#i thought the whole thing with uncle made it pretty clear that arthur is not fucking . out to commit murder for fun?

[6footeel]

the way the fandom talks about arthur sometimes is…. really interesting

#.talk #malevolent #particularly in the way that john is made out to be arthur’s victim so often #like the addison arc post-yellow . seeing arthur called a ‘fucking psychopath’ for . having a complicated trauma response #i thought the whole thing with uncle made it pretty clear that arthur is not fucking . out to commit murder for fun? #there are things to be said about him enjoying the hunt and enjoying the act of killing evil people #but . he specifically was seeking revenge on uncle & larson because he was triggered #in killing them he’s trying to kill himself #IDK MAN. IDK i just . there’s not a lot of nuance in some posts #there’s more to be said about arthur & john’s relationship bc they are codependent as fuck #and that is in fact a 2 way street #neither of them are victim to the other but at the same time they are both victims to each other yknow? #they both suck. and i like them for that

[choosing-criminalminds]

One More Time

Summary: Their love was years and years in the making, and even when prison quickly builds back up the walls they worked so hard to break down, Spencer learns just how strong the foundation of their trust is.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader(ish) -> told mostly in the 3rd person, from Spencer’s POV

Category: angst (?)

Warnings: mentions of character death (Maeve, Gideon), mentions of blood (Maeve’s death), slight panic/anxiety, language -> let me know if there are any more to add!

Also, un-beta’d, we die like the trash we are.

Length: 5.6k

A/N: Okay yeah so first post. So…this turned out much longer than expected? This is for Ellie’s ( @spenciebabie ) writing contest/celebration and goodness I’m so nervous because I’ve barely written, much less posted, anything in years. Anyway, I guss I decided to challenge myself to write this? I hope you guys like it?

Also, if anyone wants a new friend, please hit me up because I’m too shy to say hello myself.

Prompt was: “Why don’t you make me?”

-*-*-*-

“Trust has to be earned, and should come only after the passage of time.”

—Arthur Ashe

-*-*-*-

For all his genius, Spencer didn’t know what to make of the fact that he found himself inexplicably drawn to her.

It wasn’t until years down the line that he realized he had been exceptionally aware of her since they met, carefully observing, cataloguing the way she so gently and kindly defied every expectation and pushed past every preconceived notion he had of her. By then, she had already settled in a little corner of his heart and helped seal the cracks in his life that he didn’t even know existed.

But when she first joined the team as an intern, he was more than a little reluctant to get to know her. It was during the summer between her college graduation and the start of her graduate studies, and she seemed too worldly, too perfect. She wasn’t like the girls from high school, or even college, for that matter, who were simply mean. On the contrary, she was wonderfully polite and incredibly ambitious, intelligent, and very much the type of girl that was far too out of his league, one that wouldn’t spare him a second glance before continuing down whatever focused path she was on.

That’s why he planned to avoid her as much as possible her first day in the office. She had, thankfully, spent the morning in Hotch’s office, since he was her official supervisor, but when he saw them about to emerge right before lunch, he panicked, muttered a random excuse, and shuffled out of the bullpen, leaving a bemused Derek and Elle in his wake.

It didn’t help that he was ducking out of rooms while JJ was giving her a quick tour and making introductions, and almost every member of the team had cornered him, encouraging him to talk to her, to befriend her due to their closeness in age. (“She’s only what? Two-ish years younger than you?” When he mumbled that exact date, Penelope had broken into a large, wicked grin, poking him teasingly in the cheek. Gratefully, she held back any further comment.)

Spencer had blinked, a little surprised, when Penelope Garcia, who generally disliked change, had only good things to say. Remarkably humble about her achievements, and not in the standoffish fake way, Penelope commented after admitting she had run a background check on her. Genuine, and quite sweet.

Polite, Derek had said, if a little quiet, trying to see where she fits in the team dynamic. You should reach out, be a friend, he suggested.(Spencer ignored the very pretty slipped somewhere in the comment, as well as the knowing smile shot his direction when he felt his cheeks flushing.)

A surprisingly wicked sense of humor, was all Elle said with a sly smile. (Spencer chose to ignore that too.)

And when Spencer tentatively asked the man, Jason Gideon, a man of generally few words, had spoken of her, however briefly, with surprising fondness, because of course Gideon had met her when she was a child, because of course her uncle now headed legal three floors up, and of course her uncle was the last third of the BAU’s Holy Trinity, of which Gideon and Rossi were a part of.

You’ll get along very nicely.

Spencer was incredibly intimidated, to say the least.

And then when he couldn’t avoid her anymore (because of course they were desked next to each other), all it took for her was noticeably catching herself from extending a hand, then offering a small little wave and a nervous smile to leave him breathless. (He pointedly ignored the look knowing look JJ shot him.)

He tried to stifle the little seed of hope—that she definitely wasn’t interested in him, and her saccharine smile was nothing more than a false front to make a positive impression during a lucrative FBI internship meant only to bolster her resume—but the resolve crumbled quickly. She turned out to be so genuinely kind and sweetly humble that Spencer cursed the fact that the internship lasted only through that summer.

It also certainly didn’t help, either, that the very first thought he had when meeting her was a single word.

Pretty.

-*-*-*-

It was almost ridiculous how well she got along with everyone in the office.

She clearly made it a mission to make the most of the time she had and was more than willing to put in the work and prove her worth. Although she was technically Hotch’s intern and her main role was to assist the core field team, Spencer watched as she managed to get on absolutely everyone’s good graces through a combination of unassuming charm, sharp wit, and willingness to learn and to help that was so uniquely her.

For Spencer, it meant that she happily listened to what he had to say, encouraging him to continue when appropriate or saving a quiet question for later when it wasn’t. When she told him that she enjoyed listening to him talk, Spencer was taken aback, stuttering as he tried to figure out if she was only saying that to be polite. She gave him a gracious smile, ensured that she “quite honestly enjoyed” listening to him, and proceeded to ask a few well-timed and well-pointed questions to smoothly nudge him back to their previous topic.

Spencer stared at her, slack-jawed, then smiled bashfully, and allowed himself to hope.

(He definitely didn’t know what to do with the fact that when she knowingly reached out to his hand resting on the table and lightly tapped the back of his hand, he didn’t have his typical knee-jerk desire to pull away. He also mostly certainly didn’t know what to do with the fact that when her thumb grazed over his knuckles to sooth the tension he didn’t even realize he had, he felt an inexplicable calm ease into his very bones.)

-*-*-*-

“It’ll take a good five, six years to finish my J.D./Ph.D., but Hotch offered me an open invitation to join the team when I do, and I’m more than inclined to take his offer when the time comes.”

Spencer peered at her, breathing out a sigh of relief that he didn’t realize he was holding. It was the last day of her internship, and she was making the rounds to say her thank you’s and goodbyes individually to the members of the team. He was the last one, and he had been dreading the conversation the entire day.

While he wouldn’t describe what he felt for her as anything beyond a genuine, platonic friendship—in the grand scheme of things, they’d only known each other for ten weeks—their easy companionship had become very dear to him. And he was terrified and nervous that her time with the BAU would be just a small chapter in her life before she moved on to the bigger and better things, leaving him behind as a fond but distant memory.

She laughed softly at his surprise, before it trailed off into a sigh. She then took a deep breath and asked. “Do you trust me?” Spencer looked at her, a bit dumbfounded. Did he trust her? Her gaze was heavy on him and the question weighty, a gentle demand for an honest answer. Did he trust her? Yes, he did, he supposed, they were friends. Right? He breathed in deeply, squared his shoulders just a bit, and answered in the affirmative.

As if she sensed his hesitance, his unease, she gave him a knowing look and took one of his hands into hers, fingers brushing over fingers, before hooking her pinky around his. “Because I promise you, Spencer Reid, I’ll be back, right here. You’ll be waiting for me, yeah?”

He looked at her in awe, the dim light of the nearly-empty office reflecting off her kind eyes. Warmth spread through his chest, and she smiled so brilliantly that he nearly forgot to breathe, to answer. To answer. He smiled back, twitchy, introspective, and considered the weight of her question. He nodded and responded simply.

“Always.”

-*-*-*-

She managed to remain on the Bureau’s consulting payroll over the next several years, though she was primarily based in the Bay Area as she finished her graduate studies at Stanford. The team as a whole still went to her for a fresh perspective when needed; she video called in to help on cases when necessary and met up in person if a case called them to California.

He knew that she kept in touch with JJ, Penelope, and Derek, and that Hotch and Emily (whom she met shortly after Emily joined the team and a case brought them to LA) were also friendly, if professional, contacts. Spencer himself was known to receive the odd phone call from her.

However, what had Spencer almost covetously pleased was that they had something they shared exclusively between the two of them, because she had steadfastly kept her promise to write to him.

-*-*-*-

Her letters were as beautiful as they were constant, and Spencer handled and read each one with care.

Her handwriting suited her; while it generally was neat and clear little scrawl, he knew it would get a little freer, and little loopier when she was tired, if she was particularly excited, or if she found herself a bit tipsy. (And yet she still managed to always write in an almost perfectly straight line even on a blank sheet of paper. He was envious, and when he told her as such, he could hear the laughter in her response as she wrote it a little more wobbly than usual.) And while he knew her to be tilted more on the quiet, introverted side of the scale, she had a way with the written word, each phrase poetic and thoughtful.

And they were remarkably therapeutic to write in return, Spencer found. Their initial letters mostly consisted of light banter about their mutual and individual interests, updates on the progress of her research (sprinkled amusing tidbits of her exasperation and frustration), bits and pieces about his cases and updates on and amusing anecdotes about the team.

However, over time, he slowly opened up to her, about his fears, his hopes, his dreams. And when he hesitantly divulged bits and pieces about the drugs, his mother, the headaches, he felt the relief in his entire body when she responded with empathy and grace. In turn, she did the same. She was vulnerable, she was open, and as wonderful and quite near perfect as he knew her to be, he was pleased to find her so incredibly human.

Those letters he slowed down to read, committing them to memory with more intention.

(He kept her letters in the drawer of his desk at his apartment, and eventually moved them to a specially designated box when he needed more room. When he learned that she did the same, he couldn’t help the tender warmth that fluttered in his chest. He still didn’t know what to do with the feeling.)

-*-*-*-

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

It took six years, and an additional five months at the Academy (and then another few weeks as she was introduced to the legal team, with whom she would also be working with in her role as legal liaison), but she kept her promise and found her way back to the BAU, and it was like she was never gone.

This time, in her re-introduction to the team, she was a breath of fresh air.

When she approached him individually with a nervous smile, she reached out, then hesitated, and a sense of déjà vu washed over Spencer. But then, she had placed a hand on his elbow, and when she smiled, he breathed in a sense of peace and familiarity, of comfort.

“You waited.”

He smiled back, and in a rather forward gesture on his part, he adjusted so he could take the hand on his arm into his.

“Always.”

-*-*-*-

She was too good for him.

Whatever relationship they had—Spencer didn’t know what to call it, though friendship seem too trivial of a word for it—he knew it was too good, too perfect to last.

Because in a cruel twist of fate, her first case back on the team, however unofficial it was, was Maeve.

He was hyperaware of the neutral expression on her face when he finally brought his fears to the team. To anyone else she would seem serene and put together, but to him the slight sag in her shoulders and the realization transitioning to acceptance were clear as day. Spencer never mentioned Maeve to her in their letters, but later, in retrospect, he believed she had an inkling, at the very least. You seem happier, she had written, once, not too long after he first became acquainted with Maeve, and that makes me happy.

Did it? Then he didn’t want to know what his misery would do to her because then, Maeve died, and in his grief over another woman, he fought desperately to push her away.

She could share his happiness, but he refused to let her share his pain, his brokenness. She did not deserve that, and he would not be the one to destroy the beauty and sunshine and hope she brought everywhere with her.

But when they finally took Maeve’s body away, and when the blurred commotion of sirens and law enforcement and emergency services and constant hammering of half-hearted condolences and check-ins finally died down, he felt the blanket around his shoulders be adjusted, and a now-familiar pair of hands take in his own, firm, and refusing to ever let go. Thumbs traced over his knuckles as soothingly as he remembered, and only then did he begin to vaguely process the fact those hands had been tucked into his almost the entire evening, anchoring him through the haze and the fog.

As if on cue, she squeezed his hand gently, like she knew exactly when he was slowly becoming aware of her presence, and he suddenly found he lacked the strength to do what he initially intended.

Still dazed, he felt her shift, and she was kneeling on the ground in front of him where he sat on the curb, and softly drew him into a hug. Any form of resistance he previously had dissolved; he clung to her, tears stinging his eyes once again.

It’s okay, I’m here, I’ll stay, she whispered, I’ll stay, always and always.

Just don’t push me away.

“I-” His voice cracked. “I loved her.”

He paused, his voice weakening.

“I love her...”

Hands ran soothingly through his hair.

“I know.”

She always did.

“…so much.”

He didn’t need to see her face to realize that she was crying with him, for him—he could feel her trying to contain the trembling in her chest, trying desperately to remain composed. He tried to do the same, but when she tilted her head and let him bury his face into her neck, Spencer finally felt fresh tears begin to flow, and he allowed her to take his face into her hands and chase the tears with her fingers.

And Spencer wept freely, first for death of the woman he loved, and then for the tears and the grief he caused the one person he could call his kindred spirit, his soulmate.

-*-*-*-

He healed, slowly.

There were good days, when the thought of Maeve did not stir up memories of blood and fear and gunshots but, rather, of auburn hair and admiration and hushed conversations on the phone. On those days, he felt like he was no longer haunted by a ghost and could finally begin to move on. On those days, he could slow down, appreciate the small things again, and focus on how a pair of familiar, steady hands pulled him out of the past, anchored him in the present, and allowed him to hope about the future.

But then there were the bad days when her touch scalded and burned his skin. The warmth and the pulse of blood rushing through her veins and the germs on her hands and her life was overwhelming because Maeve was dead and cold and gone. So, with every glare and with every sharp comment aimed at where he knew it would hurt, he finally made good on his desire to push her away.

It was on those days the bitter voice in the back of his mind whispered how it was supposed to be Maeve, not her, there alive with him, holding his hand as they faced the world.

It was also on those days he chose to disregard the regret that settled in the pit of his stomach each time he heard his own biting voice, and disregard the horror brought on by even thinking of wishing she were dead instead. He began to ignore the tremble in her hands when she reached out to him and brushed her fingers against his in concern, and he ignored how she gradually began pulling back, hesitant, nervous that her touch would be unwarranted, unwanted. He certainly ignored the unconscious flex in his hand, the ache for the reassurance and comfort he had become so accustomed to—

He ignored it all until he woke up, one night, to an empty bed, and a sudden surge of panic rushed through his body and bile rose in his throat. She was right there, when he fell asleep, giving him a small smile and nod when he asked if she could read to him, to stay the night. Now, without a word, she was gone, she was gone, shewasgone and Spencer could feel the tightness in his chest and tears sting his eyes when realized that the only one to blame was himself, himself, himself.

Why, he thought bitterly, why was he like this? Why must he try to push away every good thing in his life?

But then, there he stood, barely aware of the tears on his cheeks and ice running through his veins, as he found her curled up on his couch, franticly wiping away her own silent tears and exhaustion from her eyes. He stumbled forward, upset, upset at himself because he made her cry again. And when she flinched when he cradled her face in his hands, apologizing to him, he nearly choked back a sob, his hands trembling as he tried to wipe away the tears that did not belong on her face.

Neither of them went back to sleep that night, and Spencer began to realize just how strong she was, as she gently told him through her tears the hard truths of his situation and where she stood in relation to him.

I can’t fight with a ghost, she had murmured hoarsely, but I can work with her legacy and her memory.

And then, with a pinky wrapped around his, she promised that she would be there to help him through it, but the only way was if, and only if, he let her.

It was that night (or, rather, morning, as the sun rose) that he began to come to terms that, whether he deserved it or not, she—and her pure and unadulterated goodness—was more or less a permanent fixture in his life, and he felt more at peace than he had in ages. And when the early rays of sunlight filtered through his windows and caught her in a soft glow, he found himself once again in awe. He reached out, hesitantly, and his heart soared when he felt the familiar pressure of her hand slipping into his.

She was steadfast and loyal and strong. She was brave, she was patient, she was kind. Moreover, she was alive, she was breathing, and she was here, present, by his side. It took time, and more painful conversations and more painful realizations, but eventually, the good days were a bit more consistent, the sun just a bit brighter, and his breathing a just bit freer with her hand pressed firmly into his own, her pulse thrumming beneath his fingers until his heartbeat synced with hers.

And Spencer was finally learning, learning about what to do with the fact that with her by his side, he felt like he could truly face the world.

-*-*-*-

Face the world he did.

When Gideon died, he felt his hand twitch, and the compulsion to escape and hide tugged at the back of his mind, and an old, nearly forgotten itch made its way from the crook of his elbow, slowly ebbing into in his veins and nagging in the crevices of the back of the mind.

But when he felt her hand slip into his, he felt it abate, the tension in his muscles eased. When her lips twitched into a knowing, gentle smile, he could see the underlying grief and frustration. Of course. She had known Gideon just as well as he did, if not better.

He breathed deeply and smiled back. It was weak, it was twitchy, and it was sad, but it was a smile, nonetheless. He wasn’t in this alone.

-*-*-*-

They were seated on a large blanket in a secluded park in D.C. on one of their rare days off when she pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, and suddenly it seemed like all the right pieces finally fell into place.

And when she whispered those three little words, and everything made sense. He looked up from where he laid, and again he was breathless at how the setting sun caught in her hair and reflected off her skin and her eyes. But then, when he opened his mouth to respond, the same three little words caught in his throat and his breath hitched, and he wanted to cry. He wanted to respond, to let her know that her feelings were returned, but the words failed him.

“It’s okay,” she murmured softly, and he trembled as he felt her hands cupping his face and fingers gracing over his cheekbones, “if you don’t reciprocate; I’ll live. But I just wanted to let you know–know that I’ll be by your side no matter what happens.”

It wasn’t until they were at the door of her apartment, when he found the strength to push past the nerves and respond.

“I do re-reciprocate, and I want–I want to say it, because I do,” he stuttered out, “but I just…don’t know how to say it yet.”

He suddenly felt like a prepubescent schoolboy, nervous and quaking and terrified. But then, magnetic as she was, she brought his gaze back to her face, and her knowing smile breathed air back into his lungs. His heart blossomed, and the fingers rubbing circles into his hand anchored his attention on her. “Then I’ll wait until you can. Always. Forever.” She paused. “Do you trust me?”

Spencer peered up at her, brows furrowed. Unbidden, the memory of the first time she asked him the same question floated to the front of his mind, and he couldn’t help the breath of amusement. The question caught him off guard, but this time, when he found his voice it was resolute, quick, and sure.

Yes.

He felt a pinky hook around his, and the now-familiar warmth bubbled in his chest.

“Good, because it’s a promise I intend to keep.”

This time, the tears her fingers caught were those of appreciation and relief.

-*-*-*-

And then, the sun set, and prison happened.

-*-*-*-

At first, it was easy to ignore.

Prison changed him. He knew it did, and he knew that she wasn’t naïve to the fact either. He was a bit harder, a bit more defensive, and while he tried his best not to show it, he knew she could see the darkness had just a little bit more of an edge. He was well aware of how she watched him just a bit more closely.

It seemed alright at first. It took a while for him to adjust; there were certainly bumps and bruises along the way, along with some admittedly choice words exchanged in frustration, but that was expected.

But he supposed it was the small things, and small things add up.

The first week her hand naturally slipped into his like nothing’d changed, but his grip was tighter and more desperate than normal, like she’d disappear or slip through his fingers if he didn’t. At the same time, he was also too terrified to touch her otherwise, as if she’d break like glass if his grip on her waist was just a bit too tight.

She never commented, gave him space, and allowed him to initiate physical contact.

She didn’t need to know, he rationalized, it wasn’t her burden to bear.

Then he began to hold her at arm’s length. She pushed, gently, and he pushed back, harder. He knew she was only trying to help, but he needed to figure it out for himself, lest he hurt her again. She only sighed, and relented. While her concern was apparent with how she watched him with just a little more unease, she gave him space.

However, while she was an exceptionally patient person, there was only so much distance and space one could handle. When she reached out, worried, and pressed just a little harder, he withdrew completely, and his rationalization slowly evolved. Stop hovering. Don’t need you treating me like I’m broken. Don’t need your pity.He ignored the pain that flashed in her eyes, the quiet desperation in her voice whenever she called after him after he refused to listen, and the increasingly familiar ache in his entire body when he began to avoid and refuse her touch.

It was the small things, because when the nightmares started, it wasn’t so easy to ignore.

-*-*-*-

“—eathe, Spencer. That’s good, breathe.”

The mumbled affirmations continued as he slowly processed his surroundings.

Queen-sized bed. Egyptian cotton sheets. Breathe in. Goose-feather down pillows. A firmer memory foam pillow that smelled of her shampoo. Breathe out.

Safety.

He was still bleary-eyed when he sunk back down, burying half his face in the pillows and ashamed as he mumbled a quiet apology. Her voice was kind, understanding, telling him it was alright as she tucked a stray lock of curls away from his face. When he seemed to settle back down, her hand gentle rested on his jaw, thumb absently tracing his cheekbone.

“Do you want to talk—”

“No.”

She frowned, sighed, took a moment to flick on the lamp light and collect her thoughts; he could see, through his lashes, the gears turning in her head about how to proceed. Meanwhile, he heaved a sighed, and sat up against the headboard. His eyes closed, doing the same as her. She then reached out, touched his hand, grazed her thumb over his knuckles and drew circles on the back. It started slow, hesitant—she was surprised that he didn’t recoil, and frankly, so was he—but the motion was familiar, grounding, so he let her continue. He knew it helped her focus as well.

“Spence, you’re…you need to talk to someone—it doesn’t have to be me! But bottling it up all inside, it’s clearly tearing you apart.”

“I agreed to start talking with my therapist, haven’t I?”

His voice was flat, defensive.

“But you haven’t, and…knowing you, you won’t be telling them the whole truth.” His jaw tightened and his lips pursed, his hand gripping the sheets flexed, and he looked away from her, intently staring at a random point in the room that wasn’t her. As always, she seemed to know him far too well.

She let out a breath of a sigh; she knew he was beginning to shut her out again. Her free hand lifted to his shoulder, rested in the crook of his neck.

“I’ve told you before, that you’ve started to shut people out. I know–I know you’re so, so strong, but you don’t have to face it alone. You don’t need to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders; we’re not as fragile as you seem to think we are.” She paused, contemplating. “If you need someone with distance that you can trust, call Derek, call Hotch, even, but remember, Spence, I made you a promise: I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

When he didn’t answer, still staring off into the mid-distance, she sighed.

“I’ll leave, give you some space. Think about it.”

She was at the bedroom door when he finally cleared his throat and responded. His voice was bitter as he bit out: “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

A quiet ‘wha–’slipped from her lips as she angled toward him as he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, hands gripping the sheets tightly.

“If you want to leave, fine. You seem to be doing that quite well recently. The door’s right there and you don’t have to come back until you want to make me a charity case again. But if you want me to talk, if you think you can handle it, then be my guest. Take a seat and why don’t you make me?”

He instantly regretted the words, but some dark part of his mind as pleased that he could see the anger and annoyance spark through her as she inhaled deeply and slowly turn around to face him in full. “I will if that’s what it will take.”

Spencer’s gaze hardened.

“You don’t have the fucking guts.”

A brief moment passed as she took him in full, eyes flashing. Spencer raised his gaze, challenging, daring her, and then, the same, shadowed part of his mind was savagely happy that he had finally gotten a rise out of her, because she bit back with venom.

“Fucking try me.”

And then, he watched her warily as she visibly froze, then deflate, her jaw tightening and eyes welling with unshed tears as she stumbled backward to the door.

“But–but not like this. Not like this. I’m–I’m so sorry you didn’t–you don’t deserve…” Her voice was quiet, but it was hitched with a swirl of emotions Spencer couldn’t pinpoint, and he was suddenly aware of the hot tears dripping down his cheeks. “I’m going–I’m going to go…” He heard the doorknob turn, and suddenly the sound of gunshots rang in his ears, and he could the taste the metallic bitterness as blood and dead brown eyes filled his vision.

Wait. Wai- She was halfway out the door when he called out, voice cracking, and through blurred tears he saw her shut the door and shuffled and stumbled back into the room toward him, kneeling in front of him. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the whispers of his name and the urgency of the apologies. And then his eyes fluttered closed when she reached up to brush the tears away, and the motion opened the floodgates. It was one of the many little touches they shared—thumbs wiping over cheeks and hands cupping faces—and he had half a mind to shove her aside, but dear God he hadn’t felt it in far too long; he leaned, almost desperately, into her touch and he could hear her sniffling back her own tears.

Fuck.

He was always like this.

His passive aggressiveness was his defense mechanism; he lashed out blindly whenever he felt vulnerable, not caring who he hurt and how much. It was something she had been helping him work through, and he thought he was getting better, but here he was, hurting her because of it again.

Not like this.

He barely noticed that she had pulled him into a tender hug, but now that he did process the warmth of her embrace seeping into his bones, he wanted to push it away. He didn’t – he didn’t deserve this but now she was pulling back, and it sent a brief course of panic through his body, a fear that she was pulling away, away from him, away from the darkness and shadows that loomed permanently over him. He wouldn’t blame her, but–but…oh.

Her eyes always spoke volumes for her, and now that she had firmly tilted his chin up, her gaze firm, resolved.

“I know you are feeling vulnerable, and I know that you believe you can do this on your own.” She breathed in deeply. In turn he gazed up at her through his tears, as evenly as he could, and she met it without wavering. “You are strong, Spencer Reid, so, so strong, been so for so long. But…but I made a promise that I would always be by your side, and I’m never going to break it. So please.” Her voice hitched, and his breath caught in his throat. “Please, trust in me, one more time. Just one more time.”

Moments ticked by to the time of his heartbeat before he finally nodded, and the relief and the elation in her eyes soothed the dull pain inside his heart. This time, he drew her into his arms and into his lap and sighed as he leaned into the crook of her neck.

Thank you.

I love you, too.

-*-*-*-

“Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.”

—Maya Angelou

-*-*-*-

#spenciebabiesficcontest #joy's writing #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

[theclockworkmonk]

Out of the Mouths of Babes — Ch 6

AO3 | FFN

Previous chapter on Tumblr

Written for Hinny Ficfest 2021

Prompt: “Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

Special thanks to @deadwoodpecker for beta reading this chapter

********

It was Molly’s turn to catch Arthur as he swayed on his feet and nearly fainted into her lap.

Hermione’s trembling hands were clapped firmly over her mouth, her eyes bulging to the size of saucers and darting around the room, unsure of who to start questioning, lecturing, or comforting first.

Ron was standing comfortably looking very pleased with himself, taking his turn to give Hermione his best “I told you so” look.

Fleur was silently beaming.

George’s face was turning red and his lips were pressed together so tightly they were turning white, he was trying so hard to keep his flippant comments to himself.

Percy had an intense, focused look on his face like he was trying to solve a maths problem or get a joke.

Bill and Charlie were glaring at Harry with a renewed quiet venom that was more intimidating than the unrestrained threats of a few minutes earlier.

But Harry wasn’t even close to caring, because his brain was too busy with listing to him all of the reasons why he was a terrible person and how he had ruined Ginny’s life and how he had no business being responsible for a tiny helpless human. With the deathly silence of the kitchen, he could perfectly hear his pulse pounding in his ears.

Ginny was still just staring at the blue potion with a completely blank expression. Finally, she was the one who broke the silence.

“...Huh.”

That sound was like a dam breaking, and the entire family erupted into a new flood of noise, all shouting over each other.

“Okay, okay, nobody panic!” Hermione shrieked, flapping her hands and clearly panicking, “We can handle this, I’ll help Ginny make a plan! I’ll start a baby binder!”

Molly darted across the kitchen and tackled her still-stunned daughter into a crushing hug.

“Remember Ginny dear, this is a good thing and we’re all happy for you, even though I’m so sorry I failed you as a mother,” she cried.

“By that she means you both are always accepted by this family and we’ll help any way we can,” said Arthur seriously.

“Yes, feel free to floo over if you ever start feeling sick, dear,” wept Molly, clasping onto Ginny’s hands for dear life, “and I know you starve yourself for your team, but you need to eat whatever you have a craving for as soon as you crave it, even if those trainers don’t like it. I’ll be happy to cook it for you. In fact, I’ll just start coming over every day to make sure you have everything.”

Behind her, Fleur was silently fist-pumping in victory at the new target for Molly Weasley’s doting.

“Not that anybody cares,” said Ron pointedly, staring up at the ceiling with his arms crossed, “But I’m still waiting for my apology.”

That was enough to shake Ginny out of her trance and she actually chuckled. “Ronald, it’s going to take a lot more than the immediate vindication of the wanker things you say for that to happen.”

Bill and Charlie’s faces had turned a shade of purple that reminded Harry entirely too much of Uncle Vernon.

“The rising star junior Auror can’t handle rudimentary contraception magic?” Charlie growled through clenched teeth.

Harry gulped loudly enough to be heard over the cacophony. “No! This potion batch is just a dud, we’re always safe!”

Ginny gasped and grabbed Harry by the sleeve. She pulled him close and whispered, as if there were a chance everyone wouldn’t hear. “Wait, Harry, you did remember to do the Charm...erm….that time, right?” She glanced sideways at Ron and Hermione. “That time...you know...at that thing? That thing three weeks ago?”

Harry’s insides felt like they had been frozen. Apparently the look on his face betrayed him, because Ginny looked to be going through the same revelation as him.

“I….I thought you had,” he mumbled weakly.

Ginny winced and closed her eyes. “Noooooooo,” she moaned, “Harry, we established this, the one who initiates it needs to do the Charm!”

“Exactly!” said Harry, “You were the one who grabbed me and dragged me to the bathroom!”

