in full force. It was small, he tried to temper it but when, on the fourth day, you’d managed to literally tear your way out of a net with a combination of your hands and teeth, and had successfully rewired the trap to spring up and capture your original capturer, he’d known that you could win. James had never worked the sponsor circuit that hard. He barely slept, he did anything and everything he could to get you whatever you needed; medicine for your bloody hands, food, some wire and, eventually, a current generator. He’d poured twenty-two years of dashed hopes and dreams into you, broken every carefully cultivated rule he’d ever set for himself about not getting attached and, when Claudius Templesmith announced that you were the winner of the sixty-ninth annual Hunger Games, he had wept like a baby and cheered until his voice was hoarse. Just two months shy of his fortieth birthday, James had gotten to make his return journey with you by his side, broken, battered and scarred, but alive.

Afterwards, James couldn’t quite shake his feelings of responsibility for you. He was still your mentor and you were still his tribute, and now the game he was determined to get you through was just life, the After of it all. He had never been able to bring himself to find a nice man and settle down or to have some kids of his own, but if he had, he imagined he might feel about them the way he felt about you. So this, sitting with you in his arms while you fell to pieces…well, it hurt pretty damn bad.

“Y/N/N,” he said gently, when your body had stopped heaving and your violent sobs had softened and faded, “let’s get you home, yeah?”

You nodded, wiping your eyes with the heel of your palm, and James couldn’t help but see your youth. You were a couple of days past 17, practically a baby in his eyes, and already the kind of tired that most adults don’t get until their mid-forties. You knew too much, you’d seen too many horrors and carried too much grief to ever be carefree, the way a 17 year-old should be and, for the millionth time, James felt the rush of pure, black rage bubble up in his stomach. He would tear the Capitol down for this, he promised himself. Not today. Not now, when Snow could take revenge for anything James did out on you and Ivette, but someday. Someday he would find a spark and he’d do what he did best, what had gotten him in that victor’s chair in the first place; he’d stoke it into a blaze, an inferno that would burn out the infection of the Hunger Games for good.

You let your mentor pull you up and walk you back to your apartments, now empty of tributes, and you clung to him like a child, wondering why you could so easily let yourself be held by him, but not by your own parents. Some small part of you wondered if this is how it started, if all those lonely victors you’d met, who had no one but each other, had once had family and friends who they couldn’t bear to be around anymore because they reminded them too much of a version of themselves that was long dead. It felt different, you noticed, as you and James sat down for dinner at an empty table. Not bad, just different, knowing that, on every floor but one, someone like you, with more scars than they deserved, was sitting down to dinner in an equally vacant apartment. Everyone had failed except Mags and Finnick. It should have felt depressing and morbid, and it was, but it was also a kind of solidarity. You weren’t suffering alone. The Capitol had done this to all of you, together and, in a way, that meant none of you were alone. Maybe this was your new home, maybe this was what you got now.

You waited until you were alone in your room to open Finnick’s present. It was small, about the size of a plum, wrapped in soft blue paper and twine. It looked too rustic for the Capitol, you noted with a sudden rush of warmth, as though he’d brought it from home just for you. Slowly, being careful not to tear the wrapping paper, you peeled it open, revealing a beautiful spiral shell, cleaned and polished, and woven bracelet. It was a combination of brown leather, blue chord and flat pearls braided together carefully, with practice and skill. Finnick and Mags both wore similar bracelets, you’d seen them weaving them aimlessly whenever they got stressed, but this was different. This one had been made for you. It wasn’t flashy, or polished, but it fit your wrist perfectly and you knew that, if it was your choice, you’d wear it forever. Slowly, you pushed yourself up and made your way over to the phone, dialing the extension for the floor below you.

“Y/N,” Finnick said, without hesitation, on the third ring, “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I was so tactless, I-”

“What would you have done if I was James?” You interrupted, smiling despite yourself, “I could have been James, you know?”

Finnick paused and then laughed, his voice tinged with barely suppressed exhaustion, “But you’re not James, are you? You’re my-” he corrected himself, “you’re Y/N/N. Mags made me promise to give you some space, but I knew you’d call.”

You hummed in agreement, worrying at the inside of your cheek as the silence stretched, warm and comfortable, “How is she?” you eventually asked.

