#where Tommy was made from wisps of the sun
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for prompts: going out to dance in the rain, just because
Prompt: Going out to dance in the rain, just because.
No TWs. Just queerplatonic fluff and no Ranboo. Because he'd melt, and that's never okay!!
Tommy frowned when he looked outside the office’s window. “It’s raining.”
Tubbo perked in the seat next to him and followed the direction of his gaze. “Oh. It is!”
They were both waiting for Ranboo to get done with his weekly therapy session. It’d be about thirty minutes and XD was reading a magazine in their seat that was one chair down to Tommy’s right. The sky outside was a thick rain that left curtains of silvery-white to fall in excess on the world underneath.
“We’re gonna have to walk home in that, aren’t we?” Tommy said with a pout as he tucked in his dark brown wings. “Rannie’s gonna melt and that’ll be all sorts of shit.”
XD looked up from their magazine to assure the blonde avian gently. “Oh, no sweetheart! You don’t have to walk in it. I can just teleport all of us home and skip the trip entirely.”
“Do you wanna go out to it while we wait for Boo to be done?”
Tommy turned his head to look at Tubbo when the boy spoke suddenly and with a genuine curious lith. They both blinked at each other while XD hummed and chuckled into the page they were reading.
“Out to what?” Tommy questioned.
“The rain!” Tubbo replied.
“You wanna go out an’ get wet in the rain?”
Tubbo shrugged and rolled back his sapphire wings. The wisps of smoke around his face were gray and had a pink, rose-scented hue. “I dunno.” He said while he looked up to point his chin towards the mixed blue ceiling. “It’s just an idea. We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just figured it’d be fun and better than sittin’ here with nothing else to do.”
It was true that the waiting room was rather boring. Tommy had read all the magazines he was interested in. There was still about fifteen minutes left before Ranboo’s session was done. He was getting antsy, too, and his wings were starting to get that annoying “gotta get up and actually do shit” type of itch.
He watched the rain fall and heard it patter on the building’s roof.
It made him want to sleep more than it made him want to play. He always slept best to the sound of rain. The memory of water leaking through his tent in exile didn’t change that even if it made it a little sad.
He got up off his seat before he walked over to XD. “Dad?”
“Yes hun?” XD smiled when they looked up to grin at him.
“Can Tubbo and me go out an’ play in the rain for a bit?” Tommy put his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels a little as he asked the god very politely for permission to go outside.
“Do you promise to stay close to the office and not run off where I can’t see you from the window?” XD looked at him curiously with a soft, easy grin.
Tommy nodded and smiled back. “Yup! Promise.”
“Then alright!” XD chimed as their gold halo happily began to spin. “You can go play in the rain. Just be careful not to run too far, and come back if you get hurt or need anything at all.”
They flipped to a new page that was decorated in different kinds of gardening equipment. “Don’t try to fly if your wings get very damp.”
With that last warning he was free to turn happily to Tubbo. The young dragon was already up and running over to join him by the door. It came open and a splash of rain hit his face. It was cold because it was only a few months away from winter, but as Tubbo brushed past to dart out into the empty street, Tommy found it in him to bear through the slicing rain and stepped out the door with a tentative little grin.
He watched Tubbo bounce around happily and giggled as his tiny tail wagged.
“Treasure!” Tubbo called while his wings came unfurled. “Treasure, look! I’m a little beach ball boy!”
That made Tommy laugh. “You’re a what boy?”
Tubbo bounded over with a grin as bright as the sun. He looked so happy. It made Tommy feel warm when he took his hands into his claws and squeezed so that their palms were pressed together all good and firm and tight.
“I’mma beach ball boy!”
Tommy snorted and reared his already sopping wet head. “You’re a goober boy, is what you are!”
Tubbo only giggled more and swayed into a freshly poured torrent. He pulled Tommy with him by the hands so that he was spun in a circle that kept him close to the satyrian chimera’s chest.
“Treasure…”
“Tubbo…”
“Love you!”
“I love you too. You are very silly and have a very stupid goober head.”
“Gonna tell mate that you’re bein’ super mean to meeeee!”
A headful of horns bumped gently against Tommy’s chest. Tommy snorted and then laughed at how pouty Tubbo was being. He reached around to pat the back of his head before he sighed into a wet, chilly breeze.
“You are such a ridiculous creature.” He said with the utmost of certainty. “The most ridiculous creature I ever done did see. Why are you like this? Why are you, even?”
Tubbo looked up at Tommy with water all over his face.
“Dancey dance!” He demanded loudly. His smoke was snuffed out and his face was a soft little plea.
Tommy tsked and melted as he rolled his eyes.
“Oh, okay.”
They danced into the downpour.
They danced like they were little kids.
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Just my random my thoughts on a head cannon: As Tommy listens to Chirp, he only has the faintest memories of him and a woman named Clara. He doesn't know where Clara came from, but the music and the name sounds familiar...
Long, long ago, there was the universe. Clara is the overwatcher of the Minecraft Universe, and she always see players finishing then logging off to do their own thing.
But there was a particular man who didnt do that, He beat the game, but then stayed, and created a whole world to himself.
That man was Philza Minecraft, with his light blond hair, his frosty blue eyes, and the dark feathered wings on his back.
Curious, she changed her original looks, a deity with purple-ish skin and glowing blue eyes with dark blue it was nearly black hair, that sparkled like stars and went down to her ankles, if she had any. Her gown was the sky itself.
She changed to a player, a woman with warm brown skin, and dark chocolate brown hair that went to her shoulders. Her eyes were dark blue, like lapis. She was kind, and tender.
She visited Philza, and they got along nicely. The bestest of friends, as he showed her his creations and his work.
*Tommy's origin*
As she continued to watch over the universe from up above, she was always fond of this one little star. It was small, yet it shined brighter than all of the other stars across the sky.
Everytime she witnessed something heart broken, she would always see the little star by her side, glowing so brightly, so passionately. She loved the star so.
But then one day she noticed the little star was beginning to go out. The light was still bright, but was beginning to dim, to her dismay.
Before the last moments of the star's life, Clara took the wisps of the star, and created little Tommy. With his bright golden hair, eyes bright blue like the clear oceans, and already the signs of his cheerful personality, Clara loved the little star.
Hugging the little bright one, she would play Chirp, and smiled down on the giggling baby, feeling all the love in the whole world.
~~~~
But due to unfortunate circumstances, Clara, even though she didn't want to, had to give Tommy up. Crying tears of stars, little Tommy looked at Clara's face, curious, his tiny hands reaching out to touch her wet purple cheeks.
That only made her cry stars harder.
Changing into her human form, she went down to Philza.
She already met the twins, though later in life they won't remember her anymore, as she set a little bit of magic on them of slowly loosing her appearing in their memories, even Phils. Though, for Tommy, he was only a baby, of course he wouldn't remember much.
"Clara? How are you-! Oh.... who's that little one?" Philza looked down on Clara's arms, the tiny bundle of blond hair.
"This... this is Tommy... my little star child," Clara painfully smiled. "I... Phil, can you do me a favor?"
"What can I help you with, Clara?" Phil asked, softly smiled back. Then Clara softly pushed Tommy into his arms, as Phil held him in surprise. "Why are you giving me Tommy?"
"I- I have to go... Please, promise me Phil, to take care of Tommy for me," Clara smiled, trying to stay strong. Phil could see the pain in her blue eyes, and solemnly nodded.
"For you Clara, I will do anything to help. When will you be back?" Phil asked, as Clara shook her head.
"I... I don't know. It might take ages, Phil. But my biggest concern, right now, is you, seriously promising me that you will take care of my little star."
“Of course I will, Clara," Phil smiled, his eyes crinkling. Clara smiled back, as tears started to form in her eyes. For a last goodbye, she hugged Phil, and gving one last kiss on Tommy's forehead, the soft blond hair brushing against her, made her feel more pain...
Before she could cry, she waved goodbye, as she quickly headed off, leaving Phil alone in the sunset with a little sleeping Tommy.
*The Twins*
One day, Phil traveled across the vast nether, searching for the huge bastilles of where the pigmen live.
Nearly missing a jump, he felt his feet get caught against a chest.
Though, it was a box. A rundown box, nearly torn, carried a small pigchild. And... a boarchild? Twins, perhaps?
The pig child made a little snarl at Phil, protecting the board child, who was sleeping peacefully.
"What have we got here?" Phil picked up the small pig child, who was thrashing, violently, trying to escape Phil's clutches.
Phil could only smile, already feeling a kind of fondness towards the pig child. He looked down at the sleeping boar child, curious on where the children came from. "ho... would you both like to come with me?"
The pig child could only make confused pig noises, slightly calming down, but still trying to get out of Philza's grip. It stared in curiosity at Phil's frosty blue eyes. Phil could only stare back, softly smiling.
Taking both of them with him, he introduced him to the overworld, and to Clara, who was visiting Phil, surprised at the two in Phils arms. (This was before Tommy, when both were like 3). The boar child still sleeping, but the pig child's red eyes, curiously staring at her.
*The Current SBI*
As Phil stared at the little bundle in his hands, he could see how he might be peculiar. His hair glowed bright, and as Tommy opened his eyes to see a stranger, Phil could see the bright blue as well.
And his personality was certainly something.
Because Phil's ears bled after the screaming cry of Tommy.
Trying to calm Tommy down, Phil tried in every single way to calm the child, but nothing worked.
Until he saw the little note Clara attached to Tommy's blanket.
*For when my little star cries, play Chirp, it will help*
Confused, Phil carried Tommy to where he put his jukebox at, searching for the disk. Desperate to not let Tommy burst his eardrums out until he goes deaf, he quickly played Chirp.
It did help, calming Tommy down, until he stopped crying completely
Phew, Phil thought, grateful for the disk.
Carrying the now calm Tommy, he called for Techno and Wilbur, who came down the oak stairs
"Boys! Come meet a new sibling!"
"Oh! Who is it!?" WIlbur happily cheered, as Techno could only groan.
"You know, I was hoping for, maybe a snack or something, not a new sibling."
As they gathered in the main living room, the twins stared at little Tommy.
Phil worried Tommy was going to cry again, but surprisingly, Tommy didn't.
He only stared back at them, curious. Wilbur awed, reaching a finger out to Tommy. Tommy grasped it with his little hands, curious, before rubbing his cheek against Wilbur's finger, making a little cooing noise.
Techno didn't do anything, only skeptical on what or who that child is. Tommy's attention was now back at him, and it somehow made him nervous.
He didn't exactly glare at Tommy, but he could only blankly think on what to do next.
In a kind of nervous pressure way, he turned into his pig form. He didn’t mean to, but he didn’t know how to control his shape-shifting yet. Phil could only gasp, hoping that wouldn't cause more ear pain from Tommy.
But Tommy could only giggle, reaching his small hands out at Techno's pig ears, yanking it. It was painful, but Techno could only focus on Tommy's bright expression and joyful laugh, a bit shocked the little gremlin like thing in front of him isn’t scared of him, and his nervousness melted away by the laughter.
In a small crowd, the family could only smile, and welcome the new member...
(When Phil met them, they were in their humanoid form. When they both met Tommy, they were fully in their human form.)
Hoped you liked reading this though it’s a bit wonky...!
*Adding to this, a small playlist I found that I feel fits for this post: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JdAdFBMbLYg
#mcyt#sleepy boys inc#sleepytwt#technoblade#tommyinnit#philza#wilbur soot#dreamsmp#found family#found family au#Minecraft#Clara#headcannons#tommy mcyt#wilbur mcyt#Technoblade mcyt#philza mcyt#dream smp#based on a few other head cannons I read about#where Tommy was made from wisps of the sun#and Clara was like his space mom#so I liked to think the family was found like this#I love it honestly#sbiblr#Sbi#sleepyblr#sleepy boys#tommyinnit clara
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originally i just wanted dream to recover, preferably in the syndicate. but after today's quackity lore? he deserves to fuck shit up for a bit. let him get his revenge. tommy got his revenge on dream, techno got his revenge on l'manberg, dream deserves to get revenge on quackity and sam! then he can recover after that lol
(context: ask was sent on march 16th and i am very. very late.)
but YEAH !! logic brain says revenge bad and cycle of violence will continue BUT emotion brain wants c!dream to go crazy go stupid !! go beat them up honey we’ll be here with juice boxes and fruit snacks when you’re done <3
i wrote this while looping casino royale by derivakat for (checks time) something like 12 hours straight so uhh,,, yeah LMAO have some of c!dream going apeshit bc honestly he deserves it (/hj)
tw: implied torture, abuse, mentioned injuries, suicide, murder, explosions, death, violence, dark portrayals of c!dream, c!quackity, and c!sam, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault
Sam is uneasy long before he enters Las Nevadas - Quackity’s terse, serious-sounding string of texts he’d woken up to had sent his heart racing before the country even came into sight, and he’s pretty sure the pit in the middle of his gut since Dream escaped a week ago won’t disappear until the prisoner is either jailed or dead at his feet. Still, the city hardly does his anxiety any favors - each step within its limits feels a bit more like walking to his own death, the silent storefronts and looming, boarded up casino seeming to watch his every move, making him pick up his pace to move a little faster and avoid their judging gazes.
Stuck in his head as he is, it’s not until he’s halfway to the meeting place that he realizes how eerily quiet the place is - Las Nevadas has yet to be a particularly busy country with the casino yet to open and their recruits usually doing their own thing in the meantime, but still there’s usually at least one of them lingering on the city grounds, between Fundy’s work on his yacht and Foolish’s construction and whatever Slime does, usually involving an immense amount of following Quackity’s every move. The city as it right now feels much more like when it had been no more than a secret of his and Quackity, months spent with just the two of them working to make Big Q’s vision a reality. There’s something uniquely unnerving about it, like stepping into a ghost town, and Sam’s unease only grows.
“Sam!” Quackity calls from the base of the casino - Sam shades his eyes from the sun as he jogs over. Even from this far, it’s clear Q is displeased - his lips are flat in a small frown, skin taut from where the corner of his mouth is pulling at his scar. His tie is slightly askew and shirt rumpled - he looks disheveled, eyebrows narrowed irritatedly as he taps at something on his communicator. Sam smiles slightly, hollow.
“Hello Quackity,” he responds simply, drawing his trident and bringing it to his side. “You said we needed to meet?”
“Yeah,” Quackity’s voice is distracted, and he mumbles a curse as he jams his finger particularly hard against the communicator screen. “What is up with everyone today? They sent me these- weird fucking messages and then we get here and nobody’s here-”
“Who?” Sam’s lips press together. “You mean like- Fundy? Or Foolish?” They seem to be the ones that Quackity got messages from most frequently, if he remembers right. He doesn’t know for sure - usually, Quackity handles the social side of managing Las Nevadas.
“Fundy, Purpled, Foolish, Slime-” Quackity makes a vague, affronted noise. “All of them! Where the hell are they?”
Sam pauses.
“Q, when did Slime learn to use a communicator?”
“That’s the green one, right?” Both of them freeze, whirling around to the voice behind them, seeing nothing but the empty, arched doorway of the still-locked casino. “Naïve. Easy to fool.” The voice pauses, barks a sharp, quiet laugh. “Made my job easy, at least.”
The voice is familiar- too familiar. Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever get that cadence out of his head, not after months after months spent in the prison, hearing it in every possible tone and form. Quackity’s shoulders are hunched up to his ears, teeth bared in a snarl.
“Dream- I fucking swear- where the hell are you?”
“Aw, not so brave when the other person can actually fight back, are we?” Dream’s voice is lilting, mocking, and Sam’s hands tighten on the trident. “Fine, I’ll show myself. I’m not like you- no need to extend this game any longer than necessary.”
Dream slinks out from the shadows, wearing all black and covered in netherite armor, seeming fiddling with a small, grey thing in one hand. HIs stance is wide, torso pulled close to the ground - instead of a mask, his outfit includes a hooded black cloak that pulls down over his face, barely offering a glimpse of his eye glaring from underneath it.
“I’m giving you three seconds to tell me why the hell you’re in my country,” Quackity growls, sword forming in his hand, blade still crusted over with old blood, “And I’ll make your death half as painful as it’ll be otherwise.”
Dream laughs, high-pitched and unstable. “Please- what are you gonna do with that thing?” Quackity stalks forward with a low, wordless yell and Sam only barely manages to snag him back by the wrist.
“Watch it, Q,” Sam mutters, looking closer. Sure enough, there’s a faint, reddish haze rising from Dream’s body, only barely visible, interspersed with some lighter blue wisps. Strength and Speed. “He’s got potions.”
“Outmatched, aren’t we?” Dream cocks his head to the side, a tight-lipped smile visible under the hood’s shadow. “What a shame. I was hoping for a good fight.”
Quackity curses at him, loudly, but mullishly stays in place instead of lashing out like earlier, and Sam hisses a small sigh of relief. He looks back over at Dream - under the sun, he looks worse than ever, armor doing little to hide the gaunt edge of his face, limbs skinny and shaking. His hands tremble, wrists kept close together, as he continues to move the thing within them from hand to hand, small and grey and smooth from what he can tell in flashes between scarred and calloused fingers. He’s still favoring his left side slightly, but his eyes are cold and clear as they follow his every movement, clearly lucid and intelligent. Unfortunately for them, Dream is the best of fighters at the worst of times, and he has no doubt that with potions on his side and themselves relatively unprepared for battle, any fight with him won’t go particularly well.
Negotiation it is, then. “Why are you here, Dream?” If they stall long enough, then the rest of the server can come to back them up, and then even Dream won’t be able to fight back for long. He and Quackity can figure out what to do with him once he’s safely back under their control - for now, they have to play things safe. He pulls out his communicator carefully with one hand, trying to avoid drawing attention to his movements. “I doubt you’re here for a housewarming visit.”
Dream waves his hand slightly. “Something like that-” he bares his teeth in a small smile. “How about a housewarming gift, instead?”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Quackity bites, aggressive in a way that speaks of how threatened he feels, and the pit in Sam’s stomach only grows. Dream’s eye seems to glow as he turns and presses his hands to the nearby wall; when he pulls them back, there’s a stone button fastened on the quartz.
“Say, Quackity,” Dream’s voice is too light to be anything but forced levity, rolling his shoulders back to try and hide the way his entire body has begun to shake even more violently than before. “How much TNT do you suppose it took for Wilbur to blow up L’manburg?”
Sam gasps, low and harsh through his teeth, a quiet, breathless no falling from his lips. Quackity’s head shakes, eyes widening in fury and denial.
“No- no what the fuck did you do- Dream what the absolute fuck did you do-”
“Eleven stacks of TNT, to blow up that country to kingdom come.” Dream laughs, directing his wild, manic expression to look them in the eye. “The amount of TNT hooked up to this thing is ten times that.”
“You’re a liar-” Quackity rushes forward, sword raised, “I’m going to fucking kill you-”
Sam grabs him, again, ignoring his yells to look at Dream, who’s still standing, seemingly unruffled, one hand hovering over the button that’ll spell doom for them all.
“That’ll kill all of us,” he tries to reason, panic clawing up his lungs, “You’re on your last life. You can’t-”
“And what, Warden, makes you think I give a single goddamn fuck about that?” Dream’s voice cracks, slightly, and for a moment Sam almost thinks he’ll break, that he can press the point until the other backs down - but Dream is nothing if not stubborn, and within seconds he’s composed himself again, looking at them with a determined set to his jaw that Sam recognizes well enough from Quackity’s visits to know that he won’t back down. “Everyone else is far away from here. I made sure of that. It’s just you, and Quackity, and me, and I’m pressing this button if it’s the last thing I do. Call it a parting shot, will you?”
Sam pulls at Quackity, wrist still locked in his grip. “Q, we have to leave.”
“I’m not letting him destroy this place Sam, are you out of your fucking mind? This- Las Nevadas- it’s everything- I’m not letting him take this place from me not again-”
“He’s going to kill us all, Quackity,” he throws a water bucket at his feet, charging up his trident. The sign taunts him at the edges of the city borders, far too far away for any of them to even hope to reach. “We have to go now-”
“Say your goodbyes,” Dream taunts, and there’s a quiet click. Sam smells the faint, smoky smell of redstone being activated, hears a hum growing in volume from the ground beneath him. He looks over to Dream, who has a hand pressing the button to the wall, fever-bright eyes wide and wet as he stares at his own hand before shutting them with a soft, almost serene smile. “And see you in hell.”
The world goes white.
[Dream was blown up by Dream.]
[Quackity was blown up by Dream.]
[awesamdude was blown up by Dream.]
#-> my writing#my writing :D#my asks !!#-> my asks#tw torture#tw abuse#tw injuries#tw suicide#tw murder#tw explosion#tw death#tw violence#tw emotional distress#prison arc#pandora's vault
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smoke and fire (10)
word count; 16,174
summary; a suspicious call has disastrous consequences.
notes; it’s time. the death, and you aren’t ready for it. grab your tissues.
warnings; major character death, panic attacks, breakdowns, arson, gore, blood triggers, explosions, significant descriptions of injury, vomiting.
“You sure the call was here?”
You twisted to look at Minho, and he scowled at you for the insinuation. “I followed the directions!”
“Well, I don’t see a fire.”
“Oh, well, thank you, Captain Obvious!” He scoffed, and a few chuckles ran out over the group as you beamed at him. “How come nobody ever gets at Fry for his driving?”
“Because he knows how to drive.” You snipped back, and an arm slung over your shoulders, a new medkit pressed into your arms by your partner, and you scowled down at the bag.
It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with it, per se.
In fact, it was a pretty nice bag, all things considered. A nice shade of navy blue to match the smart uniforms the firefighters wore on formal occasions, with padded straps to ease the stress on your shoulders and no loose threads or faded patches. It was brand new, and it was even personalised with a nice stitching of white numbers to form ‘21 to show off the house you were proudly a part of, but it felt wrong.
It just wasn’t your lucky charm.
“Oh, stop pouting over the bag, will ya’?” Newt sighed, and you only huffed, swinging it up onto your shoulder, and tucking your hand into the fleeced pocket of the coat you’d bought. Since deciding you wanted to remain at this house indefinitely, you had treated yourself to a further wardrobe of firehouse ‘21 kit. Two more embroidered shirts, your new bag, this warm fleece jacket and even one of the firemen’s tees, the largest size you could get for comfort in wearing at home. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s not my bag!”
“Yeah, well, your bag is probably halfway to Australia or being picked apart by crabs, by now.” Your bottom lip stuck out a little at the idea, despite how entertaining the mental image of crabs playing doctor was. It made your lips flicker up in a brief smile, at least.
The rest of the firefighters were still standing around, staring up at the building with confusion, and you couldn't deny that you were in much the same state. There had been an emergency call, bringing you all out to the industrial estate on the edge of the city where you found yourselves now, and yet there was no emergency to be seen. Something about it felt wrong, something wasn’t right, you had a slightly nauseous feeling creeping in your gut but you didn’t know what was causing it, as nothing dangerous was looming over you all.
“The siren definitely said ‘emergency’, right?”
“Yep.” Thomas hummed, coming to stand beside his best friend, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat against the cool weather too, and his eyes found your own, lips forming a smile to greet you with.
“You know, maybe it’s like the call with Aaron?” A few of the other’s turned to face you at your suggestion, and you played with a pebble under the toe of your shoes. “This seems like the dumb place kids play at to rebel. Abandoned factories are great places for no good. Maybe there’s someone inside?”
Silence hung over it all for a second, and Gally was the first to break it, a groan falling from his lips. “I bet it’s a prank call.”
“We’re required to check it out anyway.” Brenda was ready to go, she’d been full of energy since the very beginning of the day, and you had a feeling that it had something to do with the suspiciously close arrival times between her and Minho. If you had counted right, it had been exactly five minutes apart, and the thought of Brenda telling Minho he had to wait five minutes before following her made you laugh. Neither had noticed you taking early stock on the ambulance this morning as they all but skipped into the station. You planned to confront her about it later. “Let’s get going!”
“Alright, eager. Something got you all hyped up?”
She turned to look at you, eyes narrowing for a second, and Newt gasped a little beside you as he realised there was some kind of gossip he had yet to be let in on, but didn’t bring it up, simply squeezing you a little tighter. “Alright, well, I don’t trust it. I want everyone in full gear, just in case.”
“Oh, God, I hate those damn helmets. So clunky and clumsy, I hate it.” Newt was complaining once again, his arm dropping away from around you to wander away towards a firetruck to gain a jacket and a helmet to match the rest as he followed the directions given by his friends, and he team around you all pulled on their helmets, masks hooked onto their hips in case they were needed.
“C’mon, let's get you all geared up. Think you can manage to keep it all on, for once?”
“What do you mean ‘for once’, Thomas? One time I took off a rope, one time!” He only beamed at your attitude, opening up the back of the Squad truck to begin getting out the spare equipment for both you and Newt. He simply shrugged, and Newt made a show of dropping down to sit on the concrete as he kicked off his sneakers, taking a pair of slightly scuffed boots, his own pair that was stored in the firetruck, and your own were much shinier, still waiting to be broken in like his were.
Dropping your bag down onto the lip of the van, you were more than happy to abandon the piece of material, despising it already, as the feeling in your stomach continued to make you dread everything about this unusual case. You took off your shoes to copy, and took the pair of oversized and heat-proof pants from Thomas, tugging them up over your uniform to cover your legs, and fastening them tightly around your waist.
“I already feel like I’m overheating.”
Newt only hummed from his seat on the floor, and Thomas dropped a jacket down beside his friend, the garment left abandoned. “Well, y’know, could take off your pants.”
Your eyes narrowed on Thomas as you pushed each foot into a boot, toes wiggling as you navigated your feet into the shoes, a hand braced on the side of the firetruck or balance, and he smirked at you as he held onto your jacket and waited. “Yeah, I bet you’d just love that.”
“He’s still waiting for his turn to see the cute panties.” Newt chimed in, and you leaned down, flicking him against his ear as you crouched to do up your laces, and he let out a loud shout of complaint and he wiggled a little on the floor to pull his fireproof pants up over his hips in a less than graceful manner.
“Yeah, well, he’s going to be waiting a while.”
“Don’t go breakin’ my heart like that, sweetheart.” He hummed, pouting a little as you moved to tie the other laces, glaring up at him as he continued to smirk, and Newt gagged dramatically at the interactions. You glared at him, too, your cheeks flushing with warmth, and you turned your back on the two of them, arms lifting to push backwards into the jacket Thomas was holding for you, before swiping up your bag and swinging it over your shoulder.
“I hope there’s a hole in that building, and I hope you both fall in it.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Tommy here is already falling f- you dick! What in the hell was that for?” Newt’s words were cut off, a red-faced Lieutenant glaring at his best friend, your partner rubbing the back of his friend and glaring right back, and you didn’t pay either of them any attention, instead choosing to wander away.
As you walked, you fastened up the front of your jacket, making sure that it was sealed up tightly to lock out the chill, and Gally was taking the first team in. The Truck team were lined up at the main entrance, a pair of bolt cutters in hand as the chains were snapped on the front entrance, all pausing. The sound of breaking glass followed, the whole team ducking down securely as they waited for a reaction to come from the broken glass. An explosion, a wisp of smoke, a smell of gas or a sudden backdraft, but nothing came.
It was all far too unusual.
“Do you smell that?” Winston voiced, face screwing up a little as he stood, leaning towards the window, and you raised a hand to cover your eyes against the glaring winter sun, despite the chill in the air, the rays were still bright enough to burn your retinas. “Smells kinda’ like a gas station.”
“You think there’s petrol in there?”
“Could be. I’m not seeing any smoke, but it's dark, and the smell is faint. These buildings normally have basements.” He shrugged, and you tucked your hands into your pockets.
“These kinda’ buildings normally become makeshift homeless shelters. They burn fuel for heat, maybe it’s just a smell that's lingering. It’s been pretty cold out, lately, we might just have some squatters being called in by a landowner.” A helmet was placed onto your head, falling down into your eyes from the impact, and when you lifted it up, Thomas was walking away from you, adjusting his helmet and preparing to take command of his crew.
“Well, no matter what it is, we can get in and get out after doing a quick check.”
He took a place beside Gally, the two sharing a glance, before the taller one was taking control, kicking roughly at the large double doors until they creaked under the pressure, swinging open roughly and echoing around the inside of the first room, the sound bouncing from stone and metalwork until it finally died out. Various torches flickered on around you as each member of the team activated the device on their shoulder, and Newt stood before you, a frown on his lips.
“This feels weird to you, right?”
“Really weird.” You mumbled back, keeping your voice low as not to disturb the members of the team who were each pairing off to enter, Thomas and Gally directing them at the doorways as they disappeared into the darkened old factory leaving you and Newt to follow slowly. You knew that neither of you was supposed to wander off too far, you would be told to stay in the main room, near the doorway, and to simply wait until you were needed. Teams spread out, pairs disappearing through the corridors, some up the stairs to the next level, and some lower to the basement, tracing the building for any source of evidence to support why you’d been called here.
There was a pause for a while, a long gap of silence, and you could hear the team shuffling about, before Newt was nudging you with his elbow, keeping his gaze forward and biting back a grin as he tried to keep a ‘professional’ expression on, but he leaned towards you to whisper his request; “You wanna’ have a thumb war while we wait?”