“Only because you hadn’t taken your hand off my thigh the entire bloody dinner!” said Ginny frantically, “What was I supposed to do, just keep eating cake?”

“Wait!” said Ron loudly, and Harry and Ginny froze like trapped rabbits.

Ron glared back and forth between the two of them, the gears in his head working. “Dinner? Cake? Three weeks?”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Hermione seethed dangerously. “Seriously? At our engagement party!?”

Harry shrank away from her like a child caught in the sweets jar. “Er….would you believe that we got caught up in the romance of the moment? You know, because you two are so in love, it’s inspiring?”

“Exactly!” said Ginny, “Really, you should take this as a compliment.”

Ron had his hands over his ears and his eyes clenched shut. “Welp. I can never use that bathroom again. We have to move flats. Better yet, let’s just burn down the building.”

“So what is the Harpies’ maternity plan?” Percy asked studiously, as if this were simply a bureaucratic issue, “how soon do you plan on going on leave? Assuming, of course, you...you know….intend to go through with it”

Tense silence fell, as the misunderstanding that caused all this chaos was suddenly relevant again. Every face was looking toward Harry and Ginny with baited breath.

Ginny swallowed and cleared her throat.

“That,” she said forcefully, crossing her arms, “is none of your business. None of this is any of your business. So if you’ll excuse us, the only people whose opinions matter right now will discuss this alone.”

Without waiting for a retort, Ginny grabbed Harry by the hand and led him up the stairs. After they entered Ginny’s old bedroom and Harry closed the door behind him, she paced back and forth several times before turning to face him.

“Did you put a ward on the door?” she asked.

“And several more on our way up the stairs,” answered Harry. “We should have a while before an Extendable Ear sneaks in here.”

“Good. Very good. Cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcool.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over them, both hesitant to look the other in the eye. Harry wanted to hug her and start reassuring her, but he also didn’t want this conversation to start, because he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to hear what he suspected Ginny would say.

Even though he was completely panicking and sure he would find a way to spectacularly mess up raising a child, there was no doubt in his mind about at least trying his best at it. But he knew how dedicated Ginny was to her career, and how difficult this could be for her. He was sure what she was going to say, but he wasn’t sure he could withstand hearing it.

Ginny was chewing her lip, but finally broke the silence. “Look, Harry….this is a lot to take in. Neither of us planned on this happening so soon, obviously. I understand if you want to focus on your job—”

“What?” Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a professional athlete who has another human growing inside you, and it’s my job we need to worry about?”

Ginny shrugged. “Well, I could keep playing for the next few months. The team healers put a ward around your abdomen for bludgers. I would have to take a break eventually, but I’m on contract now, so I’m secured in my roster spot while on maternity leave, and they always give players a chance to earn their starting spot back.”

“Oh,” said Harry, surprised. “Well that’s….that’s good. I thought it would be more cutthroat.”

“Well, the Harpies’ whole brand is having the very best female players in Britain,” said Ginny proudly, “and having a reputation for the best maternity plan in the league makes them pretty attractive to all their prospects. It’s hard to build a core team if you permanently lose a player every time someone gets pregnant.

“So…” she said assertively, looking him in the eye. “I feel like...we can do this. I want to keep this baby. But ultimately I feel like it’s both of our decisions. I’ll understand no matter how you feel. So….what are you thinking?”

Harry felt like he was in a tug of war, between exploding from happiness or imploding from terrifying nerves. Dementors, dragons, Death Eaters, nothing was as scary as this, but he also didn’t have to think about his answer, even for a second.

His hand drifted into his pocket and he toyed with what was inside. This wasn’t how he imagined doing this, but she asked him what he was thinking, and this night had already flipped all their plans upside-down, what was a bit more?

Harry focused on Ginny’s brown eyes, still earnestly waiting for his answer, and he found the courage he always found there.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” he said bracingly.

He dropped down to one knee.

Ginny made a high-pitched squeak and her eyes widened in shock. Harry smiled at himself, pleased that he could still catch her completely off-guard.

“I wasn’t planning on doing this soon. I was afraid you would think I was being pushy. Was going to wait a few years. Or maybe a few months. Okay, I was probably close to cracking already. And in the meantime, it still felt good to have this on me, as a good luck charm I suppose.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small black box he had bought weeks earlier.

“Harry….” Ginny whispered, her eyes welling with tears.

“Ginny,” Harry answered. He opened the box to reveal the ring. “Will you mar—guh!”

He was cut off by a crazed redhead tackling him to the ground, grabbing his face and kissing him hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Harry’s head was spinning, but he reluctantly pushed her back.

“Gin — Gin!” he grunted between kisses. Finally, Ginny pulled back, frowning at him.

“There’s kind of a part you forgot?” Harry said pointedly, raising his eyebrows.

Ginny looked lost for a moment, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah. Yes. Obviously yes, you idiot.”

She kissed him again, and he lost track of time. Eventually, his back started to get sore on the wood floor, and he pushed himself up and pulled them both to their feet.

“We can finish our own celebration later,” said Harry, smiling so wide his face was sore, “but we should probably put your family’s worries to rest. And I can’t wait to show the world your hand with this on it.” He slid the ring onto her finger, and Ginny bounced on her feet like she was eleven years old again, practicing signing the name “Ginny Potter” in a diary.

Then, her smile slipped and she groaned loudly. “Ugh, this will make my mum even more of a nightmare now. I thought she was bad in the lead-up to Bill’s wedding, she’ll be even worse since she has to be the mother to both of us.”

“Well, Bill’s wedding was nice, wasn’t it?” said Harry diplomatically.

“I mean, I guess,” Ginny shrugged, “but not nearly nice enough to be worth all the hassle. The months of my mother stressing over everything and making sure I know my part. And I was just a bridesmaid! Being the center of attention of a hundred people while wearing a cumbersome dress might be Fleur’s dream, but it sounds like the worst day of my life.”

She wrapped her arms around Harry’s waist and pulled him close. “I just care if I’m the center of your attention.”

Harry smiled even wider. “Well don’t worry, you could be wearing a burlap sack and I still won’t be able to take my eyes off you.”

“So you don’t mind backing me up when Mum breaks out the bridal magazines?” Ginny asked pleadingly. “I was never one of those girls that fantasize about an extravagant wedding; in fact, the smaller the better. We’ve never really talked about it, but I know you, so I assume you would be okay with that?”

Harry laughed loudly. “Are you kidding? Yes, absolutely. You know I’m not exactly a social butterfly. As far as I’m concerned, we could jusy floo over to the Ministry and take care of it right now.”

They both erupted into a fresh round of laughter, holding each other and clutching their sides at how funny and ridiculous the idea was.

Then, their eyes met, and their laughter faltered, growing more and more quiet until tense silence descended on the room. Their smiles dropped, and their suddenly serious eyes held a wordless conversation.

Finally, both their mouths crept back up into wide smiles, this time being full of mischief.

#hinny ficfest #hinny #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #romione #hinny fanfic #hp #harry potter #ao3 link #harry x ginny #ron x hermione #ginny weasley #weasley family #farce #comedy #ron weasley #hermione granger #hinny fic

[ithebookhoarder]

Hey! I love your story the gangsters daughter SO much and I was wondering if I could request something based on it?

Where it’s the night before Evie’s wedding and she goes to Tommy’s office to talk as she’s nervous and they have a fluffy moment where he doesn’t think he’s ready for her to get married! ☺️

Cold Feet (Parent!Tommy Shelby x Evie)

A/N: Ok ok ok. First of all anon, how dare you be so fluffing cute?! And second, OF COURSE YOU CAN! I love Evie and I’m always looking for excuses to write for my baby. Also, I’m totally not crying at the thought of Tommy having to let his little girl go and get married and just wanting her to be happy... I just have something in my eye. 

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of smoking. Let me know if I missed anything. 

Masterlist:

Tommy had always known this day would come. 

It was as inevitable as death was for every single living thing on this planet. 

No matter how hard he’d prayed that he’d have just a little more time left, his luck had finally run out. There was no delaying it any longer now that the day was almost upon him when his life would change in a way that would alter his world forever. 

It was tomorrow, in fact, that Tommy would see Evie shed the Shelby name for another. 

True, he could not have chosen a more worthy candidate, and knew Toby would love Evie as she deserved to be loved. That didn't lessen the sting it caused though, to know his days as the only male in her life were now over. Soon, she would no longer be his, no longer living in the same house as him. She would be a married woman, and that filled Tommy with incredible joy, and incredible sorrow at the same time.

This was the curse of fathers. 

It seemed only yesterday that she was small enough to not even care about boys, let alone marriage. He remembered a particular conversation with fondness, when Evie had only been with them a few months or so. 

It had been in the wake of a row over Ada’s most recent conquest at the time. An annoying boy, Liam had only lasted three dates before being scared off by Arthur, John, and Tommy.  Despite being nothing particularly special, Ada had been incredibly enraged, yelling about how she wanted to marry him and that she’d never find love again. 

Of course, Evie had found the whole thing hilarious, if not a little confusing. Hence, when she’d sat up in bed that night, as Tommy passed by her room one final time, he couldn’t help but smile at her quizzical expression. 

“But, Dad. If she loves him what’s wrong with that? Besides, Mum had a baby on her own… if Ada did end up pregnant would it really be so horrible? She’d have a child, like me, and you all warmed up to me pretty quickly.”

“Well,” Tommy had begun, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of this discussion with his only recently recovered twelve-year old daughter. Polly was always far better at talking about this kind of stuff. “It’s… you see… people tend to only have children when they’re married.”

“Why?”

“It’s just how things are done.”

“Well, that’s stupid.”

Tommy smirked. “Most people would agree with you, but a lot don’t. They can be horrible and cruel, even to women who were in love but weren’t married when they had a kid. So, we’re trying to spare Ada from that. It’s fucking complicated, but at the end of the day, she deserves to be happy, doesn’t she?” 

“Yes,” Evie sighed, suddenly staring down at her bedsheets nervously. “But… does that mean Auntie Martha was right? That I have to get married when I grow up? But Dad, the only boys I like are you… and my uncles… I don’t suppose I could marry one of them?”

Tommy immediately bit back his laughter as he shook his head and held her close. “I’m afraid Martha would object to you marrying our John. Besides, you don’t want one of us old men when you can find someone young and handsome who you love very much.”

“But how will I know who that is? Or if they’re good or not?” she asked innocently. 

“I’ll help you,” Tommy offered, not without a little hesitation. To even think such a time would exist, when he would have to part with his daughter, when he’d only just found her again… “You can depend on it. Any unworthy bastards will be driven away by me, and the hounds.”

At that Evie spluttered into laughter, before pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek. “Now that, I would pay to see.”

Well, that day had come and gone and Tommy hadn’t released any hounds. No. The only hound in sight was Cyril, and he’d warmed incredibly quickly to the new member of the family. 

He hadn’t been the only one either. In fact, Tommy had rolled out the red fucking carpet, welcoming the man into the family. Sure, it hadn’t been without its challenges along the way, but as much as Tommy hated to admit it, Toby was a good man. More than that, he’d proved his loyalty to the family, and to Evie, over and over again. 

If he had to part with Evie to anyone, then at least it was to someone as decent as Toby. It made the whole ordeal hurt just a little less as he sipped his whiskey and stared out of the study window. 

Despite the late hour, there were still faint laughs and shrieks of delight echoing from upstairs. Ada, Lara, Polly and Lizzie were most likely to blame, having taken charge of Evie’s so called ‘last night of freedom’. Tommy didn’t know what that entailed exactly and he didn’t even want to try and guess. Not given how much champagne they’d lugged upstairs with them earlier, having returned from a busy evening dancing at a local club. 

If they weren’t all hungover as hell in the morning it would be a minor miracle. 

Still, as long as they got their asses to church on time and didn’t throw up on the minister, then everything would be fine. No. It would be perfect. Tommy had promised Evie that much and he’d be damned before he failed to deliver a promise as solemn as this one. 

She’d done the same for him, twice in fact, even if his union to Lizzie had been a far simpler affair than his first marriage to Grace. 

At least Evie hadn’t insisted on there being a ‘father of the bride’ toast - even if Ada had… Somehow, Tommy knew his would never be anywhere as good as the ones his daughter had given. 

She always had had a way with words.  

“Dad?”

Tommy froze. 

Speak of the devil and she shall appear. 

He was startled by the sound of her voice, echoing from the open doorway, as if summoned by his worry. He’d almost thought he’d imagined it until he turned and saw her standing there, looking a little worse for wear in her finery. 

Apparently he’d been right; she’d had a very fun evening.  

“Evie?” he blinked, clearing his throat as he tried to compose himself. “What are you doing down here? It’s late and I thought you’d be upstairs celebrating a bit longer. Big day tomorrow.”

Evie smiled, shrugging as she stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. She knew she never needed an invitation, having given up knocking long ago. 

“I was but… I don’t know. I just wanted to come and see you, if that’s alright?”

It would always be alright. Tommy hoped she knew that, even if the anxiety in her eyes said otherwise. Then again, he suspected the nervous energy wasn’t directly aimed at him.  

Over a decade later, he knew his daughter better than he knew himself. It was why he nodded, gesturing to the seat next to him in a clear invitation. “Of course it is, but won’t the others miss you?” 

“Oh, they’re all too busy finishing the last of the wine to miss me right away and… I don’t know why but I needed a minute away from everything. It was all a bit… much.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my world. This family has always been a bit much,” Tommy teased. That was why they both loved them though. The Shelby spirit was strong and made them who they were. They wouldn’t change it for the world, even if it did drive them nuts on occasion. 

And Toby was willingly entering this family, why? 

“I’m almost scared to ask what’s being going on up there.”

“Probably wise, Dad. No one should see thing things I have tonight.” 

“I thought so.”

A laugh escaped Evie’s lips as she sat beside him, accepting the glass of whiskey he handed her without a second thought. It was simply routine by this point, the two of them caught in a silent routine on nights like this when they needed to simply clear their heads and think. 

It was an unwritten agreement between the pair of them. As was the somewhat confessional nature this room had taken on in its time under the Shelby household. So much had happened since they’d first moved in to Arrow House, from Charles and Ruby being born, to losing Grace, to Evie falling in love, Tommy’s ascension to Parliament, losing John and Esme, Lizzie and Tommy’s wedding… 

Only a decade or so, and yet Evie felt like a whole novel would never be enough to capture her family’s history or the almost surreal events that had taken place.

“Besides, it’s been a while since we had a talk like this, Dad,” Evie continued, shrugging as she sipped her drink and stared at the room. “Everything’s been happening so fast since Toby proposed. It feels like we haven’t had a moment to breathe, really. You’ve been so helpful, agreeing to everything and allowing us to turn this place upside down. I can’t thank you enough for that, by the way. I half expected you to be like Arthur yelling at the florist earlier.”

“It’s the least I can do, Evie. It’s not every day my daughter gets married - and he yelled so I didn’t have to. Fucking trying to sneak carnations in when the order clearly said Clematis with the centrepieces.”

Evie snorted, failing to hide the fact hearing Tommy Shelby raging about flowers was possibly the funniest thing to have ever happened. Ever. Good thing he hadn’t been there when someone had accidentally delivered the wrong amount of chairs for the tent erected out on the lawn. She could only imagine the carnage that would have occurred.  

“My knight in shining armour.” 

“Always. No ring changes that, Evie. I’ll always be there for you, whether it be to fend off blind florists or worse.” 

Despite the fact he acted as if he was merely joking, Evie knew her father meant each and every word. He always had. Even with their ups and downs, he had never abandoned her, always trying to do what was best for her, even if he went about it the wrong way from time to time. 

When she thought back now, to the day she’d first met him in that graveyard, on what had been one of the darkest days of her life, she wished she could tell her younger self not to be afraid. To not be angry or scared of the future before her and the wondrous people that would be in it, thanks to the wonderful man she got to call her father. 

“Dad, can… can I ask you a question? About tomorrow?” 

Tommy hummed softly. “I don’t know what I can tell you about weddings, but fine. Of course.”

“It’s not about the wedding per say, more the bit after. I just… I’m scared, Dad. I don’t know why but I am.”

The words made Tommy’s heart plummet before he’d even realised what she’d said. It took everything in him not to panic or try and express the pain he felt at the idea his daughter was scared about what was supposed to be a happy day - a happy and expensive one, even if Tobias had money enough to cover a lot of the costs. 

“Of what?” 

“I don’t know,” Evie whispered, almost as if ashamed to confess it. “I’m so happy and excited to start the life together Toby and I have talked about for years but, now that it’s here? I don’t know. I just … I feel like I’m going to throw up or pass out and I don’t know why. Is something wrong with me? Who gets terrified of their own wedding?”

“Every fucking sane person on the planet,” Tommy countered swiftly, a hand reaching out to take hers. “As someone with experience here, you can trust me when I say everyone gets scared, Evie. Everyone. No matter how certain you are that you love the person or that this is the right next step.”  

“But why?” 

“Because it’s a big commitment,” Tommy continued, “and it’s a new chapter in your life. That’s exciting but also terrifying. To know you have a chance to start a family of your own? To choose your own path? That’s nothing to take lightly, and if I didn’t think you wanted this, or that you weren’t ready, I would have said something before now. You can count on that.” 

He had a point.  

“And I know you, Evelyn Shelby. You have never let anything or anyone stop you from going after what you want, even if it’s scary or someone says no. If being with Tobias is what you want, then so be it. You’re a grown woman, as much as I fucking hate to admit it. I think you’ve proven over and over again that you’re the bravest one out of the lot of us, and I’m so proud of you. Your Mother would be too. She’d want you to be happy and to enjoy tomorrow for what it is: the start of another chapter in your incredible life.” 

The thought of her absence was enough to make Evie’s eyes sting with tears, as was the conviction with which her father spoke about her. The pride was clear, even if he looked a little scared himself at what tomorrow would bring for them all. 

“Thank you.”

Tommy nodded, knowing better than to argue as she threw herself at him, coiling herself around him as she often did. Ever since the first time she’d done it, he’d been unable to resist it. So what? His daughter’s embrace was one of the few in the world that made him feel loved. It was as if her presence alone was enough to restore him, to banish whatever was troubling him. 

The thought he wouldn’t just be able to have such hugs so frequently made his heart ache even more. 

He didn’t want her to go. 

In his eyes, she was still the twelve-year-old girl he’d first met. She always would be, no matter how much she insisted on growing up and being a so called ‘adult’. It was why he planned on keeping her room upstairs exactly as it was now, just in the case she ever needed or even wanted it. 

That, and because he physically couldn’t bear to erase any remaining traces of her from his home. Of course, Lizzie had teased him rotten about it, even if she understood. Still young, Lizzie hated the thought of Ruby ever growing up and leaving her for anyone - let alone a husband. 

At least they had some time left before that would be happening. Tommy didn’t know if he could survive anymore heartache so soon.

“I love you, so much, Evie,” Tommy whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and holding her close. “You’ll always be my little girl, and you’ll always be welcome here. Anytime, day or night. This will still be your home, and we’ll still be your family. If anything, we’re simply gaining more members, not losing any. Understand?”

“Yes,” Evie nodded, wiping her eyes as she shot him a watery smile. “I love you too, Dad, even if I swear I’m supposed to be the one telling you all this. Isn’t it normally the father of the bride who’s supposed to get all teary eyed and jittery the night before?”

“We’ve never been conventional, Evie. In case you forgot, we have politicians, the Lee branch of the family, and Alfie fucking Solomons all coming tomorrow, for fucks sake. Why should we start worrying about tradition now?” 

Evie’s laughter was infectious at the picture of the eclectic scene awaiting them, especially considering how excited Alfie had been at the prospect of attending a Shelby wedding. Oh, Arthur was going to explode at the sight of the Jewish gangster sat in all his finery. That, and when he saw the huge gift he had been promising her for weeks now.  

She couldn’t wait.  

“True. Well, traditional or not, I’m so grateful for the life we have, Dad. I’ll never be able to tell you how grateful I am that you were the person who showed up at that graveyard,” she confessed. “There’s no one else in the whole world I want to be my side tomorrow. You’ll still walk me down the aisle, right?”

Tommy beamed. “How can you ask that, Evelyn Shelby? I’ve always been right beside you and tomorrow is no different. Wild horses couldn’t stop me.” 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Tommy whispered, “simply enjoy yourself and let me and the others take care of the rest. That’s all the thanks we need… and maybe call once in a while, just so I know you’re alright.”

Evie laughed, knowing she would probably still end up here most of the time anyway after she was married. But she agreed, pleased to put his mind at rest as well as he’d put her own. “I really do love you, Dad.” 

“And I love you too, Evie. Always.” 

#ithebookhoarder #Tommy Shelby #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder #PeakyBlinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder headcanon #tommy #parent tommy shelby #thegangster'sdaughter #masterlist #request #prompt #answered #Arthur Shelby #alfie solomons #lizzie stark

[artemuerto]

Shelby Household Manor

Pairing: Thomas Shelby/Male Reader

Trigger Warnings: Mention of Violence, Mention of Suicide, The Shelby Family teases Reader, Tommy is pleased and Proud of Reader

Author Notes: This wasn’t meant to happen, I was really happy with how chapter one turned out but my brain wouldn’t let me sleep until I started writing

Part One

Part Three

Part Four

Read on AO3

The Family

—3—

The mansion beamed with eager energy as people came and went up the stairs, down the corridors; there was a family gathering in the making and soon all the Shelby family would be together. It would be the first time the servants of the house will be witness of all of them together. Yes, they knew them and of course, had seen them before but never in fullness. The Shelby’s worked in teams, and pairs, in triads of relentless dedication to business and increasing power. But for one night, the fights would be forgotten, altercations left behind and confrontations moved for another day. Tonight was a night to celebrate.

It seemed like The Shelby Company was ready to go wide in America, expanding their business, opening other offices and navigating into new markets.

With a soft know on the door, the servant walked into the office. Mister Shelby sat on his chair drowning in paperwork, his never ending cigar was lighted up and resting between his fingers, but the boy felt pleased to recognize the pair of spectacles on top of the man’s nose.

Clearing his throat to make his presence known, he spoke.

“Your family will be here in half an hour, sir.” Shelby groaned in response but that was it. The young boy stood up tall and kept talking. “They are expected to have dinner, sir.” Once again mister Shelby agreed in a loose matter. “Will you be dinning with them, sir?” At last, that simple comment seemed to catch the man’s attention long enough to make him look apart from his documents.

With relentless dedication the boy fought his fears and stayed in place giving his boss a clear vision of his concerns. They had yet to convince mister Shelby to eat with Charlie, left alone with his whole family. Would there it be necessary to place a plate at the head of the table? Would the Shelby’s eat without Thomas?

Thomas sighed trying to drive away the tension on his shoulders at the memory of his family in one table but decided to wash the concern from his servants heads.

Even knowing it would be a waste of time, Thomas agree. “Yes.” The boy nodded and rushed back to finish up.

The dining room was a vision, a dream or a tale of tales like princess and royalty. The candelabrums shined in sparks of life, the table beautifully dressed in a snow white tablecloth, pristine silverware and opaline glasses refracted the light in different colours. The teasing heat of the kitchen was far from the room but the excitement for a warm meal was never down. Bottles of champagne were opened and chit-chat was all over the place.

One by one the Shelby’s made an entrance.

The food was delightful and soon the bubbly sweet beverage was forgotten for something stronger. Charlie was put to bed after playing with his cousins and saying goodbye to all his uncles and aunt; the nanny followed suit with a short reverence.

The night was young when the Shelby’s decided it was time to talk business and he stood by the door; the servant wasn’t sure he was allowed to stay, it were private matters, however, before he could voice his way out, the younger sister asked for more.

“Be a darling and serve another glass, would you?” Ada shook his empty glass in the air with a friendly smile.

“Yes, Miss Shelby.” The girl couldn’t help but show his discomfort at the name and it was all clear in her features. Being called that in business was a given, but after hours, in family company she preferred to be called by her name and her name only. So, she told him much.

“You don’t have to be formal, love.” She accepted the drink and saluted to his face. “My name is enough.” The boy, first time, looked conflicted as if he wanted to pleased the lady, it was a Shelby after all, but didn’t wanted to loose respect. He was a servant, they were rules and respect was primordial.

“I apologize, Miss.” He whispered finally conscious of how the rest of the family were watching their interaction. “I cannot do that.”

“Why is that?” Ada asked promptly, not mad but mostly curious.

“Miss— I, uhm...” staggering his voice in nervousness, the boy tried to make himself clear although was failing and massively. “I am.. most unable to... can.” Ada laughed opening and without restrictions causing the boy to sober up in flying colours that painted his cheeks and nose.

“Oh, brother—“ her accent splitting over. “Where on earth did you manage to find this one?” The rest of the family laughed wholeheartedly as he rested back on his post.

So, for the rest of the night, the Shelby’s made their mission to brake the boy’s formalities. And after a few hours, they almost succeeded.

Ada, as much to please her, passed from restrictively being name ‘Miss Shelby’ to a ‘Miss Ada’ with casual ring that let her smiling but compromise enough to the boy’s stubbornness to not drop his rightful tone.

Polly, now. After threatening to mark his pretty face —once again, they laughed at his expenses while his cheekbones blushed with a deep crimson—, felt herself in a win as the boy left to be respectful enough to keep the title but informal enough to call her by her name. And so, Mrs. Polly had another drink.

The oldest Shelby was the toughest on them so far, as the man kept asking to absolute drop all those fancy words and call him by his bare name.

“C’mon, lad. I know you can do it.” Arthur told him resting a heavy slap on his back almost making him fall. That was the time where, he couldn’t help but ask for guidance. With a fleeting glance to the man at the end of the table who watch with a heavy stare, he asked permission to fulfill Arthur’s request without being disrespectful.

Mister Shelby sat impassively on his chair, the smoke slithering from his parted lips while another cigarette filled his lungs with nicotine, the man said nothing blinking slowly.

Only then, after the boy sweat under his family’s interested eyes, Thomas lifted an eyebrow as if challenging the boy to do as he pleased.

Challenging to do what? To give in to his brother’s demands? To remain silent and being the target of their banter? To keep his formalities and hang in danger with the possibility of angering any of the family members? What was the right answer?

“Oi, Tommy!” Arthur called for his brother. “Don’t be a piss and let the poor boy speak.” The poor boy hid his eyes in shame, he never intended to insult his master. “C’mon, boy.” Arthur asked once again.

“Yes...” He consciously swallowed feeling his lips dry. “Yes, Arthur—“ the family around them cheered happily finally reaching their goal. “—, sir.” Ada huffed and crossed his arms in a mock tantrum.

“And just for that you’ll get me a new glass.” Yes, Miss Ada. The boy nodded openly smiling and rushed to change the woman’s glass that was half empty. Thomas toasted in silence lifting his glass to his sister and hid a short lived smiled that wanted to appear at the corners of his lips.

—4—

Miss Ada asked for tea after everybody went to sleep so he complaint. Gingerly placing the cup and the kettle, he was about to leave when the girl called his name.

“Yes, Miss Ada?”

“Would you stay with me for a moment?” Giving a wordless positive answer, the young one came close to the woman and stood with his hands behind his back. “Oh, boy! “Ada almost dropped his cup. “Would you sit down already!” Flustered acceptance of his permission to sit with the girl, the servant spoke a soft apology, he was not used to being treated with such familiarity. He had been working in the manor for years now and even thou everybody was polite and nice and friendly with each other, there were certain things that were never meant to happen such as sitting with their masters.

“But I’m not your master.” Ada left his concerns to be blown away as she wanted a simple and honest conversation that didn’t involved her brothers, her family or their business.

“Alright, miss.” He stated in confidence. “What would you like to talk about?” That’s how Ada learned about his family, about his childhood and the town he used to live.

The boy’s father was sent away to the Great War and for years they didn’t know any good news, all their neighbors became widows and orphans and those long sleepless night took a life from his mother.

By the time his father came back, they were all ecstatic until they realized the man had come back from war but the war hadn’t let him go.

His father may have come back but in reality he never came back. So one day, after a younger version of himself was sent to school, his father had gone out, walked to their garden and shot himself with his gun for his poor mother to find him in a pool of blood with a disfigured face.

His mother’s life was short lived after that. She couldn’t bare the thought of existing without his beloved and soon her health decayed. She died shortly of a broken heart no matter how much he cared for her. That’s why he left his home town, said goodbye to his parents and sailed for adventure knowing that they were together and happy once more; he hadn’t given religion much thought but he liked to think his parents watched over him.

He finished his story with a wobbly smiled before panic painted in his face due to Ada’s tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh, no! Miss Ada, please.” He fussed over her scared and terrified. “Please, don’t cry! I’ll do anything, just please!”

“You, silly boy.” Ada cleaned her face and tucked the boy into an awkward hug by the time he stayed half kneeling in front of her. “You suffered so much and you’re still worrying over me.”

“But, Miss—“

“Hush now, just let me.” Uncomfortable and odd feeling the servant stayed in his master sister’s arms receiving comfort like no other in such a long time. He sent silent prayers of gratitude.

Neither paying attention of the shadowy figure at the door threshold.

After guiding Ada to his room and promising to her that he was in fact living a good life under her treacherous, devilish tyranny of brother, the woman left to sleep.

The servant finally felt how truly exhausted he was, long hours of working flying away in awe, music, conversation and laughter. He only wanted to go to his room and pass out for a few hours before it was time to get on his feet once again. And so close to his goal he was until he was intercepted by Polly.

Mrs. Polly was dressed down, forgotten the beautiful outfits were to be lived in a casual sleepwear, a long satin undergarment in a pale green with details in black, her face clean of make up shine by the moonlight. She was a dream.

The woman sultry walked until she faced him and smiled luxuriously with all the power she had.

“I’m surprised to see you up, boy.” There was something in her tone that left him uncomfortable, effaced was the easy mocking tone from the evening, now Polly seemed to denigrate him with even her looks.