“Annie?” Finnick asked, “she’s…she’s alive. That’s all that matters.” he continued with a deep sigh, “Her mind is fragile right now, I’m not sure she understands what’s happened exactly, but…yeah.”

“It’s early days, Finn,” you replied instinctively, “you remember what it was like at the start. I’m sure you were a little fragile too. She’s been out of the arena for less than 5 hours, give her time.”

“I knew where I was,Y/N,” he countered ruefully, “I knew it was over, I knew I’d won.”

You sighed, “Give her time,” you repeated, “she’ll come back to you when she’s ready.”

“The doctors say she had a psychotic break,” Finnick said, his voice small and vulnerable, “they say she might not ever…that she might always be…”

“She’s alive,” you interrupted, reminding him of his earlier words, “you’ve got the rest of your lives to figure out how to move forward from this, and yeah maybe she’ll always be a little fragile. That’s alright, we’ll take care of her when she needs us to.”

“We will?” Finnick asked hopefully.

“Of course we will,” you insisted, “you, me, Mags, Chaff, James, even Haymitch. We’re all here for you, and for her.”

“I’m sure Haymitch has some thoughts about that,” Finnick replied, jokingly.

You smiled, “Yeah well, he’ll have to take it up with me if he does.”

“Terrifying,” Finnick said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. Again, you sat in silence, just enjoying the sound of one another’s breathing, before Finnick continued, “ Did you open your present?”

You looked down at the bracelet, “Of course I did. Thank you, by the way, it’s beautiful.”

“Pretty bracelet for a pretty girl, what can I say? Just made sense,” Finnick joked, slipping into his old seductive persona, which pulled a breathless laugh from your chest. You could imagine the catlike grin on his face as he lounged against the wall, all faux grace and elegance, the picture of destructive beauty. “But really, you like it?” he asked in his regular voice.

“I love it,” you promised.

There was a pause on the line, and then Finnick let out a shaky breath. You could feel the exhaustion in your own body catching up to you again, the weeks of staying awake using expensive Capitol medication finally coming for their due.

“I-uh-I need some sleep,” you explained, “I’ll see you soon, Finn.”

“See you soon, kid,” he replied, “and thank you again for-”

“Stop thanking me,” you insisted, fondly, “and don’t call me kid.”

You hung up before you had a chance to change your mind and, as you lay down in your bed and drifted off to sleep, the ghosts of the veldt crept in, joined by two new faces; a tall, lanky boy with a sister who laughed too loud, and a young girl, clutching an infected shoulder, writhing with fever.

—

Finnick stared at the phone for a long time after you hung up, trying to parse his emotions in a way that made sense. His heart was a complete wreck, torn between grief and joy and hope and, fuck it, why hide it, love. Annie was alive, but broken. You were safe, but exhausted. He had his family, but he had secrets, and he’d never be able to stop towing the line without risking losing it all again.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered into the empty air, covering his mouth with his hand.

Beetee had assured him that he’d blocked the audio bugs in the apartments, but old habits die hard, and Finnick wasn’t taking any chances. Not with this. Not with you. He ached for the feeling of your hand between his shoulder blades, the comforting weight that had kept him grounded for weeks and that he’d grown to rely on without even noticing it. You had a strange way of worming your way into him like that, like a drug. One hit and he was hooked for months, chasing more time, chasing more closeness.

“Finnick, dinner’s ready!” Mags called from the dining room, “The doctor sent us updated reports on Annie.”

“Coming!” He responded, casting one last look at the telephone as he left, adjusting the band of woven leather, chord and pearls on his wrist.

#jordsie #jordsie writes #The Hunger Games #thg #thg imagine #hunger games #hunger games imagine #the hunger games imagine #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair imagine #finnick x you #finnick odair x you #reader insert

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stupidstrawberrystars · 7 months

Text

Let’s talk Peter Pettigrew.

Now in many fanfics he’s the betrayer. The one who killed Jily in a car crash or fucked over his friends online, or just messed with the others lives.

Let’s take a moment to consider that Peter was in a war. As a child. He was 21 when he made this decision.

This is a Peter who grew up with James and got replaced in a day by Sirius. A Peter whose own parents and James and Sirius all implied that he was below them, until he started to copy them so they accept him.