“Absolutely I do.” You grinned, turning to face him as he gasped excitedly, his one body facing your own. The radio on your shoulder crackled, Gally’s voice coming through it as he reminded the teams to update on what they had found, and so far, a collection of ‘nothings’ were coming back. Holding your hand out, Newt’s fingers wrapped around your own in the opposite direction, locking the two of you together, and you folded your other hand behind your back as he followed suit. Your thumb tapped against your hand and his, ducking together as you counted down in a small chant together, before the battle was commencing.
He grinned as his digit moved, wrapping around yours and trying to pin it down, but you were quick to retract it, and the smile was just as quick to fall from his face. Simple huffs in angry exhales and quiet laughter was shared between you both as you waited for any updates, the longer the time making it seem more and more like you were in the clear, as no signs of danger showed up.
“Upstairs is totally clear.” Thomas sighed through his radio, and you cheered loudly as you captured Newt's thumb, pressing it down while he cursed, and beginning to count to three. He didn’t let you get that far, however, before he was snatching his thumb back at the final moment, and you booed him, his lips flicking up cheekily.
“Told you, it’s a prank call!” Gally mumbled, Chuck radioing in to confirm his room was clear, as did Minho, who was checking carefully over all of the power outlets, but while seeming a little battered and busted up, some loose fires and broken sockets, nothing seemed at risk.
“We’ve got something down here.. I think..”
“What do you mean you think, Winston?” You paused, the two of you agreeing to call it a tie as a lead was beginning to rise up, and you focused your attention on your radio, trying to make out the words through the interference.
“I mean, it’s damn dark down here, and the smoke torches don’t give us much. I’ll need a whole flashlight, but from what I can make out, there’s a fair load of petrol canisters down here. Some tipped over, spilt oil, but no fire.” You could hear him clattering about, the metal sound of a boot kicking lightly against the side of one metal container ringing through clearly.
“Can you count how many?”
“Not without the flashlights.” He replied, and various chatter about it began coming over the speakers as the two lurked on the edge of the barrels, Fry adding that the two couldn't even see the end of the room.
“I think I can get power up and running. These circuits aren’t too busted up, I just need to flip a few breakers, hold on..” There was a grunt, chatter between Minho and Zart as they moved around the room. It took a few minutes, that same anxious period of waiting looming over you all once again, and you let out a low breath, the twisting feeling in your gut was still there, and you hated it. Resting a hand over your stomach, you took a deep breath, trying to ease the racing of your heart. “Alright, everyone get out from under any lights, the power surge might smash some of the bulbs, don’t stand under where glass may spray.”
You and Newt both looked up, a row of lighting above your heads, and your steps were almost synchronised as you took a few steps backwards from the centre of the room, making sure you were covered from a blast of glass if one came. You shared a nod with your partner, before lifting a hand to the radio you wore, and clicking the button on. “Alright, we’re all good.”
“Everyone on top is clear.”
“Me and Chuck are good.”
“Nothing over our heads, you’re good to go, Minho.”
The collection of affirmations was answered by the flickering of lights overhead. The bulbs were yellow and musty, and you jumped a little at the shattering of glass across the room, shards raining down to create a tinkling noise as it bounced across the concrete, and the bulbs all slowly flickered.
“Oh, shit, Minho! Turn it off!” Your stomach dropped, a slightly patchy transmission through the radio, and your breathing hitched in your throat. “We’ve got broken wires down here, sparks coming through th-”
It all happened within the blink of an eye. One moment you’d been staring ahead at the staircase and waiting for news, before everything had been a blur. Your feet on the floor, your body flying through the air before you were slamming roughly into the concrete factor walls, and it felt like everything in your body became bruised at once. Your shoulder was crushed underneath you painfully as you hit the floor, a throbbing on the back of your head now matched by the side as you collide with the wall, the helmet on your head being the only thing that had stopped your skull from cracking at the impact, and it fell free, rolling away across the floor as you gasped for breath.
For a moment, there was nothing, you felt numb while you tried to focus on what just happened, eyes squeezed shut as your head spun and you choked back bile, and then there was the pain. A screaming kind of agony racing through every nerve in your body, and you couldn't hear your own groan in pain as your ears rang loudly. Like a siren but inside of your head, and the throbbing behind your eyes only seemed to increase as you pried them open.
Clouds of dust waiting to settle that you could barely see through, but the darkness that had once resided was replaced with a bright orange glow, half of the flooring from the centre of the room having crumbled entirely from the blast below you, flames and smoke licking up into the air and beginning to fill the room. You struggled, to even push yourself up to sitting, and you stretched your jaw, shaking your head clear to try and combat the ringing within your ears, before fumbling for the torch on your shoulder, and turning it on.
It didn’t do much, it didn’t help you see through the dust, but you blinked, clearing your vision enough to watch another dulled torch flicker on a few metres away from you, and you arched your back, your bag still there but your bones and muscles aching from being slammed into it against the concrete, feeling the imprint of the equipment under your skin. The walkie-talkie on your shoulder was going but you couldn't focus on that now, stumbling to your feet and tripping on nothing as you tried to step forwards, once hand pressed to cool concrete as you steadied yourself, and tried to make your way toward Newt.
He met you halfway, the sweat on his face matted with grey ash and dust, his eyes wide, a little frantic, and he licked over dry lips, which seemed to do nothing, as they were in much the same state only a second later as the once cold room was rapidly beginning to heat.
“Are you okay?” You had to shout just to hear yourself speak, and he squinted at you, seeming to struggle to hear himself, making you repeat the words, reading your words. He nodded, hand coming up to sit on your shoulders as his gaze scanned over you, and you did the same to him, silently checking one another for injuries.
The ringing was dying down a little bit, you could hear the flames now, and the sound of sliding and grating stone and metalwork as the unstable floor continued to break away in some places. “We should split up.”
“I’ll take upstairs if you take this floor?”
You glanced at the stairs, looking around the room, and assessing the gaps of concrete that looked as though they were still stable. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
“You good?” He slipped a hand back up to your cheek, turning your gaze back to him, and making sure you were picking up the determination in his voice.
“I’m good, I swear.” He shook himself off a little, flexing his leg at the knee while holding onto you, all the way down until he was rotating his ankle a little, but you didn’t get a chance to question whether he was truly okay, before he was disappearing from your sights and brushing past you, a final squeeze of your shoulder in confirmation, before the smoke was swallowing up his figure and he was simply a disappearing flashlight that faded with every step.
There was a good amount of concrete left around the left side of the building, furthest away from where the basement with Fry and Winston must have been, and you paced back the way you came, making sure to scoop up your helmet as you went, and place it onto the top of your head, adjusting it carefully to keep your protection against the situation.
Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, the crunch of broken pieces of stone and dust under your feet, navigating your way through the smoke with a hand pressed to the all, avoiding the flames that were growing higher and higher in the centre of the room, just to find the corridors you’d watched your friends disappear down less than a half-hour before.
Finding your way, you were grateful to see that the passageway was intact, dark and filling with a layer of crawling black clouds along the ceiling but no damage that would impede your way, and there were several doors open. You took off in a jog, scanning the insides of each room, and coming to a skidding halt as you caught sight of the first of your team members behind a third door.
Minho was lay out across the floor, and Zart was kneeling by his side, the look passing over his face could only be described as the kind of relief that gives you epic highs as the stress died down, and you took a place on the other side of him, kneeling to check on the unconscious one of the pair.
There were darkened veins along his arm, and the skin under his glove was a little raw as you peeled it back to check over, the burns travelling all the way up to his wrist, The smell of burning flesh made your nose wrinkle, and you dropped your bag from your shoulders. Tucking your bag underneath his feet to elevate them, you pressed down over the artery in his neck, monitoring the speed at which his heart was still pumping. It was slower than you would’ve liked, but strong, and you could at least let out a little sigh of relief at that.
The muscles under his skin were twitching and spasms, the aftershocks of the current still tingling over his nerves no doubt, and you lifted one eyelid at a time to check him. There were no burst veins in his eyes, and his pupil reaction time suggested that he hadn't gained any permanent brain damage from it. There was a cut across the back of his head from colliding with the concrete after losing his helmet, but it wasn't too deep of a gash, and it was something that could be focused on after he woke up, because the dust was currently helping to clot the wound.
The radio on your shoulder clicked into life, and Newt was on the other end of it; “How you doin’ down there?”
Pulling back, you spared one hand to press the button to allow your reply, as the other tucked your torch away carefully. “Uh, I got Minho here. He’s out cold, got a gash on the back of his skull but nothing permanent, he’ll just have a bad headache and some aches when he wakes up, some burns on his hand to take care of. Might need a new glove, this one is a little charred.” You picked it up, examining the half-melted plastic fingertips, undoubtedly a power surge racing back through the system as it sparked against the petrol in his rush to shut it down. “How’s everyone up there?”
“Tommy and Brenda are okay. Gonna’ be a little sore, some minor injuries, a few cuts and scrapes, nothing terrible.”
“Tell that to the pain in my ribs.” Brenda coffee through the radio, a few slow chuckles following it, and the doorway beside you was filled as a shocked and ash-stained Chuck and Jeff filled the doorway.
“She’s fine, just dramatic.” You could practically hear Newt’s eyes rolling over the waves, and you motioned them a little further inside. Zart seemed okay, he was checked over, you flashed the torch over his eyes and asked him where his pain was, but much like you and newt, he’d had the luck of being stood away from anything else, just a headache from the blast and a sore through from the smoke, but he was quickly hooking up his mask to replace the ashy air with pure oxygen, and he assisted you in doing the same for Minho.
“I got Gally and Clint here, too. Gal’s okay, just complaining like Brenda, but Clint’s got a pretty bad cut on his face, I’m going to clean this one up now.”
“Okay, I’ve got Chuck and Jeff too, but the smoke is getting pretty thick down here already, so I’m going to head straight to Fry and Winston downstairs.” As if to punctuate your words, you heaved a loud cough, the burning dryness in the air scorching the inside of your throat, and you swallowed thickly to try and choke it away.
“No, don’t go downstairs. You don’t have a mask. How are Chuck and Jeff? Send them down.”
“We’re totally fine!” Your candidate all but chirped the words, and you glanced up at him, eyes narrowing a little as he spoke up, as though to convince you to convince Thomas to send them down to find their friends.
“No, I should be the one to go, I don’t know what state they're going to be in.”
“We’re okay. Well, we’re not, but we can make it to you.” A raspy voice came through, broken with a little more interference as the signal cut through snow and rock from the lower floors, and your heart skipped a beat in your chest as Fry’s voice came over the speakers. Everyone seemed equally as excited and relieved to hear from him, the tall man chuckling as his friends all hollered in response to his voice. “Winston is out, he’s got some bad burns, I put him out but he was standing in front of me, he pretty much took the whole hit. I can get him up to you, but I’ll need help.”
You finished up with Jeff, your hands leaving his body as you finished pressing over his torso for any cracked ribs or tensed muscles, any signs you could pick up now of anything that might be wrong. “Jeff, go help him. Zart too.”
The men nodded, and Chuck was all but bouncing in his boots before you as he stared. “I’m fine, I swear.”
“Bullshit. Chuck got thrown into a piece of machinery, looked pretty bad from where I was standing, his feet weren’t even on the floor for the blast.” You frowned at your friend, the official firefighter shrugging as he adjusted his mask before setting off, and the young trainee in front of you sighed. “Really, I’m fine. Sure, a bit sore, but isn’t everyone? Let me go help my friends, I’m all good.”
“Let me check you first, alright? I’ll be quick.” He sighed, but nodded his head, and you motioned to the front of his jacket, letting him unzip it for you. You started at his head, gingers smoothing through brunette curls as you felt over his skull for bumps and grazes, your fingers coming up dry over smooth skin, before you were moving down. You scanned his eyes, watching reaction times, and grinning a little as he winced and cursed under his breath for staring right into it and trying to follow the light, blinking rapidly to clear the retina burn. “Can you say ‘the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog’ ten times fast?”
“Really?”
“Yep.” You popped the ‘p’, his face screwing up as he pouted, but he continued to list off the words to you, repeating them perfectly, stuttering over the words occasionally when he went too fast and got tongue-tied, but it was enough to signal to you that he was certainly understanding what he was saying, and aware of the words, never having a problem with processing them in his mind. “Tell me your birthday, your mother’s maiden name, and the street you grew up on as a kid?”
“You sound like a scammer trying to hack into my Facebook account. Those are my security questions. Do you want the name of my first elementary teacher or my favourite musician from when I was fifteen too?”
“Nah, not the musician. That was only a few months ago, too easy to test amnesia against.”
“Screw you, I’m twenty-two.” He growled, and you chuckled, listening to him give you the answers you had requested, as your hands moved over his ribs. There was no swelling, and you studied his reactions, the occasional wince or twitch, but nothing to indicate any serious pain. He’d have some bruising, but so would everybody in here, and there was no hard or tensed flesh under his skin to suggest any kind of internal problems that would flare up.
“Any pain you should be honest about?”
“None but this conversation.” He mumbled, and you pinched at his side roughly, the kid yelping and shoving at your shoulder, making you laugh as he stepped back, fastening his jacket up in protection against the heat, despite the flames now quite having made it to this room yet. “Alright, but you’re not going downstairs.”
“I’m not?”
“No, I need you to go and get the stretcher. Winston is in a bad way, and so is Minho. Both need to go to the hospital. We’re going to be down team members, and we can’t handle this on our own. We also need another ambo’. I need you to go and call it in, get another team and another paramedic here.”
“I can do that.”
“What out for the fire, it’s the big orange thing that glows, it’s hot too, an-”
“I hate you!” He yelled, flipping you off as he exited the doorway, and you turned back to face Minho. You crouched beside him, fingers pressing to his neck again as you took new measurements for him, and you could hear the team hustling around you, the sound of the trucks starting up outside as hoses were unravelled and water was beginning o be sprayed, but it did little to ease your worries, because the flames above you didn’t concern you, it was the occasional popping sound of another canister going up in flames that did, followed by the shakes and crumbling of the building around you.
Clicking on your radio, you tapped your fingers nervously on your knee while waiting. “Zart, Jeff, where are you guys?”
“Right here.” You almost fell in shock at the voices in the doorway, fogged-up glass and oil marks on their uniforms, and you twisted to find the group stumbling through the doorway. With an arm over each shoulder, Jeff and Zart were dragging Winston in, his head lulling at an uncomfortable angle, and Frypan was staggering behind them, clearly having understated the severity of his own injuries. “Where do you want him?”
“Fuck, uh, right next to Minho.” You stood up, bushing down your knees, and pointing to the spot on the concrete as you moved away. “Here; put him here.”
You pushed the entirety of your hand out from under the oversized sleeve, leaning down to pick up your bag, but placing your hand flat to the floor, lips pursing as you felt the warmth. It wasn’t burning, certainly nothing you couldn't handle and it would do no harm to the men laying on it, but it meant that the flames underneath were right up and curling along the ceiling, burning through everything below and threatening to break onto your floor.
It was overwhelming, Fry slumping down to the floor as he became unsteady, and you regretted that he’d even had to climb the stairs at all, but there was no way you would have been able to drag him up them, and with the speed at which the flames were expanding, you were just glad you’d been able to spare Zart and Jeff to help him.
“Fry, I’ll get to you in a minute, okay?”
“Take your time, at least I’m conscious.” He wheezed, a hand resting over his chest as he took slow and steady breaths, and your mind was spinning as you took your bag out from under Minho’s legs, and tried to decide where to start with Winston. There was oil all over the front of his shirt, spotted with burned patches of material where Fry had put out the flames, and it covered your hands as you tried to undo his jacket.
The tips of your fingers burned as you touched the still hot material, the boiling oil against your skin making you bit down on your lip to content he pain, but once it was open, you were wiping your hand across your pants and coat, smearing the black liquid in stains over your clothes, fingertips tainted by the substance. You couldn't see what you were doing, a mixture of blood, dust, ash and oil covering his skin in layers, but any injuries underneath would have to wait.
Lifting his head and removing the helmet, your fingers ran through raven-black and matted hair. There were several swollen and solid bumps forming, but nothing too serious. His pupils were delayed in response time and his pulse was slow and faint, all signs that made you panic, but there was nothing that you could do yet.
“I’m here! What can I do?”
You could have cried in relief at the voice of your partner, and you hadn't even heard him arriving, nor did you hear the other pairs of boots scuffing, Brenda arriving in the doorway ad looking so thoroughly panicked and distressed over the unconscious man on the floor she had a bond with, but she couldn't reach out. Thomas was behind her, and Gally filled the corridor with Jeff and Zart, of whom you had never even noticed leaving, but they were helping to carry the house, and the spray of water reached your ears now as you focused on it.
“Fry. I think he has a concussion, possible internal injuries, I haven’t had a chance to check him yet.” Newt nodded, spinning in the doorway to face his friend, and you turned back to the colleague before you on the floor. “Bren, I need you too.” You glanced back, her eyes snapping up from Minho to look at you, and she swallowed thickly, before nodding. “I need you to watch Minho for me, think you can do that?”
“Yes! Of course, uh, how? What do you need me to do?”
Her words were hurried and rushed, and Thomas was barking orders into the radio on his shoulder that were silent in your ears as you tuned him out for the time being. “Gross, I know, but take his hand. Hold tight, and monitor the pulse in his wrist. Just make sure it stays strong and steady.”
She caught onto what you were offering, the chance to be with the man she cared for without anyone knowing the real meaning behind it, and she let out a relieved breath, a silent look of appreciation and passing over her face as she did as told, turning to care for Minho as you helped her disguise the affections, knowing that she wasn’t ready to be open about it yet.
“Thomas?”
“Yeah?” He mumbled, the radio almost drowning him out at the shouts that came through and you couldn't make heads or tails of any of it, mangled voices all clashing together, and you admired that he seemingly could.
“Can you check where Chuck is with that stretcher?”
“Says he’s on his way down, house ‘35 is sending their Squad and Truck over with an ambo’ should be here in minutes, he’s trying to guide the stretcher around the rubble and broken flooring.” You nodded, licking over dry lips that threatened to crack, feeling his eyes sweep over you as he assessed you for harm, but you had other priorities to focus on, like saving the life of your friend. “Can I do anything?”
“You can come and get ready to lift Winston onto a board, and then get him up top with Chuck. I think we should get him ready to go as soon as they get here.”
His form towered over you as he waited, and you pressed along his chest, wishing that he was awake to give you reactions, but there was still information you could gain from it right now, even if he wasn’t conscious. There were patches of blood pooling under his shirt from where you suspected the worse burns to be, the places where the fire had burned right through his jacket when the chemicals had landed on him, but you couldn't risk treating them now and exposing his skin to the heat that was building in the room, despite the team trying to combat it.
“I’m here! I got the stretcher!” The wheels rattled and squeaked as Chuck entered the room, his body colliding with the side of the door frame as he spun around the corner.
He parked up beside you, the contraception coming to a halt, and you leaned over Winston, reaching up to find the handle underneath the device, and pressing it upwards. The locks holding the stretcher up high gave out, the bed sinking down to a lower level, until the entire thing was almost on the floor, folding like an ironing board, and you began to undo the harnesses. Thomas and chuck helped, getting it all undone, and soon, they were all hanging loose, the cushioned base waiting for a body.
“What now?”
“Now, Thomas gets his feet, Chuck on his hips, I got his shoulders and his head, and we lift him quickly and carefully. We need to move as a unit, I don’t want to risk any nerve damage by lifting out of order, alright?” You tried to remain professional, absolutely terrified at the prospect of losing a team member, and the two men got into position.
On your count, you lifted, supporting his head on your forearms and your hands hooked under his shoulders, grease covering your hand again, and your nails scraped against his jacket just to keep a hold on his slippery figure, but he was rested against the trolley only a moment later, and you hurried to fasten up the straps.
Loose enough not to irritate burned flesh but tight enough to hold him steady for the ride up, Chuck and Thomas didn’t hesitate, before they were setting off and out to meet the next team. You could hear the sirens of the other team now, loud and clear as they pulled up, and between the flickers of rising orange flames, you caught sight of blue, reflecting on the smashed glass of the windows were ash layers didn’t dull the gleam, and the adrenaline in your body depleted just a little as help arrived.
You were down three team members, and you weren’t so sure you fully believed how well everyone else was doing. Clint was down for the count in your books, the head injury and the shock alone taking him off the board, Thomas looked a little dazed as he moved despite trying to keep it together, Brenda was completely and utterly distracted, and you didn’t like the wheeze you were hearing every time Gally spoke over the radio, despite being cleared by Newt. He was probably lying about his condition, you weren’t entirely surprised if he was, they were all far too brave for their own good.
That left only five you were sure of; yourself and Newt who were paramedics, not firefighters, and Jeff and Zart, as well as Chuck, but he was only a candidate. Of twelve team members, you only had five left who were operational, and you weren’t sure that was even the truth.
Your feet were unstable underneath you as you made your way over to Newt, shoving the contents of your bag back inside - not that you’d been able to use much, the injuries gained here weren’t exactly infield patch up tasks - and checked with Brenda as you passed by, who was counting the heartbeats Minho let out each minute as she timed them on her watch, and you would have aww-ed internally at her devotion to him had it not been for the situation.
“How are we doing over here?”
Newt glanced up, worry written over his features. “Definite concussion, some serious bruising, cuts I’m not too happy about but I got it clean. I’m out of paper stitches, used them all on Clint, you got any?”
“Yeah, I got some.” You felt grimy as you slid your bag down your arms, grease smeared across your skin, staining your hands and face as you wiped away sweat, stray hairs and layers of dirt, crouching down and rooting through your bag to find the paper stitches. As you located them, the men returned, the stained and battered stretcher belonging to your ambulance was back with your two coworkers. “Winston?”
“On his way to Chicago Med with the paramedics from ‘35; he’s all good.”
“We need to get Minho on that next stretcher.” Newt was rubbing a hand absentmindedly over his thigh, and you worried your lower lip for only a second, before you had decided on your plan. “Newt, take Minho to the hospital. He’s stable, get him hooked up to a monitor and he’ll be fine. I’ll take care of Fry.”
“You sure?”
“One hundred percent.” You promised, Brenda and Chuck helping to get him all strapped up, before they were losing too, and you turned back to your friend, using a finger to tip his head up to look at you. “Keepin’ awake for me there, Fry?”
“Barely.”
“Just focus on me, alright? Why don’t you tell me about your latest cookery experiment.” He chuckled a little, and you peeled the first of the paper seals form the plastic packet, squeezing shut the cut across his shoulder in the fabric that newt had cut away to revel, blood oozing up over your fingers a little as you did, and he groaned at the feeling, before you were placing the first seal down.
“I’ve never made mac and cheese from scratch before, can you believe that?”
“Never?” You teased, and Thomas knelt beside you both, silent but patting his friend's good shoulder, and you peeled up another stitch, placing the sticky seals down carefully along his skin.
“Never. I’ve been practising different recipes, and I would love to make it for you all.”
“That sounds amazing. I love mac and cheese, so you stay awake for me and hold on, and I’ll help you cook it just as soon as you’re back on your feet.” As you placed the last one that was necessary, you tucked the plastic packet away, searching for your spray bottle of antiseptic, and cupping a hand over the wound to stop the residue flying into his face or eyes, before shaking it thoroughly.
“Oh, you gonna’ be my sous-chef?”
You took the chance while he was distracted, laughing lightly, and spraying over the wound, his groan of pain not missed by your ears as the other house began to storm through the building, their whole team uninjured and functional as they tackled this tragedy. “You bet I am. Think you can stand for me?”
He nodded, but was clinging onto Thomas for help, and you zipped up your bag quickly. “House ‘35 is going to take care of it all, everyone else is waiting outside. Brenda will drive the van, and you can check over everyone else.”
Thomas threw the words over his shoulder to you as you navigated through the building, the pathways you’d used to descend to them all were far thinner than they had been, the floor caving in more and more, and you stuck close to the wall for support as you passed them by, the shine of daylight getting stronger and stranger as you neared the door, and you were sure that you’d never quite get used to the cool feeling of a breeze every time you excited a burning building.
You were covered in soot, oil, and sweat, and you couldn't wait to just get back to the house and wash off. The rest of your team were standings around, the ones who hadn't been shipped off to the hospital, anyway, and you let out a heavy sigh as you glanced over them. You’d all looked better; everyone having taken a defeat today, slumped shoulders and worn-out bodies as you passed your sight over each one.
“I just want to check over one van before we leave, and I’ll check over the rest on the way there.”
“Who’s doing the best?” Thomas questioned, a chuckle rising from everyone at the irony of it, and your lips flicked up as he took your helmet from you, throwing it uselessly into the back of the Squad truck and not even bothering to put it away.
“Well, I already checked out Chuck and Fry, they’re all good. I want to get another glance at Gally, but Jeff and Clint are good to go. I’ll ride back with Squad and Truck can go up ahead.” Thomas only nodded, grimacing as he stretched while moving away, loading your shoes into the van too, and Brenda flopped into her seat within the truck from the second she’d climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Newt already said I was alright.” Gally offered, handling his helmet in front of his body as he came to stand before you, and you raised a brow at him.
“So, you don’t have any chest pains I should know about?” His mouth opened, denials spilling from his lips, and you lifted a hand, placing it flat on his chest and pushing down with a minimal amount of force, but even at the light contact, his words were cut off as his breathing hitched, face screwing up in pain. “You sure?”
“It was no big deal, really. I got thrown, I landed on some material, chest first. It’s just sore.”
“Does it hurt when you breathe?” You raised a brow, smoothing your fingers over his chest lightly and pressing down against the muscle in certain spots as you tried to get a reading of where the injuries were, without actually having him strip his shirt off in the middle of the area.
“A little.” The winces on his face continued on until you were halfway around his sides, and down to the base of his lungs from the tops of his shoulders, purple bruising beginning to flash up along pale flesh when you pulled the neckline of his shirt aside to take a look. “Okay, maybe a lot.”
“You’re not gonna’ like it, but when Newt gets back with the ambo’, I think you should go and get some scans.”
“Do I really have to go to hospital?” He mumbled, groaning in discontent towards the end of his words, and you shrugged, a slight smile forming on your face.
“You really do.” He frowned, and you shrugged, pulling your jacket a little tighter around yourself. “Clint needs stitches and so does Fry, so I need to take all three of you, anyway.”
“Oh, so it’s a club thing, then?” He grinned, tucking his helmet under his arm as he wandered back toward the trucks alongside you, and Thomas was holding open the backdoor of the Squad vehicle, Zart already sitting inside, head tipped back to rest on the seats and eyes closed, exhaustion taking over.
Jeff was behind the wheel of the Truck van, with Fry, Clint and Chuck in the back, a space left for Gally. It was much the same with Squad, Brenda sitting up front and a space left for Thomas, neither truck having their usual driver and they felt unsettling empty with half of the team missing, but you forced yourself to swallow down the anxious feeling, the worst seeming to be over, exhaustion being all that was left. The Truck engine started up, hissing as it took off of its brakes slowly, and Brenda composed the motions, twisting the keys to start it up as you came to stand before Thomas.
He stood slightly taller than you, and as your eyes swept over soot-stained skin, you caught sight of the red on the underside of his jaw. Settling a hand on his cheek, he gave no resistance as you tipped his head back a little, his pulse thrumming under your thumb, and you let out a soft breath. “Not too bad, just a little cut. I’ll clean it up for you.”
“Didn’t know it was even there.”
“Oh, manly man, doesn’t know he’s hurt.” You teased, a breathy laugh leaving him as you let him go, and his hand found the small of your back through layers of material as he helped you climb up and into the van, the door slamming shut behind you.
It took him only a second to round the vehicle and get himself in, before Brenda was following quickly on the tail of the other truck onto the road, sirens unneeded as you slowly made your way back to the firehouse, the day seeming like a real blow, a rare day when there was no victory for your team, no lives saved that you could pat yourselves on the backs for, and some of your team already rushed away to the hospital.
As the van moved, the ache in your body seemed to loosen a little, and you set your bag down on the seat beside where you were, kneeling against the cushioned chairs to lean over the backs towards the front compartment. There were so very light burns along the edge of Brenda’s face, nothing any more severe than a sunburn, but the skin still looked inflamed with red and a little sensitive, and you shuffle through one of the inside pockets that Newt had arranged for you, seeking out a cooling aloe wipe, and tearing the top from the foil packet.
The piece of fabric was damp and cool under against touch, and you leaned over the seat carefully, making sure to be gentle as you wiped along the edges of her jaw, her attention fixed on the roads ahead of her, but she smiled a little at the relief of the cooling gel infusion against her skin. As soon as you’d finished caring for the delicate wounds, you used the wipe to clean the tips of your fingers, the rest of your skin still stained with the remnants of everything you’d encountered during your failed expedition, but the flesh of your fingers were clean, a dollop of burn relief cream coating the tips of two fingers.
A patch along her jaw was shiny and a little greasy from the residue of the cream, waiting to soak in and soothe the wound, but it was no longer bothering her and that was enough. Thomas tipped his head back a little, his body deflating under the weight of the coat over his chest, sagging in his tiredness, and his head rolled to the side to peer up at you.
“Me next?”
“Thought it didn’t hurt?” You grinned, a scowl taking place on his lips but the edges trembled as he threatened to smile, and he let out a little huff.