The woman has seen and witness the silent conversation this unknown boy had had with her nephew and only served to race her alarms after catching the pleased and satisfied air Thomas portrayed the rest of the evening. Her nephew usually had two thoughts in mind: business and mindless fucking, and even the later was used as a way to achieved what he wanted, so the woman questioned herself, and an answer she would get.

It wasn’t difficult to trap the boy into her body and one of the tables at the living room, the open space was perfect, anybody could see.

“Missus—“ The low tone reached Polly with tint of desperation, it was clear to the woman that the poor boy would fly away the moment he could, but she wasn’t letting him go until her doubts were settle. Polly smiled long and languid, caressed the servant’s scared face with her fingertips until she reached for his clothesline in top of his belt.

The servant was mortified, he could reassured he was shaking like leaves in autumn while mrs Polly had her fun; he didn’t understand what the woman was after but he honestly prayed she would stop.

“Tonight, boy...” Polly came close enough for the servant to feel her warm breath. “You will serve me.” A switch was off on his brain, did missus Polly needed something outside of the obvious attempts which he in oblivious tried to surpass.

“Mrs. Polly, if you need anything I’ll try my best to serve you.” The woman frowned not quiet pleased with the servant’s reaction; if she was in the rights then the boy wouldn’t survive working for her nephew. A pretty boy to keep his bed warm wouldn’t go far in the world, even thou, there were rare cases, such as Lizzie.

“Oh, darling...” her voice crawling down the boy’s spine send chills not quiet pleasant. “There’s much you can do.” Polly went for the boy’s trousers and the young one yelped looking to escape her advances. “You will serve me well in the sheets.” Polly could almost laugh at the boy expenses, his reactions were too pure and innocent-like to not to play with, it would be both a delight and shame if he surrendered.

“Mrs. Shelby—“ the younger one angry whispered as his voice when a pitch high, in a bold flustered move, the servant touch Polly’s wrists and smoothed his way out. “I apologize for my actions ma’am but this is something I cannot do.” The boy seemed afraid while he gather himself in a thought hug and for moments Polly felt bad for deceiving the young one. “If that is something you need, I’ll search for someone but that is some I won’t do.” The boy gather up his courage and stared down at the woman with fierce determination that made her feel proud —now she understood her nephew—. “Mrs. Shelby, I am not a whore.” The secret hatred with which the boy talked to her flailed some thoughts. But she still pushed him farther.

“You might not be, darling. But under the Peaky Blinders, if that’s what they want, that’s what you’ll be.”

“I do not serve the Peaky Blinders, ma’am.” Finally seeing a way out, the servant rushed down the hall, almost running as he thought was far enough from the woman and hid in the first door he came close. Polly saw him leave with a satisfied feeling.

The poor boy felt like crying. None in his years of service he had been put into such position. He worked hard, he served well, kept his eyes close and ears shut when business were to be discuss; he tried his best to meet mister Shelby’s necessities but never he imagine he would be ask for something in that capacity.

His hands started to tremble as the embarrassment and shame began to grow in his belly. His heart raced in his chest, loud and clear to his ears and his mind was all over the place.

Had he done something wrong? Had the family gather that impression from him? Did everybody share the same thoughts of Mrs. Shelby? Did Mister Shelby had the same thoughts? Had he embarrassed his master in front of his family? He wanted to cry in all honesty, silliness and need for comfort. He began to talk to himself out loud trying to wash away the anger and mortification, the pain and shame the whole ordeal had caused him.

The boy leaned onto the door feeling the cold touch in his forehead and started to speak.

“You are not that. You are not what they said you were. You are a good servant. You do good. You are not a whore. No matter what they say, you are not a whore.” You’re not. You’re not. You’re not a whore. Memories of past pain came to life. A friend of his had suffered from the same sorrow as the people from town started to repel her for bringing a child to this world outside of a healthy marriage. She was known as the Old Town Whore.

She left one day with her daughter and he never saw her again.

“You’re not a whore.”

“Who says you’re a whore?” The ring of mr. Shelby’s voice at the other side of the room was an unpleasant and absolute unexpected plus terrifying; in his hurry and shame he had not seen where he was heading. The servant turned surprised as if being caught doing something ilegal. Jumping out in his spot, the boy looked at his master with every inch of shame while questioning if anyone in that bloody family ever slept at regular hours. Finding each member of the Shelby’s family at late hours was not good for his nerves. “And well?” Mr. Shelby was know for his short temper regardless to patience making it obvious in his features.

The impression was such, they boy thought he would pass out in pure panic, his master could read him like an open book. Mister Shelby sat in silence waiting for his young servant to speak while they boy seemed troubled with each passing second. The young one was about to cry if his eyes weren’t tricking him, and Thomas didn’t relish on that sight at all. Who had caused the boy deep discomfort?

“Tell me, little one, what’s wrong?” As if being relief from his sorrows, the boy talked and talked non-stop by his thoughts of the evening, how he worked hard and hoped his family hadn’t taken a wrong impression of his persona. He wanted to believe he was good but after being cornered in the looming, deserted halls, the boy feared the worst.

“I swear, mr. Shelby— I didn’t mean to... I only tried to do my job." The boy started to heave. “Sir, I swear, I would never... I never intended to... I’m not—“ finally a lonely tear fell down his cheek. “Sir, please, believe me, I’m not— I’m not that.” In his own innocence, Shelby noted, the boy wasn’t even able to call himself a whore.

The servant in his share discomfort hadn’t realized mister Shelby was close. Long forgotten was his seat at his desk in the center of the room and slowly, soundlessly started to reach out to him. The boy was only conscious after feeling Thomas’ flexed index finger brushing against his wet cheek and watching how the man cleaned the salt away with his lips.

“Tell me. What did they say?” The order was clear. Thomas already had a fair idea onto who could be the perpetrator but he wanted to hear from his servant first.

“I had to serve in someone’s sheet... by order of the Peaky Blinders.” The little one’s lower lip trembled in humiliation, his cheeks fired up like a beacon in the midnight sky. Thomas was glad the boy had sheltered his gaze back down so he wouldn’t see the amused smirk his master was sporting at the time.

“And what did you say to that?” The boy stilled himself for a short while and Thomas inquired if they had finally broke the poor mind, when his boy impressed him once again with a share of honest devotion.

Meeting his master’s piercing eyes, feeling his own knees shake through the force he was using to keep it together, he spoke with conviction that characterized him.

“I do not serve the Peaky Blinders, sir.” The young one took a sharp breath before continuing his short speech. “I am a servant of the Shelby Household Manor and so, I serve the Shelby’s family, I am at service to you, sir. I serve the head of the family, Thomas Shelby.” In the heated spur of the moment he forgot to mind his words, the young one has never said his master’s voice out loud nor even in confidence, and some how that idea filled Thomas with warm delighted joy. It felt good to see his servants passion.

The shared a quiet moment, seconds before the young one came to notice what he had done. An undignified feeling washed over the servant and lower his head hiding his gaze from the man; it was obvious his guilt to the man.

“Look at me.” The mister said in a low tone an slight distortion of his strong will and demanding stance. The boy refused by shaking his head and Tommy wanted nothing but to hit him light at the back of the head. “I said... Look at me, little one.” Finding Thomas clear eyes was a shock like no other; it wasn’t new to see his master but it felt like it he was under a different light. Something closer, warmer.

“It’s alright.” Thomas peaked a ghost smile so the boy could see. “You did good, little one.” Brushing his cheek one more time, Tommy lightly touch the boy’s chin and soon the heavy atmosphere fade away. Repeating his reassuring words, Tommy let the boy go.

“You did good.”

#Thomas Shelby #Tommy Shelby #Thomas Shelby x Male Reader #Tommy Shelby x Male Reader #Thomas Shelby x Reader #Tommy Shelby x Reader #Tommy Shelby/Male Reader #Thomas Shelby/Male Reader #Peaky Blinders #Cillian Murphy #Shelby Household Manor #mis escritos #in english #arte muerto #Male Reader #Reader

[the-headbop-wraith]

3 _ 44 _ Not the Best News

  The light flashed green, but Arthur wasn’t paying attention. The action didn’t quite ignite in his mind, though he was looking right at it. Lost in his thoughts, searching for guidance to connect the now to a future he didn’t understand. Did Lewis not trust him? He didn’t get it.

 A crackle of static burbled through the radio.

 “Lights green.”

 Arthur shivered. “Yeah. Just checking for traffic.” There was no rebuke on that, though the intersection was bare of vehicles aside from one car creeping forward. The town shut down pretty fast following six PM.

 Streetlamps flashed through the windshield at off intervals, flooding black through the van interior. The rose tinge of Lewis eyes glittered, his shape near insubstantial within the periodic dips of flare bursts. Sometimes, Arthur thought he saw the death suit and skull, despite knowing Lewis would not drop his living guise unless his focus broke. It must suck, maintaining that sort of concentration.

 “Y’know, you don’t have to look that way around me,” Arthur admitted. “I actually don’t mind Sir Bones Esquire.” Lewis generated a sound, but he couldn’t place if it was a hiss or static.

 “I prefer to look not like I crawled out of a grave,” he muttered. The face didn’t move, but the shimmering ember shifted to check Arthur. “Thanks for the offer.”

 Arthur shrugged his shoulder. “I try and keep the board clear. Whatever works for you, I’m game.” It wasn’t resentment, it was something else seeping off of Lewis.

 “You too,” Lewis uttered. He leaned back a little in the seat and crossed his arms. “You got a lot on your mind. You wanna, I dunno, talk?”

 Arthur sniffled. “Not really. It’s, well….” He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Maybe later, I gotta tell you some things. Not bad or anything, but it’s pretty heavy. I might… y’know, never mind. That pizza was heckin’ good. How many times did you burn ‘em.” The radio sputtered.

 “Five, I think….”

 “Awesome.” Arthur pulled into the carport for Kingsman Mechanics. The lights were all out, the parking lot empty; the space barren, but for the vehicles dropped. He climbed out of the driver side and shut the door. On the other side, Lewis swept through the grill of the van in a swell of light and embers.

 “Dude, c’mon,” he uttered. “Don’t risk the gas tank.”

 “It’s ethereal fire,” Lewis rasped. “Absolutely harmless.” He walked with Arthur to the front doors, the keys already twinkling.

 “Hard to tell with you.” Arthur slotted one key, then the next. Until, Lewis brought his hand close, sparking a smoldering ember at his palm. Arthur jolted. “Shit! Warning, next time.”

 “Siento.” At the entrance Lewis waited, while Arthur popped inside and gave the building a brief exploration. Within seconds, Arthur returned and beckoned.

 When exiting out the entrance corridor, Arthur flicked a switched on the panel and activated the lights throughout the main work floor. “Okay, the boxes are upstairs by the door of my work room. Stacked. I meant to grab them, it didn’t happen. You can’t miss them.” The details dropped, he skittered out of Lewis company, sprinting across the work floor.

 “Where are you going?”

 “Need parts for my arm. I was kinda in a hurry, excited I was gonna get out of here before Viv started texting me. I didn’t want her to worry.” He spun around, throwing a finger gun Lewis’ way. “I’ll be up in a sec.”

 “What else did you forget?” Lewis departed on his alternate route to the dark corridor, leading to the stairway. “Should I grab the kitchen sink, too?”

 After a beat, Arthur called back in a sharp whisper, “It couldn’t hurt.”

 The worktable was as he left it, which was what he liked. He pulled open the drawer where he kept a sturdy case for the tools he routinely transported in or out, depending on his schedule. There was a specific method for undoing the clasps without the aid of a second arm, it was a little awkward to do since it required the use of his knee. It mostly kept the case stationary while he pried up the latch, but his movement was so practiced it took a mere five seconds. In a smaller drawer beneath the table surface, he kept the soldering wands for minute detail work. If he could, he wanted to get the remedial delicate stuff. It was simple enough, but tedious—

 Crack!

 Arthur jolted and whipped around, instincts on high alert. His eyes flashed around the room, studying the vehicles left prepared for tomorrow’s shift, the rotary lifts and supply carts spaced throughout the work floor. What was that? It was loud, the clamor reverberated through the hollow garage, emphasizing isolation and a prowling threat.

 “Um… Uncle?” he called. No response. Not good. Arthur reached behind him and clenched a wrench. “Who’s there?” He didn’t risk calling the name of the one that should be, but the fact an answer was NOT forthcoming was worst of all. It was okay. It would be okay. He took a breath and crept forward, moving behind a small car and checking through the windows – searching through the tinted glass for an amateur hasting to relocate amidst his momentary ‘distraction’. The silence peeled apart his senses, he should pick up someone breathing or even their deepest thoughts. Was anything missing? He couldn’t tell, and it wouldn’t matter. Someone was here, he was certain.

 After taking a short trip around the work floor, he scurried to a far wall and set the wrench down on a table, then jammed a fist into his vest pocket. Before his fingers could grasp at his phone, the hair on his nape prickled, spurring him to whip about. With a yelp, he backpedaled from the hulking shape. His yelp was more of a ‘YEEE!’ and his retreat sent him staggering, when he brushed against the corner of the desk.

 “Who the fack?! Hey—” He tumbled to the floor, as the shape snatched at the wrench abandoned upon the table. He rolled until his arm was situated under him, and sprung onto his feet. “Who the—” His voice sputtered, the wrench gave a menacing CLANG! upon skipping across the concrete floor.

 At first, he did believe in his heart that this was Lewis. In the dark and sinister parts of his memories, Arthur believed that the spirit had crept down to invoke some cruel ploy to torment him. But as the shape swept through the dull glow of light, he could cleanly distinguish that this was a grunting, breathing, agitated man in a mask. The intruder person kept weaving in and swiping for his arm, intent on incapacitating him through crude means. A shame that Arthur was much too spry and hardwired for evasion, the vandal didn’t expect such resistance either.

 The irony of everything, that a masked person would intrude in the shop and assault him. What the hell? He got enough of this crap on rando assignments, this was break from that drama. So much for that fantasy.

 Did something crash, elsewhere? Oh boy, oh shit!

 “Man, you don’t wanna do this!” Arthur vaulted over the hood of a van and zipped around the side. The big guy was quick too, though not as agile. He huffed and puffed, pursuing like a bear on honey. “You really don’t wanna! I’m warning you! Yikes!” With a lunge he crashed to the floor - he cleared the table, but got snagged by an impact drill and its cord. “YOU! You’re getting into some bad shit!” He screamed bloody murder and scrambled to his feet. The intruder hauled up a whole muffle and swung it down – cracked the concrete and missed his foot by an inch.

 Arthur sprang one way, then the other around a small convertible. Intruder followed, swishing the muffler like a damn katana. In a risky slide, he dove by and scrambled to one of the rotary lifts with a jeep suspended. He shimmied up one tower and clambered through the vacant side door, scarcely hauling his legs out of the way before Intruder with muffler could swing and knock his knees off.

 “I’m tellin’ you! You gotta leave,” Arthur went on, speech breaking. A fleeting glance surveyed the room, but established no sign of eyes or fury. Still time before this guy got cooked. “For your own—” The muffler collided with the arch of the jeep and the jointed pipe glanced his shoulder. The world twisted as he toppled backwards, and off the hood of the jeep. It was oddly reminiscent of those dreams, the nightmares. He knew what came next.

 Unexpectantly, his body collided with a stack of empty boxes.

 The masked intruder gulped down cold air, more excited than winded through the exertion. They glanced around, where was it? In all the ruckus, their mind blanked on where they dumped it. Turning, they spied something that made them abandoned the search cold turkey. This was entirely due to the large hand snagging their shoulder, and flinging them like a doll. Heat and an overwhelming scent of char clouded their senses, dissipating only when they descended from the short flight.

 The trajectory sent them on a collision course for a flatbed cart, which they tumbled off and skidded across the floor. They didn’t stop, barely checking that their legs remained connected to their spine before retreating from the scene. Exit! Escape! Where was the way out! As they fled, they patted at their sleeve and mask, embers scored their clothing – The hell? The intruder was unable to make sense of where they went, and crashed into a work bench. With admirable grace, they recovered, a pronounced limp following; metal parts and tools clanged in a cacophony of symphony across the floor. They kept going, not chancing a look back and barely examining the area through the sparks dazzling their eyes.

 Posed from throwing whoever that was, skull and death suit, eyes blazing, and fire still crackling at his ribs. Lewis would have given chase and done some real damage; there might’ve been something like self-control, perhaps even a capture if he was feeling generous. However, he couldn’t detect Arthur, and the figure buried under boxes was unresponsive to all the horrendous business afoot. He was not playing possum; Arthur couldn’t fool him.

 “Arthur?” his tone withered, and became distorted. He glided closer to the comatose figure and towered, gazing down. With hesitance and some second thoughts, he reached down slowly—

 Right through the heart he’s shot! A full slug punched directly through his facade and tore the locket clear off his coat front. WOW. What a mistake that was. Lewis twitched, fists clenched tightly at his sides. The last time he felt a sensation like that, it was after falling a considerable amount and choking on his last breath. He could almost feel the heavy tempo of a heartbeat fade out a second time.

 HE

 DID

 NOT

 LIKE

 THAT

 Directly behind Lewis at a two-meter pace, Uncle Lance stood with a rifle, barrel smoking. It was a good and clean hit, the gray wall on the other side visible through the incision torn through. He waited, uncertain what should happen next. The thing in front of him, how could it be described? It looked vaguely man-like, it had the shape of a person. Except for the ‘head’, and the gap above the open collar where a neck should occupy.

 Lewis cocked his head and let his skull swivel, peering back. Another igniting thunderclap, and the spirit snapped around fully, cowering. Fist trembling beside his hip.

 “Yu step back from m’boy, ya reject Hall-oh-ween Deck-ARATION!” Lance gave the rifle a crank and took aim. As he watched, the vacant hole in the torso filled in with a strange, glossy light. The chunk in the shoulder sizzled, and what looked like fire crackled over the rich color of the suit. A skull and suit; a very malevolent and pissed looking skull. “YA HEAR!”

 Terrible and antagonistic ruminations boiled through Lewis’ consciousness. An endless fall, the impact – mind fractured and every piece of his body dislocated. Shadows sweeping in, swirling around that bent figure high-high above, and the jewel glittering at the center of its sneer. Wild, unruly cackles clattered across the walls of the abyss, mocking his pain. Drinking up the agony spilling across the sharpened stalagmites, as every ounce of care and thought drained away.

 He glided toward the attacker, taking another bullet seamlessly in the abdomen. Ribs next, splintering – each patch of destruction inflicted, vanished in a swell of heat conjured by his blazing soul. The pieces and sharp fragments of Lewis fitted back, reworking a bizarre pattern of that day many-many moons ago. Rising, the bitter aversion for this betrayal. Abandoned, isolation and pitiless grief that followed. The loneliness, and sense of loss saturating his very essence. Corrupting, robbing him of warmth and tenderness, replacing everything with whispers and fire. Another piercing bolt, to his lower arm – a wild shot. Panic infused.

 Someone was very deserving of all this pain. It would feel better to share it, cleave a sliver loose. Release a portion of that fury threatening to boil over like a raging, scalding tsunami. Let them feel a taste of the bitterness that plagued him.

 As the thing approached ominously – clear malevolence burned in the pits of the skulls eye sockets – Lance became steadily more alarmed. There had to be a way to stop it. Someway, he had to put an end to it. But it was apparent brute force wouldn’t do it in. He backed away, nearly colliding with a supply cart.

 “Stop!” he snarled. “You can’t do that! No! S’not possible! I won’t believe it!” The next projectile tore through the apparition’s center, but before the echo faded the gaping breach vanished. Lance buckled backwards, gun dry. “ARGH! What are yu made of!”

 The rifle swept from his grip and the spirit hosted him up by the front of his vest, yanking him clear off his feet. It glared into him with those intense, blazing embers bristling deep within the cavernous eye sockets. “The souls of the innocent….” Lewis wound back an arm, fingers twitching—

 “A bagel?”

 Lewis froze. “Artie!” He dumped Lance and whipped around, shooting to the cluster of busted boxes. Before he could lean down, he hesitated – the lights about the work station flashed. “What… happened? I, uh… you’re hurt.” Arthur was sitting up, holding his neck and quivering under the drill of pain in his head. It was vibrant, he could almost feel it in his own skull.

 “Honest, I don’t… remember. Oof.” His hand reached over and touched the empty spot of his shoulder.

 The confusion was apparent, as well. Lewis needed to wait and see what Arthur came forward with. It might confuse Arthur if he bombarded him with questions, or prompts; he didn’t get a good view of the whole scene. Aside from the flush of rage that compelled his reaction. This couldn’t be rushed, and the other needed time to adjust and come around. Especially since Arthur appeared uncertain of what happened, despite his poor negotiations.

 “Did you… try to dump me off somewhere? High?” Now, Arthur peered up at the looming shadow. He couldn’t gather much of Lewis’ features, aside from a towering silhouette and the heated fuchsia orbs peering down. It was super unnerving. “That seems like somethin’ you’d do. Fuk… m’back.”

 Lewis smashed a fist into his palm. “That person! This guy!” A puff of flame sparked at his collar, and the embers in his skull snapped into hostile pinpoints. “I don’t know what happened, but he threw something. And then, you FELL! It – uh, I thought….” His speech sputtered into harsh screeches, staccato and hard to distinguish.

 “I’ll go ahead and take your word on— No, wait. I don’t remember some guy.” Arthur flinched, his head ached too. “I remember running, and I know I was scared shitless.” Lewis gawked down at him, for once it was endearing and mortified despite circumstances. “Some… guy?”

 “In a mask?” Lewis cocked his skullish brow.

 Arthur nodded. Ooh. Hurt. “That I remember, I think. Fuck… damn. You didn’t go after him?”

 “You. FELL.”

 Arthur pinched his brow. “Okay. Shut up. You… I can barely understand you. What? I’m the one that—” He withered, trapped in place by the barrier of boxes bent around him. The barbaric cry could terrify morally questionable crocodiles.

 The wild and furious snarl was Lance’s doing. He crept in closer to the spirit with his arms outstretched and two fingers locked together forming a significant and easy to recognize T. Or X. No, it was a definitely a T. A crucifix, like in the movies.

 “Evil… BOO! I banish yu!” Lance scooted in closer, edging out around at an imaginary tether which directed him toward Arthur. Determination in his eyes and sweat on his brow, his beard frazzled, that glare did not loosen from the invading spirit. “I don’t believe in this spook fun house nan-sense, but I’ll not have yur sort here terrorizing my kid!”

 A touch annoyed Lewis drooped. He debated straight up punching Lance’s lights out or stuffing him in a car trunk. Anything to get him out of the way, if only for a couple minutes. They didn’t need this.

 Arthur groaned. Everything was loud and annoying, it wasn’t just Lewis. His grumbling kicked up into a theatrical scream, “A g-g-ghost! Here! You’d better leave, disgruntled… apparition? Fuk, I don’t have the pharmacy enough for this bullshit.” He leaned to the side, moaning. “I mean, eeek! Argh! Spirit! You had better leave, before… I dunno, you’re banished by my dear Uncle’s very clear, um… exorcism. Or whatever he’s doing. OOoooOOooOOOOOoooohhhh….” Under his breath, he spat, “For fuk’s sake, you’re compelled to obey!”

 Lewis crossed his arms and leaned a little away from Lance. “Yeaaahhhh, gunna hit that up with a hard no. Not really in the mood, capiche?” He glowered directly down on Lance, right at his face with gloved hands outstretched with that ridiculous T. “Stop that or I’ll give you something to bitch about.”

 Arthur took a sharp breath. “Why do you hafta be so pissy?” Everything. HURT.

 “Stop with the language, and I might consider an attitude adjustment.”

 Arthur screwed his eyes shut. “Uncle Lance, that’s not gunna work.”

 Lance fizzled out. “Ehh.” He gawked at the skull, and the skull glared back. For the life of him, he could not begin to figure how it was suspended there. “Then… what will work?” He shuffled the remainder of the way to Arthur and crouched down, protectively. His gaze never wavered from the hostile… it was a ghost, wasn’t it? “What d’we do? How d’yu get rid of it?”

 “We don’t get rid of HIM,” Lewis huffed, pointing at Lance. “HE gets an ice pack for Arthur. Keep an eye on him.” In a flash of sparks, Lewis vanished – the extinguished cinder formed an outline before the ash hit the floor.

 The unexpected flare forced Lance to recoil, more from the vibrancy than any anticipated retribution. Once the haze faded, he searched around. No sound, no evidence of the spirits presence – aside from that familiar burning. That wasn’t important, what was important was Arthur.

 “Yu’re the expert. Is there… a pesteecide? Tell me, and I’ll get it done.”

 Arthur struggled to get up. “It’s a….” He flopped back, it was worse than a ballpit, made worse by the throbbing in his head and shoulders. He could remember up to the jeep, then it all got somewhat fuzzy. Lance assisted in easing him off the crumpled mold of his shape, nice and easy, careful not to rush. “He’s like a thorn bur, you try plucking it off and you’ll get third-degree burns.”

 Lance blinked. “WHAT?! Is that whut happened to your neck?!”

 This was not needed right now. And the guy, their mysterious assailant. Where was he now? Arthur couldn’t debate it out too hard, though some of the ache was fading, subsiding into a monotonous drum. He groaned in his throat.

 Then, on the floor. He noticed it beside one of the crushed boxes, snowed in by packing peanuts. The cracked locket. Despite dislocation, it persisted to pulse in time with the throbbing in his ears.

 “Shit-shit!” He scrambled out of Lance’s grip and snatched the thing up; it took a beating by the looks. The hinge creaked and unexpectantly the door swung open, threatening to pop off. Cursing, he struggled to hold it one handed without the whole thing coming apart. Without meaning too, he saw within. There was a photograph. He inched down, squinting at the textures and shapes, trying to make sense of what was there. He didn’t know there was—

 A dark hand snapped the locket from Arthur’s grasp and shut it. He bristled. Lewis had returned. The spirit looked downright sinister, as he set the ashen artifact back to his chest.

 “I didn’t—” Lance grabbed Arthur and heaved him back. Lance’s valiant efforts halted, when Lewis unceremoniously shoved him off. An icebag settled on Arthur’s head.

 Lewis knelt on one knee, one hand loaded with supplies. “I’ll invoke my deeply nefarious plot for revenge at a later time. When you’re fixed and patched, and likely better apt to outrun me.” He adjusted the last few items in his hand, by tucking a water bottle into the crook of his arm and twisting open a pill bottle. “You get one of these.” He set aside the pill bottle and popped the cap on the water bottle, enough to break the seal.

 Sprawled on his back, Lance observed with a perplexity beyond known rational. “Okay. What is goin’ on ‘ere?” He moved upright and jabbed out a hand toward the spirit. “What is this thing, really?”

 Lewis glared. “Rude.”

 Arthur swallowed the pill and took the water bottle. “It’s not the strong stuff.” Rather sip, he pressed the chilled bottle to his neck.

 “The strong stuff will put you in a coma, and as much as I’d prefer that, I need you awake for awhile. It’s a concussion, not a concession.”

 “Mmm, I’m lovin’ the bedside manner. You’re such a dish.” He took a sip and let the water warm before he swallowed. “Oof.”

 “Thank you for noticing, I’ve been wor—”

 “What in blazes is goin’ on!” Lance exploded, figuratively. “Arthur Kingsman! Explain! Should I call a priest, a medic! Or… what! What m’I suppose to do? Yu’n Viv-vi dealt with this’n supernatural mischief! Professionally! I can’t have these….” He jabbed a hand the spirits way, grasping for words, “…these critters, creeping into my shop! I need somethin’!”

 Arthur hung his head and sipped more water. On the sideline stood Lance tapping his foot, veins popped on his face. This was such a mess he wasn’t sure what to say or do, where to begin. “I need another pill.”

 “No,” Lewis grated.

 “Arthur,” Lance grumbled, tone stern but considerably nerfed since the eruption. “Tell me somethin’. What am I supposed to do here? I wan tu help.”

 “It’s me, Uncle Lance. Lewis Pepper.” Arthur choked on the water he was sipping. “You shot me, by the way.” Arthur made a sound, but if it was human or not was the riddle. “Maybe don’t inhale….”

 Lance stiffened; teeth clenched. For a full minute he didn’t say a word, but his sturdy outline quaked. “No!”

 “Well,” Lewis chattered, “You didn’t… kill me, I’ll give you that. Don’t worry. But you did shoot me, like, twenty times.”

 “It was four!”

 “Whatever.” The Lewis spirit fixed Lance with his scalding ember eyes, not looking pleased. And there was some familiarity in that expression, despite how feral and agitated it was now. Despite it being a bleached skull, lacking traditional and easily mapped expression.  “It didn’t feel nice.”

 “Impossible! Yu can’t be Lewis!” Lance stamped a foot. “Yu are not Lewis! That dusn’t work!”

 Arthur exhaled, catching the attention of both. “Can you not shout?” He pinched the water bottle in his arm crook and adjusted the ice bag on his neck, before it slid off. “He’s Lewis, okay? He’s not alive, but he is Lewis. We sort of… Viv-vi and I, ran across him awhile back.” How to explain THAT mess! “He was there, and we had car trouble….”

 “Funny story,” Lewis broke in. “Thrilling in a lot of ways. Quite the adventure.”

 “No! No-no-no-no-no- no-no-no-no! And NO!” Lance swung his arms out, declaring, “Lewis Pepper is dead, gone! He’s never coming back! You said so yuserlf! Yu and Viv-vi, you kids gotta let that go.”

 Arthur face palmed against the water bottle. Oh boy.

 Lewis rose to his full height, was it possible he made himself taller? He became a looming, malevolent shadow with piercing eyes. “And maybe I don’t want to let them go. Have ya ever thought of that? Uncle Lance?”

 Arthur dumped everything and leapt up. He caught Lewis by the tie. “That’s it! I’m calling time out!” To Lance, “Uncle, this is Lewis! He’s dead, it’s a long story, and it is my— ”

 “A bitch!”

 “You! Lew? What’s gotten into you?”

 Lewis hunched over placing his skull inches from Arthur’s face. “He. SHOT. Me!”

 “And? You can’t feel it!”