This is a Peter who watched James and Sirius be cruel and mean and awful to anyone who crossed their path that wasn’t exactly like them.

This is a Peter who got put in Gryffindor by the hat as a hope that the courageous people there would bring out the best in him, and inspire the good.

This is a Peter who was taught to be mean and petty and hate anyone who disagreed with them by those very same Gryffindors.

A Peter who watched as James and Sirius pretended to accept Remus, but never truly did. A Peter who hated the way James acted around Lily, who hated Sirius’ jealously, who hated how Remus didn’t care enough to stop them.

A Peter who was taught he was luckily for his friends. That he had to be perfect or everyone would leave. Despite being kind to them all, he only ever felt conditional love.

A Peter who grew and resented and then was hit with a final blow. He was made secret keeper. Because no one would ever think Jily would trust their barely friend Peter with this. The person James fucking grew up with would never ever be made their secret keeper.

And then they suspected Remus. The boy who punched when he was hurt and couldn’t kill a bug and let the girls cry on his shoulder despite not understanding how they felt. A Remus who James and Sirius never fully accepted as a werewolf, not truly, because if they did, the wouldn’t have suspected him as the mole. The Remus that Peter spent all those times he was left out with. Because those two understood that feeling.

A Peter who wasn’t with Remus during the war because Remus was a werewolf. Who went on order missions and spent his other time alone. Who couldn’t bare to be around anyone after they started doubting him.

A Peter who didn’t spend as much time around baby Harry, because James forgot to invite him. A Peter who Lily never liked because she never tried to see him for him. A Peter who didn’t understand what Voldemort was trying to do, but felt the resent and pain and anguish from being alone during the hardest times of the war.

A Peter who didn’t see the difference between a blood traitor cursing awful scars onto a pureblood for their beliefs, opposed to a pureblood cursing pain onto a blood traitor for their beliefs. “Why is it ok for us to attack them, but not for them to attack us?”

Who gave in to the temptation to not be in danger and to take out all the long lasting anguish he felt. Who didn’t think it through.

A Peter who probably never meant to frame Sirius. Never meant to leave Remus alone. A Peter who saw what he did and panicked. Became the thing he’d first become to help a friend. A friend who he’d just left alone.

A Peter who then had to spend 12 years as a rat. Remembering that this is always what he was supposed to be, this is his animagus form after all. Remembering every “wormtail” joke and every mocking laugh behind his back and then seeing James’ dead face over and over.

This Peter went too far to come back. This Peter fell all the way into Voldemorts hands because he was a bad person now and he hated himself for it. A Peter who deep inside… wanted Sirius and Remus to kill him that day. Who looked into his friends eyes and saw 12 years of Azkaban and 12 years of loneliness.

A Peter who died to his own hand… because truly he died the second he chose to join Voldemorts army, he did this all to himself.

Because it is his fault for betraying them. And then lying for 12 years. For handing a death certificate to a child.

But it isn’t his fault for breaking. For growing up entirely alone. For everyone who hated him before they knew him. Who hated his facade that he only invented to be liked.

For only ever receiving conditional love.

And in a world without war I wholeheartedly feel Peter Pettigrew wouldn’t be the bitch who outed Sirius to his mother, or the guy who caved to the University bully conveniently named Tom Riddle.

This was a war. This was loneliness.

(Oh and side note: God forbid JKR ever writing a chubby character as a good fucking person.)

I don’t particularly like canon Peter. I don’t like the decisions he made or the way he didn’t stand up for himself.

But if we’re going to say Sirius and James included him in everything. If we’re going to idealise their world or write a modern au. Peter fucking Pettigrew HAS to at least be insanely screwed over and isolated for him to betray his friend.

BECAUSE HE WASN’T WEAK! He was never fucking weak. He never caved in fear. He caved in deep fucking hatred. He caved in conditional love and second place trophies and emotional intelligence that was never understood. He wasn’t weak.

He was broken.