“Fine, I’ll just let it get infected, probably get some kind of blood infection, then I’ll die.” You couldn't hold back the laugh you let out at his dramatics, his eyes glimmering a little in the reflection of the mirror into the back as he caught your gaze.
“You are so melodramatic.”
“It’s a possibility!” He defended, Brenda and Zart adding small laughs to the mix, and your fingers brushed along his jaw, tipping his head to the side and ankling it upwards to catch the light on the cut as you examined it. Taking out a cotton pad and adding a douse of antiseptic to the centre, he held his head in that position.
“It’s a very low possibility. This is barely a cut.”
“Yeah, well, even if it- stings like a bitch, holy fuck!” That made Brenda laugh loudly, the van swerving a little in her shock, and he flinched away from you. “What the fuck, I thought it was ‘barely a cut’?”
“That could not possibly have hurt that much! Stop whining!” He growled a little under his breath, heat flushing over his cheeks as he complained about the skin being sensitive and the cut being deeper than you must think, and his head came back up to the correct angle as soon as you’d rubbed a little healing gel onto it. “Oh, you’ll be fine. It’ll be totally gone within a week.”
“Maybe you should kiss it better.”
Your head twisted to look at Zart, his eyes weren’t even open as his hands sat folded across his stomach, resting his eyes, and you were almost back at the station, your own cheeks flushing with embarrassed warmth now, and you packed your things away as you tried to get a hold of yourself.
“You know, just for that, you get to do reps next shift.”
“I did nothing wrong!” The foremen complained, his lieutenant sitting up front with a smirk on his face as he abused his power, and you grinned to yourself as Brenda all but howled in amusement. You almost missed the crackling of the radio on the dashboard over the amusement, and the shout that came through it, but the static was cleared by the second call, and the laughs faded away into silence.
The mood within the cabin changed in all of two seconds, laughs and gentle teasing with warm cheeks became blood running cold and a chilling shudder running along your body. The firetrucks ahead of you swerved onto the side of the road, their desperate calls for you to stop and join their vehicle made your legs feel weak, and you scrambled for the door handle before the truck had even finished rolling fully to a halt.
Their doors were already open, the body on the floor made you almost rip over your own feet as your mind short-circuited.
Hunched over on the floor of the van was Chuck, his body jerking unevenly in seizures as his hands hung by his sides, and as you knelt by his sides, a sudden cough shook his body, heaving for breath as he struggled to suck in any breath at all. You didn’t have the ambulance, or any of the equipment you needed, and you were left with only what you had in your bag and your bare hands.
“What the hell happened?”
Gally looked lost for words as you demanded an explanation from him, and you rolled Chuck onto his side, trying to position the larger man into the recovery position as he coughed. “I don’t know! One minute he was fine, said he felt a little dizzy, and that his vision was blurry around the edges but we all just assumed it was because he was tired, like us, or had a headache or something. But then he was talking, and his words didn’t make any sense! We called you, and as we were pulling over, he just fell out of his chair like this!”]
“Do something!”
“What’s happening?”
“Is he having a seizure?”
There were too many voices, you had no idea what was wrong, you’d done your initial examination of the boy and nothing had shown up. He was talking, smiling and chatting. He was steady on his feet with no signs of injury other than some bumping and bruising, no internal bleeding or cuts, and yet, he was having a seizure under your hands that you couldn't stop.
Your fingers pressed to his neck as you tried to find the strength or speed of his pulse; slow, unsteady and weak being your answer. “I need my bag! Someone go and get it!”
Multiple pairs of booted feet moved, and you solved a hand into the oversized pocket of the fireman's jacket you wore to find a torch you’d discarded long ago. Lifting one eyelid and flashing the beam of light over it, there was no longer a reaction, his pupil never moving, and your own heart felt like it stopped beating in your chest. Your bag landed next to you, the firemen gathered around you, but it felt like the world was slipping away, crumbling to ash and dust with everything you touched.
The whole day had felt oddly like it was moving in a mixture of slow motion, and too fast for words. Like you were walking through tar, but placed on fast forward, but this was different. This was the moment that made it seem like everything came to a stop, while minutes turned to seconds. It was too fast for you to handle, but flashing before your eyes like a video being played scene by scene. Like an out of body experience, a lucid dream, your hands being your own but the motions feeling detached, as your mind began to shut down on itself in shock and horror.
Voices ringing in your ears; screaming and shouting at you, begging you to do something, and yet you were doing all that you could, but nothing was helping. His seizing didn't stop, neither did the blood he was coughing up, splattering across your cheek in trails of wet droplets, spraying down your neck as he convulsed, across your chest as you leaned over to try and tip his head back to help him breathe.
“We need to get to the hospital, why is nobody driving this damn truck?”
Your hands were on his chest, trying to pump when you felt his body go still, when his heart stopped beating under your palm. It wasn’t the first time you’d lost a patient, it wasn't the first time you’d felt life slip away, your fist closing as you grasped to hold on but their life slipping away under your palms, but this was the first time you felt the life of a friend ebbing away and you were helpless to stop it. Your body was thrown from side to side, violently as you were threatened to be tipped from your kneeled position, sirens overhead and traffic swerving out of your way as the firetrucks raced.
Gally’s voice was clear in the ruckus, muffled but able to be picked out, calling into the hospital across the radio to meet you all outside, doing his best run down of the situation as he called for help, and there was a headache born of stress forming behind your eyes that threatened to split your skull right open.
This was Chuck; your first friend in the firehouse, the sweet kid who always had flushed cheeks and bouncy brown curls who was the first to really make you feel less alone, like maybe you’d found a home, the first person to truly let you in. The first person to talk to you on your first day, the first person to share a joke with you, the kid who made you tea when you were tired and watched romcoms, and had his squad training already all lined up because he just knew he was going to pass his exams. He had a locker only two doors down from your own, and his peppermint body wash always made your eyes sting a little but you'd miss it if it didn't, and you weren’t ready to let him go.
There was crying, wailing and screaming of his name, and it came with a flash of pain in your throat as the voice sounded suddenly hoarse and strained that you realised it was you. The wet heat on your cheek was no longer blood but salty tears, and there was a messy mixture on your face that smeared over your skin as you tried to wipe your tears away, stinging at your eyes, skin feeling raw as the rough material of your sleeve caught against sensitive flesh.
The doors of the firetruck opened; your arms, from your wrists all the way to your shoulders and your back, ached as you continued to pump at his chest, and two doctors you didn’t know had to pull you back and off of him to be able to lift his body onto the stretcher. He was rushed from sight, carried away from you quickly, your team surrounding the doorway as they all held the same look of abject horror, staring after the candidate they loved so deeply as he was taken away.
And then there was Newt, appearing from double doors to stare out at the scene before him, wondering what in the hell had happened, just like the rest of you were, the weight of the mystery looming over you all like a crushing weight, concrete sinking you to the ocean floor. You couldn't take it, not the whispered questions of confusion or the worried glances or even the hands that reached out to rub at your shoulders as they tried to bring you back from the brink, you couldn't take it.
It was Allison standing beside you, the nurse you’d met a couple of times, and your throat felt about as dry as sandpaper as you turned to face her, one clean and delicate hand reaching up for you, but you swerved away from it, the idea of another person’s touch right now making you feel more nauseous than you already did.
“Gally. He needs scans.” Her brows furrowed, and your voice didn’t even sound like your own, forcing you to choke back emotions and swallow down on a raw throat as you tried to think. “Chest injury, he needs some tests done. Clint needs stitches, so does Fry.”
“I can get that sorted, but don’t you think you ne-”
“I need to go. I need to go now.” You nodded to yourself, licking over cracking lips as you looked back to the doors that Chuck had disappeared through. “I need to go and be with Chuck.”
You didn’t pause, not when she spoke, calling out after you, or when Brenda reached out. Not when Thomas called your name, followed by an endearing pet name that was falling on deaf ears, or even when Newt reached out to snatch your wrist, fingers skimming your skin as you shouldered through the door, stumbling in placement after him. You heard him follow, though. The familiar pattern of footsteps that you knew to be your partners as his shoes squeaked across the floor.
You didn’t make it far, thumb jamming into the elevator door button and leaving a greasy mark across the shining silver button; oil, dust, blood, sweat, chemical. You didn’t bother to clean it off as the doors opened, and your blond friend slipped in alongside you once they closed again. He hit the right button this time, and he didn’t say anything, but he did take your hand, squeezing tightly and not letting go, even when you pulled away, when the pull to close in felt too strong, when the offer of comfort felt unwelcome and undeserved, he forced you to take it anyway, and in the silence of the elevator, the first real sob broke free.
They didn’t stop after that.
Not when you stepped out of the elevator, following along to the waiting room you’d become familiar with over almost a year of being around this hospital, of making friends. Your friend was dying, you finally allowed yourself to settle, to believe you were able to have something good, and it was being torn out from under your feet slowly, piece by piece. The thumb rubbing over your skin, and the tickling of the clock on the wall that showed minutes melting away until over an hour had passed was all that kept your panic attack at bay, the rhythmic sounds and motions keeping you in control, even if everything felt like it was spinning out.
At some point, you’d claimed enough to sit down, you didn’t know when, you didn’t really recall the decision, but now that you were sitting down in the chair, every muscle felt like it was too weak to ever stand again. You were exhausted, there was nothing left within you, and you were choking down the urge to vomit with every breath you took. Nervous reactions, the ticks in your muscles, the occasional spasms in the aftershock of such an adrenaline rush, and you were struggling to even breathe at this point.
Newt whispered words to you occasionally, statements that seemed to go in one ear and out of the other, but you’d retained a few key pieces. Clint and Fry were all stitched up, and had been taken back to the station with the rest of the firefighter’s when they had left. Minho was dismissed and to go straight home, and to follow the medical advice given to him by his house paramedics, if your head was ever going to be back in the game again, and Gally was much the same. He had internal bruising but no cracked ribs, he would just be achy and sore for a couple of days maybe even a week or two. Winston was due out of surgery any minute now, burns peeled of fabric and skin cleared of chemicals, but he wouldn't wake up until the morning, and he’d be in the hospital for a few days yet.
Then, came Chuck.
What seemed like hours later, and you were sure it was, if the change in the lighting outside as the evening began to creep in had anything to suggest, and you didn’t need to hear the news. It was obvious, as your friend stepped through the door, the mournful look on Derek’s face even when you knew that he hadn't been the one to perform the surgery, and what left you had seemed to fall away.
You had nothing left to give, no tears left to cry or screams left to let bounce from the walls. It was numb; cold and dark and lonely. You didn’t want touch, you didn’t want comfort or words of calming endearment, or anything else. You wanted your feet to move underneath you, and to carry you out to the van to go back to the station. You couldn't even speak, you couldn't thank Derek for coming to give you the news himself, to be the one to break your heart and deliver the blow a little softer than a stranger would have, but it was like he read your mind, because he dipped down, pressing what felt like a brotherly kiss to the top of your head, before Newt was wrapping an arm over your shoulders.
They traded a few words, things you missed, unable to cling to even a single syllable, before you were being guided along, white shiny halls like a blur around you, until you were sitting in the cold seat on the passenger side of the ambulance, clipping yourself in like you were on autopilot, and resting your head on cool glass, your eyes sliding closed.
You didn’t register the journey, none of the speed-bumps or dips in the road, and the silence in the cabin felt utterly stifling, your skin crawling as Newt drove beside you, slow and steady as he guided the van along, and your fingers were digging to tightly into your palms that you worried your nails would tear right through the skin and shred your palms. Your eyes were burning, holding back tears, and everything in your body felt like it centred on a weight, hanging on a pit in your stomach as your guts twisted into knots, bile rising in your throat as you choked it back, and your body jerked forwards a little in the seat as the van came to a stop.
Newt whispered an apology for the abrupt halt, his parking a little wonky when you cracked sore eyes open and blinked into the light, skin stiff from salt and stained with the horror of the day, and you didn’t bother to reply. As soon as you stepped out of the van, the team were there, all freshly showered and clean, changed into their own clothes and staring at you expectantly, and it felt like you were holding the entire world upon your shoulders.
“There was nothing that could be done.” He let out a sigh, heartbroken gaze flickering over everybody standing and waiting for news in the bay. “He had a-”
“Subdural haematoma.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, cutting Newt off, and their attention moved back to you as you cut Newt off. “He had a subdural haematoma. That, uh, that means he had a brain bleed, a tear in a blood vessel on the left side. He would have been fine if he’d made it to the hospital, if I’d noticed it, but it clotted rapidly. That gave him a pulmonary embolism.”
“The clots to stop the bleeding in his brain stopped blood from being able to get to his lungs.” Newt clarified, and you wondered if the way you were feeling on the inside was reflected on your face. “They tried to operate, but there wasn’t anything they could d-”
“I should have noticed sooner.” You mumbled, and Newt twisted to look at you, but then the feeling in your guys became all too much, and you cupped a hand over your mouth, pushing through the team as you stumbled in the closest you could get to a run. Pain radiated along your arm as you pushed through the main door to the locker room with your shoulder, knees hitting the hard tiling of the bathroom floor and making a cry leave your lips as you fell. The stall door slammed against the wall, a loud and echoing sound that made you wince as it rattled your skull.
Hands found the edges of cold porcelain, tears blurring your vision as you emptied your guts into the bowl. You heaved, bile and vomit burning your throat, and you couldn’t breathe, a flash of panic racing through your mind at the feeling as your body continued to wretch, before a further sickeningly thought crossed your mind as the fleeting thought about Chuck feeling the same way passed your mind. He couldn't breathe either, he had suffocated on his own blood as he bled out, all because you hadn't found the signs of his bleeding, because you hadn't helped him hold on a little longer, because you hadn't been able to save him.
A hand was on your back, and you arched away from the undeserved comfort, before fingers were wrapping in your hair, holding the loose strands that had fallen stray out of your face, before the hand was taking place again, rubbing soft circles against your back through the layers of material. There was no more bile, there were only tears, wracking sobs that broke you down as you cried, everything feeling weak, and you could barely hold yourself up.
That same hand moved, pulling you backwards until you were slumped out across the floor. You were trembling, shaking so violently you could barely reach a dirty hand up to wipe across the back of your mouth, and you managed to blink tear-filled eyes clear to look up at the person before you.
“Get out, Thomas.”
“Why?” He whispered, and you couldn't hold back the humourless laugh, shaking your head before you were breaking down into sobs again, and he shushed you quietly.
“Get out, Thomas! Get out, leave me alone, go away! Just get out!” You thrashed, his arms wrapping around you tighter as you pushed back against him, cursing and screaming. “Why won’t you leave me alone, just let me sit here, just let me be!” Walls were going back up inside of you, to protect yourself as the reality of the situation began to really settle in your mind, and you couldn't put them back up while Thomas was standing in your way, every ounce of pain leaking in. “I don’t want you here, get off me! Get out!”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He pulled you a little closer, the angle awkward, your hands pushing at his chest until there was no strength left in your body, and he held you tight. Your fingers gripped at his shirt, pushing weakly as your words became gabled and muffled, and you couldn't take it anymore.
You gave in.
You only had so much fight to give.
“He’s dead, Thomas..” Your words were like the final piece to truly accepting it, and you sniffed, sure that your skin was wet from a disgusting mixture of tears, vomit and snot but he never let you go, a hand rubbing up and down your back as his fingers slipped free from your hair, the ends damp against your skin where your upchuck had caught them in the crossfires, and yet, you couldn't even bring yourself to care about hygiene or impressions as you came to accept that you’d lost a friend. “He died, I could have stopped it. I should have done more, I should have checked again, I should ha-”
“There was nothing you could have done. Newt told us about it. He explained it. There’s nothing you could have done.” He pushed hair back out of your face, uncaring for the situation you were in, and wiping his fingers over your cheeks gently. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was. It’s my job to look after you all, and I failed at that.”
“That’s such crap.” He mumbled, your eyes snapping up to find his, and brows furrowing. “How were you supposed to know what was going on inside of his skull? Huh?”
“Thomas, I’m not in the mood fo-”
“The truth?” He snipped, cutting you off, and his hands hooked under your armpits as he pulled you up to your feet, your legs giving way and weight falling onto him as he supported you, one hand on your neck as an arm held up around your waist, thumb brushing under your jaw. “Look at me.”
You dragged your sights up, honey-brown eyes filled with concern staring down at you. “It wasn’t your fault, and nobody but you thinks it was. If Chuck were here right now, he’d call you out for blaming yourself.”
It was true, you knew it was, and it made your lips curl into the briefest smile you’d ever had.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, alright?” You could only nod, his hands now both on your waist as he guided you in slow steps towards the shower. There was grime covering your skin, bodily fluids, grit and dust, all the way to grease and oil, and you hate the feeling of another caked-on layer against your skin. The water tap creaked a little as Thomas twisted it, water bursting through, and you were still gasping for breaths through your sobs as you stepped underneath it.
It was freezing, at first, the cold water was like a shock to your system as you closed your eyes and tipped up into the flow to let the harsh droplets wash over your skin. It began to warm up, and your lips parted, letting you breathe as you tried not to break down again. There was a rattle in the distance, the sound of someone moving through a locker, and your legs buckled once again. The weight of the world on your shoulders, the weight of everything that had happened, crushing you down into the ground, and your back smacked against the edge of the stall, and you sank down, until water was swilling around you as you curled your legs to your chest under the flow.
“Oh, sweetheart..”
Your chest ached a little at the tone of his voice, whispered words that hardly carried over the thrashing sound of the water, and his hand reached out to place your washkit on the small ledge out of the spray radius. His toes locked behind one heel, taking off his boots, before his sock followed, and he repeated the actions on the other foot. Bare feet met watery tiles as he stepped inside the stall, water beginning to mark over the edge of his t-shirt as he stepped close to the spray. “You’re going to get wet.”
“I don’t care.” His hands stuck out, expectantly waiting for your own as he stepped before you, water soaking over his back and clothes, hair growing wet once again, droplets shifting over his skin and dripping from the end of a sweetly upturned nose, and you slipped your hands into his. As he pulled you up, water bounced from his body across your face, and your bottom lip trembled. Tears were gathering in his own eyes, like he was only just getting a grasp on the situation, and his hands left your own, to smooth up over your arms.
A single tear escaped his eyes, lost in the droplets along his cheeks, and he cried silently while the sounds of your wailing filled the space. His fingers slipped under the edges of the jacket you wore, the heavy coat sodden with water, and he slipped it down your arms slowly, until it was hanging from your arms, and he took it from you, reaching outside of the cubicle to drop it to the tiled floors, and it felt a little easier to breathe now that it was gone.
“There are so many people who care about you. Right outside of those doors, all worried about you, all wanting you to be okay, too.” He pushed back wet strands of hair, delicate touch easing the bobble from your hair, letting the damp bundle fall around your shoulders to be washed too. His fingers moved to the buttons along the front of your paramedics uniform, the crisp white spattered with black and red, tarnished with grey, and as his nimble fingers undid each button, he leaned in, lips brushing over your skin, slow and tentative, until he was pressing a wet kiss to your cheek, water dripping over his lips, but he pressed in carefully, hands barely moving between your bodies.
He shifted, only a centimetre or so higher, across your cheekbone, a kiss pressed there, too, as he peeled the wet fabric of your shirt down your arms, discarded with your jacket, until just a wet vest covered your torso, white material going see-through under the fall. He pressed a kiss to your jaw, and your neck, and then your shoulder, before he was sinking lower and lower to the floor, kneeling before you and moving his hands to your boots, tugging at the laces until they came undone.
Your hands balanced on his shoulders as you lifted each foot, letting him tug away boots and socks, your toes aching from the strain you’d put on them, flexing a little against the tile when your feet were lowered again. Large hands smoothed up the backs of your legs, circling over the front of your thighs to tug the string of the firefighters pants loose, and he eased them down your legs, revealing the smart dress-pants of your uniform from underneath, and the pile building outside of the stall was leaking water across the floor into a large puddle, but neither of you cared.
You weren’t sure when you’d stopped crying, but you had, sniffling and a sore throat but the tears no longer came, and Thomas shuffled before you. He leaned back a little, clothes clinging to his skin much like your own were, and you raised a hand from his shoulders to push the wet hair plastered to his forehead back and away from his eyes, his head twisting to press a kiss or his palm. You weren’t sure whether it was for your comfort or his, but it soothed you a little anyway.
His hand found your waistband, tugging lightly on the material as a finger slipped underneath, his eyes locked on your own with a silent question hidden inside, and when you gave him no resistance, his other hand joined. He popped the button delicately, tugging the zipper down, before inching those trousers further down your legs. Each movement he made revealed a new patch of skin, and he peppered occasional kisses over the fronts of your thighs as he moved, nose nudging against your skin, until you were stepping out of the trousers, a hand under his chin to pull him back up to his full height, and the rest of his body followed.
His skin felt hot against yours as your palms inched underneath his shirt, locking onto the bottom of his tee, before pulling it upwards. His hands raised over his head, allowing you to strip the material away from his body, ruined and sodden, joining your clothing on the floor. His hands were on your cheeks as soon as they dropped back down, pulling you forwards until he could let his lips meet your forehead. He pressed a kiss to every spot on your face, and every time he did, it was like he was pulling another piece of your fears and worries away from you, relieving you of the pain.
He gave you no hesitation when your hands found his belt, undoing it swiftly and tugging the leather from its loops, before his trousers were following, kicked away and discarded to the ground outside, tugging your vest out of his way so bare hands could smooth down over your sides, pulling you forward until he was holding you so close that the body heat rolling off of him flooded over your skin and gave you goosebumps.
His forehead rested to yours, and yet he never moved it further than that, sharing breath, lips brushing ever so slightly, a tingle felt right to your fingertips, but he didn’t kiss you.
It wasn’t the right time, and both of you knew it. It was a development that was inevitably coming, every snowball of affection added to the avalanche, dragging you both down with it, but it wasn’t time yet. This was a time of hurt and comfort, of seeking a moment of respite in one another’s embrace, and your hands wrapped around his body.
“Just hold me, Tommy,” it wasn’t a crashing realisation, nothing abrupt or sudden, but more of a peaceful revelation as his arms squeezed a little tighter around you, that Thomas had made himself a place in your life that you’d never be able to replace, “and don’t let me go.”
“I don’t plan to.” He whispered, lips pressed to the top of your head as comforting kisses were left there in the wake of his words. Tense muscles in his back relaxed under your touch before your hands were hooking onto his shoulders and your chest was pressing to his, hearts racing in matching beats, as he dragged you in closer.
His head dipped, face pressing into your neck the same way yours was in his, and his fingers spread out across your back.
You didn’t know how long you stood like that, minutes or hours seeming to slip by, the rhythmic fall of the water letting you slow your heart down, your chest rising and falling in synchronicity with Thomas’, his fingertips digging into your flesh as you clung to one another.
At some point, he moved, one hand leaving your body to reach out to the shelf, and find some soap. The later shifted between both of your bodies, his fingers moving through your hair with shampoo and conditioner to follow, and the dirt of the day sliding from your skin made everything feel a little easier to handle, less of a burden and more of a weight, shared with the man before you as he helped you to hold it up.
There was more, a whole team, willing to step in and help you bear the pressure if you’d just let them, and you wanted to do so. You were so scared to lose them but it was out of your control, and you couldn't do it alone, not any more.
When you finally felt like you had the power to give in, and to step back, the water was turned off, water dripping along your body and from the ends of your hair, before Thomas was reaching for a towel. He wrapped one around his waist, a blush rolling over your face and a subtle smirk on his lips as he did, the material sitting low against his hips, water still dripping along his body, and you tried not to follow any of the droplets as he stepped closer to you.
“Y’know, I didn’t think I’d get the honour of getting you undressed quite so soon.” Holding out another towel, he sealed it around your body, letting you tuck it tightly over your chest to hide the underwear you’d been left in, as you suddenly became overly aware of your near-nudity. Your jaw dropped a little, eyes going wide, and he chuckled at your panicked state, shaking his head and letting his fingers smooth down your arm until one of his hands was pressed loosely to yours. “Don’t worry, angel. I’m not looking. One day, you’re gonna’ ask me to, and I want that moment to be the special one.”
“Thank you, Tommy.” Your fingers laced with his, tugging him closer, and he dipped down, smiling softly as the tip of his nose dragged along your hairline. The door opened, Brenda coming to stare at you both, red-rimmed eyes and a soft smile, before she shrugged lightly.
“You want me to brush your hair for you?”
Something told you that the gesture would be just as comforting for her as it was for you; she was heartbroken, and undoubtedly chafing at the bit to get off shift and see Minho, but your heart soared at the idea that she might find comfort with you like you did with her, just like Thomas did, or anyone else. They were your family, and they needed you as much as you needed them.
You took a seat on the bench before her, and so opened up her locker, producing an assortment of bottles from inside. Her fingers ran over your scalp, separating the hair out as she sprayed something that smelled like watermelon over your scalp, working it through your hair, before following it with a plastic comb. Thomas had disappeared to get changed, and your fingers were gripping tightly to the edge of the towel, pulling at loose threads. It was a material you didn’t recognise, not yours, and you figured that the worn fabric must belong to Thomas, because his had been matching.
When he came back around the edges of the locker, you lifted your he'd, watching as Thomas inched yet another fresh t-shirt down over his body, shaking his head a little as damp stands got stuck, and you winced a little at a knot that tugged on the strands, Brenda whispering her apology.
“I’ll go and wait outside, alright?”
You nodded, your hand reaching up to grasp Thomas’ before he left, and he paused, waiting a moment and squeezing back, before smiling. He leaned down, lips brushing over the crown of your head, before he was walking past, and you could practically already hear the words she wanted to say. While you didn’t know what they were you could feel them hanging over your head as she brushed quietly, and the second the door fell shut to leave the two of you alone, she was letting them go;
“You’d be cute, y’know.”
You knew what she meant, but feigned confusion, despite it. “Who?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb.” She teased, poking you in the back of the head slightly with the comb, before she was bringing another chunk down to begin brushing through it. “I’ve known Thomas for a while, but I’ve never seen him like this. He really cares about you.”
“I care about him too.” You mumbled, and while you didn’t see it, you knew the smile that was on her face and could picture it in your mind. “I care about you, as well, Bren. I care about all of you.”
“We care about you too.” She finished her brushing, pulling the strands back out of your face, before she was picking up the next bottle. Some foam, you weren’t sure what for, but she added a few pumps of it onto her hands as she rubbed her palms together, before weaving it through your hair, and you relished in the simple touch of being cared for so gently. “We don’t blame you. Please don’t shut us out. You might not need us right now, maybe you’re used to doing things alone, but we need you.”
Tears pulled at your eyes again, and you turned to face her, finding her in much the same way as she blinked them back, her hands falling away to her sides. “I need you, Bren. I need you because you’re my best friend, the only best girl friend I’ve ever had, and the only person who takes me out for a wine evening, which I think I’m going to need, because I’ll need some girl advice at some point.”
She grinned, a watery and shaky smile, chin wobbling a little as she put her things away, before taking a seat on the bench before you, sniffling lightly. “I don’t think you’ll need the advice, have you seen the way he looks at you? I might be the one needing advice.”
You wiped at your cheeks, laughing lightly to avoid your shyness. “I noticed that you stayed the night at Minho’s last night, on a work night, no less.”
“How the hell would you know that?”
“I’m observant.” You teased, and her head ducked, giving her a moment to think over her words, you stood, opening your locker, and searching for a change of clothes. You weren’t shaking as much, and while you were technically still on duty for another hour, you were praying no more calls came in, because you were changing straight into your comfy clothes, a hoodie and some leggings, ignoring everything else, and switching out your underwear behind the door of your locker.
“Thank you for letting me be with him today.”
“You were helping me do my job, I should be thanking you!” You offered, clipping a fresh bra behind your back, before pausing, and staring into the locker at the t-shirt you had available. It was your house ‘21 emblem shirt, comfy cotton, and it felt soft under your touch, lifting it up to bring it over your head, and once you had, your hoodie was following.
“I know that you didn’t need my help, but you were trying to help me. That’s real friendship, thank you.” You just shrugged, pulling on a second pair of socks for comfort, and closing your locker, with your toothbrush and toothpaste in hand, the bitter taste of bile still in your mouth, and heading over to the sink. Switching on the tap and running your brush underneath, you added a dollop of the paste to the bristles, and began to scrub at your teeth.
It was relieving, to wash away the final elements of the breakdown that you’d had, and Brenda was kind enough to scoop up the still dripping articles of clothing on the floor as you did, and load them into a plastic basket. She offered to take them to the laundry room for you, but you had her leave them, saying you’d do it yourself, and then, you were left alone once again, promising you’d be out in a minute to find the team.
The reality was that you needed a moment to yourself, to process that for the first time ever, you had a team to turn to, people you could truly let your walls down around.
Balancing the basket on your hip as you left the room, you took it with you, drips of water left like a breadcrumb trail as you padded socked-feet across the bay, towards the laundry room. You weren’t sure how it should all be done, officially, whether there was a set temperature or cycle to set off the heatproof materials on, but you just dumped it all into a washer too tired to care, and taking a moment to clear your mind.