 “It hit me right in the feels! Nineteen times!”

 Lance hooted, “It was four, ya dumb spook!” He flinched when Lewis looked his way, eye sockets flooded thick with flames flickering. “I don’t BELIEVE in this bogus heebie-jeevies! Why d’I hafta look at it, when I don’t believe in it? This ain’t right!”

 “That’s offensive,” Lewis shrieked, “I don’t appreciate your tone!”

 A ringing chimed loud and brilliant in the momentary calm amid the fury of the storm. Arthur staggered away, first jamming a hand into his pocket and realized his phone wasn’t there. Of course she would call. They were super fucking late, they should’ve been back days ago.

 Arthur pushed through the office doorway and fumbled for the light. In his alarm, he forgot it was on the side of his left arm. He gave up, and went straight to the buzzing receiver on the desk.

 “Lords, I hope they don’t kill each other….” He shifted around and checked out the doorway. “Or, I hope Lewis doesn’t— Viv-vi! HEY!” The icepack was sorely missed. “No, everything’s fine. What, uh… gave you that idea? What about my voice?”

 Lance squeezed into the office, rifle in hand. “It doesn’t belong ‘ere. End of discussion.”

 Lewis hung in the doorway, eyes flashing and flames swelling off his shoulders. He was going to ignite something. The whole shop would implode, just like the mansion. “I’ll tell you what doesn’t belong here! We need to exorcise that nasty attitude! See how you like it!”

 Arthur pulled the phone from his ear and fitted the mouthpiece into his palm. “WHY! Did you two follow me.” He shoved the phone to his shoulder. “No! We, er… yu see what happened here, we’ll— I really can’t explain. I need an adult.”

 Lance reached for the phone. “Lemme talk to her!”

 Arthur sprang back, holding the phone high above his head. “No!”

 “Te satisfaría? If I show you? Arthur, I need a mirror.”

 Arthur climbed onto the desk, screeching into the phone, “Vivi, for the love of holy doughnuts, please come here, asap! I don’t care if someone sees Mystery! You! Here! NOW!” He slammed the phone down and scrambled off the desk, completely losing his footing in the process and nearly faceplanting. “Can you both NOT SCREAM bloody murder for two minutes! Five minutes? S’all I’m asking!”

 After that outburst, both Lance and Lewis clamped up. Arthur shoved his way out the door past Lewis, and crossed the floor back to where he abandoned the ice bag and water. He plopped down on the ground with his back to them, his lone hand fastened to his springy hair, and wilted.

 “Fuck.” Lewis swayed, drawing a hand up to the front of his suit. He eased a ways out beyond the portal but paused, once more fiddling with his tie. To the side, Lance was inching out.

 The look on Arthur’s face, he’d never seen an expression on his nephew quite like it. Except when…. Lance’s first instinct was get to him, the lad was distraught – the intuition an understatement – Arthur needed… a word. Support. But an arm slashed through his path, stalling the reflexive drive. He nearly refuted the action, the protest was on the tip of his tongue. But something snatched the words away, his throat became dry. For the first time in a long time, he was at a loss.

 Given the chance to observe the spirit – as it were – a moment to examine the features, it’s strangeness; a sense of familiarity soaked into him. When it wasn’t glaring or coiled up, he could get the feel for something else. Like a shadow stamped into the world he understood, a vivid memory of someone he could easily recognize from a distance. An unmistakable figure, distinct from a crowd. This… thing, it looked nothing like Lewis Pepper, but the gait it carried, the movement of its arms, it was unmistakable. Somehow, he knew this… thing, but dissension saturated the connection, and its presence was disjointed. It wasn’t alive, yet it was here. Most important of all, it wasn’t going away.

 “You, uh… I think he’ll be fine.” When Lance spoke, the smoldering returned. It did NOT like him. So, what was it? What, not who. It couldn’t be…. “I’m… gunna sit down, fer a bit.”

 Lance left for the breakroom and made himself a pot of coffee. When he returned from the recess, pot in hand and a stack of Styrofoam cups; Arthur was still seated far from the office, but updated to a stack of boxes that bore his weight. He gave a brief nonintrusive examination, only to confirm he was still breathing and not in any sort of apparent pain. From there, he went to the office to clear his thoughts and keep an eye on the area.

 The lights hadn’t been turned on at all, and he almost forgot about the… thing. In the shroud, he nearly missed it seated at one of the chairs facing the desk, eyes aglow, the faint shimmer of its stylish hair. It sat arms crossed tightly, one leg slanted over the other. It didn’t respond when Lance entered.

 “I think you have a story to share.” Lance sat one cup in front of the spirit and poured some coffee. The spirit refused to acknowledge his presence, and almost appeared photographic in its uncanny stillness; it wouldn’t even look at him. He reached over the side of his desk and pried open a drawer, and from the drawer, pulled up a small tray with containers of sweetener and nondairy creamers. “You a lil sour? What’s up?” He poured a cup for himself and blew at the harsh steam. “Not doin’ nothin’ but broodin’.”

 There was a change in the spirit. The gleaming eyes were now locked on the white cup steaming in front of it.

 “I don’t understand how this works,” Lance admitted. He plucked up the dislocated phone from the desk and set it back to the receiver. “Am I supposed t’say a special codeword? Is there a ritual, an uh… Ouiguh board.” The lamp on his desk flickered, came on, and then the bulb popped in a firework splash. Lance winced, sharply withdrawing his hand. Okay, what the FUCK. “Did yu do that?”

 “Not on purpose.” Praise the stars, it spoke. “Check on Arthur.”

 He wasn’t certain if that was a hint, or a direct command. “Juz did. He’s fine. This is mah office, by the way.” He managed to get a sip of his coffee. “I won’t harass him with this, not now. And I won’t wait for Vivi-vi. Before we get tu this…. Yu say a person….”

 “Guy in a mask.”

 “All right.” Lance nodded. “Before we pop that can of worms, before any of that. You’re here. I’ll go so far as admit that. But,” he gestured vaguely. “How did this happen?” Those vibrant eyes flicked up to him.

 “It’s complicated.”

 “Hmm. Don’t like t’way you said that.”

 “Funny. I could care less what you think.”

 Lance took another sip, and set his cup down. “Listen. Ghost Lewis.”

 “Just Lewis,” the spirit had a wispy, sometimes airy way of speaking. The voice didn’t come from it, which made sense, because it didn’t have a mouth. “I’m still Lewis. The only difference, I lost custody of the body.” He huffed, and a bright flame flashed from its neck collar. Lance leaned back in his chair, uncertain what to make of… everything.

 “Lewis, then.” He moved his line of sight out of the office, once more checking on Arthur. “Y’know Arthur’s m’boy, and I won’t have yu tormentin’ him.”

 For a few minutes Lance sat, mulling through a history he thought was sheltered away in the deep parts of his memories where he preferred not to dwell. His fingers pressed tighter around the defenseless cup in his grasp, the warmth seeped through the insulated material and into the thick gloves he wore. The white of the cup cut through the bleak patterns of the gloom, reminding him of the brightest sheets he’d ever seen – specks of crimson and brown, where the bandages couldn’t stifle the work to recreate a shoulder. Arthur delirious and agonized, unaware that he was maimed as badly as he was. The details were unattainable, shattered and cast out a window. Nothing helped, no amount of medication.

 Something happened. Vivi lost her memory. It was awful. Mystery was gone, vanished entirely like a… well. Arthur was beyond consoling, overrun by trauma, nearly splint in two. There was no way to construct a complete narrative, aside from it being a terrible Accident. Irreversible. Lewis never came back, and Arthur insisted that would never change. And they had to accept that.

 If he held the Styrofoam cup any tighter, it would spill all over his desk. Lance rubbed at his face, trying to quell his thoughts. Those nightmares kept him up some nights, but he was a master of not showing on the worst days. Arthur had enough to deal with, and apparently more so these days. He sighed, still refusing to raise his gaze to the thing seated across from him, trying to dwell on the mystery of how it could be so devoid of warmth despite what looked like an ember wavering near its shoulder. He tried once more:

 “He’s said some things I don’t fully grasp, admitted stuff I don’t have a full spectrum or insight intu.” He rubbed a thumb over the rim of the cup, gazing into the dark depths of the liquid within. “‘E’s been through enough, he’s regretted t’things that happen’. Losin’ you… I don’t even think he realized ‘iz arm was gone, not until—”

 “Uncle Lance.” It was almost heartening, the way the spirit – Ghost Lewis. Just Lewis – persisted to refer to him as Uncle, same as his friends. The same way he did when alive. “I lost my life, and all of that had a negative effect on me, on my… prospect for living, and being.” The spirit moved, uncoiling his arms and gently caressed the vibrating heart at its chest. “It’s a topic we try not to touch on. I tend to stray far away from it all.”

 How easy it touched upon the subject of its demise, as if it was all a matter of inconvenience. Was it meant to comfort him? Lance took a sip. “Juz curious, but… was there plans to… accept and reconcile, or something?” The eyes narrowed at him and the bristling embers constricted into a needle point dot.

 “What are you getting at, now?”

 Lance blew at the steam in his cup. The eyes of the spirit flashed, agitated by something, some unknown insult. “I’m not getting’ why your still ‘round. Aren’t spooks supposed to do’n the, is it the crop circle thing?”

 Lewis cocked a rigid eyebrow. “Cross… over? No. Nope, it’s not a requirement for certain cases.”

 “I have a suspicion that there’s more tu it than—” Without warning, Lewis bolted up from the seat – the flash of movement shocked Lance, in that it was vacuum less and silent. Only the light dousing out, as Lewis’ wide shoulders zipped out the doorway. The embers once swirling his space extinguished altogether, plunging the room into total darkness.

 The catalyst must’ve been the racketing dog yaps, which entered onto the work floor. Soon after there was Vivi, racing over to the middle of the room and dashing her eyes around. Mystery was her guide, leading directly to the side wall where Arthur had remained hunched over. Arthur gave her the barest attention when she reached his side and leaned low. An exchange of words followed. Then, Vivi raised her sight to the office doorway.

 Without a word, Lewis approached the group, arms clasped behind his back. When Lance emerged from his quarters fully and the light ensnared him, Vivi set her eyes upon him, and they became saucers. In retrospect, it did explain some things, though not nearly enough if Lance was honest. Something about all this didn’t settle right, and at the core of this drama was his boy, Arthur. If he couldn’t enlist Vivi’s aid in this, he might have to pursue other drastic means. But it wouldn’t work to be reckless. Being reckless is what nearly got him socked in the face, by something that claimed to be Lewis Pepper.

#mystery skulls fanfic #mystery skulls #msa #fanfic #fanfiction #mystery skulls fanfiction #msa fanfic #msa fanfiction #mystery skulls ghost #mystery skulls animated #msa lewis #mew arthur #msa vivi #msa lance #msa mystery

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Blank Spots [10] PAIRING: (Somewhat pre-established) Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader, could be seen as an OC. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: After waking up at the base of a steep incline and nearly freezing to death, you stumble upon a group of strangers who swear up and down that they know you. WARNINGS: Some creative license for amnesia. Drinking. Angst. NOTE: I am not 100% on this chapter. Might be me just coming back from writer’s block or something, but yeah. However, I managed to work it out and just want to stop struggling over it. I hope you all enjoy! I’m sorry for the wait.  TAG LIST: @on-my-way-to-erebor / @otherthingstoreid @ireallyhonestlydontcare @elanisha @darlingsdevil @cirillamylove @bunnyreese12 @rollyjogerjones @callmemythicalminx

“Your forehead’s lookin’ better.” 

You let out a soft grunt as you pulled the bucket out of the stream, taking a moment to glance back toward the person walking up behind you. Mary-Beth offered you a small smile as you turned around, holding the heavy bucket at your side. You had seen her around camp, the odd passing comment or conversation--at least, that’s what it was currently. Mary-Beth reached out to help with the bucket as you came closer toward her, a small chuckle escaping you. 

“You say I’m looking better, but you won’t let me carry a bucket of water back to camp?” you asked, playful mostly. You still caught that touch of sympathy in her eye from time to time, but thankfully that had been stepping off more and more as time went along. 

“It’s a long walk back up there, plus if it looks like we’re helpin’ each other, it might keep Grimshaw off my back.” 

“Oh, I already got a bit of an earful from her today,” you replied, allowing the extra hand and you and Mary-Beth started to walk back toward camp. 

It had only been a couple days since that whole thing with Edith had happened, the thoughts weighing on you somewhat. Ran over that conversation in your head a couple times, what happened after. There had been the question of if you should have taken comfort from Arthur after that, if the lax in anger toward him as the days passed was right. It had just been a hug, but...well, even that seemed complicated with the almost one-sided past you had with him at that point. 

Everything had made you a little distant, even if you didn’t disappear from view completely as Grimshaw’s words earlier that morning were anything to go by. As stern as she was, you didn’t mind having a task to keep yourself from a spiral. 

Arthur had left as you had expected him to, apparently to go rescue that Micah from jail. He hadn’t seemed too thrilled about it, but you took some relief in not seeing him around for a bit while you had mulled things over. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Mary-Beth asked, pulling you out of your thoughts as you turned your head toward her, eyebrow raised. “I know...I know you might not remember me much, so you don’t have to answer, but...how’re things between you and Arthur?”

Can you read minds, Mary-Beth? You couldn’t help the small touch of a grin that pulled at your lips, adjusting your grip on the bucket as you continued to walk. 

“They’re...what they are, I suppose. It’s hard to explain,” you replied after a beat, the smile in your expression falling somewhat. 

“I can only imagine…” Mary-Beth replied with a small nod, her tone sympathetic but she seemed to raise her head in thought somewhat. “Maybe...well, nobody likes you gettin’ hurt, but maybe it’s a good thing…” 

“I don’t know if losing memories of whole people is a good thing,” you replied, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye. 

“Well, no! No, of course not, but...well, startin’ over? Gettin’ to know each other all over again? Fallin’ for someone again? It even seems a little romantic, and I’m sure there are people out there who’d love to have that chance again.” 

You tilted your head somewhat in thought. Mary-Beth was someone you liked, she seemed friendly and optimistic, though you had been warned she was a bit of a dreamer and a romantic at heart, which you could certainly see now. However, the situation you found yourself in? Well…

“None of this seems all that romantic, to be honest,” you returned, “I just...I have no idea where Arthur’s head is in this. If I’m being honest, there’s a part of me that’s waiting for him to give up the chase and…”

“Is that what you want?” she asked, causing you to pause a moment as you approached some of the trees surrounding camp. 

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, letting out a sigh as you lowered the bucket to the ground, “I do remember some things about him that back up the fact that this isn’t just some...elaborate ploy, but...I don’t want to hold him back.” 

“Hold him back?” Mary-Beth asked, tilting her head as a small pit formed in your stomach. 

Ah, shit. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to tell anybody about all of that. Though, Mary-Beth watched on with a steadily growing expression of concern. You let out a small sigh through your nose, bowing your head slightly as you pressed your lips together slightly. Much as you still weren’t familiar with a number of the people in camp still, much as they knew you, you couldn’t help but feel that Mary-Beth might be a good person to talk to. 

Really, you had been dying to talk to someone about this that wasn’t Arthur. Everything with your aunt and uncle was one thing, but with his ex-fiancee? 

“I have some sympathy for his situation when it comes to what’s happened to me,” you started, “Much as he’s made it clear that he doesn’t want me to stay out of some guilt or pity for him. I just...I look at what’s going on with me and can’t help but wonder. It’s hard to really only have one side of the story, and I can’t just tell him to let it go. We agreed to start over, and I do want that, but...I don’t know, it’s complicated.” 

“He was real scared when you turned back up in camp, you know,” Mary-Beth replied, “Almost a frozen corpse, I think most of us were too. Arthur tried not to show it, but I could see it. I don’t know what you’d be holdin’ him back from, he seemed pretty relieved to see you gettin’ better.” 

“...He told me about going to see Mary,” you said, watching for recognition in Mary-Beth’s expression before continuing, “I suppose I’m still thinking that through.” 

Arthur hadn’t exactly given you much choice with how quickly it had shifted onto the topic of that debt taken by your uncle, and the mess that followed. 

“I had heard about that,” Mary-Beth said, “At least, that a letter had shown up. I was concerned but I didn’t wanna pry…” 

“As far as my understanding goes, nothing came of it but...well, he’d gotten real quiet when I asked him if he had wanted something to.”

“Mary’s a complicated situation,” Mary-Beth replied, “I’m sure it’s somethin’ he’s tryin’ to sort out, too. You might just have to talk to him about it again.” 

You let out a small, somewhat bitter, chuckle. “I really don’t want to keep digging that up for him.” 

“Well, it’s still obviously botherin’ you,” Mary-Beth pointed out, shifting to pick up the bucket that had been left in favor of the conversation, “You still have time, you two can figure this out.” 

Deciding to let that be the end of it for now, you reached down to pick up the other side of the handle before the two of you started to walk toward camp again. It was probably for the best. Being found standing around and talking, no matter the conversation topic, you could only imagine would get some sort of lecture from certain people in camp. 

“I’m sorry for dumping all of that on you,” you said quickly, glancing over a moment as you saw Mary-Beth offer you a small smile. 

“I asked, and I was also worried.”

“Were we...were we ever close before I got injured?” you asked, glancing toward her out of the corner of your eye. It was a bit of a sheepish question, and you figured it would be for a while still. If not always. It was awkward to ask what type of relationship you had with someone when you should have very well known it. 

“Not really close,” Mary-Beth replied, “We were friendly but...well, I guess if you’re startin’ over, it’s in more than just one place right?”

“That’s for sure,” you muttered, pulling a soft chuckle from the two of you. 

“Then we can sort that out, too.” 

                                                           ***

Arthur returned from Strawberry a couple days later. Distant, frustrated, and lacking Micah riding in behind him, you could only assume things hadn’t gone exactly to plan. The talk with Mary-Beth and what she had mentioned about that mining town in the mountains had you only adding that to the things you had to turn over in your head. There was also that odd relief upon seeing him back in camp, too, much as you tried to keep your distance upon seeing the demeanor he returned with. 

You hadn’t been blind, you knew he wasn’t looking forward to it. 

So, initially, you had let him be when you saw him disappear toward the cliffedge with a bottle of whiskey. Yet, your concern did grow rather quickly after that point. You hadn’t been a stranger to Arthur checking up on you, so you felt that perhaps you should return the favor. So, you set your empty stew bowl aside and wandered out after a few minutes. Really, you couldn’t help but feel like you might be the last person he wanted to see, but--well, perhaps that was that voice you had told Mary-Beth about. 

Though, you weren’t surprised to see him sitting behind a rock and nursing the bottle he had taken. Arthur raised his head slightly upon your approach, raising his eyebrows slightly as you stepped out toward him. 

“Somethin’ goin’ on?” he asked, his voice lacking the slurred words you were sure to come soon if he kept as he was. 

“No, just...wanted to see if you were okay,” you said, tilting your head as Arthur let out a somewhat bitter huff as he returned to glance back toward the forest in the distance. 

“Don’t know what Dutch sees in ‘im, made me break that bastard out of jail,” he remarked, taking another drink as you walked over to lean against the tree nearby. So, he had broken Micah out of jail, much as the man in question wasn’t with him at the moment. 

“I take it that it didn’t go well,” you said, crossing your arms. 

“He made me shoot up half a town for a pair of guns,” Arthur stated, that frustration you saw in him earlier clearly reflected in his tone, “Doesn’t wanna come back until he’s got some sorta peace offerin’ for Dutch, which means I’m gonna have to ride back out there soon.” 

Really, the mention of Micah was somewhat familiar to you. You knew he had been the one to ride out with you the night you had fallen down the side of that cliffedge, the one who had supposedly left you for dead but...well, you weren’t sure how fair an assumption that was just yet. Though, hearing he had left that town in a blaze of gunfire and chaos, it seemed to line up with Arthur’s irritation toward the man. 

Micah may know what happened that night, too, but you weren’t in a rush to ask him. With the animosity, you weren’t sure how truthful that information would be. 

“Guess that’s going to have to be a hell of a peace offering…” you said after a small sigh, shaking your head. 

You were surprised to hear about the shooting, too. Though...well, you also knew that you should have gotten used to it. How big of a bounty had that agent said Arthur had? Five thousand? You imagined that probably wasn’t earned through petty crime, and you had no idea if you had your own or how that stood in comparison if you did have one. It was something that didn’t sit right, still didn’t, but there was a part of you that was relieved that he hadn’t been shot during the whole thing, admittedly. 

“Dutch ain’t the only one he owes that to…” Arthur remarked, shooting you a look as you furrowed your brows. You weren’t sure if he meant himself or you. You could have left that as it were, but…

“...You still blame him for what happened to me?” you asked, tilting your head. 

“Yes,” Arthur snapped, gathering himself somewhat unevenly to a stand, “...No. I dunno. I blame Micah, I blame myself. I don’t know.” 

“There’s no way you could’ve known…” you replied around a sigh, recalling the similar conversation you had with him in that frozen, run down building.

“No, but I didn’t like the idea of splittin’ off from you. Thought I was just bein’ overbearin’, but…” 

“I don’t think you could have done anything without the foresight to be standing close when I fell, or was thrown, or…” you trailed off, feeling a slight twisting in your gut. Some guilt there for Arthur beating himself up, but there was something else there unrelated yet…

“I don’t know what I’m insinuating with that,” you replied, waving a hand slightly, “It was just a fall, I doubt you would have been able to do something about it. I don’t blame you for that, so…”

“I know you don’t,” Arthur remarked, “Still should’ve done somethin’. Could’ve prevented all this…” 

He had shifted himself toward you as he spoke, though you weren’t sure if it was to step back toward camp or just pacing the space. However, he stumbled a bit, causing you to instinctively reach out to grip his shoulder so he didn’t fall or bump into you. The motion had him lingering close, your hand resting on his shoulder as Arthur placed his hand against the bark at your back. At the closeness, it wasn’t hard to make out the look in his eyes, a couple of the scars on his face. You also took in the faint smell of the whiskey he had been drinking, along with cigarettes and campfire smoke. 

That memory of that kiss seemed to linger a moment, and you knew in that moment you could very much just lean forward and kiss him. It could reassure that--well, no. No, that didn’t feel right. You knew that as much when you felt his forehead press lightly against your own, getting ready to shift your hands up to push him back.

However, it seemed Arthur thought better of that too, considering him shifting back somewhat. Instead, he seemed to shift to press the side of his head against your own, letting out a slow breath that lingered against the skin of your neck, pulling a quick shiver from you. 

“I miss you,” he muttered, his tone carrying that slurred quality that you had been waiting for, though the words squeezed hard at your heart. 

You found your eyes turning upward toward the darkening sky, pressing your lips into a thin line. That’s not fair, a voice in the back of your head hissed. It was cruel. You knew he did. Christ, you knew. How could he not? Yet, you couldn’t do anything about that. Bring those memories back, to even expect them to replace your current ones. It felt impossible. Still, you found yourself raising your hands to slip up around his arms, holding onto the back of his jacket as you rubbed another along his upper back somewhat. 

“I...I think you’ve had a long day, and a little to drink…” you said, already feeling him tense somewhat at your words, “Maybe you should go sleep it off or something, we can talk about this another time.” 

“...Yeah,” Arthur muttered after a moment, shifting back as you dropped your arms back to your sides. “Yeah.” 

He didn’t look at you, but you didn’t miss the way he rubbed a hand across the lower half of his face, turning to wander back off into camp. You let out a slow breath, bumping your head back against the tree. Should you have kissed him, then? No. No, that still didn’t feel like the right choice. Should you have told him that you missed him, too? Well...no, that wouldn’t make sense either. You did miss him somewhat, when he was gone. His company, his presence, yet...well, it wasn’t in the same way and you would be kidding yourself if you thought it was. 

Still, it left you with a fluttering in your chest and the lingering sensation of his warm breath on your neck.

#my writing. #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/80238334

Chapter 69

That night, Nick stayed with James. He needed a place to cry his heart out, and James' shoulders were very comfortable. The other man solaced him with soft words and with soft hands that stroked not only his back, but also his heart. He told James he wanted to keep a clear head, what he had sort of promised to Birdie, what Virgil probably would've liked too. “You're with me”,  James assured him. “I'll take care of you, don't you worry. Besides, what's so bad about one drink?” Nick hesitated. “You'll make sure I don't mess anything up tonight?” “I will”, James said with the most comforting smile. Nick blushed. The other man was so charming, he reminded him of someone else. He just couldn't figure out who. Was it Virgil? The manager could be charming whenever he wanted, but most of the time he had rather wanted to push Nick further. James was so relaxed. He made him feel that everything would be alright, that he didn't need to hurry, and most of all, not to worry.

“Uncle Jack”, Nick whispered on the spur of the moment. James lifted his eyebrows. “You remind me of Uncle Jack”, Nick explained. James' features eased again. “Am I like an uncle to you?” Nick mused. “More like...a father...” James expression was unreadable. “Not that I know...”, Nick corrected himself, “I never had a father.” The memory just came back. “He was drafted for the war and never came back...I don't even remember what he looked like...” “I'm sorry...”, James said as if he could empathize. “I don't want to complain. My mother was good to me, perhaps even too good...She gave me everything. She spent her savings on buying me a guitar...” “Well, it wasn't in vain”, James pointed out. “I'm sure you made her proud.” “I hope so...” Nick ran a hand through his hair. “I don't know what happened to her...God, I can't remember...!” The other man gently pressed Nick's head against his chest. “The odds are that you will...” “Really?” Nick doubted it. “Think of everything you remembered since you're taking my Joy...You were sure you lost all this, right? But it's still there, in your pretty head.” James' finger poked him. Nick pondered. “I can't wait to recall my entire life again. I don't feel like a whole person. I'm just a little part of myself...It's just so sad how many people I knew and loved are gone...I wonder who's gonna be left...” “You won't be alone, Nick.” Nick looked at James, smiled and accepted the drink. It was pitch black, but with a compelling taste. The night continued, peacefully and in intimate togetherness. Nick drank more and his mind became blurry.

He awoke in a big, soft bed. Can't I stay in here forever, he thought. There's no better place in the world than a comfy bed. Well, perhaps with one exception, he noticed, looking at the empty space next to him. A better place would be in someone's arms. But there's no time to dwell on the past, he told himself. Your band is waiting and you have to face this out together. In the last moment he remembered he had put the blanket over them and now he wondered if they were awake already. Sitting up, the world around him changed it's appearance. Instead of in his own bedroom, where he thought he had gone to sleep, he was in the Wonderland Suite. There was no doubt, the windows told him it wasn't the tunnel suite. Sighing, he fell back into his bed. Not again! He was so done with his foggy head. Now, figuring out how he ended up here was such a stressful thing to do, especially in the mornings. And most of the time it didn't work out anyway, so he could just as well give up already.

His friends...well, for some reason he was sure they were save. Did he make it up with them? He listened to his inner voice. It seemed like it. He felt that he didn't have to hurry, he could have a good breakfast first and then walk back. It was a feeling he enjoyed very much. His stomach was all relaxed, except for the fact that it signalized hunger and his brain cried for coffee. All in all, nothing he could not take care of by himself. Walking along the corridor to the lounge, a thought popped up in his mind, shortly. The bills...who would pay them now? But his feeling once more assured him, he didn't have to worry. Nick was sure he wouldn't feel like this if there wasn't at least a little bit of truth behind it. Perhaps that was why he had passed out, because he had celebrated finding the solution to all his problems. The thought made him chuckle. He had no trouble giving the hotel boys a most exuberant smile and watching them having to greet him.

Looking forward to the sumptuous buffet, he entered the lounge. After picking a table and ordering coffee, he fetched his favourites from the buffet. While he was engaged in this, his gaze caught a familiar figure at a table further away. Birdie had pinned up her hair into a glorious structure of curls. She was doing great so far without Virgil, he thought. Putting his food down, he made his way to her table, wondering how she'd react after they had poured out their hearts to each other. Would she be embarrassed? Birdie noticed him when he came closer and her expression was friendly. “Good morning, Miss Callagher”, he greeted her. “Please, it's Birdie”, she said. “Alright, Birdie.” “Good morning, Nick”, she returned the greet. “Hey, I didn't mean to bother, I just saw you there and I thought I'll come over before you leave.” “Oh, it's fine. Join me, if you like. Or did you eat yet?” “No, I was getting started.” He pointed at his table. “I'll migrate.” She giggled. “Okay.” Soon, he sat with her and the waiter served his coffee.

“Finally”, Nick grabbed the cup. “Can't start the day without it.” “You're up early today”, she said. “Really?” Nick wondered how she knew how long he used to sleep. Was it so obvious? “What time is it, even?” “Only seven in the morning.” “What? What am I doing here in the middle of the night?” He shook his head. “Being hungry, perhaps.” “Right, that must be it.” He looked at her. “Are you always up that early?” “Uh-hu”, she said nodding. “Gosh, Virgil must've tortured you.” She stirred her yoghurt. “I've always been a morning person.” “Oh...”. He fell quiet, sorry that he had accused Virgil. Birdie eyed him.  “How are you doing?” Nick sighed. “I'm afraid my plan of keeping my head clear...It didn't quite work out.” “You had an awful day, huh?” “Uh...actually I don't know...I must've done something right because I feel...I feel like my band is okay...” He put down the cup. “I sound ridiculous, right?” “No, I don't think so”, she replied. “Perhaps you only had too much Joy and you'll recall everything soon. Is your band here too?” Nick pondered, picking up a piece of filled pastry. “No, I'm sure they're at my place.” Suddenly, he had to smile. “They're still with me.” “I've read your reunion story...it was in the newspaper.” Nick pricked up his ears. Arthur's article...they had been sitting here, in this lounge, creating it together. Back then he had been careful not to say too much about Morrie. But despite the lies, it had been a good story.