#peter pettigrew #peter pettigrew headcanons #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #lily evans #marauders era #dead gay wizards

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pennyserenade · 7 months

Text

heaven holds a place for those who break.

chapter three - fade into you | ao3 link

pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella) rating: m (mature) tags/warnings: talk of sex, language, self-depreciation, talk of depression word count: 4.4k summary: javier & mariella paint her classroom. some of their old habits die hard in familiar places. a/n: i love chaotic characters & i hope you do too. the title comes from the fact that i misheard the lyric ‘heaven holds a place for those who pray’ in the song mrs. robinson by simon & garfunkel. i liked it

A red hibiscus plant sits, shrouded in the soft morning sunlight on the Sanchez porch. Junie Sanchez, who has been growing the plant in earnest since the end of March, sways serenely in the decades old rocking chair her husband Eduardo had gifted her for their fiftieth anniversary. She watches it like an attentive mother, as if this final chapter of her life is meant to be bookended by its presence.

Mornings like this since her Eduardo died make Junie feel in a state of fullness, something that his death has taken from her. The air and the wind and the sun, and this little plant that she put in the dirt as a seed and watered until it was something , appear to be pieces of thread tying together her dying heart.

At the age of eighty, Junie has no real conception of how many tomorrows there will be, and she lives with an attentiveness to that small detail. She makes two cups of coffee every day, one the way her late husband loved it, and one the way she prefers, and then she comes out to this creaking porch with them both. Here, in this home, in this town, Junie works not to just endure, but to live even without her other half. He had asked this much of her.

She is not crazy enough to think this plant is Eduardo, but romantic enough to want to. His cup of coffee sits, black as the night on the opposite rocking chair, its steam wafting pensively. Junie imagines the comforting sway of his chair lulling her in, sees how he’d be sitting there, watching her watching the plant, waiting for his turn. Yesterday the chapel was half-full, the soft murmurs of gossip as sticky as the heat. Eduardo, God bless him, was a beautiful chismoso. The brim of his hat would always tip when his laughter bubbled out over his words as he told her what he had heard; this was his favorite pastime.

“Tawes’ daughter, Mariella…” he would begin, softly pushing out the words with the preciseness of an expert gossiper. She would roll her eyes, focus in on whatever it was that she was looking at it before, but this would not dissuade her husband. He would push forth, especially about this . How he loved James Tawes, that white man with a handful of Spanish phrases and so much ardor behind his black eyes. The Irish, they had once joked together, are a little like Mexicans with that passion. “I hope she knows about Javier Peña, you know?”

Junie Sanchez inhabits the hobbies of her late husband with ease this morning, piecing together their conversation with tenderness. “I’m sure she does,” she would respond, an active listener if not a willing participant.

“He is a good boy, Junie, pero…”

“They say he went to Colombia, got smart. Did a good thing for this country with Pablo Escobar. I think you’re being too hard on him.”

His hum of understanding, followed by the thought he’d been itching to say since he started: “But you know about Mariella. Her divorce, the way she came here to sort it out and never left. And they say more than just about Pablo Escobar when the subject of Javier and Colombia come up, too. Where’s his wife, Junie? He’s too old not to have a wife.”

“Kids are different now, these days. They don’t do that the way we did. Maybe he was like Mariella, got married and then didn’t.”

“And you think Chucho wouldn’t say that? He loves Javier.”

“But he knows not everyone in the town has always been in the kid’s corner.”

“Because he was a troublemaker, Junie. You know that. And Mariella is such a nice girl.”

Junie would smile there, remembering how nice of a girl she had been – and equally how much Eduardo liked to make her do things nice girls supposedly wouldn’t. “I think they will be good for one another, Lalo. Some girls need a bit of trouble before they get to the good stuff.”

“You mean marriage? She won’t be able to marry in the church. Especially not with him.”

“No, Lalo,” she’d agreed, and that would be that. They’d both drink their coffees, watching this plant of hers, loving each other deeply and quietly, the way they had for decades.

Junie misses him more than she has the words to express, in either Spanish or English. For Mariella and Javier, she hopes for an enduring memory of the best of whatever it is everyone seems to be saying they’re doing.

“It is so important to live, to remember, to love,” she would’ve told her Lalo after that long silence. The way she always did, about these people, about these things. Then she’d finish it off with her sage advice: “Let them be young.”

The wind brushes against her red hibiscus and it moves accordingly with it. She smiles as she takes a sip of her coffee.