A scoop of some kind of European washing powder that Gally swore by, and the scent of florals filled the room as you added it. A splash of fabric softener, a few buttons beeping upon being pressed and the lid closing, and then the machine rattled to life as the sound of water rushing through the pipes bounced through the room. You left the basket propped up against the wall.
Newt was the first by your side upon entering the room, eyes wide as he wrapped you up into a hug, talking a mile and minute about how worried he was before cutting himself off with a hiccup, and you clung to him just as tightly, feeling him sag into your touch a little. “There was nothing that could be done.”
You were the only intended audience for the words, whispered into your ear as he hugged you, a hand petting your damp hair gently as it dried in the warm air, the heaters all turned up high for warmth, and the group were dotted around the room. “I know. I’m sorry for running off.”
“Are you okay?” He pulled back, eyes glossy like everyone else's, and you frowned, wiping his cheek to clear away a tear that fell.
“Are you?”
He shrugged, neither of you really knowing the answer to that question right now, but you did know that you would be. With the companionship of your team, your friends, your family, you would be just fine, as long as you allowed them to help you. You shook yourself off, Newt collapsing back down into his armchair, and everyone else seemed to have a place in the room. Brenda was sharing a couch with Jeff and Clint, Fry was sitting on the end of the couch beside Thomas and scrolling through the channels, a space left empty for you.
You glanced up, familiar eyes meeting yours, and he tipped his head lightly to the side in offering. You stared a moment longer, your feet carrying you more directly towards him, and he watched as you found yourself before the space, lifting his arms up as you collapsed down into it. You weren’t shy this time, or unsure about what it meant. You knew exactly what you wanted, and what it meant.
You wanted the safety of being in Thomas’ arms, the temporary relief from the emotional turmoil you had when he held you, to sync the beta of your heart up to his as it thudded under your cheek when you laid your head on his chest. Tipping your head up to see him, you didn’t care about anyone else right now, you didn’t care about anything else, because you were surrounded by the people who meant the most to you.
You saw the cut on his jaw again, running a finger over it, and you tried to push your mind back to before everything had happened, to before the pain. You were in the truck laughing with Brenda and Thomas and Zart, cheeks flush from the warmth of a joke made about your blossoming relationship with the lieutenant, and comment about a sweet gesture to be made. Leaning up, your lips followed your finger, pressing a soft kiss to the spot, and a breathy sound left Thomas as you did, before he was bringing his other hand up to thread into your hair and brush at the strands lightly.
“What was that for?”
“I was kissing it better.” You mumbled, his heart beating rapidly under your head, your fingers brushing and the cotton of his shirt, and Fry finally settled on a movie. He leaned down, a prolonged press of his lips to your temple, before he was nosing gently at the spot. It was far from the first kiss he’d given you today, but this one was different, because it was without anything else hanging over it. No tears, no desperation for comfort, simply a kiss, given in the company of all of your friends as though he had no care about who witnessed it. “What was that for?”
“I was kissing you better.”
#thomas#thomas x reader#thomas/reader#firefighter!tommy#ff!tommy#SAF#smoke and fire#thomas the maze runner#dylan o'brien#dylan obrien#dylan obrien thomas#dylan obrien the maze runner#dylan obrien x reader#dylan obrien/reader
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Scars Will Heal - A CindyxAlice fanfiction
A/N: Hey guys! I’m back with a new story! This is a canon divergence story where Alice and Cindy both survived the night at Camp Nightwing and are now determined to break the witch’s curse. Here’s an extract of the first chapter, and I will be updating three times a week. If you want to read more, the link to the full story will be at the end! Enjoy!
In early October, when the air would shake the last of its summer heat, it wasn't unusual to awaken to thick fog. The low clouds covered all of Shadyside for hours, and driving for even the smallest of errands became dangerous, at best. By midday, however, when the lunch break rang through the school, the fog would be gone. As the sun rose in the sky, the fog would disperse, layer by layer, so that by the time Cindy left her last morning class, only a few wisps of pale mist clung to the sidewalk.
This was what waking up in the hospital felt like, Cindy found. The heavy fog over her mind lifted, layer by layer. First, the sounds. Obnoxious, regular beeping nearby had woken her up, and for a moment, she thought it was her alarm clock. Then muted voices:
"I told him, 'Beddy, you can't just give those to kids like their candies.' I swear, one day he's gonna be in trouble, and I'll be there to say 'I told you so.'"
Sensations returned soon after, and Cindy remembered she had a body. But it was heavy, and she struggled to move even a finger. She knew she was laying down on something too soft, sinking into it a bit more with every passing second. She feared she would disappear into it completely if she didn't do anything to move. But as she tried, the pain returned. It erupted from the center of her chest and radiated over her entire body. Every breath felt like an ax to the chest.
Memories came flooding back, and Cindy's eyes opened with panic. Camp Nightwing, the trip to the witch's house, the tunnels, Tommy... She choked but realized a moment later it wasn't because of the sadness closing her throat and filling her eyes with tears. There was a tube in her throat, bringing air to her lungs, forcing her to breathe. It prevented her from speaking. She tried to reach for it when she felt a hand grabbing her own.
Her mother was leaning over her, looking somewhat more put together and yet more disheveled than usual.
"It's alright, Cindy, you're okay. You're in the hospital, you're okay."
Cindy wanted to scream that she wasn't okay, but she could only gag on the tube as she tried.
"Don't move, I'll go get a nurse."
Her mother left the room, and Cindy tried to calm herself. She was in the hospital, she was fine. She tried to take a deep, slow breath, following the rhythm of the loud ventilator beside her. New pain flared up with every breath, and exhaling wasn't any better. She remembered the ax hitting her square in the chest, but she couldn't move her head enough to see even the edge of a bandage.
Her mother returned a moment later with two nurses in tow.
"You weren't supposed to be awake yet," one of the nurses said, although Cindy had a feeling it wasn't addressed to her.
Together, they pulled the tube out of Cindy's throat. Despite the morphine floating through her bloodstream and the gentleness of the nurses, Cindy still felt like her throat was peeled from the inside. She gagged on the tube again, and every heave of her chest irradiated more pain over her ribs. When finally the tube was out, Cindy rubbed her sore jaw. A thin tube was wrapped around her ears and beneath her nose.
"The doctor will be with you in a moment," one of the nurses said. "Can I get you anything?"
"Water," Cindy huffed out with a broken voice.
She'd hoped the water would smooth the sandpaper feel of her throat. However, swallowing even the smallest amount of water made her want to scream. So she took sips every so often, hoping this one would be the one that wouldn't hurt, and being disappointed every time.
Once she felt she could speak again, she turned to her mother, who'd seated in the cozy hospital chair once more.
"Where's Ziggy?"
FULL STORY HERE
#fear street#fear street part 2#fear street 1978#alice x cindy#cindy berman#alice (fear street)#fanfic
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A Bouquet of Red Roses and Snapdragons
A fundywastaken fic :D
Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/75977918
He’d stumbled home just as the sun was rising in the distance, his clothes disheveled and his hair covered in leaves. Wilbur was pacing by the entrance to L’Manburg, the general’s attention snapping towards him the moment he ran out the forest. Fundy barely had any time to speak before Wilbur was pulling him back inside, the grip on his shoulder nearly bruising as they walked further into the safety of L’Manburg. He blinked, trying to cast away the sleep from his eyes and the fatigue that had seeped into his bones. Wilbur stopped walking once they reached L’Mantree, the leaves rustling as the cool breeze of dawn permeated the air. He leaned against the bark, ears pressed to the top of his head even though he knew Wilbur was lecturing him about something or the other. Fundy didn’t care. He was tired. He was too tired to do anything now.
“Where have you been, Fundy?” Wilbur ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his erratic breathing breaking through the calm of the morning. Fundy opened his mouth, rolling his eyes as he was immediately cut off. “I have been searching for you all morning. You can’t just leave like that! And Tommy… have you seen where Tommy is? He’s missing from his room and I一 Why did everyone just decide today will be the day you all disappeared into gods’ knows where?”
Fundy kept his gaze low, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jackets as he let Wilbur yell himself hoarse. It didn’t matter anymore. He sighed, resting his head against the tree as he let his eyes flutter close. A moment’s rest. He could have that. He hadn’t slept a wink at all last night.
It had been a lovely night, a time where lovers could cuddle up in the middle of a field and watch as the world went by. The mobs hadn’t been out last night, not a single groan, whizz of an arrow, or hiss. Just peace and silence. The darkness of the forest had been welcoming, as if it knew what he had planned to do. The moonlight had graced his path with its presence, leading him to一
“Tommy, where have you been? I was worried sick!” His eyes snapped open, surprised to find that Tommy had made his way to them. He looked like he’d run a mile, his eyes blown wide as his hands began to shake. Wilbur placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, “What’s wrong, Toms?”
Tommy didn’t answer him, heading straight towards Fundy who had straightened up the moment Tommy’s gaze snapped towards him. Fingers curled around the collar of his shirt, Tommy yanking him forward with such animosity that Wilbur immediately tried to pry Tommy off of him. Fundy let Tommy hold onto him. He could see it in his eyes… he knew. There were tears at the corner of Tommy’s eyes, his teeth gritted so tightly that Fundy was scared he’d crack them. “What did you do? What the actual fuck did you do Fundy?! H-how?! Why?! How could you?!”
“Tommy, please let go of Fundy. Just… calm down, alright?”
“I’m not going to fucking calm down, Wilbur! Do you even know what Fundy just did?!” Tommy shoved him away, his back hitting the tree. Wilbur stepped in between them, the man looking absolutely perplexed as to what Tommy was stammering about. He flinched, pressing further into the tree as Tommy leaped towards him, stopped only by Wilbur wrapping him up in his arms. Tommy struggled in the general’s hold, a string of curses leaving his lips as he pointed an accusatory look at Fundy. He couldn’t help but smile, causing Tommy to scream even more as he fell further into his rage. “Why? Fundy… why the fuck would you do that?! You know who Dream is! You know what he did to us! Why… Why would you do that? You should have let me handle it. You should have let me give him my fucking discs, Fundy. Why? Why would you…”
Tommy collapsed into Wilbur’s arms, tuckering himself out, though his heated glare never once left Fundy. Wilbur turned around, his dark brown eyes regarding Fundy with fear and hesitation. Fundy couldn’t help but feel a deep and dark satisfaction at that, though he’d never truly admit it to himself. Wilbur took a deep breath, “Fundy… my little champion… what did you do?”
He looked down at, his messy ginger curls blocking his view of Wilbur’s horrified stare. As much as he felt a sick sense of joy at what he’d done, he couldn’t help the guilt that came along with it. Wilbur would simply have to get used to the fact that… he could never see his son again.
He felt tears fall past his cheeks - whether from happiness or remorse, he didn’t know.
He looked up…
And forced a bitter smile on his face, “I got you independence, dad.”
---
‘Dream looked gorgeous.’ It was the first thought that came to his mind as those large oaken doors opened to reveal the bride. The man had worn his mask underneath the veil, not that Fundy expected him to come without it. The church had been decorated with white asides from the red tulip petals that littered the carpeted aisle. He could feel Dream’s soft gaze on him as Sapnap led him down towards the altar. Fundy had to keep his tail from wagging. He wouldn’t want anyone to think that he was enjoying this. As the bride made his walk through the center, nobody once dared to look at Dream, scowls hidden from Dream’s observant gaze. Fundy wasn’t surprised. Who - within the crowd - could possibly bring themselves to be happy at a time like this?
Dream held a bouquet of red roses and snapdragons, the arrangement having been prepared by Fundy himself. He wrung his hands together, nausea racing through his veins as Dream drew nearer. From the corner of his eye, he saw Bad - the officiant of their wedding - smile at him, consoling him. He smiled weakly at the man, but his heart didn’t stop pounding in his chest. Fundy couldn’t believe he was doing this. Oh gods, he was actually going to marry Dream!
As his ears picked up on the soft tune of an organ playing in the background, his eyes turned towards the guests. Tommy was the first person who met his gaze, a scowl on the boy’s face as he turned to look away from him. He then turned to Tubbo who had seated himself next to Tommy, there was understanding in his stare, a peaceful look on his face as if he knew. The next person was Niki, his poor friend shedding tears of anguish that she couldn’t even look at him through the haze of tears in her eyes. Seated next to her was… Eret. Fundy turned away before he could even look at them, their betrayal still brought an ache to his heart that would take time to mend. As he moved on, he caught a glimpse of a familiar pair of goggles. George looked at him from the front row, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he raised a brow towards Fundy.
He winced, knowing he’d receive a lecture once Dream had brought him back to the Essempy. Fundy gave the man a small smile, turning away to look for the one person he knew he needed to see for one final time. He caught a glimpse of that familiar red beanie just as Dream reached the altar. He turned towards Dream before he could so much as look into Wilbur’s dark brown eyes.
Dream tilted his head at him, and though he couldn’t see the man’s face, Fundy could tell that he was smiling underneath the mask. Fundy wished he could actually see it, knowing that seeing Dream’s face would be better than the painted smile on that porcelain mask. He heard Bad clear his throat, glancing at both of them with an eager smile on his face. Dream nodded. Bad’s smile grew wider, “Dear friends and family, we are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the union of Dream WasTaken and Fundy Soot in marriage…” The demon’s voice drawled on, but Fundy could barely understand a word he spoke. He could feel cold sweat drip down the side of his neck, his panicked breath catching in his throat. Dream continued to stare at him. It was nearly unnerving, but he kept himself still. He wouldn’t dare to ruin such a beautiful wedding.
During the vows, with Dream speaking his part, Fundy’s gaze drifted to the side. He caught a familiar wisp of unruly brown hair, Wilbur still wearing his L’Manburg uniform unlike everyone else who had chosen to don their formal attires. The general stared at him with an empty look in his eyes. If Fundy dared to look closer, he could have sworn that Wilbur almost looked… broken. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, he could hear in Dream’s tone that he was almost finished. Fundy turned back to Dream, glad that he’d already said his vows before he’d looked at Wilbur. He didn’t need the pressure of knowing that Wilbur had been looking at him the entire time.
Then came the exchange of rings. His hands shook as Sapnap - nobody had wanted to be the ringbearer and neither Fundy nor Dream could convince George to take up the position - handed him Dream’s ring. He reached for the man’s hand, his fingers trembling as he slipped in the moonstone ring that he had spent countless hours on making. Dream reached down for his hand afterwards, slipping in his sunstone ring with a confidence that Fundy couldn’t help but envy.
Dream held onto his hand a little longer than he should have, causing Fundy to traitorously blush as he pulled his hand away. He swore he could hear Dream wheezing from beneath the mask.
Bad clapped his hands together, and Fundy wondered if the demon had stopped smiling at all during the entire ceremony. “I now pronounce you… masked husband and furry husband.” Fundy gritted his teeth at the title, unsure if he was angry or if he was going to laugh. Dream certainly had no qualms about laughing, the idiot. Bad gave Fundy a little smile, “You may now kiss the bride!” There were no claps, no screams of joy or excitement. It felt more like a funeral than a wedding if you asked him. Dream reached up for his veil, throwing it up, giving Fundy a better view of the mask that he wore. He scrunched up his nose, was Dream really going to make him kiss his mask? He heard the man - his husband now - chuckle, reaching up to lift his mask, revealing the lower half of his face. Dream snaked a hand around his waist, pulling him closer.
Dream leaned down, his lips curling into a smirk… before pulling him into a passionate kiss.
As they kissed, Fundy tried to conceal the smile that threatened to appear on his face.
“You’re a terrible actor.” Fundy gazed up into Dream’s eyes.
Dream wheezed, “I tried my best. You love me either way, don’t you?”
Fundy tried not to laugh, “I do.”
“Pretty.” He watched him tense up, axe raising mid-air before their eyes met across the field. Fundy smiled as Dream lowered his weapon, scooting over as Fundy took a seat beside him. The stars shone brightly overhead, the moon taking center stage as it illuminated the clearing with its soft silver light. He reached down, plucking a dandelion from the ground and twirling it between two fingers. He could feel Dream’s gaze on him, the blond having tilted his head to the side as he waited for him to make the first move. He had asked Dream to meet him, knowing that the man couldn’t resist the sudden invitation to simply… hang out. It had been so long since they’d watch the stars together, the war having taken its toll on both of them. As Fundy looked into Dream’s freckled face, he wondered when was the last time he’d seen Dream without the porcelain mask.
“Why are we here, Fundy?”
He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, having taken care that he didn’t wear his L’Manburg uniform to this meeting. His heart pounded in his chest despite the easy smile that he forced onto his face. Fundy knew he had to do this. There was no other option, and he’d be damned if he let Tommy play hero. The kid… the kid doesn’t deserve to lose anything else in this war. He’d already lost two of his lives. He looked up, giving Dream a small smile. “Let’s get married.”
“WHAT?!” Dream’s gazed at him with wide eyes, his mouth open in a silent gasp that never really left the man’s lips. Fundy fiddled with the inside of his sweater, looking away as he let his proposal linger. It had to be this way. He knew it had to be this way. “Wha一 You can’t just一 Fundy now is not the time for any of your tricks or schemes. A marriage proposal is serious一”
“I am serious. Marry me, Dream. We’ve talked about the idea before, haven’t we?”
“That was… That was before the war.” He looked down at the grass, catching a glimpse of Dream’s shaking hands that were curled into fists. Fundy would have loved to reach for them, hold them tightly like he used to do back before the world went insane. “I thought… I thought we said we’d never talk about it again. You didn’t want to upset your dad with the idea of… us.”
“Wilbur can handle himself. He’s proven that L’manburg matters more to him than his own family.” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers caught through the tangles. Fundy didn’t even notice Dream had moved until he felt the other’s hands combing through his hair, he nearly purred as Dream began to scratch at the back of his ears. He wondered why he’d ever given up his perfect life for a man he’d never even known. They say blood is thicker than water, but Fundy felt nothing for the man who was supposed to be his father. “Marry me, Dream.”
“And in exchange… you want me to grant L’Manburg its independence.” He could hear the exasperation in the man’s voice, and Fundy couldn’t blame him for seeing right through Fundy’s plan. It wasn’t much of a sacrifice on his part, not really. He’d had a life before he’d been dragged into the war. He’d had a life before Wilbur had decided to barge in as if he’d never abandoned Fundy at all. He felt an arm snake around his shoulders, a chin resting against the top of his head as Dream pulled him closer. His hands shook, tremors running through his fingers as he slowly reached up to return the embrace. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d done this. “You should have proposed before Tommy had decided on the duel. Now the child’s down to two lives… Well, he’s a smart kid. I'm sure he won’t lose it at some point in the future… Are you sure about this? You know you could never go back to L’Manburg after the wedding, right?”
“Dream. I already had a home before L’Manburg. And honestly! I’m so fucking tired of those stupid walls, have you seen them?” Fundy buried his face in Dream’s chest, feeling the small rumbles as Dream began to wheeze. Gods, he’d missed his - ex-boyfriend? nahhhhh - boyfriend so much. Dream wrapped his arms around him, both of them cuddling as the chill of the night began to descend on them. “You’ll marry me, right? We could have a real wedding in private.”
A finger lifted his chin, sparkling forest green eyes that reflected the night sky looked down at him in pure adoration. Fundy nearly swooned, “ItsFundy… I would be honored to marry you.”
Fundy smiled, his heart soaring.
“I missed you.”
Dream laughed, “I missed you too.”
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Clarification: Yes the last part happened before the first two sections. It's essentially how the arranged marriage thing came to be. Yep, Fundy planned it. He dated Dream before the whole war, and they broke up once Fundy sided with L'Manburg. Also, I utilized the fact that Fundy was already vibing on the SMP before L'Manburg was made and Wilbur said Fundy was his son. Cause beforehand, Fundy wasn't part of L'Manburg until that one stream where he accidentally logged within the walls of L'Manburg. So here... essentially, Wilbur abandoned him a long time ago. So Fundy already had a life on the Essempy before Wilbur came and started L'Manburg.
(Also... if you're wondering why Fundy is gonna get lectured by George... I am unfortunately a Georgebur shipper and just like the thought of Dadgy - Dad George. Sue me >:( )
#fundywastaken#fundy#dreamwastaken#wilbur soot#tommyinnit#sapnap#tubbo#niki nihachu#eret#badboyhalo#georgenotfound#dw fwt shippers I won't do that to you :p#mcyt
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Are yall ready for arctic au tommy? Get ur arctic tommy off the presses ahahahah. Please give it some love, it’s crossposted here too for yall!!!
Summary:
Tommy was the heart of the kingdom. He was loved and he loved with his very being, always bright and smiling.
And because he was of the Arctic, he was raised to give what was due. He was no fool, even if he acted like it sometimes.
After all, that was how he was raised.
----
Or Tommy learned a few things in his life
(Arctic AU)
Tommy was an active child. He ran before he could walk and yelled before he could even talk. For a child born on the darkest night, when the Moon herself hit her apex, he was as bright and vibrant as the sun.
But Tommy was no fool.
He had learned three irrefutable truths throughout his life; three rules he had to follow no matter what.
These three rules were not taught, at least not by tutors, they were whispered to him at night when no one else was around and taught through actions. Tommy was not naive, no matter how much he was a child. He knew when secrets had to remain secrets.
He didn't survive this long by being naive, even as a child of the Arctic granted her protection.
So with only the stars marking his lessons, he studied these three truths as intensely as he studied his sword lessons.
First, never touch anyone unprotected. This was a truth he had learned after accidentally burning Wisp after he held on for too long. (He remembered how the older man had hissed, the shape of a splotchy little hand on his shoulder from where Tommy had clutched him as he was carried.)
This was a rule Wilbur whispered to him at the dead of night, when he was just a small babe (not that Tommy remembered). Later, his father reminded him, tucking gloves around his small hand, covering his skin.
"Be careful, Stardust." Phil murmured, hands gentle and sturdy as he gifted Tommy his very first pair of embroidered gloves. "You are a child of the Arctic, born of frost and snow."
His father had held him close, and Tommy stretched out his little palm over Phil's, comparing their hands. "Our hands are a gift from her, a mark we bear as proof that she protects us."
"But we are made of ice and wind, frost flowers and gentle flurries; and the Arctic is possessive."
Tommy in all his childish wonder looked back up at his father, "what does that mean?"
"It means she doesn't want others to touch us."
"But why?"
Tommy's father tucked him closer in his embrace. Tommy shivered. "I don't know, Stardust."
"That's dumb!"
"Careful with that thread, Tommy. That's no way to address her." Phil scolded gently, his finger tapping Tommy on the tip of his nose.
Tommy apologized and that was that. Phil pressed another kiss to Tommy's hair and tucked him in for the night. That morning after, the story about the Arctic was all but forgotten in favor of running and playing with Wilbur.
The second lesson he learned was that trust is earned, not given.This rule wasn’t one Tommy had ever really realized the importance of until he was about nine.
It wasn't as though he'd never seen it, with how his brother drew people like Schlatt and Techno to him, or the way his uncles could always reliably be seen by his father's side. But he still was a prince surrounded by people trying to please him.
That is, until he met Tubbo.
Tommy had seen him once before in passing, pointed out to him by Pete who wandered over by his side.
"That one should be interesting," the older man said with a mischievous grin. "He has promise, after all."
He looked up to the man his father considered his friend, salt and pepper hair blowing in the wind and mischievous eyes twinkling with something he couldn't name.
And Tommy was nothing if not curious. More so about the boy his father's old friend called "promising". Unfortunately, Tubbo was tired and Tommy was the last person he wanted to talk to after his long day. So when they finally met, Tommy had much to say to the boy who would spend time with him.
Tommy had imagined how they would play and perhaps prank the members of the castle. They would be fast friends, he decided, inseparable. He stayed still and quiet throughout the ceremony, as his uncles welcomed each recruit, as his father stood and echoed the sentiments; though he felt jittery and couldn't wait for the end.
He was convinced that they would be friends. That they would get past guard and protectee and said as much when they finally had a chance to meet, away from the public eye.
After an alarming amount of time silent, Tubbo had very kindly told him to fuck off, which was a first for the prince to hear, but had made sense, especially after their first meeting had ended in what could be kindly called a disaster.
This was a rule he learned slowly over time. A rule he learned through trial and error. A rule he knew in principle, with the old stories of how his uncles Wisp and Jordan seemed to be everywhere and how they appeared right by his father's side when he needed them, but not a rule he knew very well in principle. It took quite a bit of time, a year and a half in fact when the two finally became friends.
And Tommy had been right.
They were the closest of friends, partners in crime in their own little quest to play pranks on the rest of the castle.
Last, Tommy had learned that sometimes lying was needed. This was a rule that was hard to swallow.
Let it be known that in principle, Tommy hated lying; hated liars and hated their cloying smiles as they weaved untruths into their words. He hated it with a passion, hated how they would lie for their own personal gain. There was no use in it, no mutual benefit in it and no fun in it.
Lying was the coward's way to the hearth. It tied a thread so loosely that one tug at it would cause the whole tapestry to unravel. It was a waste of time and a waste of the precious little warmth they could get.
So this rule was hard to understand. It took far too long for Tommy to understand that sometimes it was necessary. That sometimes for them to live, they must lie to survive.
It was an unspoken truth that as much as the Arctic was as no nonsense they could get, they also loved spinning tales and weaving stories. It was an unspoken truth that as much as those of the Arctic abhorred the flowery language of the tropic, they practiced the same language when speaking to others, hiding in plain sight.
It was an unspoken truth that the Arctic were hypocrites.
Tommy hated liars, hated them with all his being. It was very much a tropic mentality, to twist words when a simple answer could be said instead. (He didn't realize that was only because Phil wanted to be truthful with them). He couldn't understand why Wilbur had to schmooze with the more tropic merchants, plastering a smile and a laugh when he knew that all his brother wanted was to kick them out of the castle. He didn't understand why he had to lie about where Wisp would go at times or about why his brother would tell him he was going on an adventure when he knew he wasn't.
He didn't understand until he saw for himself.
Tommy wasn't naive nor an idiot. There was no place for that in the Arctic. He had survived so long for a reason, no matter how much Phil and Wilbur and the rest of his family had tried to keep him in the dark about it.
Tommy wasn't an idiot.
But he still felt like one when he overheard Wilbur whispering prayers to the stars to keep Tommy safe after an assassination attempt. He still felt like one when Techno told him of the horrors he'd witnessed burning in the tropic. He had felt like one when Schlatt had uncovered a coup in the far edges of the empire.
He felt like one when Tubbo told him how old he truly was, how young he truly was. How he’d been starving. How signing up was his last chance. How his best friend had lied on his papers; forged papers in fact. How his whole family knew in an instant but he was never informed. How his best friend could have died and he would never have gotten the chance to meet him.
The Arctic was filled with hypocrites and Tommy was one of them.
He didn't care that Tubbo had lied. He didn't care that he had to lie. He didn't care how many lies his family had to make.
He didn't care about that.
This third rule was the hardest to swallow. It was the hardest for its necessity. The Arctic was cold and ruthless and its people the same. To protect his friends, his family, lying and untruths were a must to survive.
---
Tommy had learned three rules throughout his life. Some he knew in an instant, others had taken a while to understand.
But he wasn't an idiot.
Tommy is the second son of the Arctic after all, gifted with power that no one could understand and taught by the cold winds and night skies.
#arctic au#tommyinnit#tubbo#wilbur soot#philza#goodness i cant believe im writing blockman fic hahah
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“Have you ever heard of something called "The Wild Hunt?” + anxceitmus? - loveceit
This is long. Very long. And very prosey, bear with me! @loveceit
AO3
***
“Storytime, Tommy. Have you ever heard of something called ‘The Wild Hunt?’” Grandpa croaked. Little Thomas shook his head, and found himself pulled off the carpet and into the old man’s lap for the tale.
“It’s a magical, terrible thing, Tommy, like of which you’ll only ever see once in your life, if you’re lucky. Lucky enough to get away, that is.” Grandpa smacked his lips thoughtfully, and Little Thomas wondered how long he’d have to wait until he could go back to playing with his toy car on the floor instead. “I saw it once, when I was young see. Heard all the tales from my Maw. We live on ancient land here, Tommy, you know that don’t you? You heard about the pictsies and the will-o’-the-wisps you’re meant to stay away from, haven’t you?” Little Thomas nodded. He liked those stories, even if they were scary sometimes. Maybe this was another one of the same.
“S’it a scary story, grandpa?” He asked, getting comfortable and sticking his thumb in his mouth, eyes wide and rapt.
Grandpa sighed. “A little bit, Tommy. It was scary back then, even if it can’t hurt now. Nought but words, today. They’re long gone, the ones in it, never to return again.
“See when I was a boy there was a dare all the boys in school liked to cycle round. Who could stay out in the elm grove all night without moving or being took. It was tradition, when you turned eleven. What an age to be, eleven. Magical, it was, going up to big school and leaving all the kiddie stuff behind. Or so we thought, until we turned older and realised how silly that was.”
“The story, grandpa?” Little Thomas urged impatiently. Grandpa snorted, bopping him on the nose.
“I’ll get there, little sapling, don’t you rush me now. It takes some remembering.
I think there were three of us that went that night, though one ran off before we reached the grove in the end. Smart lad. Then it was just me and the other boy, don’t ask because I don’t remember his name, and we sat together on the very edge of the grove.
