#expect this post to be heavily reblogged in the near future
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Bound by Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen x Seamstress!OC x Jacaerys Velaryon - Chapter One
Prologue
Summary: Dragons have a habit in hoarding the prettiest of jewels, and pearls are of no exceptions.
Warnings- MDNI 18+ Obsessive Behavior (we all knew this was coming), tiny!Aemond is delulu, tiny!Jace is delulu, Dark Themes, not betaread we burn like Harrenhal, etc. Also translations for Valyrian will be added at the bottom! Also I used an online translator for the High Valyrian, so it may not be great 🫠
Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for the amazing support for this story's prologue, I did NOT expect so many positive reviews! I'm sorry this took so long, but I had a ton of applications and finals. But since I am on winter break, hopefully I will be able to upload more fics! Happy Holidays and big shoutout to @valeskafics, who continues to be the HOTD fanfic writing ICON that we all know and love! If you liked reading this work, reblog and comment if you want to be tagged in future installments of this work! Also I apologize for any grammatical errors, I wanted to post this as soon as possible.
You have known your entire life that you were going to be one of the many seamstresses that serviced the Royal Family.
By the age of three, your mother would teach you how to begin your very first stitches, which soon shifted to learning the most complicated patterns of embroidery. You still remember the tears in her eyes as you presented the silk-woven handkerchief that had lovely little purple and blue flowers embroidered on the borders for her birthday. Your face flushed to an almost too bright red when she insisted on showing all the other royal seamstresses and tailors your first handkerchief. But it made you smile in remembering how big her smile was that week, as she was so pleased by how much you’ve progressed at such a young age.
When you were only six, your mother had begun to teach you how to properly extract the dye from beautiful flowers and the scales of brightly-colored insects. So skilled and nimble were your fingers that you even gave your childhood playmate, Aemond Targaryen, a thick green wool cloak with green and silver dragon embroidery. The cloak’s wool had been dyed by your hand with copious amounts of goldenrod and indigo flowers. You then carefully stitched silk to line the inside of the cloak to prevent him from overheating, as even the harshest winters in the Crownlands were hardly anything compared to the summers in the North. It had caught you off-guard in the almost too-tight embrace he locked you in, but you eagerly reciprocated as you could tell he appreciated the gift more than words could describe.
It was not just a gift for is name-day from a childhood companion, but also a way to reassure him that he will one day have a dragon. And even if the gods do not grant him worthy in their eyes, he would always be considered a prince worthy of the Targaryen name in yours. After all, there were not many princes that would willingly spend all their free time with a lowly seamstress’ daughter – even if the supposed seamstress that was your mother was so heavily favored by the Queen.
“Pearl,” came a voice with a tone far too serious despite its youth, “what are you doing in the Godswood?”
You lifted your head from old tome you were studying, only to see a young boy of only nine name-days, that stood as straight as one of the stone pillars that stood in the Sept of Baelor. His white locks nearly blinded you with how the sunshine seemed to reflect on them.
“Well my prince, as you can clearly see, I have decided to take advantage of this fine day to do a bit of studying of my own.” You lifted the near ancient tome on your lap to show him the title, Myths and Legends of the Jade Seas.
Whatever outwardly beauty the book possessed had long diminished, the spine was bent from the hundreds of hours spent looking through its contents and the letters were near faded to a dull grey as the pages yellowed from age. But the colors of the ink remained as vibrant as when they were first painted on the frail sheets, accompanied by beautiful imagery of magical dragons and elusive mermaids. The details were so fine and intricate that it felt as if you only needed to touch the ink in order to be transported into the stories. You remembered how you begged either your mother or father to read it to you every night, as utterly transfixed by the colors back then as you remained so now.
“You are more than welcome to join me, but if – and only if – you share one of those apples hiding in your knapsack.”
Finally showing an expression appropriate for his age, the young prince reached in his pouch to show two gorgeous apples – the skin was practically gleaming in the sun as your mouth watered for its taste. Aemond handed one to you as he sat by your side underneath the plentiful shade of the heart tree. Scooting over to make room on the overgrown root you sat on, you eagerly showed him strange text.