“You did all that by yourself, without any professional businessman's help.” Was it a comment or a question? The way she said it, it could've been both. “I was also lucky...”, Nick answered. “I needed so much time to figure out what I wanted...and who I needed. I recovered my old band out of luck. And if they hadn't gone along with me the project would've been doomed from the start.” “Is it really the same band you had with 16?” “Yeah, the original Make Believes and also the best.” “Wow,” Birdie swooned and leaned back. “I had a band once when I was in school, but we parted ways afterwards. I was the only one who wanted to make music for a living.” “Well, you made it all by yourself,” Nick complimented her. “And by Virgil...”, she added. “He only gave you the finishing touch.” “You're being sweet again.” “If you say so.” She laughed. “You think you can introduce them to me?” “Sure.” Then he held up a finger. “But don't even try. They're mine.” “I know. Do you think I would...?” “I was only joking”, Nick backed away. “Oh.” She giggled. “If they want to leave me for you, that's their decision.” “Come on, you're life-long friends! Cheer up a bit!” She punched his shoulder. “Yeah, you're right...I'm such a whinger this morning.” He shook his head. “That's why I shouldn't get up early.” “Just eat more, you're all pale.” Nick touched his cheek. “Am I?” “Yeah, it's hard to see where the mask ends.” She shoved his plate closer to him. He started to eat.

“I'm only talking about myself, how are you doing?”, he asked after a while. “I guess I'll be fine. I went to Hackney's, because his fancy creations always cheer me up and he told me about a manager who's looking for a new star. Also, I have a few requests from people and if they're not all bodgers I might try my luck with one of them. They wouldn't be Virgil, but...life goes on.” Nick nodded. “Looks like you'll make it.” “It won't hurt to try.” “I'll keep my fingers crossed.” He looked at her. “Thank you”, She said smiling. “And you? Do you have anything in view?” “No requests, I'm sure of it. Who would want me anyway?”, he said jokingly. “Now come on, the Golden God! Who would not want you?” “I'm a life task”, he assured her. “Getting me out of bed and on stage, making me remember the gigs, the songs, the chords and then getting me back home in one piece...I need someone enduring.” “Or someone assertive”, she chuckled. “Looks like General Byng is the right one for you.” “Oh, please no!” She laughed. “Oh, yes! I'll send him a message if you're too shy.” “How could you do this to me?” “I only want to help.” “You want to torture me until the end of my days!” “Well, maybe.” “This is what I get for being sweet...”, Nick lamented. “I better get back to bed and forget this happened.” “Aww, and I was so looking forward to solve your problem.” “You can take him. He'll like you more than me, I'm sure of it.” “But I'm a good girl, I don't need a general to push me around.” “Are you sure, Miss I'll-take-another-round?” “Now you're being petty!”, she played shocked. “I wonder if the general would approve.” They burst into laughter, what made the other guests look at them and screw up their noses.

Nick finished his breakfast and felt how he regained his strength, not only because of the food. “You're looking much better now”, Birdie commented. “Even better? How is that possible?” “Supercilious oaf”, she muttered. “What was that?” “Confident as always, our Nicky”, she said with the silkiest smile. “And miss Birdie never minces her words”, he said with a little bow. “I wish I could stay”, she sighed happily, “but I already have an appointment with one of my hopefully future managers.” “Good luck with that”, Nick answered. “I go see what my friends are really doing and make them presentable for a lady like you.” “Good luck with that, too”, she said laughing. “I'll need it.”

Nick left the hotel in a much better mood and stopped by his statue to say a few words to the manager he still missed. “Hey, Virgil”, he whispered. “I feel like everything will turn out alright, at least with the band. I hope I'm not wrong. That doesn't mean you'll ever be replaced.” More thoughtfully, he stepped closer to the statue, eyeing it's arms, as if there was something he should see. “If you could tell me what happened...give me a sign...please try...I'm groping in the dark here. You knew something, right? And that...killed you. It's so unfair.” More pensive, he turned away from the memorial and started to descend the stairs. “I'll be back”, he promised.

The day was nonetheless pretty. The sun was shining and even though the cold breeze told him it was undoubtedly autumn, the air was so clear that Nick felt like he could breathe freely again in a long time. The blue sky only had a few clouds scattered over it. He actually froze in his tracks to watch the sky. It was strange to see it being only blue, after it had been a bright kaleidoscope of colours for him most of the time. It was just a simple blue, but he found it pretty. It was so pure, so calm. It made him consider that maybe the good times weren't over yet. That there could be more.

Coming home, he figured that Constable Hunt likely thought the same, because he acted rather cheerfully. “Is everything alright?”, Nick asked the usually wary man. “Right as rain, sir, right as rain. Not that there is any rain.” He laughed. “The band still inside?”, Nick went on, fingers crossed. “Sure, nobody left the house today and I'm certain they're having a jolly good time.” “Okay...Anything else happening today?” “No, nothing worth the mention yet”, his happy Constable assured him. “Besides...I'd really like to try that Constable Rossetti's wife's cake.” Nick had nothing smart to say to that. Perhaps everything was simply alright this time, and why should it not be? He had really turned mistrusting in the past few days, perhaps it was time to move on. Inside, he heard his friends' happy chattering from the living room and joined up with them, smiling widely. “Hey, lads, how are you doing?” He froze when he saw who they had gathered around. “Nicky, you've been out for so long, I hope you've been good?”, Chris asked, half jokingly and half seriously. All eyes were on Nick now. “Or else you'll have to confess to our new manager”, Matt added, gesturing towards the man in their middle with a nod of his head. “New manager...”, Nick muttered. “You consulted me yourself, don't you remember, Nick?”, James said, giving him a wink. “I'm the substitute, as long as Mr. Dainty is recovering on holiday.” “Oh...well, I actually did...”, Nick was still struggling to understand. “Whoa, really? I'm sorry Nick, I thought you were screwing us over again,” Chris blurted out. “Me too...well...I wasn't sure...”, Matt said. “Why didn't you tell us?” They gathered around him now. “Because...because it was meant to be a surprise”, Nick played on. He received cheers and shoulder pats, but he only had eyes for James. “Now that this is settled, may I ask where you keep your documents? I'm sure they badly need a review”, James wanted to know. “Any new bills, Nicky?”, Brad added playfully. “Er...not yet, I think...”, Nick stuttered.

The cheerful band moved apart to free Nick, who then went to show James the way to the improvised office Virgil had established in a guest room. “This is it...uh...it might be a bit unorganised by now...” Nick found unopened letters on the desk and the blower was full of messages. “They could be fan mails though...” “It's fine, I can read my way through them”, James calmed him down. Nick watched him picking up the letters. He was still stunned. James noticed his eyes on him and locked gazes with his friend and protégé. “I'm sorry I caught you off-guard”, he said empathically. “I hope you don't mind having me as your manager, or at least as an assistance until you find a new manager you like.” Nick shook his head. “No, I don't mind...I want you around...” He blinked. “I just can't cope...First it looked like everything was falling apart and fate hated me but now so many good things happen to me all at once and I...I don't know how to feel...” He blinked again and a single tear ran down his cheek. James offered him a hug that Nick thankfully accepted.

The night was cold, but Nick didn't freeze. His new manager had taken him to a stroll and he followed the other man loyally. Jack was glad about the progress the boy had made. His trust into his mentor was unabated, even after the last events, when they had faced a little bit of trouble. Jack figured he still had to learn how to treat Nick's peaceable nature, but also with him, the boy was forgiving. So, the mentor's trust in Nick was just as unabated. Their stroll went peacefully, too. Jack had no certain target this time, he only wanted to spend time with Nicky and to see how he'd react all by himself. Nick had taken his hand as soon as they had left the town with all it's security devices. He seemed to like it more outside and Jack could understand him. What had surprised him was how well he got along in the Garden District. He knew many of the plants he most likely never saw in town, he knew what to use them for and he recalled certain places. “How do you know all this?”, Jack had asked him once. “Arthur told me”, Nick had told him, and his expression had turned lovingly. “He went into the Garden District with you?”, Jack had wondered. Nick had nodded proudly. “What were you doing in there?” Jack had been curious about the Downer's plans. “Oh...you know...”, Nick had giggled. “What lovers do.” “Didn't he know it was dangerous to go there?” “Not for him”, Nick had been certain. “He can defend himself.” Then Nick had given him a sheepish grin. “He taught me a few things...”

Jack had noticed with pleasure how Nick's anxiety against attackers had waned. Fighting had never been Jack's main goal, he used to hide in the shadows, or the very practical fog and took his victims by surprise. But Nick couldn't do that yet. However, he could fight back, and Jack could use that to his advantage. Or, he could simply use it to go for a nice walk with his friend without having to worry that he might get hurt.   Nick's pace became faster, and he seemed to eagerly pull at Jack's hand. “What's the hurry, my friend?”, Jack asked in an amused tone. “I want to show you something,” Nick explained, proving once more that he knew his way around. Jack gladly let him take the lead. It was funny how even the Wastrels went to bed at curfew like ordinary Wellies would do. The few plough boys claimed the place at night and Jack was mostly free to go wherever he wanted. Nick avoided them with confidence and guided his mentor into a forest, where it went darker. “Oh, spooky”, Jack said, facing Nick with his red eyes. Their glow was easier to see now that it was darker. Nick's irises were shimmering slightly. Their green rather turned into an orange. For now, that was. “We have to cross through this”, his protégé told him. “I know the way.” “Can you see in here?” Jack wondered if Blackberry Joy granted him night vision. “A little”, Nick admitted. “But we're almost there.” His look was begging. “Go on then, but be careful.” They went through the woods that Nick crossed just as certainly than he had crossed the ruins. When he began to pull at his hand more, Jack knew they were reaching their destiny. He was filled with tension.

“There”, Nick swooned, pointing forward. They had reached the coastal cliff, and from up above they could see the wide ocean that surrounded the little holms of Wellington Wells, keeping them apart from the rest of the world. It lay in darkness. The few stars that had managed to break through the clouds reflected in the waves, showing how the water was steadily moving. “Isn't it beautiful?” Jack had to admit this place had it's beauty. It was also a very romantic scene. “Did Arthur show you this?” “Yes”, Nick answered with a melancholic smile. Jack was moved. He put an arm around the boy, comforting him while they watched the waves swell. He could barely see where the water ended and the sky began. “You're right. It's beautiful.” Nick lifted up his head and eyed him, like asking a silent question. Jack's hand fondled Nick's back. He assumed he knew what the boy  was asking. Looking down to Nick, he began to stroke his cheek. Then he pulled him into a tighter embrace. Nick seemed to put up with it, leaning into the hug and remaining silent. Jack decided they would spend the night in peace this time. He could grant the boy a break and give him some time to show his affection. And perhaps even Jack needed a break himself. He sat down and Nick went along, clutching him.

Jack thought it was one of the best nights in his life, just being here, enjoying their closeness. Nick seemed to be happy, too. One time, he picked up a stone from the ground and tossed it down the cliff. They listened closely. “I can't hear it land”, Nick whispered. “That's because it fell very, very deep.” Nick eyed the ocean. “Can you swim?” “Oh...I remember swimming, so I guess I can...” Jack was taken aback by memories. “I think I can't”, Nick said regretfully and pulled out a stalk of grass. “If we could swim, we could get out of here, let all this behind us.” “But Nick, where would you go?” “I don't know”, the boy said pouting. “Somewhere nice. What about a desert island, only for us two? No haters, no critics, only us and the coconut palms.” Jack had to smile at that. “You mean, like going on holiday?” “Yeah, why can't we go for once?” “Because we're not done yet, my friend.” He patted Nick's back. “We can still have so much fun here. You won't be bored, trust me.” “We'll have fun?” “Yes. A lot”, Jack said firmly. “Can you teach me how to swim?” “Sure...” Nick stretched himself and put his cheek against his mentor's. They stayed like this for a while, an uncertain hug.

Sadly, also this night passed, like every other, and they had to go back. The walk though the forest was easier now, since it was a little bit lighter, and Jack too knew the way. Outside, Nick was avoiding the guards again, except for that one time when he suddenly went astray, letting go the hand of his mentor and protector and leaving in a fast pace. “Nick?”, Jack hissed, startled and angry. He had allowed himself to dwell in thoughts, living the moment and seemingly his protégé had made use of that. Had he lied about his affection? “Nick, come back! This is not the time to play hide and seek!” He followed the defiant brat and next to a ruin a made a find. Nick looked at him with wide eyes, apologizing. He knelt in the grass, keeping company with the body of a Wastrel. Nick's knife had already left it's marks in the bare, skinny chest. Jack couldn't tell how much life had been in the man when Nick found him. But it didn't matter. Touched once more, Jack kneeled down himself, looking lovingly at Nick and watching him do his delicate work from a distance. If he was a father for him, he was a very proud one.

Memories overwhelmed him again. Happy moments he had with his family. Moments he didn't know they would be the last memories he'll have of them. They were so far away now. It had been another life, another self. Now he was reclaiming a little bit of his old life back. He was watching Nicky just the way he would've watched his little Margaret building a sand castle. Or crafting one of her dolls. Even though she made most of them in secret. But she often came and proudly presented her work. She had been so talented! Perhaps she would've found her way around in Germany... Jack gasped. Oh, glorious Blackberry wisdom, you never grant me oblivion... “James?”, Nick approached him carefully. Jack looked up to him, struggling to smile. “You did well, my boy.” He now saw that Nick held out a blood-tripping heart. “This is for you.” Jack was baffled. He let Nick put the heart into his shivering hands. After looking at it for a while in silence, he broke out in tears.

#we happy few #whf #wehappyfew #nick lightbearer #nicklightbearer #whf nick #whfnick #foggyjack #whf foggy jack #foggy jack #themakebelieves #whfthemakebelieves

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Promises Not Kept Part 27

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 27: Leah discovers what Tommy has been keeping from her and it takes a toll on her birthday.    

                   “Mrs. Shelby.” Frances stopped Leah as she came back in with Johanna. “Mr. Shelby’s requested you meet him in the kitchen.”

           Leah frowned. “The kitchen? Alright.” She bent down to kiss Johanna’s cheek. “Go up to bed, Frances will tuck you in.”

           “What ‘bout daddy?” The little girl pouted. “Needs to read me bedtime story.” She protested even as she took Frances’s hand.

           “He’ll come kiss you goodnight soon but he can’t tell a story tonight,” Leah replied honestly.

           Johanna’s shoulders slumped in disappointment but followed Frances upstairs. Once they were gone, Leah headed downstairs to the kitchen.

           “Tommy?” She turned the corner to try and find him. “Tom?”

           “In here.” He called her over to one of the pantries.

           She stepped inside. “Why can’t we speak upstairs?” She wondered.

           Still tense, Tommy was pacing near a shelf of crystal glasses. “Needed somewhere private, the guests’ll be here soon.” He mumbled.

           “Which is why we should be upstairs to greet them.” She retorted. “Now what did you have to tell me?”

           He walked over to her and his face softened. “Not right now.” Gently, he grazed his hands down her arms knowing how it gave her goosebumps and sent a shiver down her spine. After years of knowing each other and a few years of marriage, Tommy knew Leah better than anyone had before and probably better than anyone ever would. It went far beyond the physical nature of their relationship. Although he knew what made her tick, he had a good insight into her thoughts as well. Even in times of trouble and during arguments they were in sync. “I just want to forget everything for a moment.”

           “Tom…” She protested weakly because she knew the guests would be there any moment. But once he started to kiss her neck, she couldn’t help but follow his lead.

           “We’ll be quick.” He promised.

~~~~~~~

           What was meant to be quick, turned into something much longer. Before both of them knew it, they started to hear the hum of guests mingling upstairs. But both were too far gone to stop.

           Leah wrapped her legs around Tommy’s waist as he rocked against her. The rhythmic movement pushing her into the cabinet, shaking the glasses on the shelves.

           “Happy birthday, Mrs. Shelby.” He growled playfully into her ear.

           She smiled and kissed him tenderly as they both reached their peaks moments apart.

           Panting hard, the two separated for a breath. Tommy’s grip loosened around Leah, setting her back down on her feet. She fixed her dress before sitting down.

           Tommy lit a cigarette and sat down beside her. He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. “We should probably talk now before we go upstairs.”

           Leah nodded. “Okay.”

           “The man Ada told you about, Mr. Mosley. He and I spoke a few days ago about a few things. It’s possible that he’s met you before.” Tommy explained carefully.

           She frowned. “I don’t recall his name. I’m sure if you hadn’t met him before becoming an MP than I wouldn’t have met him either.”

           “He said he would go to Midland often.”

           The name of the hotel made Leah’s blood run cold. It was rare that she ever thought about her past. Sometimes she reminisced on the odd circumstances that brought her and Tommy together, but she didn’t like to linger on it. The worst was when she had nightmares of being forced back into one of those suites. She would scream and cry, saying she wasn’t a Midland girl anymore. She was a well-respected woman, a wife, and a mother. But no one would listen.

           Those days were behind her and she never wanted to return to them again. Now Tommy was implying there was someone from her past there at her birthday party.

           “Would you even remember him?” He asked.

           Leah’s jaw clenched. “I drank a lot back then.” She mumbled. “I don’t remember a lot of people.”

           “Well…”

           “Tommy, if he told you this days ago, then why is he still invited to come tonight?” She demanded. “If you knew there was a possibility that I knew him from Midland?”

           Tommy paused because in all honesty, he hadn’t considered uninviting Mosley. Would it have been nice? Probably. “I need him to endorse something.” He mumbled, knowing the excuse was pitiful.

           Leah stood up with a scoff. “Endorse something. Honestly?! You couldn’t’ve done that in your office during the week?” She threw her hands up in disbelief. “I asked you twice whether you were planning something else for this party and you lied to me, twice.”

           “Lee…I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to worry about anything but-”

           “Worry? There’s a man upstairs who knows I was a whore!” She snapped and tears began to fill her eyes. “At my own birthday party, which my husband is treating like another day of business. I thought you were really trying to make a special occasion out of this but no, I should’ve realized you were planning something.” She left in a huff before Tommy could apologize his way out of trouble.

~~~~~~~~~~

           Ada caught her sister-in-law as she came upstairs in a cloud of fury. “Where’ve you been?” She asked in disbelief. “I’ve been looking for you!”

           “I need a drink,” Leah muttered.

           It was clear the woman was upset. “What’s happened?” She asked.

           “Nothing. Just…” Leah took a deep breath and tried to look a little happier for the sake of her party guests. “Please try to keep Mosley and my husband away from me.”

           Ada nodded slowly even though the request was fairly strange. “Alright, I’ll do my best…”

           Leah stopped a waiter and took two glasses of champagne off the tray he was carrying. She would need a few drinks before she was in the mood to mingle.

~~~~~~~

           In the brief time before the ballet was to begin, Leah did her best to keep her distance between her, Tommy, and Mosley. She was successful and when the start of the dance was announced, Leah went outside, chatting with Polly.

           Before she could really react, Tommy came up to her in the tent. “I’m sorry.” He whispered to her.

           Leah found her seat and shrugged her husband off. “Save your breath, Tommy.” She retorted coldly and averted her eyes from him.

           Tommy sighed and sat down next to her. He had a feeling it would take more than a simple apology to win back her trust. The whole night had put a bitter taste in his mouth but it was far from over.

~~~~~~

           Halfway through the ballet, Tommy reached over and attempted to interlace his fingers with Leah’s. Instead, she pulled her hand away and crossed her arms over her chest.

           Disgruntled and kicking himself for his actions, he looked over his shoulder. A flash of headlights reminded him of another one of his missions for that night. Tommy cleared his throat and tried to get Michael’s attention, jerking his chin towards Arthur who had dozed off.

           Michael reached over to jostle his uncle awake and inform him of Linda’s arrival.

           Leah was unaware of what was happening until Tommy made a beeline for the driveway. She hadn’t heard the gunshot over the sound of applause, but he certainly had. Other members of the family also made a speedy exit and she was left confused but trying to keep a calm face.

           As the ballet dancers took their bows, Leah slipped away from the crowd and attempted to find Tommy and the rest to see what the commotion was about.

           But halfway across the lawn, she came across Oswald Mosley.

           To her horror, she did recognize the man. He hadn’t changed appearance-wise much since those days. It was also his nature that made him a memorable client. Leah spent the night with him maybe once or twice, but he had a reputation among the other girls who saw him far more often. They remarked that the more they got to know him, the rougher he got. Almost to the point where they considered him violent. Some girls returned with bruises that took weeks to fully heal. Another trait was his overwhelming narcissism.

           He smiled devilishly when he saw her. “Mrs. Shelby, I dare say you’ve spent the entire night avoiding me. I can’t say you’ve been a very becoming hostess. Although your husband isn’t much better, to be fair.”

           Leah’s jaw clenched and she looked towards the headlights in the driveway. Despite the open lawn around them, she felt trapped by the man’s presence. “I apologize, Mr. Mosley, I’ve been quite busy speaking with other guests.”

           “Now see, I do remember you.” He pointed at her as if he had just sparked a memory. “The pretty blonde from Midland, just as I suspected you were.”

           “I’m sorry, I don’t seem to recall you.” She replied, daintily lying to him. There was no way in hell she was giving him the satisfaction.

           Instead, Mosley just looked amused. A cat playing with a mouse. “Well, if you’d like me to jog your memory, I’ll be staying the night. I was thinking I’d fuck the swan but two women at once is always a treat.”

           Leah’s entire body was practically shaking with anger. “You will never ever, lay your hands on me, do you understand? I find you absolutely repulsive.” She spat.

           Mosley chuckled. “I understand why Shelby married you, you’ve got quite the little bite, don’t you? He always likes a challenge, doesn’t he? Well, I hope it’s known that if your husband ever betrays me, I will destroy him and his company.” The smug smile didn’t fade off his face. In fact, it appeared he enjoyed threatening her.

           Leah stepped toward him, her eyes narrowing. “Do not ever threaten my family.” She snarled. “I suggest you call your car around because you will not be staying another minute in my house.” And with that, she stormed past him and went inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~

       Leah heard Linda screaming from inside. “What happened?” She demanded as she rushed into the dining room.

           Tommy grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to guide her out of the room. “I’ll tell you later. Go check on the kids and return to the tent. Tell people nothing’s wrong.”

           “I’m not going back outside.” Leah knew that Mosley was out there most likely still blocking the path to the tent. “What happened?” She asked again trying to shake off his grip and see what was going on. She thought it was her business if there was someone dying on her dining room table.

           “Leah, listen to me-”

           “No!” She shouted back at him. “Not after everything you’ve done tonight. Now tell me what’s happening.”

           “Mumma?” Charlie was stood on the stair landing. He was trembling slightly from the noises coming from the dining room.

           Tommy and Leah shared a look. “Charles, go back upstairs.” He commanded sternly.

           “Go back in there.” Leah hissed at her husband and pushed his hands away from her shoulders. She headed up the stairs to console her son. “It’s okay, it’s just noises from the ballet.” She soothed softly and scooped him up into his arms. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s okay.” There was no telling how many times Leah would be able to say that until the guilt caught up to her.

           Once Charlie fell back asleep, Leah closed his door and found the house was quiet again. She stood in the hallway and considered going back downstairs and joining the party again. Maybe she could put on a brave face even after everything that had happened. Then she heard her husband speaking quietly to Mosley. Their voices traveled to the big room before the door closed and their voices became muffled. The man’s voice was enough to convince her to stay upstairs. She would be ecstatic to go the rest of her life without seeing his face ever again.  So, she returned to her bedroom and locked the door.

~~~~~~~~

           The night passed on and Leah was comfortable in her room, far more comfortable than she would've been downstairs. She watched a few cars leaving while a few guests settled into their rooms for the night. It wasn’t long before the doorknob tried to turn but was inhibited by the lock. She didn’t move to open it; afraid it was Mosley trying to carry out his intentions. She hadn't seen whether he'd left or not.

           “Leah?” Tommy knocked. “C’mon, I just want to talk.”

           She considered leaving him out but knew there weren’t any empty rooms due to their guests and she didn't want him to disturb the children. With a huff, she stood up and unlocked the door before returning to her spot on the edge of the bed.

           Tommy entered cautiously. He didn’t like to admit it but he was thoroughly shaken. After the confrontation with Linda and Mosley’s speech in the tent, he was afraid of what he’d gotten himself into. But it was far too late to turn back. It remained to be seen how that would affect his marriage.

           “Mosley said you wouldn’t allow him to stay the night.”

           “This is my house just as much as it is yours.” She replied curtly, her eyes refusing to look at him. Her arms crossed over her chest.

           “I wasn't questioning that. I just wanted to know why.”

           Leah tried to keep her nerve but her lower lip quivered. She was so angry and upset over the disaster of a night. “There was once a time where if a man spoke to me the way he did earlier, I would be afraid you’d kill him. Now I’m afraid that you won’t even listen to how it makes me feel. Let alone that you’d stand up for me.” She whispered.

           Tommy’s stomach sank. “You did recognize him.” He surmised. And as a follow-up, he guessed that Mosley had said something to thoroughly upset his wife. That was unacceptable. The man would die.

           His wife didn’t answer. Her silence was enough to confirm his suspicion. “I love you, Tommy. I’ve loved you through the worst of the worst. But I can’t understand this. I can’t understand why you’re putting your family on the line.”

           He crossed the floor and sat down beside her. “Are you pregnant?”

           She let out a short, bitter laugh. “I didn’t think you’d notice until I’d gone into labor.” She replied coldly.

           “There are two things I can do.” He reached for her hand. She reluctantly let his fingers interlace with hers. Tommy wasn't going to talk about plan details with her. There was no reason to involve her in the gruesome bits. The further away he could keep her from such things the better. That way if anything was to come crashing down, she wouldn't have any culpability. “We can carry on. And I can promise you that things will get better once my plan goes through. Or I can take you and the kids to stay somewhere safe until then.”

           “Where?”

           “Purgatory, if you will.” Tommy took a deep breath. “Somewhere discrete and somewhere unknown to my enemies. You’ll be safe there and you won’t have to deal with me.”

           Leah looked down at their intertwined hands. “Remember when you tried to ship Charlie and I off to May’s in Surrey, to try and avoid Luca Changretta? Do you remember what I said to you?”

           He nodded. “You said you’d be home every night for me when I came home.”

           “I’m angry with you, Tommy. I can’t lie to you and say that I’m not. But I know who you are, better than most people. And if I know you, that man will be dead before your plan is through.”

           Tommy nodded. “He’ll be dead before our child is born.” He kissed her knuckles. “Believe me when I say that.”

           She believed him. “What are you going to do until then?” She asked quietly.

           “I’m moving seven tonnes of opium and starting a new party in Parliament.”

~~~~~~~~~

           “Three Shelby/Gray girls pregnant.” Polly sighed when she heard the news.

           Leah smiled sheepishly. “It was a surprise. We weren’t planning on it. I think we were banking on just two kids and leaving it at that.”

           “Well, babies can help calm things down sometimes. Having a family reminds you of your priorities.”

           Leah was at Polly’s apartment, Johanna and Charlie were playing downstairs while the two women had tea. Leah was still trying to find her bearings after her birthday party. She knew she needed to trust Tommy but it felt like something was looming over them, waiting to strike and ruin everything. Polly was always a grounding figure even during the most chaotic of times for the family. Leah was always comforted when she got advice from the older woman.

           “Tommy gave me the option to take the kids somewhere safer.”

           “What did you say to that?”

           Leah focused on the way the milk in her tea disappeared in a swirling motion. “I told him I promised to stay with him. Family is meant to stay together.” She chewed on her lip. “Pol, am I being foolish?”

           “How many times have you asked me that before?” Polly touched her arm comfortingly. “If you go through life doubting your every move then you’re bound to fail.”

           She frowned. “I know you’re right, I just have trouble with-well I just don’t know how to help him anymore. Every time I feel I’ve broken through; I find another wall. It sounds like he’s so close but when I turn around, he’s so far away…”

           “I can’t begin to explain love,” Polly said, her eyes wise and gentle. “It’s very strange and frankly it’s fucking idiotic. But for whatever reason God has placed you two together. Now if it’s time to separate-”

           “No.” Leah blurted.

           Polly raised an eyebrow. “What made you say that so quickly?” Her tone wasn’t accusing or poking fun. Instead, she was trying to turn the mirror onto Leah so she could understand herself. If she couldn’t then how could she understand Tommy? And how could he understand Leah?

           “Because,” She paused and thought to herself. It was rare she got quiet time to contemplate over her relationship. Either the kids or life was begging for her attention. Or, she was too deep in an argument with her husband that it skewed her thoughts. If she was alone, she tended to curl up into herself, plagued by the thoughts of hopelessness or questioning her worth as a wife. But being with Polly, a calming presence, she was allowed to step back and think rationally. “Because I know he’s flawed. I’ve known that since I met him. But I also know that he loves me. He loves our children. But he’s so lost in this idea of what he thinks he needs to be. The things he wants from life.” She sighed and rested her forehead against her hand.

           “If you want to stay here, please don’t lose focus on what’s important.” Polly reminded her.

           Leah nodded and rested a hand on her abdomen. “I suppose Ada, Gina, and I have to start a little club for pregnant women.” She joked half-heartedly.

           A sour look crossed Polly’s face when her daughter-in-law was mentioned. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”

           “Don’t worry.” She picked up on the way Polly walked on eggshells. “Ada gave me a sort of…warning.”

           Polly shook her head. “I love my son but I worry about his intentions. And what influence she has over him. He’s not the same boy who left for America.”

           Leah locked her fingers together over her stomach. She tended not to get involved with inter-family politics. There was a fine line that could be broken easily. Trust wasn’t abundant and she was worried bridges could be burned down with the smallest of spark. “Maybe I could meet with her? She might be worried, being in a new country with a baby on the way.”      

           “That girl isn’t worried.” Polly glanced up at the clock over Leah’s shoulder. “But you may cross paths with her soon.”

           “Mummy! Daddy’s here!” Johanna exclaimed from the foot of the stairs.

           Leah looked confused and she stood up. As far as she knew, Tommy was meant to be working the entire day. But as she got to the top of the stairs, her husband was coming in. “Tom?”