He always did agree with her in the end.

—-

The causality of real life stuns Javier. Hell, maybe it even terrifies him. Mariella greets her co-workers with a mouthful of early morning glee, holds her paintbrush with steady, focused hands, and can hold a good, mundane conversation. In this school of hers, she is as a real as anything could ever be, and he is in awe of her. If Laredo is the stage of life, and he and she are actors in its play, he’s got no doubt in his mind that she’s doing so much better than him at it. For all the practice he’s had, it does him no good. He half envies her ability to merely exist so well.

He’s mounted a ladder for her, and occupies himself with a paintbrush and the tricky corners close to the ceiling. She works at the bottom of the room, detailing around the haphazardly covered light switches and trim. The conversation they make has been switching been serious and causal.

This reminds him of stakeouts, being tucked away in a jeep, or a trench, or the vast greenery of a Colombian forest with another person. Just waiting. Just talking. It’s all there was to ever do on most them: talk. The midday summer air breezes through the opened windows, and the box fans brrr on in the background. He thinks of the things that make him interesting and figures what the hell. She is like a partner. He tells her what everyone wants to hear.

“When I first got to Colombia, they handed me a key to this apartment in Bogotá. I never had to do anything like this. It was all furnished and painted. I miss it sometimes. It was big, had a nice view.” The cream white paint coats the side of his hand as he leans too close to the wall. Instead of hissing an obscenity, he wipes it on his shirt. The blue flannel has been lost to the tragedy of his unsteady fingers, and he uses it like a napkin knowingly.

Down at the bottom, Mariella hums in interest. Maybe she ought to be hungry for this information, latching on to every word that comes after Colombia. The blue painter’s tape is splattered with her mistakes because her mind is up there with Javier. It’s not that she’s not paying attention. It’s just that his time in Colombia pales comparison to his time in here, up on the ladder, telling her about Colombia.

They’ve been at this for two hours, a third of the large room painted a fresh cream white, with the other, smaller section still the old, pale gray. Mariella tries not to analyze people—likes to take them as they are—but with Javier it’s hard not to wonder. His reputation had preceded him, and he’s brooded around as the town mystic for months, tight lipped and humble, if not polite, about what he’s been doing elsewhere. She listens because he sounds like he needs someone to.

Her answers aren’t meant to pry more out of him, but to acknowledge him, showing that she’s listening. “I had an apartment like that once, back in college,” she tells him, going to her knees. The overalls she’s wearing are fit for an art teacher, pre stained and torn at the knees, but she’s keeping them miraculously clean today. She scoots her paint pan over. She continues her story as she re-coats her brush. “I shared it with a boyfriend. It was the first time I had lived by myself like that, away from home.”

“I got my first apartment here. I don’t think the buildings exist anymore. If they do, they shouldn’t because it was a shit—“ Javier halts. The elementary school is void of children, yet the atmosphere seems to warrant his best behavior. “It was rundown. Ugly. But it only cost a hundred dollars a month, and it had two bedrooms. Though it could’ve costed a thousand and I would’ve taken it. It felt like freedom.”

“Mine too,” Mariella agrees. “I lived on campus for awhile, which was okay but I liked the apartment more.”

Javier looks over his shoulder at her. “What school?”

“University of Pudget Sound.”

“Where’s that?”

“Washington.”

“And you liked it?”

Mariella nods. “Sure. It was pretty and the teachers were great. We lived in Tacoma, before Laredo, so I got to go to visit my grandparents sometimes when I was feeling homesick. I really loved that.”

“I never did feel homesick,” Javier says quietly. The admission feels like a betrayal to Chucho, and he doesn’t know why he’s said it, but he feels like he’s meaning to say for a long time. He rests an arm on one of the rings and inspects his work through squinted eyes. “I went to college for awhile, too but then I came back. Then I left again.”

“I stopped feeling homesick, after a bit,” she admits. “I ended up staying in Washington for a long time. A really long time, truthfully, longer than I intended. I worked at this little private school in Tacoma as a kindergarten teacher. Had a house and everything.”

“What happened?” he asks.

Her features soften. “Oh, life,” she evades.