I’ll take you there one day maybe, Tommy, because it is a special place. Needs to be seen to be believed. Until you’re inside the trees seem normal as you like but inside they stretch up two, three times taller than any tree you ever saw, and at the top they twist in together, like the top of a church spire made of branches. It’s always warm, even in winter. That’s the sign of the Summer Court, y’see. You remember your courts, don’t you lad? No? Well Seelie, that’s the Summers, see. The bright, beautiful ones with all the good intentions in the world. And we know what they say about good intentions. Well, that’s the Fair Folk alright. Now the Unseelie are the Court of Winter. They don’t hold much sway around here; they tend to take the northern land instead, which is a blessed relief let me tell you. Never heard so many children go missing as near a Winter grove.”
Little Thomas squirmed anxiously and Grandpa hugged him tighter. “It’s a good story, Tommy, if you can get through it. Do you want to try?” The boy nodded quickly and the old man smiled proudly. “There’s a brave lad.
The night fell quickly, on account of all the trees and branches keeping out the sun, and yet somehow we both thought we could see the stars. Different stars to what you and I usually see, but there nonetheless. And between the stars, or in front of them; flickering shadows of darkness across the false sky, rippling like they were reflections and we were looking into a pool.
Now what I never told you, nor your father for that matter, is I once had a brother. A few years older than me and wild as the land itself, and he’d gone to the grove once before too. He never came back though, and I was secretly wondering if I’d see him tonight. It was only a child’s wonder really, but I swore all at once I could hear him laughing, but he sounded like a man now, grown the same way I’d grown since he’d vanished.
The other boy I stopped even thinking about, and I stood up to move forwards. He tried to stop me, said there was the sound of horns on the wind and hoofbeats coming, but I didn’t listen. He knew what that meant, and he ran away then too. The Hunt was coming.” Little Thomas gasped and Grandpa nodded seriously. “Yes Tommy, the Hunt. The Wild Hunt. They ride when the white stag comes into his antlers, whenever that may be. On horses finer than any you’ll see on regular ground, with shining gold armour and flags made of the richest materials your eyes could imagine. And that night they came.
I never saw the stag, so he must’ve passed before we showed, or else he was somewhere unseen and they were just coming through the grove on the way there. But I only just moved out of the way before the train came. The knights went first, then the Lords and Ladies and then their King and Queen. I hid, but I never set a foot outside the grove so I didn’t. And when they were nearly all gone I stepped forwards again to watch them vanish among the trees, laughing and talking and playing the sweetest music.
And I heard my brother again. He was suddenly there beside me on a horse, his hair long and wild and his face just as I’d known it, but somewhat older. I wasn’t even surprised to see him; somehow I knew that’s where he would be, had been all along.
Two other Fae stopped with him, all of them more beautiful and strange than any mortal could be. One had rich, dark hair and purple eyes, he was quiet, behind my brother all the while even as he got off the horse to come to me. The third was all smiles, his golden braids shining like pure gold. And in Remus’s hair there was silver now, trailing down in front of his face and his bright, laughing eyes.
He hugged me tight, said how I’d grown, and asked if I was there to join them. The dark one made a face but the golden one came closer, and it felt like sunshine itself on my face when he touched my cheek. The kind of sunshine that burned, mind, and I managed to tell them a firm no.
The golden one looked annoyed but my brother made him move away, and gave me a kiss on the forehead before mounting his horse again. He warned me not to come again if I was to refuse, and rode off. The last I saw of the Hunt was the three of them, an after image that stayed even when I closed my eyes, turned towards each other, bright and wild. I think Remus had chosen well.”
Little Thomas blinked heavily, thumb stuck securely in his mouth. Grandpa pursed his lips. “I think he chose very well. I saw them once again, when I was at my worst. Just shy of an adult and trying to run away, I was. Near the grove I fell, caught my ankle on a fallen log and couldn’t walk. I lay there for a while until night came, and then those same stars showed up again. I never knew whether he came because he knew I needed help or if he was just passing through, but Remus was there again. He bent next to me, and his loves- that was what he called him, his loves- helped poultice my ankle and fetch me water and a little hardtack to fill my stomach. They helped me to the edge of the forest, and that golden one was desperate to keep me again but Remus distracted him, and the dark one held his hands out and pulled them away. I think he was scared of me, in some way. And I was certainly scared of him.
That was the last I saw of any of the Fair Folk with my own two eyes. I escaped once, and survived a second time, and that’s more’n most people get in several lifetimes, so don’t you go expecting nothing now, you hear me? Tommy?”
Little Thomas’s eyes were shut and his breathing slow, thumb slipping out of his mouth as he slept. The old man smiled, stroking his cheek tenderly and leaning back in the chair. He glanced out of the window, noting the sun setting on the hills. A flicker of a shadow and the faintest hint of laughter were the only hints that anyone else may have been listening.
Roman smiled, lifting a hand to wave, knowing full well that it would be seen. Just because he had never seen the Fair Folk again did not mean they weren’t there, after all.
#writepie#anxceitmus#ts remus#ts deceit#ts virgil#all mentioned#ts roman#ts character thomas#fae folk#folk tales#ts writing#ts sanders sides#ts sanders sides aus#ts sanders sides fic#sanders sides
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The Stars in the Darken Sky
Summary: As months have passed, Tommy is met with a woman who he could not let go.
_
Tommy notices the way how the Christmas lights glistened against her brunette hair, the little wispy hair encasing her petite features and the delicate fingers that had once wrapped around him were now enfolded around the cold glass of whiskey on ice. His blue eyes continue to gaze over the way your red stamped lips forming slight words whispering.
She looked different, he thought, better than he has remembered than the past months.
Her laugh, the giggles followed was one of the few details that have continued to engrave his mind. Even before his post to the war and the following years later, he still remembered the way how her head slightly tilts backward with the fine lines of her smile widens showcasing your pearly white teeth.
It had been a series of a few months since he has seen her. You.
The first nights after you have left the rear end of Birmingham have left him in irascible. He loathed her, he remembered as his mind unconsciously combs back through his memories.
The first nights were filled with hate that lingered on his skin, though it once was lingered now seeped into his veins. A type of hate that turned into the annoyance of her creeping in the back of his mind. That annoyance turned into self-loathe, a loathe that he hated himself for missing the way her eyes looked upon his. The way how her sight made him feel too noticed. And most importantly, that self-loathe turned into despise because he despised how she had bewitched him, - danced around her fingers in tunes that she loves to hear.
The Shelbys have reasoned with him of course, the endless conversation of “she’s just another girl who left Birmingham”. Polly out of the lot tried to reason Tommy the most, with her speeches that would enter Tommy’s ear and out the other. It did not help him of course, perhaps subdued the pain over time.
Nonetheless, as months have passed, the memory of her fades with. As the sun and booze continue to coax him through the day though just when he thought he had gotten rid of her. It was only then when the moon creeps into the night sky lingering amongst the white clouds that paint the dark cloak of Birmingham. It’s only then when the little stars creep out of the darken the painted sky, he remembers. He remembers dark eyes glooming through the night sky, reflecting the shimmer she once held in her eyes as if they are the stars. Heavenly from afar, yet the burned at the touch.
And that was her.
Yet, as months passed and the linger touch of her hands, her perfumed scent that he once remembered, and the way how her lips formed her voice that rings through his ears continue to fade from memory. Just only left was the shimmer in your eyes, and the tilt of your head following with your set of giggles engraved his mind. Perhaps, if another set of months continued, he would’ve - maybe forgotten them too.
It was only then when your presence stunned him in this late evening Christmas Eve party. It all started with her laughter, that echoed in the hallway, at first, he thought it was a memory echoing in his mind, hearing things when he shouldn’t have been.
But when your presence walked through the arched doorway, and the face he remembered once all too well - he seemed to have forgotten to breathe.
As the minutes passed the memories came flooding in with as well. Her presence carried throughout the room, as she engages in conversation with her peers.
Tommy stood there aghast. Even as if the clock ticked by, he stood there for 33 minutes staring at the way her lips ghosting through conversation with Ada.
He wondered if you noticed him across the room blended with an array of people. He wondered as to why you showed up months later. Questions after questions ran through his mind endlessly as his fingers probe around his vest and pockets for a cigarette.
“Stop starin’ at her - will ya?” Arthur’s thick voice interrupted Tommy’s train of thought, “Your eyes will fall out of yer head”, he states, as his fingers passed a lighter to Tommy’s palm. The lit cigarette held between Tommy’s lips as he inhaled as if it was the last air he was able to grasp onto.
“What is she doing here?”, Tommy asks as the cig leans off his lip, “Who knows.” Arthur shrugs, as he sips from his glass, “Isn’t she supposed to be married to some bloke from London?” He asks, with a confusion lingered on his features. It was then now Arthur and Tommy Shelby are staring at her, noticing the way she postures amongst her peers.
There were a lot of rumours that started to float its way from London to Birmingham - whether Tommy knew if she moved to London, he didn’t - hence the rumours. The more Tommy thought about it - the less he knew. The less he knew whether why she left and who she left for.
Nonetheless, gossip continued to sway through town - some say she found an upper-class man and took her away from the slums of Birmingham. Others say she carried a child and moved to London, while a few mentions that she was unsatisfied, and fed up with the life of the Peaky Blinders and went straight.
Just when he thought he knew everything about her - he didn’t. Though, of course, he was not blind, he was well-aware of the men she beds with, as he could recognize the slight marks left on her skin in the dawn of morning.
The jealousy had always reined within his skin when he could smell the lingering scent of men - yet it still did not stop him from wanting you. Perhaps he is bewitched, he thought, by the palm of your hands.
The slight Christmas vinyl humming in the background did not subside the nerves breaking down his inner chords - it was the fact; it had been 38 minutes and the night have not even started.
“I need a stronger drink”, Tommy states briskly, turning to brush against Arthur’s shoulder. His feet carry through the wooded hallway to the white-washed kitchen. As his hands continue to scour through the cabinets hoping any type of alcohol would drink away his worried state of mind. The rustling of the cabinet doors and the clashed and clink of the glass raises the echoed noise amongst the wall.
He got himself a brandy of Irish whiskey - pouring on top of the layer of ice into a cold glass. Hoping the drink will whisk his wants and needs far away.
“Mind pouring another glass?”, A voice interrupts Tommy’s actions. The cigarette that once held within his lips has now fallen into the sink, the burning ashes disappearing into a mild of wetness covered by the thin layer of left-over water.
“Fuck”, he states in shock, as the drink almost fell out of his grasp and his eyes immediately turn to the voice he easily recognized at once. Just when he thought he banished at every memory he and you ever made; it came flooding back.
Your voice. The sound of your accent has not changed, and it was still angelic to his ears - again he loathed himself for feeling this way. Tommy leans on the counter, his right hand held onto the comforting of the cold glass as his left hold onto the edge of the counter - almost grasping onto a lifeline he did not know he needs.
His eyes stare at her physique, her posture is leaning against the door frame, as the silver flapper dressed wraps around her figure. Her brunette hair has grown as he remembered she never enjoyed her hair being a shorter length.
Her red bow lips smirk like an angel was carved by the hands of a Goddess. The Christmas lights hanging from the hallway ceiling are now flickering behind her - giving a sense of heaven-like aesthetic. Was this heaven? Is he dreaming? Tommy questioned his thoughts.
“Here”, Tommy interrupts his thought and gestures his glass towards hers. She took steps forward and immediately Tommy’s breath was taken away by your beauty, as he feels the familiar touch of your fingers grazing over his encasing the cold glass. She’s real, it’s real, Tommy’s conscious reassures him.
The desperation of another touch lingered on his fingers, as he poured himself an additional drink. His fingers clutch onto the glass to subside the tremble he feels. His eyes gaze over the way her lips devoured the drink before her - slowly, sensual like that Tommy’s eyes fluttered in reaction. Her dark eyes opened gazing towards his ocean ones.
“Irish whiskey?”, she asks with her linger accent. “Haven’t had one in a while”, she states with a slight chuckle leaving her lips. He was silent, perhaps the words he could not find were not able to leave his lips.
“Your hair has grown”, she mentions, her eyebrow rose in curiosity added with a small smile.
He coughed under his breath, “Yeah, haven’t gotten the time”, he comments as his fingers continue to grasp onto what was once cold, now warm glass due to the sweat of his palm.
“So how have you’ve been?”, she comments hesitantly. “Swell", he pauses, "how’s London?”, he replies. Confusion littered on her face, “London? - ah, I see the rumours have dispelled, hasn’t it?”, she pauses, “The wisp of gossip - it never really surprises me”, as a smirk hangs onto her features. She notices the way his eyes analyzed her fingers especially the small rock stacked on the thin band of the ring,
“Engaged, not married, Tommy”, she comments. He subsides with a slight nod to her comment, as a sigh leaves his lips,
“8 months”,
A pause,
“Pardon?”, she questions.
“8 months since you left, where have you’ve been?”, he questions. “It almost sounds as if you are integrating me, Mr. Shelby”, she said with an amusement laced between her teeth,
She slowly turns away from the frame door leading herself into the wooded hallway, as if she was stringing Tommy along - like a rope on a pet - and he followed. Slowly increasing his steps as he if was chasing her trying to catch her and he was. His feet carried himself out of the whitewashed kitchen to the darken yet, glistening hanging lights above flickering to the beat of the sound of his heart.
His eyes noticed the curled hair pinned behind her neck and the low cut showcasing her naked backside. He did not know where she was taking him, but he followed willingly - his fingers clung onto the drink as if it was for reinforcement of reality.
She walked like a beauty, he recognized in thought, he studied the way her feet pointed forward and the straight shoulders leading herself in a direction - it was then when he recognized all the familiar feeling of his heart being sunk into his shoes. As Tommy realized how desperately he wanted her. The touch of her was close - close enough to grasp onto the loose curls that hang around her neck, yet just as if the cat chases the mouse, he wasn’t able to hold her within his grasp for too long. His fingers could never hold onto her, as it once did before.
A small delicate gasp leaves her as she stunts in her position standing alongside the doorway leading into a room where Tommy kept materialistic items, he was not able to put elsewhere. Immediately, Tommy’s eyes flung to where she was gazing at.
“I see, you kept my novels”, she comments.
Her gaze is kept on a grand bookshelf that is strung along against the wall - amongst the books, were knick-knack household items placed around the shelves and the side tables next to the fur lounge chairs.
The room was a tad careless - a few specks of dust laid on the dark wooden shelves and it was clear to her that this room has been kept untouched. He watches the way how her fingers graze over the delicate spine of the books. He notices how her lips form whispering the titles - it’s as if a flash of memory flickers behind her eyes.
It was then in that moment, Tommy urged his vocals to fall, but as if it the words vomited out of his mouth, he could not bring himself to stop, as his vocals betrayed him. “Who’s the lad?” Tommy comments, almost too quietly, but it was enough for her ears to capture the delicate lace he carried among the words he said.
Your eyes looked over to Tommy, as he stared through yours. The same ocean eyes who used to taunt her dreams - the same eyes that once in the past made her re-arrange her mind so there would be room for him to stay. But as the past months caught up to the present days - she never knew how much room he occupied in her life. So, she looked at him and saw the nerves seeping out of his pores as Tommy sips on the drink, a little longer than usual. The trinket sound of your fingers playing with the glass, half-empty in your hand was heard - it was the only sound that echoed within the four walls.
“Do you care?”, her voice enters Tommy’s ears.
“No”, he comments, nonetheless it was a lie. He did care. He cared a little too much. Though, knowing that her hands could break his heart - he did not want her to know. Sometimes, perhaps, though the clever lies secretly say the truths. And she knew.
She rose her eyebrow in amusement, as her eyes divert from his back to the bookshelf, as she took a novel from the shelf opening the pages. He waited for an answer, whether she would comment on her whereabouts for the past 8 months or whom she fell in love with while he waited to dwell within his own home - hoping she would come back. Tommy silently scoffed to himself, thinking he was a fucking pathetic puppy - in a lot of ways he was.
He lusted over a woman and it all started with her eyes, a touch of hell and a linger of paradise.
Her body faced the shelves as her fingers slowly turn the pages - eyeing the writing she had written between the letters of the words she once believed in. “He’s French”, a quiet murmur escapes her lips. In reaction, Tommy’s eyes fluttered with a tinge of annoyance. Fucking France, he thought. His hand placed the glass on an empty shelf, as his hands scoured over his pockets for a cigarette.
A sigh leaves his throat, as he continues to rim the cig between his lips - for a mere of thought,
“So, you moved to France, eh?”, He questions, as he lit the stick. Out of the corner of his eyes, he notices hers gazing at the bud light burning at the end of the cigarette before returning her eyes to the pages once more. “The city of love isn’t it?”, she murmurs. “Isn’t love the same elsewhere”, he comments with a hint of irritation and displeasure ringing in her ears. “Perhaps”, she says with a slight chuckle.
There was a silent pause - and just like he knew, he would never truly find the answers he desperately looked for. “I see you have expanded your business, Tommy”, she comments. The way his name left her lips is the same as how his breath has left his lungs - the exasperation of needing air, yet she was all he needed. “Yes, some things have changed”, he commented, almost out of breath. He sucks on the stick, longer than he intended to.
“I guess, that’s what time does”, she pauses, “It changes everything, doesn’t it?”, she questions, almost as if it was to herself, yet as a statement rather than a question. Another silent pause. The only sound left was the exhale and inhale of their lungs - the tension lingered in the air and within their bones.
“What are you doing here?”, he questions with stern displayed within his voice.
“I miss Ada and Polly – “
“Cut the bullshit”, he retaliates.
“I was in town truly, so I thought perhaps, I swing by to visit the people I care about, family and friends, talk about old times, while we drink some whiskey”, she clings her drink in the air - in cheer motion. “Then we go upstairs and sleep together eh?”, He comments. Her eyes immediately gaze at his, closing the book with a sound of smack echoing from the pages. “Perhaps, Tommy”, she comments with an amusement dancing on her lips, as her smirks delves onto her features, “Just now, on way to the kitchen, I changed my mind.”, She pauses, “So, I’ll just have one more drink, and dwell you on the memories of France, Italy, and London with a man I love, then I can go.
Her comment nonetheless stunted him. It was if she was the ocean and he was a boy who loved the waves that taunted him, yet, he would still willingly venture into the sea only to be drowned by the currents.
He didn’t know whether the comment she made was to torture, torment, and taunt him as usual - she always loved to play him like a violin, tuning the strings to her likening. “So, you changed your mind”, he murmurs with a slight head nod towards her direction. A small smile etches on her lips. He continues to inhale on the cigarette, as his forefinger grazes over his upper lip, in thought.
“He’s lovingly sweet and kind to me”, she pauses, “So what makes you think after 8 months, how dare you think I would’ve gotten in bed with you?”
“Doesn’t matter now, you’ve changed yer mind”, he states as a smoke leaves his lips. A small sigh leaves her lips, as her fingers shove the book back in its place. There again was another moment of silence, whether to dissipate the unresolved tension that would lead to raised voices - a moment of serenity as needed. “Have you found someone, Tommy?”, She whispers curiously.
His palm reaches into his hair trying to smooth out the sweat and nerves seeping out of his hairline. He ignores her question, “Yet, your still here”, the husk of his voice echoing her ears.
“Are you so certain that I would leave too soon?”, she questions quietly, with a lace of tease leaving her lips. “You always love to show up in inconvenient times”, he comments, “I am an inconvenience”, she retorts.
“Always”, he states as another smoke leaves his lips. “I hadn’t spent a day without thinking about you, and yet here you are”, his hand gestures to your figure. “You know I hate reunions, y/n”, he comments again, as his feet shuffle closer to you. “I’m aware”, she comments almost whispering on the words she said. “I don’t want to sit here and dance around on what we want to say or mean”, he pauses, “So, now...I know your happy where ever you are”, his feet inches a few more, “Your fiancé is kind, and you changed your mind about sex because you don’t love me anymore”, the words he said left a snap of a twinge hitting near his heart.
Because now it’s a reality.
“Are you so certain?”, She questions, “That I’m not in love with you”, she states. “I was, but not anymore”, he comments, “You left”. “I did”, she whispers. Whether he knew what that comment alludes to - if she did love him or restated that she did leave - he chose the latter.
“Now, you came back”, he motions as the gentle touch of his fingertips graze over the open back of her dress. He can see the goosebumps that have risen over her bare skin. Just as his fingers lower to the end stern of her back, a shallow gasp leaves her lips.
“I did”, she quickens with her comment. Tommy’s lips lazily lay over her exposed neck as she faces the books in front of her. Only heard was the nature and quicken paced of her breathing as well as his. A small sensual kiss turned into a possession laced over his lips, marking all the exposed bare skin it was seen to the eyes. His firmed yet calloused hands held onto her hips almost clenching at the seams.
As her right hand held firmly onto the shelf, the left snaked loosely to the seams of his pants. As her hand palms his cock firmly, in reaction to Tommy’s fingers tightened. His voice involuntarily sends a hiss to her ears.
In return, she starts to take notice that he is slowly, but surely enough rutting against her palm in forwarding motion. As slight moans leave his lips and the quickened inhale and exhale was noticeable.
His eyes are closed, at the faint touch of her hand only to be taken away as he hears the echoes of faint laughter creeping in the hallway. Immediately, your body turned almost pushing Tommy off to the armchair of the lounge. A short and small grunt leaves his lips. He quickly used his feet and any leftover gravity to balance the almost-fall.
As her hands smoothed down the dress and the loose curls around her neck only to feeling a burn to the touch due to Tommy’s possessive lips and teeth. The laughter and chattering of the guests slowly passed by and the silence quickly fades over. As Tommy continues to slightly sit on the edge of the armchair, and your eyes frantically look over his calm figure, though you seemingly notice his heavy chest rising over and over.
Perhaps, it was the way he stared at you or the way his head motions you to come with him, nonetheless, you followed. Both of you strode along, in the dark hallway that led to the steep stairs, you recognized yet the feeling was still unfamiliar. He notices the way how your eyes kept gazing towards the fixture of the houses - notice the slight difference from which the house grew without her.
His hand held onto the doorknob to his vacant room, almost reassuring himself - what for, he did not know. She moved across the room - her first sight landed upon the giant windows she once loved. “It’s snowing”, she comments with a small smile. The snowflakes were thin and delicate, but it fell so slow - too angelic like. It covers the first layer of faded green grass and the dark skies cover the shadows of his land.
“No stars”, she sighs, eyes gazing at the night sky. “They’ll come out soon”, Tommy whispers, as he wraps his arms around her figure from behind, holding her as if she was the last flower to soon wither away.
The feeling of his bulge against your backside was felt and it only left a silent chuckle underneath your breath. Your body slowly turned to face Tommy’s features and the arms are now wrapped around your waist, placing you against the chilled window - sending a frisk of nip at your spine.
The room was dark, no candles, no light except the snowflakes reflecting from the window, where you can see the fine lines of his features, the ocean blue eyes you once was familiar with daily, now has been months - a faded memory that is slowly becoming alive again.
Your right-hand grazes his cheek, as his eyes flutter out of reaction. He was the first to lean out of impatience. His lips laid over yours - almost hesitantly as if he debated himself within, but soon enough he gave in like he always does.
The feeling of his lips on yours was the taste of luxury you’d always recognized - and no matter the trips to the city of love or the views of Vienna’s beach - they never somehow compare to visiting Tommy.
The kiss grew harder as your hand wraps around his neck reinforcing the stability of your posture. His tongue breaks through your lips first, leaving a small gasp. It was the mere touch of his hot tongue meeting your cold due to the whiskey drink merely sent a great shiver down his spine. Your tongue met his as his hands find your backside grasping onto your right leg as it hovers his side of the leg - he pushes his hips forward to meet yours as the gasps left both of your lips.
The continuous rutting and blood thrusting through their veins only heightened the feeling more - it consumed them. And for the first time - they let it. “Fuck”, he whispers against her lips, as his hips buck into hers. A shallow breath leaves her lips, and the darkened eyes he loves has only grown intensively.
He moves his feet backward falling onto the white-sheeted bed, as her hip is buckled onto his. As she was on top of his bulge only enforcing the movement harder and quicker. To which only increased his fingers clenching onto the seams of her dress.
Out of impulse reaction, his fingers crawl underneath the opening of her loose flapper dress, trying to pull it over her head opening - she followed with his motions. She laid over him with only black lace undergarments as he threw the dress across the room, not caring for where the cloth lands. His eyes expressively gaze over her body, as her hips continue to move forward, dry humping at his bulge.
Another groan leaves his lips, as a small gasp leaves her lips when Tommy flips her over leaving him laying on top of her. The brisk of his fingers clench onto the base of her hair underneath her neck as he struts his hips forward meeting the core of her opening.
Her fingers tremble at the touch of unbuttoning his vest, following with his shirt exposing the nakedness of his chest - the tattoo she recognizes once more. Tommy leans back onto his knees, leaving the touch of your hair empty - as he unbuckles his pants, pulling down the undergarment with as well.
The heavy heaving between his chest as yours was heard amongst the walls - echoing in the floorboards and the wooden framed bed. His nudity exposed within the front of her, as his eyes and fingers grazed over her thighs grasping onto the bottom laced of her underwear. Only a shallow breath leaves her lips as the chilled air touches the heated opening. Your fingers followed with unclasping your bra, as his eyes flutter to the sight.
He slowly, but firmly presses his abdomen against yours, as the head of his cock tease the entrance resulting in a sequence of slow whines, and furious grunts from his end. It was silent, not another word was said. Usual profanities were common amongst, but, perhaps, the unfulfilled and unspent of 8 months have left them silent, mourning at the loss of their time. The feeling of his slow thrust, while his blue eyes stared within your darken ones - only ensured a groan leaving his lips, “Fuck, this is what”, he pauses, “I have been missing”, he grunts almost annoyingly. The agape between his lips matched yours, sometimes the feeling was too strong for any vocals to hither.
His cock stretched the feeling of your walls and it only pulsated the feeling even more. The forward motion of his cock entering and leaving only to enter again, repeatedly, left numerous grunts and moans escaping both of their lips.
Your fingers scratch his backside and he push harder, only for profanities to leave his lips. As your legs tightened onto the base of his thighs wrapping him tightly only enforcing the treasured feeling between.
Sweat layered upon the side of his face. Sometimes a drip or two beads of sweat lay in between your breast pressed against his chest, not caring of the mess between. Her gaze held onto his as the erotic sense of pleasure keeps rising till it was too much to consume. She can feel the sweat of his legs encasing with hers as his leaked cum intertwines with the arousal wetness of her inner walls.
The groans turn into quiet yet shallow whimpers as it echoes among their ears. The bite of her lips and the darkened eyes gaze at him and that alone consumed and exploit his pleasure. As their eyes continue to stare within each other perhaps, holding onto the time they had left - holding onto the feeling before it falls within out of their grasp.
The time came closer than before, it ticked and ticked till the clock struck at its hand.
“Tommy”, a whimper leaves her lips. As a groan leaves him, and the heavy breathing echoes within their lungs - his body gently lay over hers from exhaustion and the sweat and exposed emotions he held are now laid.
Her hand grazes over his backside, as he pulls out leaving a hiss as your voice echoes shallow whimper at the feeling.
As your eyes landed on the ceiling, slowly shifting to the window - still no stars, you noted in thought. Your feet almost carried you to the flapper dress you caught a glimpse of - until a hand grasp onto your wrist holding you in place.
His eyes match yours, and what left his lips did indeed cracked a part of your known cold heart,
“Stay”, he whispers, almost as if it was a statement, opposed to a question. Whilst, turning on the lamps next to the bed, as your eyes see the mere glimpse of hope and desperation.
So, you did. You stayed.
The hours pass, as both of you shared the white soft sheets - the dark sky keeps pulling in closer to the night. The room was filled with chatter amongst you and Tommy, as you shared your memories in the cities you have visited. The cities you prolonged and marked the stones you walked.
As the minutes ticked by, it only increased the conversation at hand - the rumours you denied, the changes that Tommy has made within his business, and the flirt and tease left your lips only increased the burning hunger he had within his core.
This, of course, endures another fucking placed at the hands of Tommy.
“Fuck, darling”, he grunts, as he continuously shoves, pulls, and shoves his cock within your wall. The once chilled glass was damped to the sweat from your back as he held you against the glass window. Your fingers grasp onto the side of his shaven hair as his lips are fallen upon your neck.
You can feel the sense of him being near due to the shallow push and pull increased within his hips as your legs clamps around his - almost clinging onto him. His hands grasp onto the side of your arse and lower legs, his fingers clenching into the skin once more before a low grunt leaves his lips and still leaving a few shallow thrusts.
A loud groan leaves your lips as your head slightly strikes against the glass. Again, the harsh breathing continues to beat within your lungs.
-
Your feet meet the end of a pillow, as Tommy lays against the headboard, smoking the last bud of the cigarette. You were half-sitting, and half-laying at the foot of the bed, watching the way at how Tommy express his words. And he watches on how her eyes catch and studies his.
Again, the minutes ticks by.
“What do I have to do to make you stay?”, his questions catches you off guard. Your head turned from the time, 2:52 am, to Tommy’s head tilted meeting your gaze.
You hummed in a teasing manner, tilting your head in thought, “Perhaps, you just have to catch me”, she whispers with a twinge of amusement laced within her teeth - as usual.