           “Go upstairs, hi, not right now.” Tommy kissed Johanna’s cheek as she held her arms up to be picked up. “Go upstairs.” He repeated breathlessly. “Leah, can you come with me? Charlie and Johanna, you stay here with auntie.”

           Polly came out of the parlor. “Tommy? Is something wrong?”

           The two kids came skittering up the stairs going to grab onto Polly’s skirt. “Do we get to stay the night?” Johanna asked hopefully.

           “Can we go visit Curly and the horses?” Charlie added.

           “Hush, hush.” Leah quieted them. “You won’t be staying the night. You’ll just stay here until mum and dad get back.” She explained and went downstairs. “What’s going on?” She whispered to her husband.

           He was pale in the face, his eyes wide with shock. Something had clearly rattled him and there were any number of things that could’ve happened. “I’ll explain on the way.” He mumbled back to her and helped her into her coat. “I need you to come to Ada’s with me.”

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @biba3434​ @kimmietea​ @karmezii​ @enrapturedbythemoon​ @vampgirl1997​ @tarafaithe​ @evelynshelby​

Tag list: @shelbyblinded​

Masterpost

PB Masterlist

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelbyxoc #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #ofc #oc #charles shelby #ada thorne #ada shelby #arthur shelby #polly gray #season 5 #cillian murphy #cillian murphy character #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy thomas shelby

[darlingsdevil]

The Ballads of Rebirth (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

Chapter 15: Full Circle

Summary: The big day. All rejoice!

Masterlist

Tag list: @rollyjogerjones

I still can’t add a read more tab on mobile.. sorry about that :/

A/N: Sorry for my long hiatus, not been super motivated lately so I made this chapter extra long for you guys! Longer than any thing I’ve written before (!!).I promise I sort have been doing productive things.. I guess. Listening to music (Hozier, Lord Huron, Gregory Alan Isakov and the Oh Hello’s are what got this chapter done), playing fallout 76 (I know), working, schoolwork, planning other fics (I have a big announcement coming up!!!)

IMPORTANT PLEASE READ: I wanted to clear some things up in terms of plot hole. My dumbass mistakenly has said that Reader has been in the gang for 15 years, not true - it’s been around 10, but a little less than John (like 3 ish months after him). I have also previously said that John and Reader joined the gang together, again, not true but I already fixed it. Reader joined the gang after John after Arthur saved her from the gang who kidnapped her. Hope this wasn’t too confusing.

As for the ending... yeah.. next chapter, and then epilogue. Not sure that many of you will stay around for the AU - which will be posted SEPARATE, after you read the actual ending >:3c Anyways, here we go.

This is all supposed to be italicized.. it’s italicized on wattpad and ao3, just tumblr decided to be a bitch and not transfer it that way and I’m too lazy to change each paragraph to italics.. so let’s just pretend it is.

•••

Shady Belle was an interesting place for a wedding, it seemed. You had been ushered away from Arthur in the morning, and carted away to Saint Denis with the rest of the women, claiming Shady Belle would be too chaotic to get ready in, which really meant they didn’t want you to get ready with the men around. They had raided your room when the sun rose, waking Arthur too. You were barely able to kiss him goodbye, they carted you out of the room that fast. You wanted to lie next to him all morning, enveloped in his warmth, but your friends had different plans.

Saint Denis was such a difference compared to Chicago, the city you grew up in. You were an orphan living in the cold streets, just barely getting by. You worked in a textile factory for as long as you could remember. You lived in a cheap, one bedroom apartment, before that you simply slept in alleyways with other orphans, huddling by fires. You were uneducated, poor, and always hungry. A man kidnapped you on your way home from work one late evening, and the next thing you knew you were in a cabin in the desert, surrounded by men with guns and a nasty look on their face. Arthur was your savior, Dutch was your teacher, John was your brother, Abigail was your sister, Hosea was your father and the Van der Linde gang was your family.

But that was a long time now. Your wedding was merely hours away.

Arthur was nervous about the whole thing, he didn’t want to make a big deal out of the wedding but Dutch decided otherwise. Dutch thought a wedding was exactly what the entire gang needed, to boost everyone’s morals he had told you. You were beyond nervous for your big day, but with Arthur by your side, the impossible became possible.

Miss Grimshaw was the head of it all, the mastermind of the party. She set everything on a strict schedule, where everyone needed to be and when. She was a godsend during this time, otherwise the wedding would no doubt end up in a shed with you wearing a white sheet as a wedding dress.

Mary Beth was absolutely bouncing off the walls at the idea of a wedding, she thought it was incredibly romantic — two outlaws falling in love. It was something out of those novels she adores.

Saint Denis was hot, humid, and made you feel sticky with sweat. It didn’t help you would be wearing a heavy dress later that day either, but you didn’t mind. Nothing could or would bring you down today.

The first stop to your magical day was the salon. You got your hair trimmed and styled, as well as some makeup, keeping it simple. A few of the other women got their hair done as well. They all looked beautiful. The women could not hide their excitement for you, even a few patrons of the salon came up and congratulated you. Their talk seemingly echoed off the walls.

Abigail put the hair clip in your styled hair, it was a beautiful piece, elegant and dazzling. It was gold with a large pearl at the top and smaller jewels surrounding it. It matched your locket perfectly. Arthur had bought the hair clip for you a few days before.

When you were ready to leave the salon, it was time for the dress store, where you had left the dress. You didn’t want Arthur to see it, and it would no doubt get soiled at Shady Belle. Some of the other women had bought new dresses for the special occasion as well.

You picked it up from the counter, and walked over to the dressing room. All the women sat down on the benches outside of the dressing room, waiting for the big reveal. A few of them had already seen it, as they had gone with you when you picked it out, but none of them had seen you in your full wedding attire.

When you slipped it on over your undergarments you felt like you were floating on a cloud. You were absolutely beautiful. You felt like you could conquer the world in the dress. It was incredibly pretty, it had a loose layered bodice, with lace woven in, long ruffled sleeves and an a-line skirt. You felt your heart strings pull at the mere sight of it, you wondered what Arthur would think of it.

You slowly pushed the door open, hearing your loud heartbeat in your ears. You heard a wave of audible gasps, and then a few squeals, you eyed your white heels nervously, hesitantly looking up at all their faces.

They were all smiling, a few covering their mouths in joy.

“You look so pretty!” Tilly shouted, the rest of the women agreed. You smiled shyly, doing a small twirl.

“I really like the dress,” You said, feeling the cloth sway with you.

“I’d be surprised if Arthur didn’t drop dead the moment he sees you,” Mary Beth said playfully.

“Do you really think so?” You questioned.

“Of course. The man will have a heart attack right there, on the altar,” Molly responded.

You giggled, “I don’t want that to happen!”

“You look so beautiful,” Mary Beth repeated. You nodded her head at her, a smile on your lips.

“I’m so nervous though,” You confessed, sitting down next to Miss Grimshaw. You gripped the edge of the wooden bench, hoping to calm your nerves.

“It’s normal to be nervous, if you aren’t, there’s something wrong.” Sadie was the only married one in the gang, you trusted her advice.

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Nothing will be going wrong today, everyone is going to make sure nothing bad happens,” Abigail reassured you.

“Are you sure? I mean what if Arthur suddenly gets cold feet? What if O’Driscolls raid our camp?”

“If the O’Driscolls try to mess up your day, they’ll have to get through me,” Sadie said rather determinedly, a strange glint in her eye. You would not want to be an O’Driscoll when Sadie Adler was around, or an O’Driscoll in general for that matter.

“Arthur would never turn his back on you. We all see the way he looks at you,” Mary Beth said, a noise of agreement was heard. Mary Beth was right, Arthur would never turn his back on you, you were sure of it.

“Arthur and you do make a handsome couple. I can tell you’re really in love,” Molly responded.

“Thank you, Molly.” You smiled at her.

“We best be getting going, we wouldn’t want her to miss her big day,” Karen reminded everyone. It was getting late after all, there were still some things to do before the ceremony, such as making sure all the men were getting ready instead of getting drunk off their asses. Luckily, most of the preparations were done the night before, but there were still some finishing touches required.

Everyone fretted for you and Arthur to simply sit back and let everyone get your wedding prepared for you. You were wary of coming off as lazy at first, but the gang assured you it was your turn to sit back and relax, after all weddings were supposed to be happy and stress free. So you let everyone pitch in, even Uncle helped.

“Let’s head back then. The bouquet still needs the ribbons in it, we need to make sure dinner is being prepared-” Miss Grimshaw already began barking orders, Karen and Tilly both groaned. Everyone began to get up, gathering all their belongings.

“And you, Miss Morgan, we need you to head inside immediately once we arrive, we can’t have your dress get dirty,” Miss Grimshaw told you as you walked through the streets to get to the wagons.

“And don’t let Arthur see you, it’s bad luck, you know,” Sadie's voice rang out from behind you.

“I know!”

•••

When the rowdy wagons finally came to a stop in front of Shady Belle, you were immediately taken up to Abigail’s room. She shielded you from the eyes of the men, rushing you up the staircase. Abigail and Sadie were not taking the superstitions lightly it seemed. She kicked John out of the room, but Jack was allowed to stay.

You walked over to the window, Abigail sat down on the rickety bed. You slowly pushed the curtains out of the way, looking down to the ground below. Dutch was giving a speech it seemed, Arthur next to him. Your breath was almost stolen from you the moment you laid eyes on him, he was so incredibly handsome. He wasn’t dressed yet, you were glad you hadn’t spotted him in his suit. He was standing proud next to Dutch, Hosea on the other side of him. You watched them for awhile, before letting the curtains fall back into place.

“Are you ever going to have a wedding with John?” You turned to Abigail as she brushed her hair on the bed.

Abigail gave you a look,“Knowing John, probably not.”

You chuckled lightly, “Well, if you ever do, I want to be there.”

“You’ll be the first invited,” She responded. You took the brush from her hands and slowly began getting rid of all the knots in her hair. You shifted behind her, making sure to not crease your dress.

“I still can’t believe you two are getting married. I remember when I caught you two kissing behind that wagon,” She laughed, remembering the awkward moment.

“He was drunk off his ass and I was too. It wasn’t much of a kiss, more like we were eating eachothers face.”

“Yeah but, it was still a kiss, right?”

“I guess it was our first kiss. But our first sweet kiss was the day after when he officially asked me out,” You sighed sweetly.

“John was horrified. I still remember the look on his face when you both arrived back in camp holding hands,” Abigail laughed.

“Hosea always knew. Dutch knew too. We were ogling each other for so long, it was kinda hard not to know.”

“You told me first though, remember?” Abigail said.

“Yeah, I do. And then the next day you went into town and bought a locket for me so I could put Arthur’s photo in it.”

You continued brushing Abigail’s locks. Abigail was the closest thing to a sister you had ever gotten. You stood up for her when the rest of the men saw her as a whore, you showed them she was more than that. You stayed by her side when John left her with a newborn. You had even helped give birth to Jack.

Arthur was closer to John for obvious reasons, but you were still John’s sister too. You were both furious at John when he left. John had betrayed you and Abigail, things were still rocky. Arthur understood what it was like to have a child, it wasn’t easy, but at least he had stayed for Eliza, you had met her twice, she was kind and respectful. Isaac was a smart boy, and looked a lot like Arthur. Arthur was distant for a while after he found out they both died.

“It took you awhile to find the right photo to put in it.”

“It did. I had to get him to take the photo in the first place. I remember I told him it was for a job!” You laughed.

“I’m sure he already suspected it.”

“Probably. I never was a good liar around Arthur,” You said.

“I’m so glad he ended up with you.. Mary and him were a troubled pair.”

“Trust me, I know.” Mary hated you and you hated her. It was the final straw when Mary began talking about you, trying to pull Arthur away from you, putting ideas into his head, and Arthur stopped putting up with it. At the time, you were no rival to Mary, you were more like his annoying little sister. His volatile little sister. You were a lot wilder in those days, no wonder Mary saw you as a threat.

“But honestly, you two are a wonderful couple. Arthur is lucky to have you,” Abigail said sincerely.

“Thank you,” You responded. You were finally done brushing her hair, you set the hairbrush down and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m so nervous about this wedding,” You confessed to her, setting your hands in your lap.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Abigail looked at you. You looked up at her. Her eyes shimmered with pride.

“I don’t even know why I’m worried, I just am.”

“Well I’ll be with you the entire time, you’re my sister, (Y/N). And sisters stick together.”

“Thank you, Abi.” You leaned forward and gave her a hug, your eyes welling with tears of happiness.

When she let go, she sat up from the bed, walking over to the window. She looked down at the scene below with watchful eyes.

“John looks like he just woke up. That damned fool,” Abigail muttered, she turned to Jack, who had been playing with a few pieces of yarn and wood. You nearly laughed at the pitiful sight, you would have to buy him some real toys when you went back into the city. Arthur and you had briefly discussed having children, you had practically raised Jack, with Abigail. Arthur decided once things settled down and Dutch’s plan to go to Tahiti or wherever he decided at the time finally worked, then would be the time. You prayed it would be soon, Arthur would make a wonderful father. You wanted to get away from this life so desperately, you were tired of running, you were tired of killing. All you wanted was a family with Arthur.

You had lived the life of running, fighting to stay alive, killing without second thought. All you wanted was peace.

Abigail picked up Jack, letting out a quiet groan. Jack was getting big, you remember when you first held him, those big eyes looking up at you.

“Jack, do you want to go get what you made your Aunt?” Abigail asked Jack. Jack looked at you with big doe eyes, smiling widely.

“Yes, Mama,” He said, Abigail set him down, he walked towards the drawer by the window and reached open to pull it open. He barely even reached it. His small arms grabbed a small object from inside the drawer. Abigail put her hands on her hips, smiling at her boy.

“He made it himself,” Abigail said as Jack set a flower crown in your hands. It was pretty with wildflowers he had picked. He watched you examine it, smiling brightly.

“I think Uncle Arthur will like it,” He told you.

“Oh, Jack! Thank you so much. This is beautiful.” You gave him a grin, putting the flower crown on. It really was a thoughtful gift.

“He picked a flower for Arthur too, so you would be matching,” Abigail revealed.

“Arthur likes flowers, did you know that, Jack? He’d never let any of us know, though,” You laughed, grabbing a bobby pin from a small box next to the brush, you secured the crown to your hair. Arthur was always drawing flowers in that journal, and in his old one he had kept pressed flowers. Arthur was a secret softy, there was no hiding that. Perhaps it’s why you fell for him, his secret side was so tender and loving, and when he realized he loved you too, that’s all you ever saw of him. He was nothing but kind - even when he called himself a bad man, you saw straight through that. Arthur was a kind man, kinder than any man you had ever met.

“I know,” Jack said simply, setting down next to you. He kicked his legs out in a back and forth motion.

“How do you know?” You asked him, pretending to be shocked.

“Uncle Arthur told me he likes flowers.”

Abigail held back a laugh, looking at you. You glanced at her, giving her a look.

“Uncle Arthur told you he liked flowers?” You repeated.

“He told me when we were by the water. I found a flower and gave it to him,” Jack responded.

“I see. What flower did you give him?”

“It was a purple flower. Uncle Arthur drew it in his journal.” Jack got up from the bed and went back to his yarn and wood, plopping down on the hardwood floors.

You chatted aimlessly with Abigail for a few moments as she continued getting ready. You were beyond scared to walk down that aisle and face Arthur. The longer you waited, the worse your nerves got.

People came up and down the steps, but suddenly you realized that it was John and Arthur coming upstairs. You held your breath. Even Abigail stopped to listen. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you heard them speak and walk further and further up the steps.

“John?” Abigail called out.

“What?” He responded, John was close to the door.

“Arthur’s not allowed in,” Abigail replied, she picked up her makeup brush and began applying blush to her face.

“I know. He’s not, he’s going to his room.” You could hear Arthur’s footsteps in the other room.

“Can I come in?” John asked after a moment of silence.

“Sure,” You said. The door opened and there was John. He still wasn’t dressed.

“You look good. I’m sure Arthur will be happy to see you.” John closed the door behind him, walking over to the dresser.

“Think so?” You asked playfully.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?” He chuckled, John pulled out a pair of black slacks and a white shirt. It looked clean enough.

“She’s nervous,” Abigail told John. John looked at you over his shoulder.

“That so? Arthur is too.”

“Did he say anything about me?” You blurted out, feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush. John walked behind the folding screen in the corner of the room.

“He’s real excited to see you,” John said from behind the screen.

“I’m sure everyone out there is,” Abigail chimed in.

“Arthur wanted me to give you something,” John said as he walked out from behind the screen in his wedding outfit. He walked towards you, outstretching his palm.

It was a chocolate bar. You smiled at it, taking it from John.

“What's up with you two and chocolate?” John asked you as he walked over to the cabinet, he leaned against it, watching Jack play with his yarn.

“It’s a long story, but he’s only supposed to give it to me when I’m injured though.”

“Maybe he just wanted to let you know he’s thinking of you,” Abigail spoke, she glared at John, you wondered what that meant.

“I don’t have anything to give him,” You sighed, staring at the chocolate bar. Arthur was always thinking ahead.

“I’m sure he knows you’re thinking of him,” Abigail replied.

“Hopefully.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to eat it, your nerves were too high. All food sounded incredibly unappetizing. You set the chocolate bar on the bedside table. Jack eyed it, his eyes nearly glowing.

“You want the candy bar?” You asked Jack.

He nodded vigorously. Abigail rolled her eyes humorously.

“You can have it,” You told him. It was a gift from Arthur but Jack would have appreciated it even more than you could, and besides, the kid loves candy.

“Thank you, Auntie (Y/N),” He said, grabbing the chocolate bar with eager hands.

“I best be getting down there now, Dutch wants to talk to Arthur and me, good luck out there by the way,” John said, buttoning the top of his collar. He opened the door and left.

Jack continued eating his chocolate, you smiled at the boy. You wanted your own son or daughter so dearly, one with Arthur’s eyes and your hair. That’s all you wanted. You wanted out. As much as you loved your family - you wanted out. You had lived that way for so long, it was all you had ever known. But now you had a chance at freedom - to create your own family with Arthur.

But Arthur would never leave Dutch. And you knew that.

Deep down you knew.

You were tired of the running — tired of the plans, tired of it all. All you wanted was Arthur, him and nothing else. No gang — no killing. Just Arthur.

You didn’t want to raise a child in the gang, that was a foolish dream. You knew how easily the child could go without a parent, you had seen it happen with Abigail and Jack, although John eventually returned.

You were coming to terms with that though. In the world of an outlaw it was to live forever as an outlaw or die trying.

•••

An hour passed - it was already almost time. A majority of the gang members had already left camp. Your nerves were skyrocketing and when Molly knocked on the door to tell you it was time you almost passed out. Abigail gently ushered you to the door. Your hands were shaking as you slowly opened it up, seeing Molly in her special dress.

The plan was to head to a small church where they held outdoor weddings behind the building, the venue backed up to a river so you would be standing by it saying your vows. It was not very far from Shady Belle. Churches were never quite Arthur’s style, so you opted for an outdoor wedding..

You walked down the staircase slowly to the carriage outside, your hands were shaking wildly. Abigail held you tightly, Jack at her hip. The carriage was waiting outside for you. The camp was deserted behind you, it was strange to see. It was almost eerie, the lack of life, but you knew later tonight it would be bustling with it.

Abigail helped you up into the carriage. Once everyone was in the driver set off. Your heart pounded in your ears, your stomach churning.

“I’m so nervous.” You clasped your gloved hands tightly in your lap, as if it would somehow stop the shaking. Every turn, every jolt, it did not help with your nerves at all.

“I know, dear,” Molly said, putting her hands over yours. Abigail watched you sympathetically, she knew this wasn’t easy.

The carriage moved closer and closer to the venue. Arthur was surely feeling the same way, hopefully not to the same extent.

You were silent for most of the ride, Abigail and Molly talked fruitlessly, but you could not focus on their words. It felt like there were a thousand thoughts in your mind but not a single one was coming to your mind clearly, they were all shrouded in nervousness.

When the carriage suddenly came to a stop your heart jumped. You looked out the window and held your breath. This was it.

You were getting married. Today. Right now.

It was suddenly almost hard to wrap your mind around it. Abigail had to lightly nudge you out of the carriage, otherwise you would have been frozen in that seat.

You stepped out of the carriage, the sun was bright and slowly setting in the sky. By the time you would all get back tonight - it would surely be night.

Charles and John were waiting outside of the church for you. Every step closer to the church felt heavier and heavier, it was beginning to be hard to stand up straight.

“You look nice,” Charles said, holding the door open for you. Sunlight seeped in from the windows of the church, it was dusty inside. Sadie, Miss Grimshaw and Mary Beth sat on one of the pews, waiting for you.

“Thank you, Charles.”

Mary Beth gave you a small wave as you walked closer to them. Molly, Abigail, Jack and John behind you. It was hot and dry inside the church, it did not help that you were wearing a heavy dress either.

You opened your mouth to say something to Sadie, but Miss Grimshaw quickly cut you off. Molly walked out the back door to the ceremony.

“Arthur’s in the room behind the altar, with Dutch and Hosea. The Processional is starting in five minutes,” Miss Grimshaw reminded everyone. You nodded slowly. Five minutes felt like nothing. Abigail clipped the veil into your hair as Miss Grimshaw spoke. The veil was long and trailed to the floor, with lots of lace that was intricately woven.

“The order goes Dutch, Miss Grimshaw, Arthur, Charles, John, me, Mary Beth, Abigail, Jack and then our bride with Hosea,” Sadie read off from a piece of paper she had been holding.

“Then I’ll get out there with them, and you, Abigail, make sure the boy doesn’t drop the rings,” Miss Grimshaw finished, she turned swiftly towards the room behind the altar. Charles and John followed suit.

You sat down on one of the pews, your heeled foot tapping tirelessly against the floors. You tried to think of something calming, but nothing came to mind. It all was scrambled, your brain desperately grasping at a comprehensible thought.

“You’ll be fine,” Sadie told you as she leaned against the pew.

“You will be,” Mary Beth agreed.

“I’m afraid I’ll mess up.”

“You won’t mess up, you’ll be fine,” Abigail beamed. The seconds ticked on, the women sticking to their own conversations after noticing the worry in your eyes.

The music began and you immediately perked up, five minutes seemingly goes fast when your mind is a jumbled mess.

Sadie, Mary Beth and Abigail got up. Jack held onto his mother’s dress tightly. Abigail turned to smile at you sweetly as they walked closer and closer to the back. You gave her a small wave of goodbye. She mouthed “you’ll do great.” as she vanished behind the door.

The church was now completely deserted, it was now you and your thoughts. About a minute passed before Abigail knocked on the door. You hesitantly walked over to the looming door. Your heart beating wildly, like it would jump out of your chest.

You opened it and took a small breath, trying to calm your screaming nerves. In a few moments, you would see Arthur, and he would see you. And you would be his, and he would be yours. Years of yearning, wishing the other would be at their side, who knew it would come to this? He would be yours and you would be his. It was as simple as that.

Hosea was waiting on the other side for you, looking handsome as ever in his suit. He was the closest thing to a father you had ever gotten, it was only fitting he would walk you down the aisle. He smiled at the sight of you, unable to hide his pride.

The small compartment behind the church was small too. The door was open leading to the altar where Arthur was waiting for you, but a path obscured by trees hid it from you.

“You look beautiful,” He whispered, resting a hand on your shoulder. You stared at the door, waiting for your turn. You smiled politely, although you were not facing him.

The summer buzz of cicadas was heard even as the Procession played, a melodic tune. You waited for the music to change into your entrance.

“You’ll do fine out there, Arthur loves you,” Hosea’s words were quiet, but you could hear them loud as day. It was entirely true of course. Hosea was always right.

The music slowly shifted into a much slower song, and you knew. This was it. Hosea slid his arm through yours, your right arm holding the bouquet. You both slowly stepped out into the bright day. You felt like you were floating on a cloud — like nothing could ever bring you down. The dirt crunched underneath your feet as the aisle slowly came into view. Hosea’s arm was steady and soothing, his steps slow and methodical.

Worries drifted away as you slowly came into view, the wedding party rising at your arrival. The music continued to play a slow, beautiful tune, the cicadas humming happily and the rush of the river drumming thunderously.

And then there was Arthur, smiling at you like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life. You were closer now to him, every step bringing you nearer and nearer to his heart.

Arthur was handsome. He was gorgeous. And he was yours — all yours. He was sporting a dashing black suit, perfectly tailored. The flower in his chest pocket was the same as the ones in your hair.

It was like there was a beam of light radiating from him, Arthur had always been your beacon even in the darkest of times. He was love itself.

You felt the eyes of your friends and family on you, but you could only focus on Arthur.

When you finally reached the altar, your hearts felt like they were being synced, beating as one rather than two. The officiant stood behind Arthur, underneath two trees with a small arch decorated with flowers, Sadie and Mary Beth waiting for you on the left, John and Charles next to Arthur.

Hosea let go off your arm, smiling the entire time. He took his place next to Dutch in the front row, you handed Abigail your bouquet and stood next to Arthur underneath the arch, he took your hands in his. His hands were rough and strong, but they felt like home.

You looked into those eyes of endless waves, you only felt love and happiness from him. He looked like a prince, like there was supposed to be a crown sitting on top of his head, rather than the flower one you wore.

The officiant began with a welcome as the guests sat down.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Arthur and (Y/N) in matrimony, which is commended to be honorable among all men; and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace." The officiant said. This was really it, you kept reminding yourself. You both looked towards the crowd, for a fleeting moment you wondered if anyone would speak up. Arthur wondered the same, perhaps Micah would think he was funny and say something completely out of line, but he didn’t.

Arthur thought you were a goddess in your beautiful white gown. It looked exactly like something you would wear, the dress accented your body wonderfully, he couldn’t help but admire it.

The officiant spoke some more, weddings, love, union, the beginning of your new life - but you could barely focus on it. Your only focus was Arthur. Your fiancé, your best friend, your husband in a matter of moments.

“And now the bride and the groom are to exchange vows,” The officiant proclaimed. He gave you your paper with the vows.

Tears slowly started forming in your eyes as you shakily held the paper, smiling through it all.

“I remember when you found me alone in that cabin, that day you saved me in more ways than one. You taught me to love, to laugh, to trust. You have been my best friend, my companion, my lover and now you will be my husband. You have stayed by me when I was sick, injured, drunk, crying, you were there for it all. And I shall be there for you, I will choose you every time. I devote myself to you, Arthur Morgan, in sickness and in health. For I am yours, and you are mine.” You squeezed Arthur’s hand tightly, feeling the words come out naturally, like you had been waiting to say them your entire life. His smile widened throughout your entire vow.

The officiant held the paper out to Arthur, he let go of your hand to take it. You remembered him saying writing vows was hard, saying that his words sounded like nonsense. But they weren’t nonsense, Arthur was a gifted writer, whether he knew it or not. The thoughts in his journal (which you rarely ever saw) were something precious.

“My dear (Y/N), the first day I met you I knew I would like you. And I was right, and here we are now years later. It’s been a wild last few years, reckless too, but this is our first step into our new life, and we best not waste it. You are my love, you are my light, and I love you more than anything in this world. Nothing can or will separate us from now till the end of time,” He finished, his eyes brimming with love. Nothing could have prepared you for this moment, looking into his eyes and only feeling happiness. Like it was only you and him in this entire universe.

“Arthur, do you take Y/N L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, through sickness and health, till death do you part?” The officiant asked. Arthur looked towards the man and nodded.

“I do.”

“And do you, Y/N, take Arthur Morgan to be your lawfully wedded husband, through sickness and health, till death do you part?”

“I do,” You said to Arthur. You smiled uncontrollably, and tried to stop the tears that were threatening to spill out the corner of your eyes.

The officiant leaned down to take the rings from Jack.

“Arthur, take this ring and place it on her finger.” Arthur took the ring from the man, and you presented your left hand to him. He slipped it on effortlessly.

“I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness to you.”

“Y/N, take this ring and place it on his finger.” You grabbed the ring, feeling the weight of it in your hand, you slipped it on his strong hand.

“I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness to you,” You rang out loud and clear. Speaking only to him. Words that would forever bind you to him.

“And remember, love is an unbreakable bond, it is gratitude, it is faithfulness, it is kindness, it is forgiveness, it is everything good in this world. Lovers will always find a way back to each other,” The officiant said with parting words.

“With the power invested in me, I now declare you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride.”

You both leaned in, he grabbed your waist, you took his face in your hand. And you kissed him, and you kissed him. His mouth against yours, it was a rushing moment, like you were soaring above the clouds. And you felt the love between, the hearts beating as one. Arthur was secure, he was your lifeline, he was your home. Arthur was yours.

Cheers were heard as you both retreated. You took his hand in his as you made your way back down the aisle. The crowd stood up for you, clapping the whole way. You would have to get used to the new weight on your finger, it was different than the engagement ring.

Once you were back on the path, you finally spoke, unable to hide your excitement.

“Gosh, I was so nervous all day, but when I got up there it wasn’t bad at all!” You exclaimed, walking closer to the church. The forest singing a merry tune for you

“I know, John had mentioned earlier that you was nervous,” Arthur replied. Your heart was beating quickly, but this time not with nerves, with excitement, with joy.

“And thank you, for the chocolate by the way. I ended up giving it to Jack, since he was ogling it the entire time,” You laughed, speaking quickly. Arthur held the door open for you as you entered the church.

“I was wondering if you would eat it or not.”

“Jack liked it. He also said he picked you that flower,” You told Arthur as you walked towards the front of the church, out towards the carriage

“The flower crown looks nice in your hair, I think he made a good choice.” You opened the door to the carriage outside. The rest of the gang would come back to camp after you left. Arthur helped you into the carriage while the driver congratulated you two.

At 19 you expected to live the rest of your life with a gang of merciless strangers who beat and did horrible things to you, but now here you are, 10 years later - married to the man who had saved you. And he had saved you every day since then, reminding that you were worth the love he could give.

And he was yours, and you were his.