“I know a thing or two about that,” he responds, letting her off. He begins his climb down the ladder, holding onto the black pan with one hand and the steps with another. “I think it looks alright, don’t you?”

Mariella turns around. She grins, giving him a thumb’s up. The action is so teacher-like he can’t help but chuff out a laugh. “What?” she asks, smiling quizzically.

“Nothing. You’re just good at your job,” he tells her, shaking his head. Down on the ground again, he puts the pan on one of clusters of desks. His itch for a cigarette returns with a vengeance and he knows it must be close to lunch by the way his stomach growls. “You think you’ve got it in you to take a lunch break?” Instinctively he pats his pockets for the missing cigarette pack and frowns when he can’t find them.

With the back of her hand, she moves a fallen strand of hair. Her black bandana is doing a poor job of keeping it all in and she’s been doing this all morning, the evidence of which can be found in the strip of paint gathered above her brow. Javier smiles but says nothing. “I didn’t realize it was so late already. My God. Of course. By no means let me keep you,” she tells him. She pats her hands on the legs of her overalls, rising.

Javier stalls. “Do you want to come with? It’ll be on me this time.”

“Why don’t you come to mine, actually? It’s just down the road from here and I’ve already made it. It’s just a sandwich, so if you’re not feeling that I get it, but it’d be nice.”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t. You already paid for my lunch once.”

She clicks her tongue. “Please, Javi. You’ve painted my classroom! That’s worth two lunches at least.”

He gives serious thought to it. Friends go to their friend’s house. Plus they’re both paint-coated and slick with a sheen of sweat.

“It might cause rumors,” he teases, though his tone borders on apprehension more than anything.

“I’m thirty-four, which is full grown last I checked. I’m sure my neighbors won’t mind if I feed a man lunch.”

He watches as she covers up the paint with the edge of the cloth tarp. She’s right, he knows. If they’re going to be friends, they’re going to get here eventually.

“Sure,” he concedes, smiling softly.

“Perfect,” she smiles, “It was my turn to drive anyway.”

—-

Unlike his once bachelor apartment and Chucho’s house, Mariella’s place is this side of quaint, white picket fence included. The interior, while less antiquated, promises home without the homely; beige cloth couch, red patterned chairs, wooden coffee table with carefully selected magazines spread against the front. There’s a hodgepodge of colors that never clash, immaculately cleaned surfaces, and a fresh but positively manufactured scent. Warm, vanilla-like, covering any life that might wish to will itself inside.

He hadn’t imagined her place before but if he had he’s not sure he’d think of something so…pristine. It had been hard enough to keep his own place clean by himself, and his color palette had been more on the brown side. Even her carpets are a lighter hue.

When he had first walked in he had half expected to be paraded with rules: coat here, shoes there. But all she did was tell him where he might put any of those if he liked, and informed him that the bathroom was down the hall, to the right if he needed it.

Even her fucking hand towels are too clean. He splashes as much water as he can into the bowl and wipes the rest on his jeans. “Nice house,” he calls to her, turning off the light. This he means, however intimidated he is by it. He finds her in the kitchen, making two plates. “You ever considered getting it pictured?”

She smiles, amused. “I clean when I’m bored and I’m bored a lot,” she confesses. “Want a coke? A beer?”

“Coke,” he replies. He pulls out one of the wooden stools in front of island and passes him a plate with a sandwich and chips. While she’s getting him the coke, he licks his lips and considers her. Considers all of this. It’s been so long since he’s been truly friendly with someone and he knows it should be easy, but it isn’t. It’s hard to know how much to say and when to say it. Hard to know what’s right and what’s wrong here when, for so long, his life had been a whirlwind of rights and wrongs that were life and death. Everything seems so futile.

He’s been to the doctor and they think he’s depressed. If he and Chucho talked, Chucho would agree. He’s not one of those obstinate, hardheaded old men who don’t believe in that sort of thing. No, that’s a spot reserved for Javier himself. He’s just having a hard time. A long, tiring hard time.

He’s trying, and that’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?

“How long have you lived here?” He takes a stab at conversation. Mariella places the soda in front of him and then sits opposite of him, on the other side of the island. A healthy, decent divide. He’s not sure how long it’s been since a woman invited him in and there’d been this much space between them.