“Look Aemond!” you exclaimed as you shoved the book to his nose. “This book says that there were dragons in Yi Ti! Isn’t that amazing?”
Aemond looked at you as if you had suddenly grown two heads and five eyes. “How can there be dragons in Yi Ti? All the dragons save the ones in the dragonpit and the rocky shores of Dragonstone had perished in The Doom that sunk Valyria. Everyone knows that pearl.”
“These dragons are different! According to my kepa, Yi Ti dragons don’t even need wings to fly!”
The young prince rolled his eyes at that. “How could they fly if they don’t have wings? Even Carraxes the Blood Wrym has wings, and he looks like an overgrown red snake.” Honestly, his pearl could be so silly. “Besides, what would your father know? He’s a bastard from the Iron Islands, that’s nowhere near the Jade Seas.”
Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “He heard so on his travels with Lord Velaryon and Prince Laenor! Apparently, these dragons use magic and live in the ocean. And they don’t even breathe fire! They make it rain and control the oceans!”
“…Pearl, I think you’ve been spending too much time making those dyes. The fumes must have gotten to your head.”
You openly gaped at your friend’s comment, completely in shock for how blatantly he dismissed you. It made you want to pound your fists on his person until he took it back. So naturally, you did just that.
“Aemond Targaryen, you take that back right now!” you shrieked. Although your actions told otherwise, the smile on your face showed that you took no true offense to his words. If anything, it pleased you to know that you could still make the stone-faced prince giggle as a boy should at his age.
“Never!”
As the two of you giggled and played, several pairs of wandering eyes spied and grimaced at the distasteful display. Although your friendship with the next generation of the royal family was no secret, much of the court disapproved of how highly the royal family thought of you and Prince Aemond’s friendship. After all, he was the second born prince of House Targaryen, born of King Viserys and Queen Alicent. By the time the Targaryen prince could toddle, great things were expected from him. From a very early age, he immersed himself in his studies befitting of a prince of Westeros. You, on the other hand, were only the daughter of a seamstress and a bastard knight who became a lord of a holding so minor that it had no name. You only skills were that you could make pretty dye, and stitch pretty pictures with a needle and thread.
But he always treated you kindly and defended you whenever his eldest brother decided to use you as his latest target for mockery. You were a precious pearl – his precious pearl – Aegon may be his brother, but he could never love Aegon as much as he loved you. True, your father being a bastard did you no favors in the Red Keep’s court, but Aemond would never tell you that himself. Instead, he openly acknowledged his bravery and commended his loyalty to the Crown. After all, how many bastards can boast that they saved the Lord Corlys Velaryon, holder of the Driftwood Throne, from a siege of pirates during one of the lord’s many voyages to Essos?
In turn, you always made sure to provide comfort and support whenever his brother and nephews decided to pick on him. Without fail, he would seek out your company – his eyes red and puffy, while his cheeks were wet from hastily wiped tears. You would take his hands and the two of you would venture out to the library’s more secluded sections. You made sure to pack whatever you have been working on with you. While you were glad that he came to you for comfort, it would do little good for either of you if you were to be punished for not completing whatever tasks your mother assigned you.
“Who cares if you don’t have a dragon?” you once asked him as the two of you laid next to each other, surrounded by books. “There are plenty members of the Targaryen line that did not have dragons, but they still lived out important lives in serving their family however they could. King Jaehaerys was considered a great ruler for how he served the realm– not for riding Vermithor. And even if you had a dragon, is that all you wish to be known for? Your grandfather, Baelon the Brave, was wise and beloved by the small folk for how he tried to make their lives easier. But all he is known for in history books is how he burned down Dorne with Vhagar.”
“Better to be known for a dragon than to disappear, not being known for anything – not even a dragon worthy of the Targaryen name.”
Sitting up against a bookshelf, you repositioned Aemond to lie his head on your thighs. Luckily the candlelight made the area dark enough so that you wouldn’t see his ears turning red. Instead, he buried his face in the soft cotton of your blue tunic as you stroked his soft silver white locks. Although his heart was beating erratically, your sweet scent along with your body’s suppleness was enough to take away any ire left in him.