•••

The party still roared to life outside. There was a feast fit for a group of outlaws, cake, never ending drinks, a vibrant bonfire, poker, stories, toasts, talks. It was everything you hoped your wedding would be. Hosea and Dutch were like proud fathers the entire night. You even saw what looked like Miss Grimshaw wiping away some tears when Hosea gave his speech.

It was interesting to say the least — when the songs started, you knew a majority of the camp had gotten drunk. Barely anyone had retired for the night — besides Strauss, and Reverend who had already blacked out. They sang songs for you and Arthur, they sang songs about love, about sex (which made you blush and hide your face, while Arthur had a dumb smirk on his face). You had switched out of your dress after the ceremony and opted for a looser small white dress.

When the crowd began saying the ‘Ring Dang Doo’ you groaned, knowing everyone would be looking at you. Arthur laughed as he sang along, watching you the entire time. The hoops and hollers were joyous as you hid your face in Arthur’s shoulder.

When the song was finally over you let out a sigh of relief, but you remained nuzzled into your husband's side. He was warm from drinking, and he had a happy glow to him. There was not another place you would rather be than to be next to him.

Hours passed smoothly, the songs became less rowdy as the party goers quickly dropped, hopefully not too hard. It was hard to believe your wedding day was over. You remained by Arthur’s side for a majority of the night. By the time Javier and John had packed up for the night — as well as an insufferably drunk Sean who’d fallen on his face getting up, it left only you and Arthur.

The fire crackled and sputtered as the remaining embers shuddered, praying to stay lit. The night was slowly coming to end, the final waves of darkness would be over soon, and light would wash over the terrain.

You were tired, you’d been awake for nearly a full day now. Your head rested on Arthur’s shoulder as he stared meaningfully into the fire, both of your eyelids heavy. You slowly blinked, trying to stay awake, to not fall asleep in the middle of camp.

“You know we could get away from this all, Arthur,” You mentioned to him, trying to suppress a yawn that was threatening to be released from your mouth.

Arthur replied with a questioning hum.

You looked up at him, “We could get away from this life, you know, start our own family.”

“You know I want that, sweetheart. Life’s just a mess right now, not sure it’s the right time,” He sighed. You turned back to look at the dwindling fire.

“I know, Arthur, I do. I just — I want a child of our own, a house, a family.”

“We’ll have that one day.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

•••

#tbor #the ballads of rebirth #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader

[meowdymista]

i. the one that got away

Warning: spoilers

Part of Devil’s Backbone project - Masterlist - redrafted on ao3

“I think someone’s coming.”

Sadie leans out from around the station, expecting another false alarm. Abigail keeps her head buried in her son’s hair, breathing in his scent, trying to keep calm. This was why she stayed in camp as long as she had. It was bad enough waiting for his damn horse for the duration of whatever job he was on. The anxiety driven adrenaline was always pumping, and the sudden rush of relief often left her over tired and snappy - she prays under her breath, eyes scrunched closed. Bring him back to me. Please bring him back to me and I will never shout again - I will be silent, I will be complacent, just please, please-

“Is that...?” Riding haggard down the train tracks, he’s rasping, bloody and muddy, but oh so very there. Spotting her with her long blonde braid and the fitted trousers, he forces the crook of his mouth to chisel into his cheek, and tips his hat with the last of his energy.

“Mrs Adler.”

“Arthur!”

Her soft features shatter. Tilly is already running into the road, not looking back, her sobs the opposite end of the spectrum..

“Arthur! Arthur, you made it!”

“Let’s git him off his horse. Tilly, think you can hitch her?” The grunt is undeniable. Raspy, rough and deep. It’s not him. She squeezes her eyes tighter, stars erupting under her lids - Please, please, please-

“Mama! Uncle Arthur’s back!” She tries to gather the energy to keep him close, but her body is a bag of bones with no tendons. The boy tries to tug her up by her index finger, but the weight of the world is suffocating. Her boy - their boy. All that wasted time. She still couldn’t tell him.

“Forget me,” grumbles Arthur, his spurs clanking over the planks. “Where’s Abigail?”

“She’s- she’s here. What happened?”

“Abigail-” The heat that tilts her chin is gentle despite the calloused skin. Her body responds, sweeping her face to the left and then back into the safespace of his hand. “Abigail, look at me.”

A sob heaves out of her chest, her lashes dropping their heavy load as he comes into focus, dishevelled, beaten, but unmistakably there. He takes a breath to speak, but it catches and his own mouth droops lower than she has ever seen. His other hand holds her neck, supporting it. “He-” The tears fall with his hat. “Abigail.”

She throws herself up against him, sobbing uncontrollably, crying harder when she catches Jack’s small voice asking Tilly if Mama is hurt, is he hurting her, she looks like she’s hurting.

“He came back.”

“John?” She scrambles, trying to push him back so she can see the verity in his eyes, but his grip is surprisingly firm for his shrinking frame.

“Abigail…”

“Where is he? Where-” And already her energy is used. She slumps back against the wall, her weight taking him with her.

“Woah there cowboy,” growls Sadie, pulling him back, but Abigail is past caring. There was no weight left to crush her. She feels him resist at first, before relaxing, allowing the woman to pull him back until he is lying on the planks barely able to catch his breath between coughing fits. She hears the slug of water Tilly retrieves from his satchel, and even hears the air as he shakes his hand at her, still spluttering breathlessly.

He groans loudly as the fit passes and he accepts the drink.

“Did you say something about John?” Sadie is squatted next to him, holding his shoulder to keep him balanced. Tilly is knelt the other side, wiping the gleam from his brow. “What happened when you got back? Micah? Dutch? The money?” 

“Jack?” he gasps suddenly.

“I’m here, Uncle Arthur!” The man sighs with relief, or exhaustion. Jack brushes Abigail’s hair from her face. “Mama, are you sick?”

Sadie curses. “I think she’s passed out.”

“Nah, she’s there.” He coughs and staggers to his feet despite Tilly’s objections. “She’s in shock. C’mon, we all need-” He hacks away again, shaking his head as his adopted sister rubs his back. “We need a roof. Somewhere to stay. Somewhere-”

“Somewhere to get you two rested up,” finishes Sadie. He nods. “Tilly, I think there’s a room above the gunsmith.”

“I’ll be right back,” she promises, lifting her yellow skirts, her beaten boots kicking the dirt up behind her.

“Unser Retter!”

“No, no, he’s fine, leave him be.”

“Ist sie verletzt?”

“She’s with me too. I just sent my friend to get us a room.” Sadie tries to disrupt the amalgamation of foreign chatter, but it’s sweeping over Abigail’s head, swirling into nothingness.

“This man- he helped my family. His friend; she is sick also?”

She sighs in exasperation. “Listen, we’ve just been through a lot, we don’t need saving. Like I said, my friend-”

A male voice gushes more foreign sounds.

“My father. He wants to help. He- he-” The small voice sighs. “Er wird sie heben. Heben?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I think he’s offering to carry her,” growls Arthur. “We’re fine, friend. Thank you. I can get her.”

“Arthur, you ain’t even carryin’ yourself right now!”

“You and Tilly need to get yourselves out of here.” He looks up to Sadie, blue eyes begging, each breath rasping from his open mouth. “There’s too many of us. I’ll take care of ‘em but I need you-”

“What you need, Arthur Morgan, is to quit trying to be the hero,” she snaps, grunting as she lifts Abigail to her feet. “You helped me out at Hanging Dog Ranch, and I did my best to get John’s family out. You can’t do this alone. Let me help.”

“Fine,” he wheezes, stroking Abigail’s arm as Sadie helps her in the direction Tilly left it.

“Where’s Pa?”

“Listen, Jack. I need you to be brave. Can you do that for me?” The boy nods, eyes wide with fear. “Follow Mrs Adler and your ma. Miss Tilly is getting you a bed for the night.”

“You not comin’?” calls Sadie, glaring back.

“I’ve been runnin’ with Dutch over twenty years. They know who I am. It’s the best chance I can give yer.”

“Sir, you stay with my family.”

He grins. “See, hospitality abound!” He looks back to the girl and her father. “I can’t accept that. I’m a dangerous man, but thank you.” “We found you on the road,” the girl replies. “We brought you home. My father, he has medicine.”

“I’m past medicine, miss.”

“My uncle is doctor in Germany. You come with us. We have medicine.”

******

They pass a week in Annesburg, Sadie scouting ahead with advice of various homesteads.

“If we could get to Strawberry,” murmurs Arthur as the blonde mother forces a bowl of grey blue paste into his hands. “There’s a couple of cabins up there. A taxidermist who’s never home and a newly married feller that rode off the cliff.” “How’d you know about those kinda things, Arthur?” she asks incredulously as he spoons the goo into his mouth. “And what the hell is that?”

“I quit askin’.”

“I know I knocked Pearson the whole time we were in camp, but right now he looks like the chef of the century.”

His  chuckle tickles his throat into a cough. “They make proper food too. I think it’s medicine of some kind. Or poison. Either way, no one else here seems to get it. Want some?”

“I’ll pass.” Sadie surveys him. His eyes are a little less dark, his breathing nowhere near as raspy and somehow his face is a little fuller. “You know, Morgan, I thought you were dead when you rode off.”

“So did I.” He coughs into the handkerchief again before clearing his throat. “Listen, go North outta here an’ take the road North East, up the hillside. Eventually you’ll see a little cabin with blue shutters - last time I went by, the place was empty and had been for a while. Might be a better place for y’all to stay ‘til we can get somethin’ more permanent.”

“What about you?”

“I got contacts. Met a widow an’ a coupl’a hermits.” He shudders as he forces the last of the paste down his throat. “One’s a self proclaimed King. I gotta check the small print, but I’m pretty sure if I kill him, that makes me the new monarch.”

“Oo, look at you! Got your sights set high, huh?” Sadie lands a soft punch to his shoulder as he coughs out a laugh. “Living up to the legend!”

*****

“SNAP!”

“Yeh’re gettin’ good at this, Jack.”

“I’m winning! I’m winning!”

“You sure are, son. C’mon, I’m gonna go a bit quicker now, yeh ready?”

“Damn straight!”

“Hey now, what would your mama do if she heard you cursin’ like tha’?” There’s a small nervous giggle. “Naw, this time it’s just between us boys. Don’t be sayin’ tha’ in front of your mama, ok, Jack?”

“Sorry, Uncle Arthur.”

“S’alright, just don’t go makin’ a habit of it, yer hear? Else she won’t let me play you again.”

The silence is broken by the flick of cards. The world is swirling, knocking her sick. Everything aches and her head is heavy - it takes a few seconds for her brain to catch up. The damp is leaking into her hair before she realises that she’s crying.

“Mama?”

“It’s ok, Jack. Keep practicing.” A chair drags dully across the rug and the rugged warm hands encase the folded frozen pair on her stomach. “Abigail?”

The whisper is warm and dances over her skin, waking it up. Blinking, she tries to open her eyes, but there is too much moisture. His thumb strokes her lashes clean, and she tries again. Arthur is watching her with concern, his blond hair a halo in the light from the window.

“Hey there, darlin’. You thirsty?” She shakes her head, her neck stiff, but as she swallows to speak her throat is dry. “Here, we got you a cup, just take a sip for me.”

She obeys, accepting his help as he tips the cup to her lips. Through the gap her swollen eyes can make, she sees Jack turning cards and counting them to himself. “Did you teach him to do that?” she croaks.

Following her gaze, he chuckles. “Blackjack was no fun without a dealer.” She scowls as he leans back to cough. “I’m just messin’. Kinda.”

She sighs, a smile trying to fight it’s way onto her face, but the anchors pull down at her cheeks. “You said- Something about John?”

He hesitates, glancing at the boy as he scrunches up his handkerchief. She touches his hand, the one that’s still on the bed.

“Please?”

He sighs, fingers scratching into his beard. “I will.” He meets her gaze, his eyes sad and sick. “But not with the boy here. Later. I promise.”

#rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fic #red dead fic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #abigail roberts #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #meowdymista

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

Next one is the last one ;)

***

Arthur had a problem

He didn’t have any intention of falling in love with Lady Stark. He liked Cat very much, and he’d love for her to be in his life -he just knew that he’d grow to love her as his own very easily -but he couldn’t marry Lady Stark for this reason.

He wouldn’t marry Lady Stark. At all.

And yet…

Was it odd that he’d been charmed by her the day before?

There was something about her eyes when she was talking to him just then, and that dry sense of humor -that he didn’t even know she had -had caught his attention.

He’d always acknowledged that Lady Stark was beautiful because… Well, he could see. He’d heard people describing her as the most beautiful woman in Westeros. He didn’t know that many Westeroi women, but he was willing to believe the claim.

Still, he couldn’t marry her just because she was beautiful and he liked her daughter. He knew at least that much.

But now…

Now he couldn’t help but wonder if he could grow to love her.

No.

No.

He was not getting married like this. Those were all the wrong reasons, he was sure.

***

Lady Stark had allowed Cat to stay for the beginning of the ball. The little girl had been extasic with the opportunity, twirling around in her pretty dress, while Blue chased after her. The older boy kept mumbling about girls being annoying, but he wouldn’t leave the little lady’s side. It was cute.

When it came the time to open the ball with a dance, Arthur took center, thanked his guests for being there, said it was an honor to receive Lady Stark and her family, then cleared his throat. “And to open this night, I’d like to ask Lady Catelyn Stark for the honor of a first dance.” He turned to the little girl and offered his hand.

“You have to dance with mom!” She protested.

“I have the whole night to dance with her. You’re going to bed pretty soon.” He pointed out.

“Oh. Fine.” She conceded gracefully.

Arthur chuckled and grabbed her small hand and took her to the dance floor where other couples were getting in position to dance.

Cat obviously didn’t know all the steps, and halfway through it, Arthur just picked her up on his arms and made her laugh.

When he chanced a look at her mother, Lady Stark was watching them, a fond smile on her face.

Oh no.

***

“Lady Stark.” Arthur turned to her, much later. “Would you care for a dance? I did promise Cat I’d dance with you.” He added once it looked like she might refuse.

It didn’t escape his notice that she hadn’t danced at all.

Lady Stark sighed. “Fine.” She got up. “One dance.”

“You know…” He started conversationally. “The ladies here would kill for the chance to dance with me.”

She gave him a look. “It makes me a bit concerned about the English women.” She told him dryly.

Arthur laughed as they took their places to dance.

“I have to confess something.” He told her the next time they came close enough to talk.

“Please, don’t.” She threw back, her tone bored.

Arthur’s grin just got bigger. “The thing is, the more I get to know you, the more interested I get.”

“That’s normally how it goes.” She told him flatly.

“Yes. But, you see, this way I might actually fall in love. You’re way too witty for my heart.”

“I shall proceed to be boring then.”

Oh he didn’t think it was possible.

***

“What game are you playing?”

“FUCK!” Arthur yelled. “Where the fuck did you come from?” He demanded from Arya Stark, totally losing his composure for a second.

Honestly, she came from thin air.

She didn’t look impressed by him, but, then again, she never did. Arthur had the impression that Arya Stark was constantly considering if she should kill him, but then always deciding he wasn’t worth dirtying her pretty sword with.

“I’ll ask again.” She told him seriously. “What game do you think you’re playing?”

Arthur wanted to point out she was way too short to be threatening him, but he thought it might end badly for him.

“No game, Lady Stark, the second.” He teased. “I just like your niece.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Not like that!” He protested immediately. “I’m not sick, alright?”

“I don’t trust anyone with my family. Much less you. Cat is one of ours, keep that in mind.” She told him, her tone and her eyes dead serious.

“I swear to you, there’s no game.” He informed the short lady. “There’s just…” He sighed. “I just feel really close to Lady Cat, I like her a lot.”

“I hope you know you’re not marrying my sister.” She informed him.

“Anyone that knows me would tell you right now that this was a mistake.” Arthur informed her cheerily.

“What?”

“When people tell me I can’t do something, it just makes me really want to do it. Luck for you…” He continued when she opened her mouth to protest, “This is something that I take too seriously. I won’t ask your sister in marriage just because you told me not to.”

It didn’t escape her notice that he didn’t say he wouldn’t ask at all.

“And you won’t do it just because you like Cat.” She demanded of him.

“Yes, of course. That too.”

She clearly lost her patience with him. “Then why the hell are you acting like you’re planning on it?”

“Because I think there are great chances I’ll be in love with her by end of this visit.”

His answer clearly didn’t please mini Lady Stark. But that was hardly his problem.

***

“We’re going for a ride?” Cat asked excited, as he showed her the horses.

“Yes.” Arthur told her, happy to see her smiling. “Your mother told me today we could go swimming. So we’re taking the horses to a place I know.”

Cat squealed in happiness. “Is mom coming too?” She wanted to know.

Arthur looked at Lady Stark, unsure of the answer. “I am.” She confirmed. “I won’t swim, but I will come along.”

“But, mom…” Cat pouted.

“Aunt Arya and Uncle Jon will swim with you.”

“And I’ll be there.” Arthur reminded her. “I’ll swim too.”

“Fine…” Little Cat grumbled.

***

Being a King, Arthur wasn’t free to just grab a horse and go swimming. There were people out there that were still loyal to Vortigern, even after all this time.

By the time they were ready to go, they had a big party consisting of the royal guard and those who were following Lady Stark.

His guards gave them a wide berth, so they could swim in some privacy. Besides, it was said that Jon Snow and Arya Stark were worth 20 soldiers each. They should be fine.

It was all worth it, just to see Cat’s delighted face.

As the North was in a neverending Winter, she’d never been able to swim under the clear sky, and she was clearly loving the experience. Even serious Commander Snow was smiling at his niece enthusiasm.

Lady Stark was sitting on a blanket, watching her daughter have fun, while she talked to Bedivere and Bill.

Then, by a twist of Fate -and a very generous God -the most unpredictable thing happened. Arya was chasing Jon around the lake, while he carried Cat on his shoulders. Arya tried to splash them, and by accident the threw water at the bank; Bill remained completely dry -he was slippery even then -but Bedivere and Lady Stark got wet.

“Oh no…” Cat covered her little mouth with her hands.

“I am so sorry!” Arya hurried to say.

Bedivere just shook his head grinning, but Lady Stark got up and they all waited in panic for what she’d to say.

“That was a declaration of war.” She told her sister very seriously.

Arya arched an eyebrow. “Really? What are you going to do about that?”

Lady Stark started opening her dress, shocking them all. Arya herself seemed like she couldn’t believe her eyes.

“I’m going to make you pay.” She promised her sister, completely serious. “The North remembers.”

Cat squealed in absolute delight when her mother got into the water.

Arthur couldn’t remember another time when he’d felt so absolutely happy.

#madame baggio #crackship #CrossOver #Crossover Pairings #AU #gifs not mine #game of thrones #king arthur legend of the sword #Sansa Stark #Arthur Pendragon #Sansa x Arthur #every piece of my heart

[emily-strange]

Growing Pains...

So this is a bit intense but I hope you all think it’s okay! Really hard to write a lot of people talking at once haha

Also, it may seem like I don’t like Arthur, please be assured that I do haha

Summary: Emmy has been with the gang since she was a little girl. Her mother moved on, leaving her to be raised by Dutch, Hosea and Susan. Arthur and John are her brothers (argue and she will fight you). Becoming a woman is hard when everyone still sees you as a child. Since the Blackwater mess she’s trying to find her feet while dealing with her new feelings for the gangs resident douchebag.

Pairing: Slow burn Micah x female OC.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of vomit, mention of past abuse (not explicit at all)

Chapter 9

I only come around when we’re riding back to camp. I’m sat in front of Sean as he cradles me against his chest. My heads pounding. My eyes are sore. When did I pass out?

“Sean” I croak. The suns gone down completely and darkness surrounds us.

“Hey lovely” Sean whispers “not long now”.

Sean gives me a comforting squeeze and I reach out to hold his hand, the one clutching the reins. We’re riding pretty fast and I realise that we’re on Ennis.

“Jett?” I ask and Sean doesn’t hesitate in his reply.

“Don’t worry love she’s right behind us. That girl ain’t leaving ya” he says and it instantly makes me smile. Then all I can see is that birthmark. Those rotten teeth. I start to panic.

“Sean stop. Stop. I need to stop” I say as loud as I can. Sean instantly pulls on the reins telling Ennis to slow. As we do, I see Jett’s white coat whip past me to a halt. “Okay, okay. You’re okay” Sean mutters as I sit up straighter. I manoeuvre myself so that I’m side saddle and able to see Sean clearer.

“He lied” I mutter while looking at him, “Dutch lied”.

Sean nods “Looks that way” he says lowly.

I steady myself and jump off of Ennis with Sean following quickly behind. He holds me by the waist until I’m able to lower myself to sit on the ground.

“Dutch said he was dead” I say out into the night “He promised me he was dead”.

Sean sits next to me and rubs his face. We talk about everything me and Sean so he knows about my father. How cruel he was….how sick.

“Why the fook would Dutch lie about that?” Sean says quietly next to me and all I can do it look out into the darkness and shrug. We continue to sit in silence for a while as my mind races. Sean doesn’t touch me until I lean against him for support. He puts his arm around me to steady me and rubs my back as I relive that day in my mind.

I’m 6 and I’m sat at our camp table with Hosea, practicing my reading. I’m doing really well. Bessie tells him to wrap it up because it’s time for lunch and he makes a funny face at me like her cooking was going to be the death of him. Hosea always made me laugh, even when I felt I had no more joy in me. Such a sad thought for a child. Bessie had plaited my hair into two braids just how I liked it and told John that if he didn’t wash his hair soon, she’d give him some as well.

It was Bessie who I told first. The day before. About the nights my pa would come back to camp drunk, as my mother stayed out doing God knows what with God knows who. She would always tell me how I ruined her life. How she could’ve been so much more had she not got pregnant. I thought that’s how parents were. Until we started running with this gang.

Bessie told me not to worry. That she’d make sure I was safe.

That evening I remember Bessie and Susan packing my mother’s things while she was still out of camp. I remember the fire in Susan’s eyes as she stuffed clothes into a tiny bag. Hosea took them on his horse to whatever town she was at. I never saw her again.

Not that much of a loss really but I did shed a tear. A loss is a loss.

I was playing after lunch with John the next day. Hosea had made me some peg dolls and I was playing ‘bank robbery’ with John. It’d taken a while for him to warm to me but we got there. Dutch and Arthur came riding into camp and Hosea greeted them as they dismounted. They shared some words with Bessie and Susan before everyone came to sit with me. Arthur dragged John away as he complained about being kept out of the loop ‘as always’. They went for a walk with Arthur giving me a small smile.

Bessie sat stroking my back like Sean was doing now. Dutch took my hand and remember he looked so softly at me. He spoke so kindly.

“Emmy. Your pa….he wasn’t a good man. You know that. And we, we aren’t lawful but we aren’t him. And we don’t run with people like him. I don’t lie to my family so I won’t lie to you. You’ve had to grow beyond your years so I know you’re strong enough to know this. Your father is dead. I killed him.”

“He’s such a fucking liar” I finally say, scoffing, “We shoot fellas as need shooting eh?”.

“Whatta you gonna do?” Sean asks tentatively and I think back to that day again.

“If you want us to, we can take you somewhere. To an orphanage or find a nice family ourselves maybe. Or, you can stay with us. Be part of our family. Me, Bessie, Hosea and Susan. Uncle sometimes! We’ll look after you.” Dutch finishes. I look at the adults around me who have never been anything but kind. Bessie and Hosea were already better parents than I’d ever had and here I’d have brothers. Brothers.

“Arthur” I hiss while choking on a sob, “He was with Dutch. He knew”.

I hear Sean swear but all I can do is cry. I cry until I feel like I have nothing left.

Then, I get up.

When we get into camp, Dutch and Hosea are already back. I throw myself off of Jett and Sean, who’s been struggling to keep up with me the whole time, chases after me.

“Emmy just take a breath” he shouts but I ignore him, moving into the middle of camp. Most people have settled into their tents for the night and some aren’t even here. Off on jobs or out drinking.

John sits around the fire with Hosea, Arthur and Uncle. Micah is at the camp table alone and I completely ignore him as I go past. Sean tries to grab my hand but I wrench it away and approach the men I’ve known most my whole life.

As I speak, my voice doesn’t even sound like mine. It’s raw from screaming, from crying and instead of the quiet hiss I intended, a feral type of growl leaves my throat.

“DID YOU KNOW?” I snarl.

Arthur keeps his head hung low and Uncle splutters on his drink. Clearly they hadn’t caught him up. John gets up and moves slowly towards me with his hands up, like he’s approaching a spooked horse.

“Em, wha…” he starts but I can’t bare this uncertainty anymore.

“Did you know John?” I whine and basically collapse into his open arms once he reaches me, “Please tell me you didn’t know.”

I can’t see his face as mine’s buried in his chest, but Hosea answers my question for him.

“No dear. He didn’t know. And neither did I. Not before today at least.” he says while standing slowly and moving towards me. I trust Hosea more than anyone. Possibly more than Sean if that’s possible. So I nod and throw my arms around him as he shushes me.

As I pull back, I see Abigail approach from her spot with Jack, leaving him to sleep. She touches John’s arm and John throws up his hands in confusion. “What the hell is goin’ on?” he asks none too quietly.

Before I have the chance to say anything, I hear someone clear their throat behind Hosea.

Oh right, Arthur.

“Why don’t you ask Arthur” I growl, looking at him still sat at the fire with his head hung low. He won’t even look at me, “Go on. Tell them.”

When Arthur doesn’t move, the burning in my soul intensifies. I find myself storming over to him and smacking him the hardest I possibly can across his head, sending his hat flying.

“TELL THEM” I scream. How could he do this to me. Coward can’t even look at me.

Again, Hosea answers for those who clearly can’t, “Emmy’s pa is alive…..and Dutch, well, only Dutch and Arthur knew. Until we bumped into him in Valentine earlier today”. Through the whole explanation I watch Arthur. There’s no change in his expression. He simply sits there with his head hung low.

I can’t help myself, the rage inside me has never been so great. I raise my hand to strike him again but my wrist is caught by Dutch who must have snuck out of his tent during Hosea’s account of events.

“He was acting on my orders Emmy” he says quietly and I hiss back “Of course he was. Such a good little errand boy.” I snatch my hand away and see Micah is now with the group. Uncle is sat with his head in his hands shaking it from side to side in what I can only assume is disbelief. I then spot Abigail tug Johns sleeve and give him a questioning look. Of course, she never met my pa.

“I’ll explain later” John whispers back but I make them jump with my roar of dissatisfaction.

“Oh no John! Why don’t we tell her now? Why don’t we tell EVERYBODY” I scream as I notice the girls, Lenny and Susan edge into view from their sleeping places.

Dutch tries to calm me with a hand on my back but the thought of him touching me makes me want to vomit all over again. Sean reaches out a hand to steady me and I take it.

“Go on Dutch. Tell them. Tell them how you SWORE my father was dead. How you killed him to protect me. How you were going to keep me safe!! AND HOW YOU LIED.” I shout and Susan grabs her chest and gasps “Good God” as the girls rally to her side.

“You know Dutch” I start to cry “You know what he did to me. You know what he used to….why?” I finish with a squeak.

There is a moment of silence and all Dutch can do is shake his head. Sean puts his arm around me as Karen takes my hand now not in his.

“Money” comes the quiet answer from Arthur who stands and moves into the centre of the chaos, “Money”. He still won’t look me in the eyes. Good.

I feel my legs begin to buckle and John rushes to take Karen’s place at my side, keeping me standing with help from Sean. Fresh tears stream down my face and I take a deep breath. “He paid you off?” I ask quietly. Dutch just nods.

“Oh my God.” I sniff. I can’t believe this is happening. A few hours ago, I was so happy. I felt like things were getting back on track. “How could you?” Susan hisses towards Dutch and Arthur finally braves a look up at me. I can see how ashamed he is but I can’t find the ability to care.

“I think” Hosea says, “I think we need to sleep. And, in the morning, we will fix this.” He says to me. Almost as if no one else is around. “We WILL fix this” he repeats.

I shake my head and it looks like his heart breaks just a little more.

“The only way to fix this is to slaughter Wayne Gibbs where he stands” I seethe looking Dutch straight in the eyes.

The camp is silent for what feels like hours, but can only really be seconds. Then a voice from behind me startles us all.

“Ho, hold on. Your pa is Wayne Gibbs?” Micah asks and switches his gaze from me to Dutch in disbelief.

“Why?” is all I can find the strength to say, “Know him do ya?” I scoff. I think I’ve reached the point of delirious sadness. The whole situation is becoming more morbidly comical by the second. Hosea goes to stop Micah from continuing but I hold up my hand to him and move out of John and Sean’s arms to face him. “I want to know Micah. Please don’t lie to me as well” I whisper.

Micah looks conflicted for a moment and I can see him glance at Dutch.

“I will find out Micah.” I say sternly and he looks at the ground nodding. “I didn’t know he was ya pa by the way. Didn’t know that.” he begins and I nod, “Wayne…I ran with his group for a little while….”.

Micah pauses but I just know there’s more to it. So I simply ask, “And?”.

He clears his throat and rubs his eyes, hiding under the brim of his big hat.

When Dutch answers for him, I keep looking at Micah.

“Wayne Gibbs was Micah’s informant about the Blackwater job”

And with that, the camp erupts into a loud explosion of disbelief. I even hear Arthur shout something like “What the hell Dutch”. I guess Dutch doesn’t tell him everything after all.

I shake my head at Micah and lean in close, “I guess your brother was right to keep those kids from you” I hiss. I know it’ll hurt. I want it to hurt. I want everyone to hurt as much as I do right now. I see the flash of pain in his eyes for only a moment before he leans in just as close, gestures to me and whispers back, “Good job we didn’t fuck. I ain’t wanna be anywhere near this mess”.

For a moment I consider hitting him but I know that’s what he wants. He wants a rise out of me, just like I did from him. I wanted to give some pain and so did he in return. After a second I snort and turn away. It’s then I hear him muttering swear words and storm off into the woods.