“About four years. I used to live with my parents, too,” she tells him. “It’s not so bad here, doing that. I like this town because of it. Lots of people think I’m strange for living on my own now, but I needed it. I love my father and Tamara but being on my own — it’s important to me.”

“I’ve thought about getting something of my own too, but I don’t know if I want it to be here or not. Pop is getting up there in age and I know I probably should just accept that I’m going to be here, but I don’t know.” He shrugs. He picks at the sandwich, doesn’t dare look up. “It’s interesting, being here like this now. After all of that.”

Mariella doesn’t ask him to explain. Her own memory fills in the gaps. Six years ago she had come back to Laredo a different person, defeated and world-weary, more her thirty-four years of age than the twenty-eight she’d been then. Something about life and expectation tearing you down forms in her head, but she doesn’t say any of it. Sitting across from her, his intense features looked softened enough by the blow of memory.

They fall into silence as they eat, her watching outside the window into the backyard, and him glancing around inconspicuously. His detective eyes catch onto things another might not: the lack of familial pictures on the wall, the ABC magnets strewn against the white fridge, spelling out ‘LATE.’ Her notepad by the telephone, scribbled with reminders and phone numbers. In another life, he was meant to be a psychologist. The act of breaking another person apart like this has fascinated him since he was young. He wonders what kind of life she leads, in the clinical, unromantic way psychology warrants. If he was a better friend, he might just ask.

“Thank you for lunch,” he tells her, “You didn’t have to do that but it was good.”

She looks back at him, her dark brown eyes warm. “Of course,” she replies, smiling. She gathers her half eaten sandwich and the peppering of chips she’s left, and puts it beside the sink. He can’t imagine she’s going to leave it there, not the way her home looks, feels, smells like. Things don’t get left out here.

Or do they? Had she cleaned it this intensely for his benefit? Did she expect to invite him over? Probably not, but maybe. And maybe is enough.

He hands her his empty plate with a half grin. Her smile picks up again. They look at each other for a long second before she grows self conscious under his searching gaze. He struggles to read what it is she expects from him, if anything at all. Maybe just friends means something vastly different in her vocabulary than it does his own.

“Mariella,” he says quietly, leaning against her tiled countertop. She raises her head, looking back in his direction with a soft furrow between her brows. The paint strip is still on her bare face. “At the risk of sounding a bit of an asshole, can I ask you something?”

She laughs awkwardly. “That’s never a good way to start anything,” she jokes, “But sure.”

Javier stares at her, letting the thought digest before it becomes a conversation. He chews the inside of his cheek. Just friends. A mantra that repeats in cycles. He’s been doing such a good job. No cigarettes in a week, no sex for months. “I better not.” He decides against it.

She wipes her hand off on a stray dish towel. “I doubt I’ll think you’re an asshole,” she tells him softly. “Go ahead, shoot.”

The wrinkles between his eyes grow more prominent as he considers the weight of this question in his mind. He likes Mariella, feels strangely at ease in her company, and this might ruin all of that. She could tell her dad. Her dad could tell Chucho. In Laredo, the entire landscape of his life is intertwined. Maybe he does this as a form of rebellion, just because he can. As surely as Mariella allowed him into her home, he wants to ask her this.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m probably being presumptuous and maybe even a bit forward in asking you this, and I know that. You haven’t really done much to give me this impression, so I don’t want you to feel like you have,” he assures, looking at her directly, “But do you…Is friends all you want to be, or maybe is this something more? Maybe not..not anything serious but something?”

The question makes her cheeks tint and she averts her eyes. Looking down at the dishes, she begins to fiddle with the handles on the sink. The water interrupts the stream of awkwardness, but not enough to will it away.

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly, wincing at his own foolish behavior. “I—I don’t know why I said that. I’m not good at this. I never have been.”

She rinses his dish with a narrowed focus, the yellow sponge absorbing his words. After a stretch of time that seems an eternity she responds. “I can’t begin to tell you the things I want, Javier. Even if I knew.” She lifts her eyes. He finds an honest vulnerability that discomforts him. A terrible ache that exists in him, too, but that he hadn’t expected from her. It’s his turn to move away from it, casting his eyes to the window.

“I know the feeling,” he mutters.