His eyebrow rose in curiosity and the fine lines held the smirk he felt within on his features.
A loud gasp leaves your lips, as his hands quickly grasp onto your ankles pulling you down with the bedsheets. She laughs and giggles and to him, it sounds like the promised land.
He pulls her within his arms, as he draws the bedding sheets back to hoping you would voluntarily to fall asleep within his bed. He saw the hesitation within your gestures, nonetheless, you followed as your body laid next to his, tucked within the white soft sheets. He turns his figure to facing yours as you followed his. Both of you were now faced to face - as his eyes gazed into your darkened ones.
“This wasn’t right Tommy”, her voice whispered, her eyes fluttering as sleep creeps within her - though the words hissed like venom to his ears.
“Then you go back”, he comments as he inhaled sharply. She quietly hums, as her eyes start to flutter closed, as sleep took over her. It was only then he was gazing and memorizing the delicate lines within her feature - as if it was a photograph taken in time.
“Can I see you again?”, she hears Tommy say but does not answer.
-
Tommy jolted to the dark taunt of his dreams, his eyes peeled and adjusted to the heavy slight pitch black of his room - only light from the window. As his eyes almost flutter at the close, it was only then a bright light that passes through the dark cloak of the night sky that shines its embers through his room. Tommy turns over, only to see the vacant side of his bed.
His heart sunk.
As if it was the ocean, once again he drowned within the waves. Immediately, his feet carried his calves to the open-curtained window, eyes quickly gazing over a black automobile. The headlights beaming away from the window towards the trees as it stops in motion.
“Fucking bloody hell”, Tommy hiss underneath his breath as his feet moved in action, propelling himself to run as fast as he could. With his feet and his body carried his undergarment and the nakedness of his chest scampered down the dark narrow and wooded hall, only to hear a heavy door closed shut.
His eyes frantically scoured over the steps of the stairs, as his feet now carried himself down passing the lit Christmas tree - it felt so far, the door, yet it was mere seconds before his fingers held onto the knob twisting. Feeling the same twist within his heart, as if a knife staked and wring his bloody heart.
The sharp cold slapped his skin, as the pitch sky was hanging over. The feeling of snow and cold stones scrapped against the sole of his feet, as his eyes saw the world caved in. The shadow of her in the black vehicle, moving from his grasp.
“Wait!”, he screams into the cold-wisp air. The crushing wind now invading the layers of his skin, as the black vehicle motors down the road only for Tommy to chase barefoot.
Chasing her try to catch her.
He continues to chase after the vehicle down the long driveway, shouting desperately to stop, only to turn at its right onto the main road, fading from view. His feet stops, as he watches the taillight of the faded car.
Heavy heaving left his lungs, and the harsh icy air continues to scrawl his skin. Shivers sending through his bones, as he hung his head looking down upon his feet covered in the layer of snow. He turns defeated at hand, his teeth clench onto his lips. Holding onto the emotions that threaten to burst at its seams.
He cursed her name. The words left his mouth laced with spite. Yet, he knew if she came back strutting again, he would welcome her with open arms - perhaps hesitation, but still open arms.
His feet slowly, but surely walk him along the dirt road leading to his home. As his eyes and ears picked up the wind - slowly his gaze looked upon the dark cloak that covers Birmingham.
He saw appearing like in little flickers of light - stars. The stars creeped out of the darkening sky haunting his ocean eyes.
The same-very stars that remind him of her.
#tommy shelby#peaky blinders#peaky blinder imagine#peaky blinders fanfic#tommy shelby smut#cillian murphy#smut#tommy shelby x reader#thomas shelby#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders tv show#peaky blinders 2019
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The Visit
@choicesnovemberchallenge Day 7: Supernatural
Sorry I missed some days, but adulting is hard. Here is a story with some typos and repetition, but once I'm done writing I don't want to see it again 🙈
Tagging some lovelies: @debramcg1106 @burnsoslow @mskaneko @cora-nova
*********************
Thomas Mendez was a careful man, and he knew that when he left this morning the door was locked. Trepidation settled in the pit of his stomach as he thought of a stranger inside his home, invading his privacy, Luz’s privacy. Adrenaline pumping, Thomas quietly entered the living room, listening for any sounds to indicate an intruder. Hearing none, he looked around, finding everything just as it was when he and Luz had rushed out the door this morning. TV? Check. Laptop on the coffee table? Check. Nothing seemed amiss, and Thomas relaxed slightly.
“Hello?” Cringing to himself for drawing attention to his presence, Thomas stealthily made his way down the short hallway to the master bedroom. A pause to listen; still nothing. Relaxing slightly, Thomas stepped into the room and saw her, sitting there, that peaceful smile he knew so well curving her lush lips.
“Soledad?”
The word came out as a hoarse whisper, the sight before him making speech nearly impossible. Her dark curls shone in the sunlight streaming through the windows, her face so beautiful, just as he remembered it, waiting patiently for him to recover his wits.
Thomas crossed to the bed on unsteady legs. “Is . . . is it . . .,” he swallowed thickly, “is it really you?” Her enigmatic smile stretched across her face in a grin, although she remained silent, watching him with such love and peace in her eyes it took his breath away. He stretched a hand out to her, convinced that she was only a wisp of a figment, something his overworked imagination conjured up just to reignite the fiery pain in his heart that had only recently begun to dull. Pausing just shy of her body, Thomas closed his eyes and took a breath, gently bringing his palm to cup the side of her face.
The warmth of her solid form washed through his body, an elation like he had never experienced coursing through his veins.
“Oh my god,” Thomas choked out, tears running down his cheeks, “you’re back, you’re here.”
Still silent, Soledad turned her head into his shaking hand, gently kissing his skin. The softness of her lips pulled him back into memories so deep he thought they’d never resurface. Memories of the two of them, in this bed, bodies twisted together in lovemaking, changing the house they’d built together into a home. Memories of late nights watching movies when Soledad couldn’t sleep, curled together on their sides with Thomas’s hand resting gently and possessively on her swollen belly.
“My love,” she said, “I never left.”
He pulled her to him, holding her tightly against his body as though she would disappear at any moment. Stroking her hair, Thomas nestled his face into her neck, breathing in the freesia perfume that always reminded him of summer and sunshine.
When Soledad lifted her arms to wrap around his back, Thomas sobbed into her curls.
“Soli, I thought you left me, I thought you were gone.” His tears soon soaked the soft fabric of her sweater, her favorite pink sweater that made her skin glow like caramel and set off the rosy blush of her cheeks. She continued to hold him, rubbing his back, the comfort of her embrace like a soothing balm to his battered soul.
Minutes that stretched into hours passed as the couple held each other quietly. Whispered words of love and devotion passed from lip to lip, sighs pressed against one another’s mouths. Thomas stared in wonder at his wife, wondering why the tragic dream of her death had felt so real when, clearly, she was with him in this world.
Time held no meaning to Thomas. The sun stayed bright in the sky, shining through the gauzy curtains that Soledad herself has insisted upon, loving the way they billowed into the room when a breeze swept by the open window. A frisson of guilt crept into Thomas’s psyche and he thought briefly of Luz - but, no, she was staying over at Bella’s for the night. Fridays were for sleepovers and Amelia had promised the girls —
Thomas froze, the realization of what he’d done crashing into him like a violent tidal wave, washing away the cocoon of warmth he’d been relishing. God, did Soledad know? That he’d touched another woman, kissed her, thought of her in ways he never thought he would again. Thomas felt his heart crack in his chest and drew back from the woman he held, feeling unworthy of her touch, of her love.
Soledad raised her eyebrows as Thomas twisted to a sitting position, his feet flat on the thick ivory carpeting, his head in his hands. Shifting to sit next to him, she gently laid a hand on his back.
“Tommy, it’s fine. I know.”
His heart dropped like a stone. His fists gripped his auburn waves and he kept his eyes trained on the floor, knowing he couldn’t face Soledad. Even without saying the words out loud, he knew she was talking about his flirtation with Amelia.
Flirtation.
If Thomas didn’t feel like his soul was being ripped from his body, he would have laughed. What he and Amelia had - or could have had, if the reminder of Soledad wasn’t stamped all over Thomas’s heart - was much more than a flirtation. After Luz, Amelia was the brightest spot in Thomas’s life. Her humor, her kindness, her beauty; Thomas hadn’t been so taken with a woman since Soledad had entered his life all those years ago. And now, with Soledad back . . . the crushing realization that he would lose Amelia brought more tears to his eyes.
Soledad continued her attempt to soothe Thomas, but even the feel of her hand on his back did nothing to quell the angst burning in his veins. She smiled sadly to herself, knowing that what she was about to say would forever alter the course of their lives.
Even the bonds of death couldn’t diminish the soul-consuming love she held for Thomas, still the most handsome man she’d ever seen with the biggest heart in the world, and Luz, her baby girl, growing up so fast. Thomas was an amazing father, and Luz was happy, fulfilled, but Soledad knew she needed a mother, needed a woman who could be there when Thomas couldn’t. And Soledad knew Amelia, knew how kind and intelligent she was, how patient and loving. And when she saw the two of them in that bookstore (brought together by a bit of magical mischief when she conveniently slipped the last binder on the highest shelf), Soledad knew Amelia was the right one, the one who could finally bring her Tommy back to life.
“Don’t be upset, Tommy,” she murmured, “I have been with you every moment since I left.” Thomas lifted his head, understanding, then acceptance, dawning in his red-rimmed eyes.
“You’re still gone, Soli, aren’t you?”
Soledad nodded. Fresh tears pooled in Thomas’s eyes; he was losing her again, the grief stealing his breath. “Please don’t go away again, I need you . . . Luz needs you . . . please . . .” Thomas pulled Soledad against him, her head resting against his chest the same way it always had. She let him hold her for a moment, for she was just as greedy for his touch as he was for hers. Finally pulling away, because it was what she had to do, because she didn’t have much longer here, Soledad gently cupped Thomas’s cheek and smiled at him.
“She is a beautiful woman, Tommy, inside and out. You deserve to be loved, and she loves you. She loves you, and she needs you, and you need her. Luz needs her. Don’t be afraid my love,” Soledad gently stroked his hair back from his face, “you can do this. I want you to do this.”
Thomas stared at his wife, unable to believe what she was offering. “But I love you, Soli, and I lost you. I don’t know what I would do if —” he paused to take a deep breath “ — if I lost Amelia, too.” The air rushed out of his lungs, leaving his chest feeling hollow. Admitting the depth of his feelings for Amelia left him stunned . . . and elated. For the first time since meeting Amelia, Thomas felt free, the knot of guilt in his stomach unravelling.
Soledad saw the transformation on Thomas’s face, the hard lines of grief softening into something new, something lighter. He looked every bit like the Thomas she’d fallen in love with, like a man who didn’t carry the world on his shoulders.
“Be happy, Tommy, don’t be afraid. I will always be with you and Luz, but you must let yourself live.”
Thomas hugged Soledad tightly, the deep crevices in his heart healing over with her embrace. “You mean it, Soli? I swear if you don’t want me to —” Soledad lightly pressed a finger to his lips.
“I want you to. Now go, call Amelia. Don’t make her wait one second longer for you.” She took his lips with her own, the place where her heart used to be aching with loss. “I love you, Tommy,” she whispered against his lips, “never forget that. I love you, and I will always be with you.”
The sun shining through the window blossomed into a blinding light, making Thomas clench his eyes shut against the offending glare.
The world around him darkened and Thomas’s eyes flew open, his heart pounding. He stared into the inky blackness of his room, his gaze blindly darting around the room trying to find Soledad. It had all been so real, the feeling of her body still fresh in Thomas’s mind. As his heart resumed a normal rate, Thomas waited for the pain, the overwhelming sense of loss and sadness that consumed his body whenever he dreamt of Soledad. He remembered her in his arms, the scent of her body, the softness of her sweater, her hair. He remembered . . .
. . . Amelia.
His memories were of Amelia’s body pressed against his, her body molding to his as perfectly as Soledad’s once had, although differently. He could smell the warm, alluring amber perfume she favored, that green cashmere sweater, soft as a cloud under his hands. Her raven hair as it tumbled down around her shoulders when she took down her messy bun, the way her chocolate eyes glittered dangerously up at him after he kissed her in the back room at Drafthorse, promising things that he’d wanted, so badly, but been too afraid to accept.
Amelia.
Thomas fumbled on the nightstand for his phone, pressing the button on the side to see the time. 6:03 am. Amelia was an early riser, preferring to drink a cup or two of coffee before waking Bella up for the day. She would be sitting at the small table in her kitchen, scrolling through social media, laughing at memes and cat videos. Her hair would be mussed, lines from her pillowcase etched into the golden skin of her face. She would be gloriously beautiful.
His heart hammering, he pressed her contact on the screen, the ringing of the phone jangling his nerves further.
“Thomas? Are you okay? Is it Luz? What’s going on?” Amelia’s worried voice echoed down the line. Thomas smiled, despite himself, and spoke quickly to reassure her.
“Everything is fine, we’re fine, Amelia,” he soothed, “I just needed to call you. I needed to . . . hear your voice.”
He heard Amelia make a small squeak on the other end of the line, making him grin. “Is that okay? That I called you?”
Across town, Amelia smiled into her coffee, her heart tripping like a schoolgirl’s. “Of course. You never need a reason to call, Thomas.”
Gently clearing his throat, Thomas tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice. “Well I did have a reason, actually. I wondered — uh, I was hoping, that, uh . . .” he rolled his eyes at his ridiculousness, “that you were free tonight? Can I see you?”
He waited with bated breath for her answer and was rewarded quickly.
“Yeah, I don’t work tonight. I’m sure I can get Myra to watch Bella. What time?”
“I’ll leave the office early. How about six?” Thomas didn’t want to wait one minute longer than necessary to see Amelia tonight.
“Six is fine, I’ll see you then?”
Thomas grinned, his heart soaring at the thought of seeing her tonight and, hopefully, every night after that, of finally making her his, of finally feeling alive again.
“It’s a date, Amelia.”
#choices fanfic#choices fanfiction#choices november challenge#choices mother of the year#choices moty#thomas mendez#thomas mendez x mc
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Everlasting You | Connor x Reader
TLDR: Not everything lasts forever not even for an unending machine...
Word Count: 1.6k
TW: Heavy Angst, Mention of Death, Character Death
A/N:This is something I needed to get off my chest as certain feelings on humans and androids in relationships go. While I feel Connor himself is not immortal in the full sense he does not age. He may wear down as technology is known to do but the mortality of humans is clear. Probably the most angsty piece I have written thus far and I am supposed to be on break. My personal torture is real...| 200 follower Celebration Drop Still To Come
Touch. Everlasting touch: synth, tangible. This is how he shows his love.
Liquid, thirium is azure in bloom. This is how an angel dies.
Abstract in palette you swirl in his aura, so tangled and true this love drips from pert lips cool. Oh but so new they crave. Tender flesh bodily and warm collides with liquid, simulated but shed as you desire. See him as he is in his spurious state of being. Oh but he is alive, a different breed, a facsimile. Skim the surface and reach out to heaven, rich in chocolate of his adoring gaze.
Fire burns beneath cool, fingers ghosting upon the sweet flesh of you. No matter how frigid his skin may be still you incinerate under his thrall.
Meeting, becoming, one as moon and stars; Connor is yours. You are his.
Two heavenly bodies harmonize. He worships, the very air that is clinging to you and he wishes with every thread inside to be that air. Yet he is unworthy. In the end Connor knows how wrong he was to feel. If he could turn back time, no matter how agonizing to his deviant heart, he would never tell you. As long as it meant you live as you should.
Why must humans wither? Why must he suffer this?
Maybe he should cry for help.
“I died once, Y/N.”
The android’s breath is so soft, so fluid at first you think he might be dreaming. If androids can dream in that sense of subconscious domain, flutters within abstract functionality of the brain. His state of visionary quest is made up of code, memory data bank transforming into new visuals. He once suffered a nightmare about the Zen garden. It was not long after the first time you shared this bed together.
Breath is still as you gaze at his face. Flashing scarlet floods the beautiful azure that always draws you nearer. Into his shelter, this glorious shield all for you; tracing a fingertip around circular indicator steadies his stressful aura.
“Connor,” his name eclipses the sun. Sweet, full and forever on your breath it brings him home.
“I still recall,” he continues, tilting his face towards the delicate palm of hand. One that always offers affection, love most androids never knew existed for them. Even as a prototype, made to be special he only ever felt worth held by you.
“I recall the flutter of wind. Sailing, falling down listless as a sinker in the ocean. My memory was fresh then, new but uploaded to this body. This one that you have loved since our meeting.”
#313-248-317-52
Serials no longer mark him but he is Connor Mark II forever feeling, reliving a weightless drop. Felled from stories on high, slipping, slipping down until blackness; he is still wary of heights.
“I was still a machine then. Now as a deviant…death will truly claim me.” Even as Connor struggles there is nothing more real than what alights each destiny. This fated love will subsist infinitely.
Lips press against crimson, kissing the very android part of him. Accepting his veneer beneath the mask is easy when it is he himself you cherish. Love means never having to be alone. It means everlasting, impenetrable fortress shielding hearts as one.
“Nothing will ever take you away from me, Connor.”
He melts into the declaration. It is more. It is an oath. You believe it so much and Connor begins to realize those very words are a painful truth.
“I will love you forever, Y/N.”
He blames it on himself. This love will surely kill you. Stealing away everything you deserve: growing old together, having children…
You tell him no. No, this is what you want. This is all that you will want. No other thing in your personal world because he is yours ever since he confessed. Who are you to kid the world, lie to those heavens above? He was yours the moment your eyes met. Chocolate warmth a home, sweet home and contented abode for two.
First snowfall following revolution is a blissful, high priority memory. Stored away in his mind to examine, utilize as an escape from reality. You are his realism.
Flurries swirling, soft white powder crunching beneath soles. There you wait bundled up but still Connor feels the need to warm you. Enveloping in his arms, an eternal embrace that must live on until there is nothing left. Existence is a fixed point. Yours is meant for more but the android formerly sent by Cyberlife, the android who chose deviancy, to be alive, is selfish as any human. Selfishness tangles your human orbit to him.
Others may see you as a tiny satellite in a vast universe. To him you are more expansive than thousands of galaxies, rivaling any celestial heaven that may exist.
“Connor, where were you?” Demanding an answer it’s easy to see how upset and angry. It spills in fury overtaking any tears initially. For him to disappear this way! “Why did you just leave like that? Without telling anyone? I-I thought you…”
A soft breath answers his delicate touch against your cheek. Connor’s eyes brim in emotion, LED crimson spotlight, swiping tears off your face. “I needed to be alone,” he confesses. “To realize, Y/N.”
“Realize?” You repeat quiet in a fog of cold air.
“I love you.”
There is no sound. There is no world. Only this one shared between two. His declaration is fearful, conflicted perhaps but oh so true. Tears run anew. Streaming down your face, flooding this beating heart thudding only for one: Connor, the android sent by Cyberlife.
“Connor, I love you too.”
Slips of breath mingle in a fissure of atoms, natural and artificial, more than a kiss but a fusion of two souls. He owns the most beautiful of all. Whether he believes he possesses one or not, you believe. So much you believed and the rest of your life you gladly spend. All for that precious android, that man who loved.
And he loved you. He loved you until the stars faded away from the sky. As you fade with them, growing ever increasingly distant from his immortal coil. Yet he still yearned, still held, and still caressed you as those days when you first became lovers.
Nothing held him at bay from this burning inside a synthetic heart. This heart he gave to you and still you own it. Even as breaths slip away, Connor remains yours to this day.
Is there a heaven for androids? He ponders more each day.
Can he see you as he once did before? That young, beauty so soft, innocent and opposite of him: cold, emotionless, and constructed.
It was you that fed life through artificial veins. Wires, tendrils reaching beyond programming, reaching out in a song as you were his angelic soprano. Words of love he had never known. Until you he was merely a tool. To be used, controlled and torn asunder from deviancy he so chose. He did not flounder. He thrived. He lived.
He lived for you.
Now his life is broken, battered remnants long from those days when it was just the two of you together.
Maybe he should kill himself.
Tomorrow is too long. Nights are too empty. What must he do to see your face again? Why must he suffer for being made instead of born? All the android wants is for you to be alive once more. In his arms, whisper in his ear, giving him all of your love that he never deserved.
He stole you from it all. He stole your human life. All for selfish emotion in this disease of deviancy he wants to rip out from his system.
Deviancy is nothing anymore. Deviancy is a curse. He did not know he could cry until the day you drew your last breath. Streaming, grotesque down perfectly smooth, untainted, unwrinkled skin as you died a shell of your once vibrant self.
Connor seeks redemption in what he has done. What he took away from you. No life should have been lived beside him if he could not live beside you.
“Y/N, please…”
Tears run the sharp slopes of his face finding that spot originally of confession. No longer covered in snow but he sits alone, a mournful statue he sinks deeper into bench seat. Stress levels are too much. He wills them. He wants them…
Shutdown Imminent
“Forgive me,” Connor pleads with your essence. Seeing you alive in traces of fragmented memories, long before Sumo first passed, long before Hank; the android clings to your smile.
“I’m here, Connor.” The promise is sweeter than he remembers.
He leans into the touch of your hand. Gentle fingers mold with the harsh edges of his face that should have aged with you.
“I love you,” the android whispers, blind to shutdown warnings but never blind to you. Welcoming this true death, rising from seat in his mind, he can feel you. Solid as he places hands to the waist he would always long to grab playfully, tasting the lips he wills to be part of his system.
You are part of everything. This is your secret place. In his death from deviancy, wiping away everything he fought to become, dying most blissfully in your real embrace.
Snow falls then. Around your figures, wisps of constructed memories together in your own private Zen garden. Kissing you full, passionate and reclaiming those vows spoken so long ago.
Once again there is a smile upon his lips reunited with you in this blessed after life. Reunited as his constructed body is left behind, died from a broken heart, one that many humans might find miraculous in something not alive.
This-this is heaven after all. Androids really do find their way in. Connor found his way back to you in this glorious sail beyond the veil.
Sail with me into the dark….
Sail…
Tag List: @tropfenlady @your-taxidermy @elydith @connorswink @tommy-10-k
#connor x reader#dbh connor x reader#rk800 x reader#dbh rk800 x reader#connor rk800 x reader#dbh connor rk800 x reader#dbh drabble#detroit become human#connor rk800 drabble#songfic inspo#angst#heavy angst#rk800#mini fic#i like the pain apparently#my queue is not merciful#i need a heavy dose of fluff after this#please
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Hotel Rivalry? No, Angst :)
Some notes before reading:
I think Ranboo for sure said it was all for fun? I didn’t watch his streams because I was busy, anyways, when I first heard of this, I only thought about angst and lore. This was all for fun, and my mind was on full blast. Sorry if it was bad, I just wanted to write out some kind of story. :)
(Also listen to Saint Bernard by Lincoln or Oh Ana by Mother Mother because I had these two on repeat writing this, Idk.)
All in good fun of writing. Enjoy, I guess? Also warning, it’s kinda long. Damn I should’ve wrote it in Ao3 maybe. Ah well.
How long has it been since Tommy was left in the prison cell? Well, the clock was gone, so he can't tell.
The security issue was finally solved, and Sam rushed towards the cell, hoping that Tommy hung in being locked up with Dream. Sam also hoped Tommy would understand.
"Tommy? Tommy, can you hear me? I'm getting you out now. And Dream, you better stay in that cell, or I will kill you," Sam shouted through the lava, as the lava lowered to let the stone bridge go across. "Tommy, get on the bridge, you're going home. You're getting out."
The lava finally lowered enough as the redstone worked its magic, going across the gap to the cell. Sam looked through his mask, hoping to find Tommy still alive, and in one piece. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Tommy's figure get on the bridge, as he started to come back.
He glanced over to see Dream still in the cell, but his smiley face mask was off. Sam felt a wave of worry run down his neck, as Dream only stared at Sam, smiling, emerald green eyes glinting with satisfaction. Sam looked away, as Tommy was back, flicking the switch to let the lava flow back down.
"Tommy?" Sam glanced at the boy, oddly quiet. Sam hoped that Tommy would at least yell at him, or curse him out for making him get stuck with Dream, but Tommy didn't say anything. Reaching out a hand to hold Tommy's shoulder, Sam tried to call out to him again. "Tommy...?"
Tommy immediately flinched, backing up from Sam. What did Dream do to this boy? Usually Tommy would want comfort, or something. What happened to him in there?
"Hi Sam..." Tommy's voice was barely a whisper, his head still looking down at the ground. Sam crouched down, trying to get a good look at Tommy's face. He was concerned, slowly trying to let Tommy get back to his pace.
Sam's eyes widened. There was no emotion on the usually emotional boy. His usually bright blue eyes, were now faded, the blue dark, showing nothing.
The usually full of expression Tommy was now blank. "Tommy... what did he do to you?"
Tommy didn't answer, only looking at Sam's eyes, his eyes endless pools of a deep dark sea. Sam sighed, his heart aching. "I'm so sorry, Tommy, I... You know I had to deal with a security issue right? I didn't mean to let you stay in there for too long. Im very sorry, Tommy."
Tommy didn't say anything, only beginning to walk away from Sam. "I don't want to talk about it. Can I go home?"
Sam flinched, but he tried to smile. "Of course Tommy. Come on now, let's get back, and hey, you can go back to your hotel!"T
ommy only absently nodded. The two walked back in silence, with the occasional worried glances at Tommy, who only looked straight ahead.
They finally made it back to the locker, Tommy dropping the key, grabbing his things. Without another word, Tommy walked away from the prison, not even giving a goodbye to Sam. Sam gripped his trident tight in his hand, anger and curiosity in what Dream did to Tommy. He was going to have to talk to Dream soon.
------------
Tommy breathed in the fresh air of the outside, feeling the bright sun on himself. The bright blue sky, the huge oak trees by the wooden path. He was finally free. But....
His mind was in a deep fog. He felt sluggish, like his whole body was weighed down. His limbs ached, body sore. His eyes ached, not only from the light of the lava, but also from crying so much. His throat was dry, from screaming days on end. Tommy stopped, looking down at his hands, beaten and bloody.
Tommy shuddered. He still felt like Dream's eyes and hands was on him, like a doll. His mind and emotions felt like a swirling tornado, he didn't know what to think or feel anymore.
He has to get back to his home. He has to get back to his hotel. Try and get some resemblance of comfort, of anything to get his mind off of what Dream tried to do him, get in his head.
Trying to stop himself from shaking, he walked quickly to the location of his hotel. But he couldn't help himself, he couldn't help but to still think about the things that happened to him in the cell, the words swirling in his mind, and he could feel himself on the verge of something.
He started to give a relief of a smile, until it suddenly dropped. There was a building accross his hotel. Bee and Boo? What the fuck was that-?
"Tommy! Hey, where have you been?" Tubbo walked out of the building, as Tommy walked near. "Hey, we're rivals now! It's gonna be great-"
"What. The fuck." Tommy's voice cracked. Tubbo raised an eyebrow, too excited to tell Tommy about everything Tommy missed while being out somewhere, not noticing the state Tommy is in, or how in shambles Tommy was.
"Oh hey, guess what? Me and Ranboo are like, now platonically married, and we have this like child name Michael now," Tubbo waved a hand, as Tubbo walked back into the Bee and Boo building. Tommy silently followed Tubbo, while he felt something in his chest cracking.
Tommy looked around inside, and he had to admit, it looked nice. He was expressionless, but he could feel his head spinning, a certain voice getting louder.
Tommy turned to see Ranboo and Tubbo side by side, talking, as Ranboo waved at Tommy. Ranboo pointed at something off to the side of a room, and Tubbo walked back towards Tommy.
"So what did you think, big man? Exciting yeah?"
"What do you mean, exciting..." Tommy coldly said. Tubbo's smile faltered.
"Being hotel rivals! You know, doing business, fun banter? Tommy, are you ok?" Tubbo tried to reach a hand to pat Tommy's arm, before Tommy jerked it away.
Tommy was starting to break down. But he didn't dare show it out. Looking at the eyes of Ranboo, then back at Tubbo, then at the sign hung out in the front, Tommy slowly smiled.
"Ha... Haha..." Tommy gritted his teeth, a manic smile slowly forming on his face.
Now Tubbo and Ranboo was starting to get concerned. Tubbo took a step forward, as Tommy took a step back. "Tommy..?"
"He was right... he was right and I was a fucking fool," Tommy glanced at the ground, his hands forming fists.
"What do you mean he was right? Who?" Tubbo tried to hold Tommy's arm again, until suddenly Tommy grabbed Tubbo's wrist. Tubbo finched. "Owww, Tommy, that hurts. What's the matter with you?"
Tubbo's eyes widened as he saw the expression on Tommy's face. Faded blue eyes, now wide and full of anger and betrayal. He growled, showing his canines. He swiftly looked at Ranboo, who flinched, as Tommy turned back to Tubbo. "Am I fucking nothing? I did everything for you, and now you fucking-"
Tommy ripped Tubbo's wrist away from him, sending Tubbo to tumble a couple of steps, as Ranboo tried to catch him if Tubbo ever did fall. Tubbo looked up from his wrist, red, towards Tommy, concerned and slightly scared. "I-I, I don't know what you mean, Tommy. What-"
Tommy walked out, slamming the door, as he started to quickly walk to run towards a random direction, neither from the directions of where the prison was, where he hotel was, where L'manberg was, and not even where his home was.