Everyone’s yelling is interrupted by a very quiet little voice.

“Mama?” Jack asks while walking into our mess, rubbing his little eyes, “Mama what’s wrong?”.

Abigail glances at me and despite how wretched I feel, my eyes well and I give her the most apologetic look I can. She smiles and mouths “you’ll be okay” at me before gathering up Jack and hushing him on the way back to their tent.

“Now” Hosea begins quietly, “we have a lot to deal with tomorrow. But nothin’s changing tonight. So please, everyone, lets go to bed and sleep….if we can.”

Almost everyone nods and disperses from the group with tired glances at me and Dutch. John touches my shoulder and says quietly, “Wanna have a sleep over?” while giving me a small, sad smile. I nod and smile back. As we make our way over to his tent, I lock eyes with Arthur who looks fit to burst into tears. All I can do is look away and try not to cry anymore. I don’t see where he and Dutch go, or if they even go anywhere at all. Right now I couldn’t care less.

John grabs my cot from my tent and sets it up next to his. As I settle onto the inside one, I see Sean and Karen set up bedrolls just outside. “Just in case you need us” Sean whispers before settling down. I sniff back the returning tears and John lies next to me.

“What a fuckin’ mess” he whispers and I can’t help but laugh. “Well, at least you aren’t the biggest fuck up anymore” I whisper back and the two of us laugh quietly as I let the tears fall.

“Abby was right though Em. You will be okay” he says before letting me cuddle into his side like I did as a child. Both with him and Arthur. Arthur. I shake my head. As I gaze out of the tent, hearing everyone close to me begin to gently snore, I see the outline of someone make their way over to my tent.

I squint really hard and can just make out the outline of Micah’s big hat and that he’s swaying, clearly drunk or on the way to it. He looks into my tent and upon seeing it empty hangs his head and knocks his hat off. I suddenly feel an awful pang of guilt for what I said to him and a horrible sick feeling about what he said back.

I cuddle back into John, because I definitely can’t deal with those feelings tonight.

As I start to drift off into an emotionally exhausted slumber, I hear Sean mutter something about his da in his sleep and an “oof!” where Karen has elbowed him to shut up. And despite my overwhelming heartache from tonight’s events, I can’t help but feel like Abby is right as well.

As long as I have these people, my people, I will be okay.

The rest I’ll deal with tomorrow.

#red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption online #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #micah bell x reader #micah bell x oc #rdr2 #rdr2 micah #rdr2 tag #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 john #rdr2 abigail #rdr2 sean #rdr2 dutch #dutch van der linde #van der linde gang #red dead redemption fanfic #red dead redemption fandom #rdr2 fandom #arthur morgan #john marston #abigail marston #abigail roberts marston #sean macguire #hosea matthews #rdr2 hosea #red dead redemption community #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction

[shyeehaw]

Getting interrupted during a make out : Part 2

I’m back with a part 2, hope yall enjoy it <3

Request: Mind if I request John, Dutch, Hosea and Arthur for it?

John

The good thing about Shady Belle is that it has doors.

And John was eager to take great advantage of them.

Waiting on his room as you two had previously agreed, you couldn’t help but to fidget.

Was he tired of meeting you like this? Was it too soon to tell the others?

“Hey darlin, I’m sorry it took so long...”, he said coming closer to greet you, “I was helping Arthur and-“

You hummed in agreement, as your mouth was too busy to answer it.

“I was waiting for this the whole day...”, you said as you pulled John to the bed with you.

“Is that so?”

His body felt hot against yours, intertwining your legs with his got John hungrier, bolder.

  As he kissed your neck you quietly giggled, with his hand covering your mouth, a funny look on his face.

Meeting in the dark like this was fun and exciting, and you could feel tell John agreed.

But to the sound of the door opening, you jumped against the wall, hiding under the sheets.

“John, you seen my bow? I think I left here somewh-“

“Don’t come in!”, John warned, “it ain’t here.”

“Alright, but let me look for it and I-“

“Arthur, just get out of here!”, said John, getting up to close the door on Arthur’s confused face.

To the sound of his steps getting further, John joined you under the sheets, getting rid of his jeans to feel your skin against his.

But this time he had no time to stop Arthur from coming in.

“John, stop this nonsense I’m sure it’s in here and if you just let me... oh.”, Arthur stopped on his tracks, hand still on the door knob, “Y/N?”

Jumping out of bed, only wearing his trousers, John tried to kick Arthur out of the room.

But he wouldn’t budge, laughing his heart out as he watched the angry nearly naked man pushing him out.

“This ain’t funny! Get out of here.”

Being careful not to look on your direction and embarrass the two of you even further, Arthur made his way around John.

With a sarcastic look and his bow in hand, he closed the door, leaving you two in disbelief of what just happened

Dutch

News about a train and a lurking feeling of mutual attraction brought you there.

As you entered the tent you knew the last thing you two were going to talk about was that train.

Watching you like an animal who is about to attack its prey, Dutch came a little closer.

You wanted this so bad, and by the way he was grabbing his belt, you assumed he wanted too.

It all happened fast, considering that for months now you had been storing this inside you.

With his soft curls around your fingers, you had to take a moment and just rejoice on how good it felt to be there.

Memorizing each detail from Dutch’s intense gaze, you leaned forward to meet his lips.

And another time; and another.

Dutch was insatiable, lifting you up and not taking a moment to breath.

You were pretty sure you heard his deep voice turn into a moan, a sigh calling your name.

At this point he looked nothing like the ever spotless man you were used to seeing.

His hair was all messy, his shirt unbuttoned, it was quite the sight.

And it was quite the unexpected sight to an unsuspecting Arthur.

“Dutch!? I’m sorry...I saw nothing!”, said Arthur.

It was just when he said this that you two noticed his presence on the tent.

“What are you doing here, Arthur?”

“I, uh... you called me here? Remember?”

“I called you! But that was an hour ago! Now me and L/N  are....” he cleared his throat looking at your messy state, “talking business.”

“It’s some business, alright.”, Arthur couldn’t help but to smile at little.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get out!”

Arthur turned around, you noticed his ears were a bit red.

“And son? Don’t ever barge into my tent again like that!”

Arthur looked at Dutch incredulous, it was he whom called him there. But alright, let him have his business, he guessed.

Hosea

It was a beautiful chilly day, and Hosea had many plans to it.

Gathering some fruits and a loaf of bread, he searched you around camp.

“My dear, what do you say we go fishing? Just you and me?”, he asked.

“I’m not that good at fishing, if I may say so.”, you confessed, “but I would love for you to teach me.”

With everything already packed on Silver Dollar, Hosea helped you up (like the gentleman he is!)

“Hosea? Is you two going fishing? Can me and Jack come along?”

John asked, scratching his head, embarrassed to be intruding, “Abigail won’t stop telling me to do something with that boy,”

Hosea looked at you before answering, “We... uh, why not? Come along, son.”

It would have been an awkward ride, if it wasn’t for Jack’s complaints about fishing.

Arriving at the spot, you noticed an old boat, the perfect getaway to still have your romantic afternoon.

Meeting your gaze, Hosea quickly followed your lead, “John, you stay here with the boy, me and Y/N will take the boat.”

“Fine by me”, John shrugged, “It will be fun, right Jack?”

The kid just nodded, clearly wishing to be elsewhere.

Stoping the boat right before where the waves break, far away from their eyes, you and Hosea finally had some time alone.

He shared a blanket with you, getting cozy under it.

You two longed for this, and what it started as a sweet kiss turned to a more heated one.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long”, Hosea said softly, running his thumb along your jawline.

Age is just a number, and Hosea is still filled with passion, his charm just got stronger as he grew older.

The tender caress was interrupted by Jack’s screams.

“Uncle Hosea! Come here!!”

With a sigh from the interruption, he turned around, not a moment of peace to the old man.

But looking at the sea, he was scared by what he saw.

Swimming as fast as he could, with you behind, Hosea was able to fetch John off the water , soaked as a fish.

“You are as dumb as you look, John Marston!”, he said, helping him up, “What were you thinking?”

“I was...” he coughed some water, “trying to get near, to tell you that the boat was too close. Me and the boy could see it all, old man!”

At first Hosea’s embarrassment shone through, but come ont! He deserves a break from as well!

“Well then, have the decency to look away, take the kid somewhere else! Play with him for once! But don’t go around drowning yourself!”

John was left there speechless as Hosea grabbed you by the hand, pole in the other.

“I’m sorry!”, Hosea said after getting in the boat, more to Jack than to John. He was way too old to be feeling guilty like a kid who was catch doing something wrong.

One way or another he would do something nice in that day!

Arthur

You shouldn’t be distracting Arthur when he is in guard duty, you are painfully aware of that.

But as you ate the hot stew in that freezing night, you couldn’t help but to feel bad for leaving him there alone, cold and hungry.

“Arthur? I brought you something!”, you said warning him it was you coming through those woods.

“Darlin, you shouldn’t have.”, he said smiling gladly at the steaming bowl.

“I thought you could use a hot meal... and some company?”, you got so close you could hear his heart racing a bit.

You two had too little time to spend together, so it was easy to convince Arthur to put his gun away for a moment or so.

“I probably shouldn’t...”, he said looking around, “but... to hell with it! Get over here.”

He asked that nicely, just a whisper in the night. Feeling his warmth you melted in his arms.

Arthur grabbed you by the hips, kissing you as this was the only thing he thought in the last few hours.

Leaning you against a tree, he pressed himself against you, one kiss more heated than the other.

Until the two of you heard a noise. Not very far from where you two were wrapped up against each other.

“What the hell is goin on there? Arthur, is you alright?”

With a burning glow from John’s lantern, you looked away, trying to hide your face.

“Oh so that’s what’s going on here!”, John was as shocked as the two of you were.

“Goddamnit Marston! What... what are you doing here?”, Arthur’s face was blushing, and so was yours.

“I was hearin some noises, maybe some feller was trying to kill you...”, John was now laughing, “but you seem fine to me.”

As John walked away filling the air around you with a debauched laugh, Arthur followed him.

“John! Get back here! I mean it! Don’t go telling on Dutch!”

You could bet if that happened when they were teenagers, the reaction would be the same.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #dutch van der linde #dutch X reader #dutch van der linde x reader #hosea matthews #hosea x reader #john marston #john marston x reader #rdr2 #rdr2 requests #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 headcanons #rdr2 hc #writing requests <3

[divagonzo]

Savor - Romione (and kids)

Blame @headcanonsandmore for this one, explicitly. This post from months ago sparked a fire (and thanks to @hinny-reviews for the review that set the fire this week!) for writing while doing 10 other things too.  I know I kick everyone with angst but some fluff wouldn’t be remiss, either.

Rated K+ ‘cause giving kids caffeine before age 13 is frowned upon in many societies but there are reasons behind it.

I need my demarcation line darn it!

“Hugo dear, what are you doing?”

“It’s something for my art teacher, Mum.”

“Can I see what it is?”

Hugo leaned over the work, hiding it from Hermione. “No, it’s not done yet. I’ll show it when I’m finished with it.”

“Oh, ok.” Hermione stepped back from over his shoulder, giving her son some breathing room. He was highly sensitive to people inside his comfort zone, including his parents.

“Is it for a grade, love?”

“Yes, no, maybe. The teacher asked us to do some comics for a class assignment for extra credit. I had an idea for it and started the night we got the assignment.”

“When is it due, dear?”

“Tomorrow. I need to finish it tonight.”

“Well, then, I will leave you be. Dinner is in an hour. Your father made pork chops.”

“Did he – “

“Yes, dear. There will be no gravy on your plate, you’ll have hash browns instead of mashed potatoes, and toasted crumpets with dinner.”

“Thanks, Mum.” He leaned back over his work and continued onward, immediately ignoring Hermione once again.

She closed the door softly behind her, even though she knew he wouldn’t notice, not when he was hyper-focused on something he was working on, much like she was when she was working from home.

“Mum, I need some help!” Rose bellowed through their residence. She left Hugo and sought out her daughter, who was working on a project too, mostly for her own benefit. Left out of her thoughts was Hugo’s project. She didn’t worry because he was like her, finishing things before they were due.

A few days later...

“Mum! I won!” Hugo hopped into the back of the small auto that Hermione owned. While having one wasn’t really necessary, she did on occasion need to do things the Muggle way, including picking her son up from primary school. Fridays were his day to stay after school, having time with other kids doing science stuff. She’d had loved to have an after-school class learning how things worked, much like Arthur’s fascination in all things Muggle. 90 minutes of club time gave her a chance to be a normal Mum, picking her son up after school, even if it was just driving the car from the house to the school and back.

“You did?”

“I did.”

“What was the contest? Did I miss a notice from your teacher?”

“No. It was what I was working on this weekend.”

“Oh, the project you wouldn’t let me see because it wasn’t finished?”

“Yes, that one,” He fiddled with the toys in the middle of the back seat, giving his hands something to do on the fifteen-minute car ride back to their residence. “I finished it late that night.”

“How late?” She asked, worried that her son was already taking his academics entirely too serious at such a young age.  Ron was good about keeping her grounded and not falling into her work too hard now, since he retired from active duty with the Aurors and was working behind the scenes, along with George at the shop, still.

“Um,” he hemmed and hawed, trying to avoid answering the question.

“Hugo James Granger-Weasley, you tell me – “

“Midnight, Mum,” he stared at her in the rear-view mirror, looking abashed. “I wasn’t happy with one panel of it and had to rework it.”

His chagrin was enough for her to drop her argument – but the fact that he was making eye contact with her. He only did that with people he trusted the most – when it was most important to him. She threaded through the congestion of evening traffic while stealing glances at her son in the back seat. He was looking out the window, enthralled at everything passing him by.

So she shifted. “So tell me about it, dear. You never said what it was about.” She could set her watch the number of seconds it took for Hugo to process what she said, turn his attention back towards her and answer her.

Ten seconds later, Hugo was squirming in his seat. “Well, um, the teacher wanted us to a one-page comic and she wanted it to be about a hero of ours.”

“Oh really?” Hermione turned the corner away from the primary school and headed up the road to their home on New road with one stop on the way. “So who did you pick, dear? The character from the television show you’re enjoying?”

“No, Mum.” Hugo sat quietly while Hermione threaded her way through traffic to cross the river to the other side and near home. “Well, I wanted to but I chose someone else.”

“Oh really?” She turned into the chain coffee shop to pick up their order for the afternoon: a pumpkin spice latte with two extra shots of espresso, and for her son, a half caffeine caramel iced coffee drink with extra whole milk. They sat in line for only a moment before turning up at the window. The lovely young man at the counter, Cecil, recognized them for frequent customers and handed over their drinks before taking the quid Hermione handed over.   She handed the caramel drink to her son and he tucked in immediately, slurping to be heard in Aberystwyth. She waited for change before pulling off and turning back onto the roadway.

“How’s your drink, dear?”

“Good, Mum.” He slurped away while she navigated traffic.

“So tell me about this comic?”

“It’s in my bag and I will show you and Daddy when we get home.”

“He won’t be home for another hour, Hugo. He was off helping Uncle Harry at the Ministry.”

“Oh,” disappointment echoed in his voice.

“But maybe he’ll have finished early and come home straightaway.”

Hermione turned onto their street and went a few houses down to a cookie cutter home with a garage. By the time the garage door was finally down, Hugo was out of the car with his drink, leaving his bag behind for Hermione to collect. They went in, greeted with smells of spag bol, garlic bread, and wilted spinach for the adults while Rose got a small salad and Hugo, on his special plate that separated all of the foods, 10 baby carrots. Hermione lucked up a few years back finding them in a charity shop one afternoon.

“You’re home!” Hugo yelled and raced for his Dad, crashing into Ron’s waist before he was picked up and given a raspberry kiss on the cheek.

“’ello love,” Ron leaned down to give a kiss to his wife and another gargantuan hug to Hugo. “Go wash up before dinner. It’s almost ready. I know you’re peckish.”

Hugo scampered off before Hermione dropped his satchel near the dining room table. “Hugo won something at school today and he won’t tell me what it is until we got home.”

“Oh, really?” Ron was ladling sauce over the noodles for Rose’s plate before plating theirs. Hugo’s was already at the table. While he had specific choices, including food temperature, he had the Weasley appetite, never completely full. He’d taken after his Dad that way and secretly, Hermione was delighted by it.

“I’ll get him to show us at dinner. He’s so proud he won something, makes him feel more in touch with the other kids, probably.”

“I’ll ask once he’s had enough to eat.”

Hugo raced back into the dining room, settling in his chair and tucking in immediately to his meal. Hermione held back any thought of scolding him on his eating habits, considering what Ron mentioned how hungry he was at that age and that he could never eat fast enough to not have something nicked off of his plate by Fred and or George, too.

“When you get a moment,” Ron smiled at Hugo inhaling his pasta, “tell us about your award-winning entry.”

Hugo nodded and continued to scarf his food. Rose shared a look with her Dad, one that Hermione shared sometimes too, and she at with gusto, without as much flare as Hugo did.

A few minutes later, after talking about their days at work, Hugo burped, earning a snicker from his sister, he left the table to get his entry from his satchel. He returned, handing it to Hermione first. She scanned it, smiling broadly, before putting her hand to her mouth and letting her eyes shine bright. “Sweetie, this is amazing.”

Hugo beamed.

“This will go up on the fridge after your Dad sees this.” Hermione handed over the one sheet comic for Ron to appreciate.

He put down his fork and picked up the sheet.

“Mum, what is it?”

“Hugo was working last weekend on this and he won. How many entries were there?”

“Most of the level turned one in. The other levels, they had other things they did.”

“Oh, that many? Excellent.”

“Mum,” Rose whined.

“Here,” Ron handed over the comic to his daughter, looking quite embarrassed yet somehow proud at the same time. “He made me an Anime hero, with a cape and everything. I dunno Hugo; I think I look pretty fetching in that red suit and the white cape.”

Rose looked over the comic. “Hugo, you did all of this?”

“Yes, no one helped me, not even Miss Collins. I did all of it by myself, including the story.”

Rose handed it back to Ron. “Read it for us, Dad.”

“Yes, please,” Hermione said in her slightly choked up voice. Ron saw the pride in her eyes and appreciation that all of their hard work raising their children reflected back on Ron primarily.

Ron grunted a few times, clearing his throat, before starting.

“In another multiverse,” Ron looked at Hermione, “What’s a multiverse?”

“It means that it’s an alternate reality, like those weird stories Rose loves to read, like two characters from the television show she watches, but they open a coffee shop rather than saving the world.”

“Oh, I get it now.” Ron looked back at the comic. “In another Multiverse, there was a bookshop owner named Bilbo. He was tall, with bright ginger hair, mysterious curling scars down his arms, a hearty laugh, and willing to help anyone who came into the shop.” Ron looked at his son and smirked. “Bookstore, huh? Bet you got that idea from all the times I was helping carry Mum’s books, I reckon.”

“I did. You always help Mum when she buys up a month’s worth of books for us or when we go to the library and you help her bring them all into the house.”

Ron looked back at the comic, picking up where he left off. “And one day a small boy walked in, looking at the tall man standing behind the counter. A huge smile erupted on the tall man’s face. “How can I help you, my good sir?” Ron looked at Hermione. “He’s been reading your literature books again, hasn’t he?”

“He said the ones his age were dull and boring so I let him read the Jane Austen books.”

“That would explain it,” Ron muttered before turning back to the comic. He stopped and returned to look at Hermione. “Jane Austen? I fell asleep reading her story and couldn’t get past the first three pages.

“Well I find Martin the Mad Muggle dull but it’s still something you enjoy.” The smirk on her face betrayed how she felt underneath it all – that she loved that he enjoys reading for pleasure, now.

“That’s a fair point.” Ron turned back to the comic. “‘The little boy stood on his tiptoes to look over the counter. I bet you’re a superhero in disguise. You look like a superhero.’“

The next panel says, “Well, I am, and somehow you guessed it.” Bilbo leaned far over the counter, getting almost nose to nose with the protagonist. “But you can’t tell a single soul, no sir. This has to be our secret.” He stood back up, standing there with a twinkle in his eye in the next panel.

“But why do you run a used bookstore?”

“It’s the perfect cover if I need to be off to save a fair princess from the mad king. There are many mad kings in the world that people need to be rescued.”

“Can I go?”

“Maybe we should ask your parents first,” He said gently to the young man. “I bet if you went off with me they would miss you terribly.”

“‘I’m an orphan,’ the little boy said.” Ron stopped and sniffed. “You put Uncle Harry into the story. That’s sweet.”

“He told us about how his parents died and he was an orphan who grew up with Muggles. I figured it would explain why the little boy was by himself.”

“Good idea,” Ron surreptitiously wiped his eyes. His voice changed back into the storyteller's voice. “So what shall I call you, my apprentice?”

“Jamie,” He smiled. “I’m 9.”

“Nine is a good age for an apprentice.”

The next panel showed the two of them off on an adventure, rescuing a widow and her daughter from a rampaging hippogriff that looked remarkably like Hermione and Rosie.  The final panel showed a wedding, with lots of flowers and a minister who looked a lot like Uncle Bill.

“So what is this comic called, Hugo?” Ron kept looking at the work and was impressed with his son’s imagination at such an age.

“Heroes. The topic was a comic about our hero. I wrote about you, Dad.”

Ron smiled, just like the one he would give Hermione privately, full of love, adoration, affection, and just a bit boggled at how he was so privileged to have such an amazing family of his own. He opened his arms and Hugo ran to jump in them, relishing a hug. Ron watched over his son’s head as Hermione used her wand to affix the comic to the refrigerator with a sticking charm, next to all of the children’s other works of childhood art. She looked back at her husband and son, savoring this moment that would fuel her Patronus for months to come.

#Dragon's fic #hpfic #Romione #Hugo Weasley-Granger #Hermione Granger #Ron Weasley #Rose Weasley #Blame HM for this fluff piece #I got sidetracked 2 days by work and friends in need #now I can get back to editing Beloved #I want it up Sunday

[arthurmorganismycowdad]

A/N: ok hi I wrote this listening to my Arthur playlist so like. It gets emotional. I decided to give my idea of what the whole, Arthur returning to Isaac and Eliza to find two crosses in their place thing. Details to keep in mind: I imagine Arthur to have been around 21 when he and Eliza had Isaac, which would make him 25 in this. I also included a tiny tiny part of an oc called Annie, but she’s literally just a memory so she’s really not that significant. Just a heads up for any confusion! Enjoy!

It was muscle memory at this point. The ride to the house just in the corner of the woods. The trail between trimmed shrubs and branches that created an arch above it, almost like it was welcoming him into its grasp. It was a pretty house, too, no doubt. Folk wondered how Eliza Holliday, the sweet, quiet barmaid could afford something like it. She had been living with her parents in their tiny little shack in town, when all of a sudden word spread that the house in question was bought by her. It was strange enough that she could afford it, a girl her age, and even stranger that she’d occupy it alone. Folk couldn’t make sense of it. 

No one linked it to the heist. The answer to their question was right in front of them, clear as day, but no one could think sweet little Eliza could be responsible for the robbery at the mayor’s house, during a party at that. It didn’t even enter their mind.

It wasn’t her. Arthur, however, the same can’t be said for. No amount of persuasion could have made Dutch and Hosea part with such funds, so he reckoned he’d get it himself. With the help of Annie, Eliza’s strange friend, the possibilities were endless. She was a brave girl, Annie. Did more for Eliza than Arthur even knew. Made her smile when she felt down. Planned the Mayor Heist. Died for her. Arthur was forever indebted to Annie. A brave, strong girl. Braver than he could ever be, he imagined. To think, she ran with a gang he was supposed to hate. Their leader was out for Dutch’s blood. Annie may be gone, but the leader she turned on wasn’t. She won that fight.

Her name was Willy, which is odd. She wasn’t a fan of Wilhelmina, according to Annie. She was a good leader at some point. Raised Annie from when she was a little girl. Willy found her wandering around, Annie only 8 years old, looking for Dutch. They both had the same mission even then, only with very different reasons. Willy wanted Dutch dead. Annie was looking for her uncle, at the wishes of her dead mother. Willy worked her magic and did so for 10 more years, turning Annie away from her old idea of Dutch. Her mother’s idea of him. Manipulating her into thinking she was the best parent for her. Annie’s story was a wild one, but she had a kind heart. Right to the end.

Arthur still thought about her. It was impossible not to. Eliza loved her, he knew that much. And Annie loved her right back. The last thing she said to him before she faced Willy one last time was to keep Eliza and the baby safe. He hadn’t even been born yet, and Annie was already looking out for him.

Eliza wasn’t the same after Arthur returned to the house with Annie on the back of it, wrapped up in cloth from head to toe. He understood full well how she felt about her. It was fair, too. He knew he wasn’t in love with Eliza. And she wasn’t in love with him. Both had different people on their mind, and both needed each other to hide that pain.

He didn’t want to think about Mary. Eliza and Arthur weren’t romantic anymore, if they ever really were. They were close, though, and she always encouraged him to talk. She was good at that. And it sure was refreshing to have someone listen. Dutch and Hosea meant the world to him, as did Bessie and Annabelle, but he never felt he could mention Mary around them. He didn’t want them to think he was a fool. He already thought it about himself.

He always got lost in thought on this ride. It was a nice area, full of birds singing and wind rustling the trees. He was glad Isaac was going to grow up somewhere as nice as this. His own childhood wasn’t something he wanted to throw on his own son. It was one of the reasons he didn’t want him constantly moving with the gang, and why he and Annie bought the house for Eliza. He deserved a settled childhood, away from the life of an outlaw. A normal life. If Arthur couldn’t have it himself, he’d make sure his son could.

He didn’t like being away from them. He promised to visit for Isaac’s fourth birthday, which would mean 2 visits that month. That promise couldn’t be kept, which broke Arthur up inside. Trelawny messed up information he had on a job, and it led to the gang hiding out in a barn for a week. So now, a week late, Arthur was surprising them.

His favourite part was hearing the cheer Isaac let out when Eliza would call for him. He was growing so fast, it was like he defied the laws of time. He was a curious kid, too, always running around the garden and getting intrigued by the smallest things. Eliza told him the boy had stared at a blade of grass for 20 minutes, totally amazed. She reckoned he’d be a drawer some day, just like his Pa. it was probably the only trait Arthur wanted to pass down.

He was nearing it now, just about to turn the corner towards the final trail to the house. He imagined the smile on Isaac’s face as he hopped off the horse and ran to hug him. His little boy. God. He never thought he’d get to say that. And Eliza. He was lucky to have her in his life. So damn lucky. There was a love there, even if it wasn’t romantic. They cared for each other very much. Their little family of three.

The horse slowed as the house came into sight, and Arthur prepared his big announcement of his presence. Unconsciously, a smile was forming on his face. He missed them more than he knew. He was finally here. The beautiful house that meant so much to him. The trees that surrounded it making it look like something out of a fairytale. The crisp white paint that was still as bright as the day he painted it. The porch he sat at with his little family and watched the stars on.

A wooden cross. A second cross, right beside it.

The smile dissolved, and was replaced with confusion. He urged the horse to stop, pulling the rains and hopping off. A name was carved into each cross.

In an instant, he was back on the horse, riding back through the trail, that once seemed like something out of a dream. Now it was a nightmare, as branches reached for him and leaves begged him to stay. The wind howled instead of lightly whistling, and the shrubs seemed to close in on each other. He had to go. He had to find them.

The town wasn’t far from the house. Passers-by jumped as he dashed through it, towards the saloon where it all began. She would be in there, standing at the bar like she was that night, a smile on her face. Isaac would be there too this time, running around the saloon or playing on the counter. There would be an explanation. They’d be ok.

The music came to an abrupt halt as he burst into the room, throwing the wooden flaps open and stopping where he stood. Mickey stood at the bar, drying a glass. The second he saw Arthur, his face paled. The boy was red in the face and tears were already streaming down his face. His breath was hitching as he stood there, waiting for the saloon-owner to tell

him.

‘Arthur...’ he began.

‘Where are they?’ he said, his words shaking as they left his mouth.

Mickey stared at him, unable to form the next sentence. He was an older man, late fifties. Not only an employer but a friend to Eliza. He was kind to Arthur, too. Didn’t even complain when his presence prompted a shootout in the bar. Mickey was a good man, and knew what he said next would break the boy’s heart.

‘I went to the house and... and...’ began Arthur.

‘I’m sorry,’ was all he could respond.

‘Where are they, Mickey?’

‘I’m so sorry, Arthur.’

Arthur stood for another moment, breathing heavily, unable to control it. The moment he raised the gun, Mickey threw his hands up. As frightened as he was, he knew the boy was just processing. To hear your world has been taken away isn’t easy.

‘Stop lying to me!’ said Arthur, though it sounded like a whimper now. He wanted so desperately for it to be a lie.

‘Son,’ came a voice behind him. ‘Lower the gun.’

Hosea. Arthur turned to see him, standing with a newspaper in his hand and a look full of sorrow on his face.

‘News got to camp after you left,’ he said. Arthur stared at him, the gun already fallen to his side. The tears had stopped. Now it was just shock. Hosea held the newspaper towards him. He read the words, which barely sunk in, and could only stare. ‘Young mother and child shot dead in Home Robbery’. The saloon matched his silence. His feet slowly moved out the door, stopping when the air from outside hit him. Hosea followed closely behind him. The boy practically fell into his arms, hiding his face in Hosea’s shoulder.

He hadn’t cried like that since he was a child. Hosea only remembered one time, when Arthur was around 15, that he sobbed talking about his mother. It was the first time he really opened up to Hosea. He was a broken person when they first found him. They healed that somewhat, then Mary came along and broke his heart. And he was right back to the broken child they’d found years before. Eliza and Isaac healed that again, only for that to be torn away from him too. Hosea wished it could be different. He wished the life they lived could be better. He wished Arthur could be happy and keep the things that made him that way.

But it just wasn’t like that. And it never would be.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #john marston #young arthur morgan #isaac morgan #eliza #hosea matthews #fic #my writing #long post