He looks at her, sidelong and soft, and she nods, full of quiet understanding. She reaches over and grabs her plate, brushing against him with her shoulder. Everything moves a little slower, more intense and hushed, like a disaster is on the horizon.

The precision with which they had built division between them crashes and burns against her chestnut cabinets, an inevitable death. The cool feel of the tile beneath his hands as he pins her between his body and the sink is not sobering, not in the least. It’s comforting, pleasant. She gasps when he kisses her the first time, and its more gentle than he’s used to, half afraid that he might do something as stupid as break her heart. She’s a good girl , a cruel voice calls to him from the back of his mind.

A good girl who doesn’t know what she wants and couldn’t tell him if she did. Self punishment always felt best served up as a warm body, in some dark shadow in a decrepit corner of Colombia. But this is Laredo, and his Daddy knows her Daddy. As his fingers undo the buckles of her overalls, she looks at him with wide, earnest eyes. Glossy lipped and wild with desire, shrouded in warm daylight. He can almost imagine her at twenty-one, young and urgent and maybe in love with the man she had talked about moving in with. No dark corners here. The tile is spotless. Everything is spotless He kisses her harder the second time and she lets him. He knows he shouldn’t. He’s already so hard he aches.

“Turn around,” he whispers gruffly against the shell of her ear. He kisses her again and she obeys. The denim falls down to her waist and he assists her in undoing the buttons there while she lifts her shirt. She looks into the yard, feeling his calloused fingertips at her hips, and his warm breath against her back. Her knuckles are white, clenching the counter, anxious. Not of him. Not of this. Not really. Just the idea of it. The last man she had sex with was Henry, and before that, another teacher she had worked with in Washington. Her whole sexual history can be accounted for on two hands and all the men she has known far better and far longer than this one. She doesn’t have condoms.

She doesn’t have condoms.

“I don’t…” she breathes out, closing her eyes. “There’s no condoms.”

He wants to say it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t need to cum, to be in her. That he’s fine with getting on his knees like he intended, spreading her and pressing his tongue to her slit. Doing his very best giving. But there’s a hollowness in her tone that wards him off, and a waver that speaks of uncertainty. He rubs his hand affectionately against her side and gathers her overalls up for her..

“M’sorry.” She hangs her head, readjusting, and he frowns.

“No,” he says, quietly. “Don’t be. It doesn’t matter at all. I shouldn’t have done that. You said you wanted to be friends.”

She shrugs her shoulders, dutifully re-clipping her overalls. “It’s not your fault, either.”

“I can be a friend,” he finds himself saying, like a solemn promise. The thought of this becoming nothing seems to scare him more than he thought it would. He’s been so alone. Speaking to her, doing things with her, has felt liberating, like he’s a person again. “I wasn’t…Before that moment, I didn’t think about doing anything like that. It was just..I don’t know. I started thinking and that always leads me to places I shouldn’t be.” He smiles, but it’s humorless.

She turns around, offering him a wane smile. “It’s okay, Javi. It has nothing to do with what you did or didn’t do. I’m just a bit confused right now. That’s all. It’s me. I do things like this, confuse everyone.”

Her arms wrap around her and he feels pathetic, like he’s done something terribly wrong.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks.

“I drove you here.” This earns him a more genuine grin. A small bit of laughter, too. “It’s okay,” she reassures, the red in her cheeks dimming. He smiles, too, though it’s more of a grimace. As she reaches out to him, patting him on the arm, she says, “Let’s go paint the rest of the classroom. Rumors might start if someone walks in to see that paint job.”

Javier steps aside and she goes to get her things. There’s a panic in his chest, like there always is after he’s made a decision this stupid. It’s been so long. A whole summer of feeling nothing . He remembers why he doesn’t talk to anyone; he can’t. He fucks it up. He fucks everything up, even when he does them with the best intentions.

“Is it alright if we stop by the store?” he calls out. “I need cigarettes.”

She peeks her head around the corner, slinging her purse over her arm. “Of course,” she says. He can’t help but think about how distant she looks. His analytical mind, which had come to a grinding halt when he needed it most, works overtime now.

Yeah, he needs a fucking cigarette. Needs it like he needs a miserable bullet in his skill: urgently.

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