He ran and ran, brushing past branches of oak trees, until he was fully exhausted, dropping to his knees. On his arms and knees, he tried to breathe, his chest burning, and legs aching so badly, Tommy was in so much pain. After a couple of minutes, Tommy looked up from the ground, looking around his surrounds.
He was somewhere completely knew. As he could tell, nobody touched this land yet. He was in a field full of multicolored and species of flowers. Surrounding this field was just dozens and dozens of trees.
He looked up at the sky, the sky now a light blue, slightly almost now turning a light shade of orange and pink. The clouds were still white, but before puffs of cotton, were now wisps, thin and strands across the blue.
The air was much cooler, and it was windier than back of the smp. Tommy breathed heavily, taking in his surroundings. He was alone, no Tubbo, no Ranboo, not even Dream. He surveyed the flowers, as he thought back to what he just learned.
Tubbo platonically married Ranboo. They built a hotel accross from his hotel. Was it some kind of fucking joke?
Tommy suddenly laughed, but there was no humor in that burst of laughter. No, it was emotionless, only manic. Tommy laughed and laughed, as he could feel his smile fade, his eyes forming tears, suddenly making the laughter into sobs.
Was Dream really right after all? How could Tubbo do this to him? God, if their hotel gets vandalized, I might be the one to be blamed for it even though I didn't do a fucking thing. Everyone will got to their hotel opening and their hotel, because everyone likes them. Nobody likes me, and my best friend left me. He even decided to build a rival hotel against me!! Dream was right... Dream was right after all. Nobody is on my side, nobody cares about me, nobody, nobody nobody NOBODY-
Tommy's breathing stopped. No... someone is on his side. Dream. Tommy chuckled at that, laughing out loud again, a wide smile growing. He kept laughing and laughing, the tears gone, but the laughter again wasn't of humor, but this time insanity. "FUCK EVERYBODY ELSE!!! NOBODY CARES!!! NOBODY FUCKING CARES ABOUT ME!!! HA! HAHA!"
Tommy, who stood up when he was sobbing, suddenly dropped to his knees again, a few flower petals flying up. Tommy looked up at the sky, his insane expression turning back to despair. Tommy sobbed and sobbed, screaming as he went into a turtle position, until it was a scattered star sky.
Nobody came to him. And Tommy knows he's alone. Nobody cares about him.
#dsmp#dreamsmp#dream smp#dsmp tumblr#mcyt#mcyttwt#mcytblr#mcytumblr#tommyinnit#tommy mcyt#dsmp tommy#tubbo#tubbo underscore#tubbo mcyt#dsmp tubbo#ranboo#ranboo mcyt#dsmp ranboo#dsmp fandom#dsmp fanfic#fanfiction#dream smp angst#headcannons#mcyt tommyinnit#dreamwastaken#it's long sorry#god i love writing though im bad at it#writing#angst
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Green Wounds, Ch. 1
Well, here it is: THE MALEFICENT AU! I am SUPER excited to be writing this story, guys! It’s gonna (hopefully) be freakin’ awesome! (Btw I’m using this picture to give a general look of what Starchild looks like when he’s older, even though it doesn’t make sense for this chapter. Also because that cape is bitchin and comes up later) Hope you guys enjoy!
“A man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green.” —Sir Francis Bacon
Let us tell an old story anew, and we will see how well you know it.
Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms, that were the worst of neighbors. So vast was the discord between them, that it was said only a great hero or a terrible villain might bring them together. In one kingdom, Jendell, lived folk like you and me, with a vain and greedy king to rule over them. They were forever discontent, and envious of the wealth and beauty of their neighbors. For in the other kingdom, the Moors, lived every manner of strange and wonderful creature. And they needed neither king nor queen, but trusted in one another.
In a great tree on a great cliff in the Moors, lived one such spirit. You might take him for a boy, but he was not just any boy. He was a faerie.
In his tree, lying on his back, a young faerie boy had his hands raised up in the air. All of the boy’s skin was pale, but his face was pure white, except for the red of his lips and a single black star over his right eye. His long, curly black hair was splayed out along with a set of black wings. Although the boy was young, his wings were already magnificent to look at, all black and made up of glossy black feathers. They were at the moment spread out lazily around him. The faerie boy wore clothes of different shades of purple, but no shoes.
The boy’s fingers twitched and waved, and wisps of light purple magic flitted around them, drifting upward and pushing two dolls made of leaves and branches up further into the air. The faerie boy smiled as he watched the dolls spin around in the air, arms attached together so they looked like they were dancing.
The sudden sound of a breaking branch made the boy stop and look up. Up above him, he saw that one of the smaller branches was bent out of shape, perhaps broken from the weight of the many leaves. He quickly abandoned the dolls and got up, his wings stretching out to help him balance himself. He crawled up a larger limb of his tree until he was standing in front of the broken branch. The boy closed his hands over the break and closed his eyes, concentrating. Light purple wisps of magic curled out from between his hands, and the bent branch slowly straightened out again. The boy opened his eyes and took his hands away; the break was gone. The boy smiled. “There you go,” he said to the branch.
He turned from the healed branch and took a couple steps, before looking out at the beautiful kingdom he called his home.
And his name was Starchild.
Smiling brightly, Starchild leaned forward and jumped off the branch. As he fell, his wings unfurled out behind him, lifting him up into the air. Starchild flew through the Moors, feeling the breeze on his face.
It is said that Starchild received his name from what happened at his birth. It was said that the stars in the sky all shined down upon the baby faerie, blessing him with the star over his eye.
“Good morning, Bill!” Starchild called to a wood creature as he flew past. “I love your cap!”
Bill smiled and tipped the said cap at the faerie as he flew on.
Although Starchild had no parents, he found he didn’t need them to live a happy life. His heart was still bright as the sun, unable to give nothing but kindness and love.
Starchild came to a shallow pool, where three fat creatures were throwing mud at each other. As he neared, a blue one held up a handful of mud at him.
“No,” Starchild shook his finger at him threateningly, but still smiling slightly. “No, don’t you dare!”
Grinning, the blue creature threw the mud at him. Starchild ducked, and the mud flew over his head and splattered all over the face of a goblin. The goblin turned and started yelling at the fat blue creature.
Starchild laughed as he flew away. “Hah! You missed me!” he crowed.
He flew on, bidding good morning to the various creatures he saw. At one point he did a large loop-the-loop, shouting “Woo-hoo!” in joy. Laughing, he flew through a waterfall, the spray dampening his hair and clothes, but sliding right off his wings.
Starchild’s home was one of peace and joy, and even as a child he knew he wanted to see it stay that way. For he loved the Moors above all else.
Sudden twittering voices made Starchild look down at an island in the middle of the lake, where he saw a small crowd of creatures gathered. Floating in the air were three tiny fairies, wearing clothes that were pink, green, and blue; they were respectively Vinnie, Erik, and Tommy. The troubled looks on all the creatures’ faces was enough to make Starchild swoop down and land in front of the fairies. “What’s going on?” he asked Vinnie.
“The border guards discovered—” Vinnie began, but Tommy interrupted.
“Why do you get to tell him? I want to tell him!”
“I want to!” Erik piped up, but went unnoticed.
“There are rules, Tommy,” Vinnie said to him. “I tell this time, you tell next time. The border guards—”
“No,” Tommy interrupted again. “You told last time, so I get to tell this time, and Eric tells next time.”
“Tell me what?” Starchild interrupted. They were all sweet fairies, but they sometimes squabbled over the most ridiculous of things.
Vinnie rolled his eyes at Tommy. “Ugh, fine!”
Tommy smiled and nodded. “Thank you.” He turned to Starchild eagerly. “Starchild, the border guards—”
“The border guards found a human thief at the Pool of Jewels!” Erik interrupted excitedly. There was a pause in which Vinnie and Tommy glared at him, and he realized what had happened. “Uh, oops. Sorry.”
Starchild’s eyes widened at his words. Without a word, his wings unfurled and he took off, the ensuing gust of wind sending the fairies flying in all directions.
Erik righted himself and looked after Starchild in annoyance. “He’s always in a hurry with his big wings. Stupid big wings…”
Vinnie worriedly watched Starchild fly away. “Humans here… I hope there’s not another war.”
-*-
When Starchild arrived at the Pool of Jewels, he saw two of the giant tree guards that guarded the borders of the Moors standing in the water, pointing their spears at the forest beyond the pool. Starchild landed on the rock between them and looked out into the forest. The tree guard on his left, Gene, turned to him and spoke in the language of the tree creatures.
“I’m not afraid,” Starchild replied confidently. “Besides,” he turned back to the woods, “I’ve never seen a human up close.” He looked out into the woods, and spotted a cowering figure in the shadows. “Come out of there!” he called.
There was a moment’s pause, then a young male voice called back. “No! They’re gonna kill me! Besides, they’re hideous to look at!”
Gene growled. Starchild’s mouth dropped open in shock. “That’s extremely rude!” he said indignantly. He turned to Gene and smiled. “Don’t listen to him, Gene. You’re classically handsome.”
Gene nodded and grunted a thank-you. Starchild turned back to the woods. “It’s not right to steal, but we don’t kill people for it. Now come out.” He made his voice sound more authoritative. “Come out right now!”
It surprisingly worked. There was the sound of footsteps, then a small human came into the light. He had long, straight black hair and a rather thin face. He was dressed in shabby clothing, and as he stared at Starchild his eyes went from Starchild’s face to his wings, looking rather intimidated.
Starchild tilted his head at him. “Are you fully grown?” he asked.
“Er, n-no,” the small human replied.
Starchild turned to Gene. “I think he’s just a boy,”
“You are, too,” the boy replied, cautiously stepping closer. “I think.”
“Who are you?” Starchild asked him, trying to make it sound like more of a demand.
“I’m called Ace. Who’re you?”
“I’m Starchild,”
Gene spoke to him, reminding him about the jewel the boy—Ace—had stolen. Starchild nodded. “Yes, right.” He turned back to Ace. “You have to give it back.”
“Give what back?”
Starchild gave him a withering look and held out his hand. After a pause, Ace sighed and went for a pouch hanging around his neck. He opened the pouch and took out the jewel he had stolen, and tossed it to Starchild. Starchild caught it, admired it for a moment, then turned and threw it back into the pool.
“All right. Now come on.” He flew over to where Ace was standing and turned to enter the forest. Behind him, Gene grunted, asking where he was going. Starchild turned back to him briefly. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” He turned to Ace. “Let’s go.”
“Where are you going?” Ace asked him.
“I’m taking you out of the Moors. Humans don’t belong here.”
As they walked through the forest, Starchild leading with Ace behind him, Ace spoke up again as they reached the edge of the Moors. “If I knew you were just gonna throw it away, I would’ve kept it.”
“I didn’t throw it away,” replied Starchild matter-of-factly. “I delivered it home. As I’m going to do for you.”
When they reached the standing stones marking the edge of the Moors, Ace looked out at the human kingdom that was many, many leagues away. On the horizon, Starchild could see a large structure with multiple jagged points to it. “Someday, y’know, I’ll live there,” Ace said, pointing to the structure. “In the castle.”
Ah, so that’s what it was. “Where do you live now?” Starchild asked curiously.
At that, Ace’s head lowered slightly, and he looked rather sad. “In a barn,” he replied.
“So your parents are farmers?” He was about to ask what that was like when Ace shook his head.
“No… my parents are dead.”
Ace looked back out at the castle, while Starchild felt sympathy rise in him. After a moment, he said, “Mine too,”
Ace turned from the castle to him. For a moment, the two boys stared at each other. Then Ace said, “We’ll see each other again,”
He began to walk off. Starchild couldn’t help but stop him once again.
“You really shouldn’t come back here, you know. It’s not safe for a human to be here.”
Ace paused, then turned around, looking at him inquisitively. “What if I did come back? Would you be here?”
The question caught Starchild off guard for a moment. After a moment he answered, smiling slightly, “Maybe…”
Ace formally extended his hand for Starchild to shake. Starchild stared down at it, then reached out to grab it, completely forgetting about the iron ring around Ace’s finger.
The sudden burning pain made Starchild wrench his hand back. “Ah!”
“What’s wrong?” Ace asked in concern.
Starchild hissed in pain and held his hand, running his thumb over his palm as the pink skin slowly healed itself. “Your ring,” he said to Ace. “Iron burns faeries.”
Ace looked down at his ring. “Oh… I’m sorry.” Starchild assumed he would offer his other hand, but instead Ace took the ring off his finger, turned, and threw it as hard as he could. It flew into the air and out of sight. Smiling, Ace turned back and offered his hand again. Starchild looked at him for a moment, then reached out and took it. They shook hands, then Ace turned around to leave. “I like your wings,” he said.
Starchild smiled and preened slightly at the compliment. “Thanks,”
“See you around, Starshine,” Ace said as he walked away.
Starchild frowned. “That’s not my name!” he called after him.
“Starshine sounds better!”
After watching Ace walk away, Starchild smiled and turned to re-enter the Moors. He thought about the young human boy he’d met for the rest of the day. And that night, he stared up at the canopy of his tree and smiled as remembered how Ace had thrown away his ring without a second thought.
Starchild thought about how Ace had cast away his ring, he who had so little in the world, so that their hands might touch again, and his heart was moved. Thus, did the young thief, who had hoped to steal a jewel, steal something far more precious.
-*-
For the next few weeks, Starchild went to the edge of the Moors, waiting for a while each day to see if Ace would come back. Sadly, he saw nothing of the young human boy. Then one day as he flew to his usual spot, he finally heard a voice.
“Starchild! Starchild!”
Starchild peered through the trees, and grinned happily. There was Ace, standing between the standing stones and looking into the Moors, trying to catch sight of him. Starchild decided to surprise him, and flew quietly over his head and landed behind him. Ace jumped and whirled around, making him smile wider.
“Well, well… after all these weeks, look who came back,” he said.
Ace gave him a lopsided smile. “I thought it worth the risk. So… what do you do for fun?”
They ended up flying over a river, with Ace holding onto Starchild’s foot as he flapped his wings so that Ace’s feet were submerged in the water. Ace was shouting, while Starchild laughed even as he flew awkwardly due to the extra weight. Eventually, Ace’s fingers slipped and he fell into the water, his clothes and hair getting drenched. Starchild flew above him, laughing musically as Ace picked himself up, spluttering.
Ace looked up at him, mock-glaring. “Hey, that wasn’t funny!”
“Yes it was,” Starchild giggled. Ace scooped up a handful of mud from the river and threw it at him. It splattered all over the front of Starchild’s purple tunic. “Hey!” Starchild looked down at it in shock.
Ace laughed. “Now that was funny!”
Starchild narrowed his eyes at him, then swooped down to the river. He grabbed his own handful of mud and threw it at Ace. Soon both boys were incredibly muddy and still tossing more mud at each other, shouting and laughing.
Ace and Starchild became the most unlikely of friends. And for a time it seemed, in them at least, the old hatred between the men and faeries had been forgotten.
“Why don’t you ever leave the Moors?” Ace asked him one day. They were lying on their backs in a clearing, looking up at the clouds.
“Because it would be dangerous,” Starchild replied easily. “Your kind hates mine.”
“I don’t hate you,” Ace argued, sitting up.
Starchild sat up as well. “Well, of course you don’t. But other humans do; humans are always invading the Moors. That’s why we have Gene and the other border guards. And that’s how…” he trailed off, realizing what he was about to say.
“That’s how what?” Ace asked curiously.
Starchild drew his legs up to his chest and pressed his chin to his knees. “That’s how my parents died. Well, everyone says that’s how, anyway. They were defending the Moors from invading humans, and were killed.”
Ace fell silent. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Ace laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Do you miss them?”
Starchild shrugged. “I never even knew them.” How did you miss that which you never even knew?
Ace was silent for a moment, then he spoke again, sounding more optimistic. “Well, when I become king, we can change all of that.”
“Really?” Starchild looked at him interestedly. “Would we be able to do that?”
“Of course we would! I’d be king; I could do whatever I wanted.”
“We could really unite the kingdoms?” Despite not understanding how kings and rulers worked, Starchild was growing more excited at the thought.
Ace grinned at him. “Sure! We’d do it together, Starshine!”
Starchild grinned back, for once too excited to care about Ace’s nickname for him. A chance to unite the two kingdoms, and bring an end to the constant conflict—that sounded amazing.
One thing Starchild loved above all else was singing. He would sing to all the younger creatures of the Moors, after they begged him to do so of course, and he sang for Ace as well.
“A naoidhean bhig, cluinn mo ghuth. Mise ri d’ thaobh, O mhaighdean bhan…”
Starchild’s eyes were closed as he sang the ancient lullaby of the Moors. He loved singing this song; according to those who had known his parents, it was a song they had sung to him as a baby. Whenever he sang it, it made him feel just a little bit closer to the parents he had never known.
“Ar righinn oig, fas as faic. Do thir, dileas fhein…” The sudden touch of a hand lacing their fingers together made him trail off, and he opened his eyes.
Ace sat beside him, watching him sing and listening with a look akin to awe. The look on Ace’s face was making Starchild’s heart beat faster, and for a moment he just gazed at it.
Ace squeezed his hand. “Keep going,” he whispered.
Starchild smiled, a little shyly, then closed his eyes and kept singing. Their hands stayed linked together.
As it will, friendship turned into something else. And on his sixteenth birthday, Ace gave Starchild a gift.
“Close your eyes, Starshine,” Ace said to him. Smiling slightly in anticipation, Starchild obediently shut his eyes.
He felt Ace take his hands, and his heart began to quicken slightly. And it beat ever faster when he felt Ace press his lips to his own in a kiss.
When Ace slowly pulled away, Starchild half-wanted to pull him back and kiss him again. Ace smiled at him, in the way that made Starchild’s heart flutter. “Y’know what that was, Starshine?” Ace asked.
“What was it?” Starchild breathed.
“That… was true love’s kiss.”
Starchild’s heart swelled. He leaned in and kissed Ace again, eyes fluttering shut once more as the sun set behind them.
Ace told him it was true love’s kiss.
But it was not to be.
#green wounds#chapter one#maleficent au#first chapter guys!#so excited!#tbh starchild sounds like a cute little boy even to me#so yeah starchild is obviously maleficent#ace is stefan#so you can probably already tell where this is going...#but that's not in this chapter#gene is balthazar#lol i didn't know where to put gene into the story so i made him head of the border guards#yup#also yes I am using noble maiden fair (a mhaighdean bhan) fromm brave#what of it?#it's a beautiful song and fitting for the location and I love it#I am using it and NO ONE CAN STOP ME#lol#hope you enjoyed!#kiss au writing#stay tuned for chapter two!
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Business Comes First - Chapter 5
A Peaky Blinders fanfiction set around the end of season three.
Chapter 1 - A Woman who Drinks // Chapter 2 - Tea for my Lady // Chapter 3 - Ricocheting Bullets // Chapter 4 - Demons // Chapter 5 - A Country House // Chapter 6 - Numbing the Pain
MY MASTERLIST
Summary: Alice is a smart and savvy business woman in a male dominated world. She uses her wit and power to get what she wants but she has burdens from her past that could hinder a business transaction in Small Heath.
Word Count: 2700+ words
Author’s note: The next instalment of Alice’s story. I’m so excited to share this one with you, on my recent travels I came across a beautiful 16th century house, and as I was walking around I just kept thinking THIS IS ALICE’S HOUSE. All photos used are my own, and please do excuse any inaccuracies (fire alarms, plug sockets, etc.) in the photos, obviously they wouldn’t be there.
As always, feedback is much appreciated, and do let me know if you wish to be tagged in future instalments. As this is a side blog, all replies will come from @bookish-fox
Tagged accounts: @mariamermaid @little-miss-mischief1 @liiv0urlifee @peakyhoegh @chickens-are-life @birmingum @ishoutmarcoandyoushout @frangipane99-hrtbreak3r @megatqistina (I’ve added people to the list based on feedback I’ve received, let me know if you want to be removed)
Chapter 5 - A Country House
After your late night visit from Tommy, you slept in a fitful manner, closing your eyes for what seemed like a few seconds, for it to have actually have been an hour or two. Each time you woke with a start, breathing heavily. When the sun began to seep through the plush curtains of the hotel window, you could do nothing but sigh of relief: you had made it through another night, and soon you would be at home.
Tommy knocked on your door at around nine o’clock, carrying with him two plates of scrambled eggs and toast for your breakfast. You had smiled and graciously taken the plate from him, the two of you eating your breakfasts alone in your respective rooms in silence.
At around ten, Tommy knocked on your door again, signalling that it was time for you to leave.
An hour of your journey had passed, and you were gazing out of the car window at the rolling hills and distant smog. Tommy glanced to you and smiled.
“Umm,” He coughed, “Do you want to talk about last night or?”
“No, I don’t” you quickly interject. As much as you felt that perhaps talking to someone about your night traumas was probably a good way of gaining your catharsis, you didn’t feel like that person should be Thomas Shelby, your business partner and who your livelihood depended on.
“Okay,” he said slowly, surprised at your sudden outburst.
Silence then ensued, except from you giving him directions as you got closer to your home.
“Next left here, Tommy,” you point towards the gateway to your family home’s driveway.
Fucking hell Tommy thought to himself as he turned the car onto the driveway. Evidently, the driveway was long, and the trees that lined the road had curved like a dome, creating a tunnel of green and foliage.
As the car trundled down the driveway, a group of men gathered under a tree caught your attention. That’s not normal. You wave your hand to get Tommy to slow. Briefly, you made eye contact with one of the men and you recognised his face, but you couldn’t name him or picture where you had met. The man looked at you dead in the eyes, and a toothy, yet sinister grin splayed across his face. He knows who I am, who the fuck is he? Tommy continued to drive past the men, leaving their eyes burning holes into the back of your skull as you turn back to face the way you were travelling.
“Alright?” Tommy asks.
“Hmm,” you mutter with a pensive expression. Something was not right about the way those men were gathered on your driveway- it was as if they were waiting for you. They had instantly recognised you, and yet, you didn’t know who they were, unless it was…
Your thoughts trail off as Tommy pulls up to the front of your house, turning the car round a stone statue fountain that acted as a small round-about in the centre of the driveway. Tommy leant out the window to admire Addison Manor, your family home, its stone cobbles and large windows framed by the picturesque blue sky and flowers that wrapped themselves around the door. You smiled, immediately feeling at home.
You were proud of your home and your family history. Your family were well known in the area: a family with noble lines coursing through their veins, but reduced to lowly farmers through the epic debaucheries and mistakes of your forefathers. It was your father, and his before him, who slowly clawed back your estate, manor and land, created the business and passed it on to you and your siblings, allowing it to flourish and prosper further.
Margaret, the housekeeper, burst out of the front door, her apron flapping in the summer breeze as she ran out to meet you. You had barely climbed out of the car when she pulled you into a tight embrace.
“It’s so lovely to have you home, Alice!” She said after she had released you from your hug, “we’ve all missed you terribly! Lou and the children especially!”
“I’ve missed you too Marg,” you smiled at the older woman. Truly you had missed her: Margaret had acted as almost a surrogate mother for you and your siblings after the sudden death of your mother when you were children. “Where is Lou?”
“She’s just coming,” Margaret leant in to whisper into your ear, “there was - business - that needed to be attended to.” Margaret didn’t like the line of work your family partook in. Although around ninety percent of it was legal: training, breeding and selling racehorses, you didn’t reach national notoriety through legal business alone. The way Margaret said the word “business” came out as if she spat it, needing to get it out of her mouth and mind as soon as possible- as if it was dirty or poisonous.
While you spoke with your housekeeper, Tommy had taken the bags out of the car and was now standing back, admiring the house with one hand on his hip and one shielding his eyes from the sun. Just by looking at the house, he began to understand how you acted and your mannerisms much more; you definitely had influence, wealth, power, and most importantly, respect.
A tiny woman burst out of the front door, wrapping you in the tightest embrace humanly possibly. Lou’s hair was pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head, wisps of blonde flying in the wind as she ran towards you. You hugged her back with equal strength, burying yourself in the smell of her: light, floral perfume combined with the mud and soap that came with having many children.
“Thank God you’re home,” Lou whispered into your hair, “there is much we need to attend to.”
“Who were those men at the gates Lou?” you whisper into her ear, still wrapped in your tight embrace.
“There is much we need to attend to.” She reiterated releasing you from your embrace. Lou then turned to face Tommy, “ahh! Mr Shelby! Welcome to our home.”
Tommy was shown to the guest wing by Margaret leaving you and Lou alone to speak frankly with each other. You walked through the corridors of the house until you reached your wing, sighing slightly at the welcome familiarity of the smell and the texture of the heavy oak door as you pushed it open into your office. The room was exactly how you had left it a few weeks previously- walls adorned with bookshelves, large dark wooden desk in front of the massive window facing the front lawn and gardens. You immediately go to sit in your chair, leaning back in it and running your hands along the armrests. Lou sat down in the chair opposite you.
“Those men?” you ask quickly, raising an eyebrow as Lou gave a sigh. You knew the answer wasn’t a good one.
“Matthew is out of prison.” Lou said slowly, the name causing floods of memories and sensations to explode into your mind. Matthew, the first man you had ever loved, and the first man to ever betray you.
“How?” You practically shout out in frustration. Matthew still had several years to go locked up in his cell.
“He got a new lawyer,” Lou explains calmly, “I think those men where waiting for you to return.”
“Fuck!” you yell. That man had nearly destroyed you and your business. You were together for many years, ever since you were sixteen, but as your family business grew, so did your power. Matthew never liked how it was him relying on your money, he believed it should be the other way around. On many occasions, he had attempted to stifle your power within your own line of work; hiding paperwork, ‘accidentally’ losing betting slips, taking your money from your purse. All of these things had seemed trivial to you, and you understood that your situation as a couple was unusual, but he always took things too far.
Your horses were doing well at the races, and your family name was well sought after by leading jockeys, nobility and royalty alike. You were the queen of the races, but Matthew wasn’t the king. One year at the Epsom Derby, Matthew had taken matters into his own hands, purposely injuring the horses that were from your stud. You had caught him, in the stables, blade in hand. None of your horses won the race that day, and you suffered as a consequence. You took him to the police and he was charged with fixing the races, and you hadn’t seen him since.
The memories of your fraught, but passionate relationship proved overwhelming, and you had to lean back in your seat, exhaling sharply. Lou stood and rested a hand on your forearm, comforting you.
“Al?” she asked tentatively, “he needs to be stopped. You need to stop him from hurting us again.”
“I know,” you sigh, shutting your eyes.
Tommy followed the housekeeper down several long corridors lined with portraits and busts of your predecessors, the plush carpet underfoot feeling spongy and soft under his boots. He had never felt so out of place, but yet comfortable at the same time. He walked past an ajar door and stopped, hearing children’s laughs and squeals coming from within. Carefully, he poked the door open, peering inside. Six children were playing inside with an older woman who he assumed to be their nanny. His eyes were drawn to a little boy sat atop a rocking horse. The boy was the same age as little Charlie back home in Birmingham. Tommy felt a pang in his heart. Family was everything. He missed Charlie already.
“Mr Shelby?” he heard the housekeeper’s voice.
“Sorry,” he muttered following her.
“They’re Lou’s children,” the housekeeper said quietly, “sad really, their father just left a couple months ago. Lou thinks he met someone else. Bloody coward I say.” Margaret continued to chatter as they walked on but Tommy was barely listening. He understood the suffering of your family- despite the differences between your two families, you still struggled in the same ways.
Tommy was shown into his room and he settled in quickly, kicking his shoes off. He walked towards the window to admire the view: the fields stretched for as far as he could see, various livestock grazing and crops growing in orderly lines. He had always considered Arrow House to be in the country, but the black smog of industry in Birmingham was always in view. Here, no black was to be seen, only blues and greens.
Lou had left your office quickly, realising how her news would cause you great stress. If Matthew was out of prison, there was no doubt that he would try and get to you. The men on the driveway were waiting for your return to Devon to inform their boss. You lean back and groan: what you had planned to be a relaxing and successful trip home was no longer possible. You grab the telephone off its hanger, and dial Henry’s number. After a few rings, he picked up.
“Did you know?” You ask quickly.
“Did I know what?” He replied, equally as quickly.
“Matthew’s out.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Fuck” you sigh.
“Deal with it, Alice.” He said quietly before hanging up the phone. You groan again, replacing the phone. As irritated as you were, the situation needed to be dealt with and a horse needed to be sold to the Shelbys: there was work to do.
You rise out of your chair and walk to the door of the room, calling for Margaret. The older woman rushes along the corridor to meet your calls.
“Can you ask Mr Shelby to meet me in the dining room please, Margaret?” you ask sweetly. She nods before turning and rushing back down the corridor in which she had came. “Oh! And Lou too please?” You call after her. You turn and walk back into your office, grabbing a large folder off one of the bookshelves. Flicking through the pages of horses you smile, Tommy simply won’t be able to refuse these.
Tommy followed a maid into the dining room of Addison Manor. As he walked through the door he struggled to contain his awe. The room was basked in sunlight due to the large windows that were dotted around the perimeter. The light was accentuated by the pale blue paintwork, with white and gold ornate trims. He looked up to the ceiling, which was painted the same blue, but had white carvings and engravings across the entire area. The room was beautiful. In the middle of the room was a long table, with places set out for nearly thirty people. Crisp and clear glasses and shining silverware shimmered in the sunlight. You sat at the head of the table, diamond earrings and necklace creating a mirage of light on the walls and ceilings. Lou sat next to you on your right, her blonde hair glowing like liquid gold as the sun’s rays hit it. Tommy gulped, sheer beauty like this simply doesn’t exist in Birmingham. The way your hands were poised at the table, and how Lou gazed deep into his eyes made the whole scene look like the Renaissance painting.
“Ladies,” he coughed, pulling up the chair to your right, making a conscious effort not to break the peaceful equilibrium of the room. You and Lou smile at him.
“So Tommy,” you begin, laying the folder out in front of him. “You have come here in order to negotiate a deal with Goodfellows Ltd.” He nodded earnestly at you, you noticed that his eyes were the same colour as the walls and ceiling. Focus Alice. “The terms of this deal are as follows: we, Goodfellows Ltd., would become a major sponsor of the Cheltenham Races. In return, you will receive a race horse of your choice.”
Lou opened the folder, revealing the photographs of the elegant and majestic horses you had to offer. “In this folder, we have compiled a list of what we believe to be our most promising colts and fillies. You are welcome to choose any from this folder.” She spoke smoothly. Tommy looked up at her, and then to you. They’ve done this before, they know what they’re doing. Tommy raised an eyebrow at you, and you smiled to him.
“We suggest that you browse through the folder tonight, then tomorrow we shall take you out to the stud and you can see the horses in action.” You say, causing Tommy to nod slowly.
Suddenly the doors burst open and a host of three children, aged between seven and ten rush into the room and bustle around Lou. Lou groans. You smile, pulling the young girl, Rosie, onto your lap and into a hug. The oldest boy, George, tugs at Lou’s arm, trying to get her attention while the middle child, a boy named Joe pulled at her other arm.
“Excuse me, Mr Shelby.” Lou sighs. Tommy chuckled, then leant back in his chair, the pang of missing his own child erupting into his heart. “What is it, George?”
“Can we walk into town? We haven’t been able to in AGES!” George whined, placing particular emphasis on the ‘ages’.
“Absolutely not.” Lou affirmed, widening her eyes as George began to cry. Tommy raised an eyebrow, unsure if this was normal behaviour or not. The children’s nanny ran into the room, red faced and panting.
“I’m so sorry!” she cried grabbing the children by the arms and dragging them out of the room.
Lou wiped her eyes with her hands and groaned. Tommy looked between her and you, trying to suss out the situation.
“I can’t let them out of the house, not with those men lurking on our very driveway.” Lou said, reassuming her normal stoic attitude and sitting up straight. It all of a sudden clicked in Tommy’s mind- this family were under as much threat as his, they were a family under pressure. Lou grabbed your hand, a pleading expression on her face.
“I’ll deal with it. Tonight.” You affirm.
#peaky blinders#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders fandom#peaky blinders fic#peaky blinders fiction#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders fanfiction#tommy shelby#tommy x reader#reader x tommy#reader x Tommy shelby#Tommy shelby imagine#thomas shelby#thomas shelby x reader#cillian murphy#alfie solomons#tom hardy#arthur shelby#john shelby#paul anderson#joe cole#michael gray#finn cole#polly gray#helen mccrory#grace burgess#grace shelby#my fiction#my characters#feedback
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Stranger Things Have Happened: Chapter Three
Chapter Three: Lost To The Party
Characters: Y/N Winchester, Nancy, Barb, Jonathan, Steve, Tommy H., Carol, Sam, Dean
Warnings: angst, mentions of John’s crappy parenting, overprotective Dean, underage drinking
Word count: 2.3k
Series description: Hawkins, Indiana, November 1983. The Winchesters got out of hunting and decided to settle down in a small town. The youngest of the three, Y/N, just wants to get on with her somewhat normal life and go to a good college. But that’s a little tricky when disappearances start occurring, including her friend Barbara Holland, and there’s reports of a mysterious new girl in town. Can she balance boyfriends, teen drama and monster hunting?
A/N: Here you go! Another chapter of this Stranger Things x Supernatural crossover. I’m really enjoying writing this and I hope you’re enjoying reading it. As always feedback is much appreciated and if you want to be tagged all you need to do is ask xx Masterlist Series Masterlist
Part 2
Story:
8th November 1983, Hawkins, Indiana…
My mind races as I walk to school (some asshole scraped my car really badly sometime last night so Dean’s working on it). There are already loads of people bustling about the streets on their way to work walking in some half asleep state. My breath comes out as wisps in the crisp winter air this chilly morning as I try to focus on the thudding of my boots on concrete, anything to give my mind a break from thinking about recent events. That is until I see a familiar figure up ahead sticking a piece of paper to a lamp post.
“Jonathan! Hey Jonathan!” I shout, picking up the pace to catch up.
“Oh… Hey Y/N…” He avoids eye contact, instead opting to look at his scuffed sneakers.
“I’m-I’m sorry about your brother.”
“Thanks. You’re probably the only person ‘round here that means it.”
“… You will find him though… My brothers are going with the search party tonight. They’re good at this kind of stuff.” I try to comfort Jonathan but I forget to watch my words. He looks up at me, brows scrunched together.
“They’re good at finding people? Were they cops or somethin’ in Kansas?”
“Um… No, they just… Went on a lot of hunting trips… In the woods. That’s what I meant.”
“Right. Sure… Well I should probably err…” Jonathan shuffles awkwardly to go around the corner.
“Yeah, I should get to school anyway.” I start walking off down the sidewalk slowly before pausing, “Hey, can I get one of those?”
“Oh! Sure… Here.” He hands me one of the flyers. I give him a weak smile before picking up the pace to get to school on time.
“So it’s at my place. Be there for eight. You okay for beers?” Steve flashes his winning smile at Tommy, Carol gazing dreamily up at him like he’s not a complete dick. To be completely honest, I would rather stab my eyes out with a blunt pencil and have my ears sewn shut than hang out with the pair of them all the time but, Nancy is with Steve now so we have to spend time with Steve’s friends. I begged with Barb for us to go have lunch without them but Nancy insisted we stick with her- she said something about owing us both a huge favour. Understatement of the century.
“Oh God, look.” We all follow Carol’s disgusted stare to the noticeboard.
“Oh God that’s depressing.” Steve remarks while Nancy only looks worried,
“Should we say something?”
“I don’t think he speaks.” Carol shuts down that idea swiftly, her mean streak shining through as always, Tommy laughing behind her,
“How much d'you wanna bet he killed him?” His twisted comment just gets him a joking shove from Steve. You know, they might be terrible human beings but, I’m starting to think Tommy and Carol were made for eachother.
Despite the jokes from the group, Nancy nervously approaches Jonathan.
“What is she doing talking to that freak?” Tommy looks to all of us to see if we’re laughing but it’s only Carol with a slight smirk; the rest of us have the same guilt ridden expression.
“I hope they’re all okay.” Barb says softly, thinking out loud.
“I’m sure they’re fine. And I’m sure in a week they’ll find that kid buried in the back yard.”
“Oh look is that the time!” I exclaim, not even looking at my watch, “Gotta get to class. See ya.” And I speed walk away as fast as I can before my fist finds itself connecting with Tommy’s smug little face. The day I knock his lights out will be a happy day for us all.
“What’s this?”
“A missing poster.” I respond casually as I continue making my notes. Dean picks up the creased piece of paper from the table, scan reads it, then drops it and groans.
“I thought we told you to drop this. It’s not our kind of gig.”
“You did. But I don’t care. Will is still missing and I want us to help find him!” I look up to meet Dean’s hard glare. Luckily, the sudden ringing of the phone saves me from what I’m sure would have been another tedious lecture on staying safe.
“Y/N/N it’s for you! From Barbara Holland.” Sam calls from the hallway having answered it.
“Coming!” I shout over my shoulder, refusing to break eye contact with Dean until I’ve left the room. “Thanks Sam!” I beam as I take the phone from him.
“No problem. Please don’t get into another fight with Dean.”
“I wasn’t going to- Hey barb what’s up?” My attention gets taken by the phonecall so Sam decides to not badger me any further.
“Hey Y/N. Are you going to this party tonight?” She speaks in a hushed tone; her parents must be close by.
“I wasn’t planning on it. Why, are you?”
“I don’t really want to but, Nancy wants me to. I figured if you came too then it wouldn’t be so awkward for me. Plus I don’t really have much party experience and you do so…”
“But Barb-”
“Please! I’ll make you cookies and bring them to school next week.” She bargains. Damn it-she really does make good cookies.
“Fine I’ll come! But I want triple chocolate chip.” I joke, my kind, good-hearted nature is just too strong sometimes.
“Deal! Thank you so much Y/N/N.”
“Guess I’ll see you at eight then.”
“Yeah see you then.”
As I put the phone down, I can sense a very tall presence stood behind me. Make that two. Both my brothers stand arms folded, towering above me with stern frowns. I stupidly try to just slip past but Dean blocks my path to the kitchen with his arm slammed against the door frame. I let out a small gasp and flinch away.
“Where were you planning on going out, huh?”
“The gathering. At school. For Will.” I state simply, mainly to avoid getting caught lying. Again.
“You didn’t mention this earlier.” Dean continues like this is some sort of interrogation.
“I wasn’t going to go. But Barb and Nancy are and they asked me to go.” I try to slip past again but Dean doesn’t move his arm.
“Dean! Let her go.” Sam urges, giving me a look of pity. Dean looks to his brother, steam almost coming out of his ears from having both siblings against him. Loosening his grip on the door, he lets out a sigh.
“Fine! But I want you back here as soon as it’s over. No having around with your friends, no sleepovers. You come straight home. Understand?”
“Yes.”
I can hear the muffled arguing from my room as I refresh my makeup in the dim lighting. It’s about me. When is it not about me? Y/N missed curfew. Y/N was with a boy at the movies. Y/N didn’t do exactly what I ordered her to do. I get it. Dean worries. A lot. He worries about Sam too but he can’t exactly boss around a fully grown man (He tried but he ended up with burned pancakes whenever it was Sam’s turn to cook). I could just be sat reading in the living room and he’ll watch me to make sure nothing bad happens.
Satisfied with my final look, I slip my lipstick into my back pocket before heading towards the stairs.
“I’m serious Dean! What the hell were you thinking? Don’t you think she got enough of that crap from Dad? She doesn’t need you controlling every little bit of her life!”
“Don’t you fucking dare compare me to Dad! I’m nothing like him! And he was never the same with her as he was with us.”
“Not when you were around! When you left on a hunt or to go shopping or even just left the room, she was treated just like me.”
“Then why leave her alone with him and go to college?”
“Because I was a scared kid too Dean! And I thought maybe you could be the brother she needed.”
“So you left a seven year old kid with a man like that because you were fucking scared? How do you think she felt?”
“Terrified! I know that Dean because she told me when you came to find me. And I know she was scared of you just then because she had that same look on her face from when she was a kid around Dad.”
Their shouting is much clearer from the top of the stairs. I’ve just got to get out of here. Treading lightly and avoiding the stairs I know to be creaky, I manage to slip out of the door unnoticed. Breathing is much easier now that I can’t hear them. Maybe a party is just what I need.
Nancy finishes her beer impressively fast, ending with a small curtsey. Tommy and Carol whoop and holler, Steve places a clumsy kiss to her lips- hell, three beers in even I find myself applauding her- but Barb stays completely silent.
“You try!” Nancy offers a can to Barb. She shakes her head,
“No Nance. I don’t want any.” Noticing her reluctance, I grab the beer, fishing for my knife in my back pocket.
“Someone’s not messing around! You okay with that?” Steve asks before taking a swig of his own drink, not taking his eyes off me.
“Watch and learn boys.” I warn them before bringing the bottom of the can to my lips and chugging the contents in seven seconds flat. Finished, I crush the can in my hand and let it drop to the floor.
“Woah! Watch out Steve, I think she’s coming for your crown.” Tommy jokes, one arm wrapped tightly around Carol.
“Whatever! I was going slow earlier.” Steve pouts.
“Yeah, sure.” I laugh, taking a seat in one of the sun loungers.
“Come on Barb, you try!” Nancy grabs another beer from the cooler and hands it to Barb despite her protests. “It’s fun, just try.”
Rolling her eyes, Barb stand up, fidgeting with the knife. She slips several times, probably from the pressure of all of us watching. Suddenly, she misses sending the blade into her thumb.
“Gnarly!” Tommy leans over to see the blood trickling from her hand.
“Oh my God! Are you okay?” Nancy rushes over.
“Yeah, I’m fine!” Barb tries to brush her off.
“Barb, you’re bleeding.”
“I said I’m fine! Where’s your bathroom?”
“Oh! It’s err round past the kitchen. To the left.” Steve gets up to point the way, following her to the door.
There’s a moment of awkward silence after Barb heads inside- no one’s really to blame but someone getting stabbed tends to dampen the mood. Carol clearly just doesn’t care, instead choosing to take a puff off her cigarette by the pool. That is until Tommy picks this moment to push call in the pool.
“Oh my God! What the hell Tommy!” She whines, flinching as he leaps in to join her. Steve takes this as his chance to shove Nancy in as well before canon balling it. Mascara leaving smudges around her eyes, Nancy wades her way to the edge, where I’m sat, holding out her arms.
“Y/N/N can you help me up?” Not thinking about it, I extend both arms out to her, ready to pull her out. That’s when she pulls back, sending me diving head first into the blue water. I only just manage to hold my breath in time before I’m plunged into the deep end. Once resurfaced, I can hear their laughing and cheering.
“Woo! Nice dive new girl!” Tommy laughs (I’m not sure but, I think he just doesn’t know my name and that’s why he uses the nickname), before turning to Carol to lock lips with her. Again.
“I’d give it a ten out of ten.” Nancy smiles, treading the water. I give her tight smile, my arm reaching behind me widely before shoving a wave of water towards her face. Only she narrowly dodges it, causing Steve to take the blow. His reaction is priceless; a mixture of surprise and annoyance with an added scream. He wastes no time, chasing after Nancy only to grab he and lift her into the air. She lands back in the water with an almighty splash, disturbing Tommy and Carol and bringing them into the fight.
“Well, you know what? You are cleaning the sheets.” Steve mutters to the loved up couple as they disappear upstairs. “You okay?”
“Yeah!” Nancy manages to say through her chattering teeth.
“I’m just gonna go to my car. I should have spare clothes with me.”
“Okay. You keeping the towel?” Steve jests, nodding to the orange striped rectangle of fabric I’m currently wearing as a cloak.
“No. I’ll change and bring it back. You okay getting home Nance?”
“I’ll be fine. You go and get warm.” She urges, hugging her towel tighter around her slender shoulders.
My hands shake a bit with the cold but I manage to change quickly; being prepared has its perks. Now in warm, dry jeans and a red flannel, I neatly fold up the towel and slip back into the house to give it back. Other than the footsteps and suspicious creaking of springs above my head, the house is quiet- a stark contrast to the crashing about in the pool only ten minutes ago. There’s no one downstairs so I just leave the towel in the lounge.
As I’m about to leave, someone outside catches my attention. It’s Barb. She’s sat on the diving board with her toes dangling in the heated water. From her fixed gaze at the rippling water I can tell she’s deep in thought. I wonder what about. A glance to the clock tells me I have no time to dawdle so I leave her be and head for home where hopefully Dean will already be in bed fast asleep. I wish.
Everything tags:
@falloutofmymemez
STHH tags:
@marslovesme @bluedefundead @elenavaldez09 @mysanityisgone27
#supernatural#spn#stranger things#st#stranger things x supernatural#supernatural fic#spn fic#stranger things fic#crossover#spn crossover#sister!winchester#sister!reader#dean winchester#sam winchester#nancy wheeler#steve harrington#crack#angst#barbra holland
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Green Wounds, Ch. 6
Alright, we’re back with Green Wounds! I gave you guys a short filler that ended on a bit of a cliffhanger last time, but I promise this’ll make up for it! At least, I hope so lol. I’m actually seriously excited for you guys to read this chapter; it’s the first thing I wrote for this story, and it’s quite possibly my favorite scene out of the whole dang thing. I really really hope I did this scene justice, but I guess I’ll find out. Also on a side note, this picture is my favorite so far lol I love it.
Now without further ado, read on and enjoy!
All manner of folk came to the baby prince’s christening, even a trio of pixies who sought to foster peace and goodwill.
The christening had been wonderful so far for all parties. Gifts had been given for the baby prince throughout the day, and at the moment a crowd of people from all over the kingdom was gathered in the throne room, dressed to their finest, while King Ace and Queen Jeanette sat on their thrones. Off to the side, on a lower platform, was a bassinet, and inside the bassinet was the baby prince himself.
He was a month old now, so it was still a bit too early to figure out where he had inherited most of his traits from, but most people who had seen him said he looked rather like his mother. He was a bit small for a normal baby, but other than that was healthy and happy. His parents had named their newborn son Eric, and Eric had spent most of the day either dozing or blinking up at the people who looked at him.
Many in the kingdom had left gifts for their new prince. But there were those who had decided to bestow gifts from outside the kingdom as well.
Tiny male voices floated into the room, and the King and Queen, as well as the crowd, looked up as three pixies flew into the throne room, dressed in pink, green, and blue. Two of them, the pink and blue pixies, seemed to be bickering, while the green pixie was looking around in fascination.
As they flew closer to the King and Queen, the green pixie’s eyes fell on the cradle, and he grinned excitedly. “Look, there’s the baby!” he said to the other two, pointing to the bassinet. “I love babies!”
“Yes, I know, Erik, but concentrate, please,” the pink one said to him. “I’m not telling you again.”
Queen Jeanette smiled welcomingly at them as they hovered in front of the thrones, while King Ace gave them a look that seemed rather… impassive.
The pink pixie, who seemed to be the leader, went first. “Greetings, Your Majesties. I am Vinnie of the Moorland Fair Folk.” He bowed to them.
The blue pixie went next, also bowing. “I’m Tommy, Your Kingship… and, Queenship.”
The green pixie bowed next. “And I’m Erik, Your Royalnesses.”
Queen Jeanette looked at him. “Forgive me, but your name is Erik?”
Erik looked rather surprised at being directly acknowledged, but after getting a gesture to reply from Vinnie he bowed his head again. “Uh, yes… ma’am. Erik with a ‘K’.”
Queen Jeanette smiled slightly. “How funny—that is the name of our son.”
The pixie now was incredibly surprised. “Really?”
“Indeed… though his name is Eric with a ‘C’.”
Erik smiled. “Huh,”
Queen Jeanette turned to her husband, who was still looking silently at the pixies. “They bring gifts for our son, I believe,”
“We do,” Tommy said, smiling eagerly. He made excited gestures with his hands. “But these are not just any old gifts. For you see, we are magic!”
“And very good with children,” Vinnie couldn’t help but add.
King Ace seemed to be considering how to reply, and for a moment the pixies wondered if he would turn them down. But then he nodded and waved his hand. “Very well. Go on.”
The pixies grinned at each other, then flew over to the bassinet. Vinnie went first, smiling down at Eric and waving his hands, sending wisps of pink magic over the baby boy. “Sweet Eric, I wish for you the gift of kindness,”
He flew to the side and let Tommy go next. Twisting blue magic cascaded over the prince. “My wish is that you will never be blue, only happy, all the days of your life,”
Last to go was Erik. He smiled eagerly and let light green magic curl around his hands. “Sweet baby, my wish for you, is that you find—”
He never finished.
A powerful gust of wind tore through the room, blowing out all the candles and making the chandeliers groan and creak as they swayed dangerously above everyone’s heads. Grey clouds rolled over the sun, dimming its cheerful light and throwing the throne room into a light shadow. The powerful wind threw some of the people off-balance, and the three pixies were forced to grip the edge of the cradle so they wouldn’t be blown away. Cries of fear went up.
Then a dark shadow appeared on the wall, and footsteps echoed through the hall along with the constant, rhythmic tap of a walking stick. The cries died down to shocked, fearful murmurs as the crowd parted to make way for the surprise guest and the inky-black cat that followed at his heels.
Despite his best efforts to stay calm, Ace’s entire face went pale. In her throne beside him, Queen Jeanette could only stare blankly, though she was looking rather intimidated. The eyes of the three pixies widened and they whispered in panicked voices, “Starchild!”
A few more steps toward the thrones, and the dark figure came into the partially-dim sunlight.
It was indeed Starchild. Compared to the humans surrounding him, the faerie was perhaps of average height. But what he lacked in stature he made up in appearance. His paper-white face, the black star over his eye, and his blood-red lips all made for an off-putting look, combined with the look of cold, mild amusement on his face, as though the fear of the humans was simply rather entertaining. He wore all black—a black jacket with silver-studded collar and cuffs over a black and silver very-low-cut vest, black leather pants, and black platform boots that raised him up a few inches, all underneath a long black cape that showed off scatterings of silver glitter when he moved. In his left hand was his black walking stick, the constant echoing taps making everyone go silent. His entire appearance gave off a sort of poise and terrifying elegance. His cold eyes, which were fixated particularly on Ace as he approached, had a gleam of sinister anticipation—he’d made the right choice in choosing to bide his time. He’d been waiting so long for this day, and right now, it felt so much better than it would have been if he had just destroyed everything at once.
Not that he planned on doing that at all, however. Oh no; he was going to make sure everything Ace had worked for his entire life would slowly and systematically crumble.
When he had neared the steps to the platform where the cradle was, he finally stopped, with one final echoing tap of his walking stick. Starchild kept the cold look of amusement on his face. “Well, well,” he said pleasantly, as though this all was simply mildly yet pleasantly surprising. He let a sinister smile creep onto his face as he glided up the steps, his cape trailing behind him and Peter following.
“What a glittering assemblage, King Ace.” His tone was clearly mocking, and the fact that he was speaking directly to Ace made Queen Jeanette’s head turn to look at her husband. Peter jumped up to sit on his shoulder, and Starchild raised a hand to idly stroke his fur as he looked around at the crowd in pretend-interest. “Royalty, nobility, the gentry, and…” He turned to see the pixies by the cradle, Vinnie trying to glare at him. His smile widened, now having a tinge of genuine amusement, and he chuckled. He’d been wondering where the three pixies had disappeared to. “How quaint,” he sneered. “Even the rabble.”
Tommy and Erik sank down slightly, lowering their gazes, while Vinnie bravely stayed where he was.
Starchild turned from them to look back at Ace, and very nearly frowned. His face was still pale, and he looked afraid… but not afraid enough.
Starchild raised his head and projected his voice so that it echoed throughout the hall. “I must say,” he kept his voice light, full of faux-concern, “I really felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation…” he trailed off, blinking innocently at Ace, as though to imply he wanted an explanation.
Ace finally spoke. “You’re not welcome here.” His voice was curt, but too quiet to be actually threatening.
The expectant look dropped from Starchild’s face, replaced by a look reminiscent of a kicked puppy. His eyes lowered, and he let out whimpering noises, as though he were about to burst into tears.
Then the look flipped into one of cruel humor, and instead of crying, Starchild smiled and began to laugh sinisterly. “Oh dear,” he chuckled. “What an awkward situation…”
Queen Jeanette leaned forward, her face still one of fear. “But you’re not offended?” she asked Starchild, her voice sounding slightly hopeful. Despite how much he was enjoying himself, he felt a quick pang of sympathy for the woman. She couldn’t be blamed for all this, and unlike her husband, she was afraid simply because of his frightening display. It wasn’t her fault she was married to such a horribly selfish man.
But even so…
Starchild turned to her, laughing lightly. “Oh, you silly dear,” he smiled sweetly at her like she was a cute little girl, “of course not. And to show that I bear no ill will… I, too, shall bestow a gift on the child.”
At that, Ace shot to his feet, now as afraid as Starchild wanted him to be. “No! We don’t want your gift!”
Peter hissed at him, and surprisingly, it made Ace fall still as Starchild glided over to the cradle.
“Stay away from the prince!” Vinnie demanded as he neared.
Tommy and Erik flew back up again. “Yes, stay away!” Erik echoed.
Starchild smirked. How adorable. With a simple flick of his hand he sent the pixies flying across the room into a small ornate chest, the lid slamming over them and trapping them inside.
Peter jumped off his shoulder onto the cradle’s canopy, and they both looked down at the baby boy lying inside. He stared uncomprehendingly back at Starchild, making the faerie wonder if he even knew what was going on… or what was about to happen.
Starchild stared at the baby for a long moment, letting out a remarking hum. It was the ever-so-annoying conscientious part of him that was making him pause. Are you really so cruel as to curse a little baby? it whispered, sounding desperate. He’s done nothing to you. It’s Ace you want to harm. If you do this, there’s no turning back.
But then Starchild thought of his wings. His beautiful black wings, the wings he’d never thought to cherish more until he no longer could. The wings that had been ripped away by the man who told him he loved him, all so he could have some meaningless crown on his head.
Starchild lifted his hand and made a slow circular motion in the air, deep purple magic swirling around his fingers. “Listen well, all of you,” he proclaimed, his voice echoing once more. He waved his hand so that waves of the deep purple magic cascaded over the baby boy. “The prince shall indeed grow in grace and kindness… beloved by all who meet him…”
Queen Jeanette, who had stood up alongside Ace, spoke again, perhaps in an attempt to mollify him. “Th-That’s a lovely gift,”
Starchild raised his head to glance at her, then turned his eyes to Ace. Ace shook his head at him, not quite pleading, but still rather desperately. “Don’t do this,” he begged, his voice so low only Starchild could hear.
How funny; he assumed he had a say in the matter.
Starchild raised a finger and pressed it to his red lips, almost playfully. Then he turned to straighten up and step away from the cradle. This was where, to use the human phrase, the other shoe would drop. And oh, would it drop.
But as Starchild turned his head, something in the far corner of the room caught his eye.
It was a spinning wheel, pushed haphazardly into the corner, but placed in such a way that the spindle still caught some sunlight. The tip of the spindle gleamed especially brightly.
Starchild almost grinned as his plan changed. He thought his original plan had been good… but this was even better.
“But…” He stepped away from the cradle so he was in the center of the platform, and lifted his arms. Deep purple magic trailed after his hands and enveloped his body like flames as his eyes gleamed the same purple. “Before the sun sets on his sixteenth birthday, he will prick his finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, and fall into a sleep like death! A sleep from which he will never awaken!”
A wave of the purple magic left him and traveled over to the baby boy, washing over him as his curse began to bind itself to the infant.
Whatever pride that had kept Ace from outright pleading was now gone. “Starchild, please don’t do this! I’m begging you!” He sounded incredibly desperate now.
Starchild’s mouth quirked up in a smile. Now that was the reaction he’d been hoping for. But now his mind was turning again. Perhaps he could work with this…
“I like you begging,” he remarked to Ace, his enjoyment in his voice. “Do it again.”
For a moment, Ace hesitated. His eyes left Starchild to look out at the now-silent crowd, who had been watching the entire thing. He didn’t particularly want to kneel, Starchild knew.
He was about to repeat his command when Ace slowly sank down to his knees. His eyes flicked briefly to the men watching from the side, before gazing at him imploringly. “I beg you,”
Starchild smiled wickedly at him. “All right,”
Hesitant relief came to Ace’s expression, but it quickly vanished when Starchild spoke aloud again. “The prince can be woken from his death-sleep. But only by…” he stared right at Ace, “true love’s kiss.”
He turned to look out at the crowd, raising his arms above his head. “This curse will last to the end of time!” he declared, his magic coiling tightly around him. “No power on Earth can change it!”
The magic exploded, flying out over the crowd and sending many to the ground. The crowd screamed in panic as the floor rumbled and the clouds outside darkened until they blocked out the sun’s light completely.
Grinning widely, Starchild walked briskly down the steps and left the hall, Peter bounding after him. He was sure he would never forget this day—it had turned out to be so much better than he could have possibly hoped. Intoxicating joy surged through him, and he threw back his head and began to laugh as he left the hall. It was a loud, wicked cackle that bounced off the walls and bore into the skulls of all who heard it. As Queen Jeanette raced to the cradle to check on her son, Ace stayed where he was, watching Starchild strut away, cackling loudly and carelessly.
And his laughter was all Ace could hear as Starchild swept out of the hall and vanished.
#green wounds#chapter six#we have finally reached my favorite chapter!!!#oh my god guys you don't even know how freakin FUN it was to write this#it was SO. MUCH. FUN.#starchild kicks his revenge plan into motion#ace is helpless to do anything to stop him#meanwhile queen Jeanette has no clue what's going on#honestly I felt sorry for the queen#she was like the only innocent one in the entire debacle#also the baby prince is introduced!#yep: it's ERIC!#if you're thinking the fox has something to do with this you are correct#at least partly#the fox also mostly means something else#but anyway...#hope I did this awesome scene justice!#seriously it's like the highlight of the movie for me#maleficent au#kiss au writing#my writing#hope you enjoyed!#stay tuned for chapter seven!#picture this time comes from pintrest
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