“Stop that,” you ordered, “you will not be forgotten, don’t be so dramatic.” Eyes softening at his tense shoulders, you eased on the sternness of your tone. “Nyke pendagon iksā brilliant. Eman dōrī rhēdan anyone else qilōni kostagon ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie hae sȳrī hae ao. Kostā solve problems bona aegon ēza trouble lēda during aōha lessons lēda se Giēñatī. Aemond, iksā ñuha sȳrje raqiros. Gaomagon daor ivestragon kesā sagon daor rūnas.”
You pretended not to notice how tightly he clenched your dress as you ignored the how warm the spot where his hot tears grew.
As you continued to stroke his hair, Aemond made a silent vow that when he finally claimed a dragon, you would be the first person he would ride it with. He thought about how his bastard nephews would always try to take you from him, especially Jace, how he despised that boy. No, your touches would belong to him, and only him. Your sweet words and kind demeanor were his to cherish. You were his pearl – his pearl – and no one else’s, especially not the pretend Targaryen that was Jacaerys Strong.
Yes, it pleased Aemond to know that he was your best friend. But sometimes it frustrated him in how you refused to take him seriously as a man. For example, he once announced that when he claimed his dragon, he would finally be a noble dragon knight who would protect you from the most vicious of beasts. No matter how he insisted on his sincerity, you only rolled your eyes at the proclamation. You told him that you had no need for a knight, let alone a dragon knight. You had your dearest kepa for protection, and there was no finer knight in all the Seven Kingdoms in your eyes. So silly was his pearl indeed.
“Ashi’!” a new voice called out, interrupting the comfortable silence between him and his pearl. It belonged to the king’s eldest grandson, Prince Jacaerys Strong Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne after his mother, Princess Rhaenyra. “Your mother is looking for you! She said that she needs your help with Mother’s clothes!”
“Alright!” When you stood from you spot, you made sure to brush away any dirt or debris left on your skirts. You gathered your mother’s book in both arms when you made your way to the prince. “But why did my muña not send one of her attendants instead? It would not have been difficult to find me. Everyone knows that I enjoy reading under the Hearts Tree in the Godswood during my spare time. Are you not busy with your own duties, my prince?”
Straightening his posture to appear taller, Jace did his best to sound as authoritative as his father had taught him. “I just finished my lessons for the morning, and I volunteered to escort you. Besides, I figured that it would do me some good in practicing escorting you. I’ll need to do it in the future when I am king after my mother.” His round freckled cheeks reddened to a rosy hue at that last part.
Not at all catching the terribly obvious implication, you shrugged off his words as you figured that he meant that he was using you as practice for whichever future noble lady he would court in the future. However, the suggestion was not at all lost on your friend, who was still sitting on the overgrown root, glaring at his eldest nephew with a fury that rivaled the Great Doom that sunk Valyria.
“Well, we should be on our way then. Come on Aemond, we should get going!” You held out your held for your friend to hold on to, but were quickly interrupted by the brown-haired Targaryen at the side.
“He can’t! I mean-” stammered Jace as did his best in thinking of an excuse, “-I’m afraid my uncle cannot join us. You see, um – his mother, the Queen, requested his presence in her solar.”
“I’m sure my mother won’t mind waiting for a few moments while I join you in escorting my pearl to her favorite friend, nephew.” This wasn’t a lie on Aemond’s part. While he didn’t like the idea in keeping his mother waiting for him, he despised the thought of you being alone with the Strong Knight’s eldest bastard even more. Besides, his mother adored you as if you were her own daughter. It would have gone without saying that she would be happy with her son spending time with her best friend’s daughter.
“But why would you want to risk it, uncle?” Jacaerys wasn’t going to let his selfish uncle hog all of your attention. You were his friend too! It wasn’t fair that he had find crumbs of your time and affections, while his uncle got to feast on your smiles and laughter. He had spent hours with the dragon keepers of the dragonpit to help him train Vermax, all so that he could finally show you how close he was in riding him! But you were always too busy comforting his stupid dragonless uncle!
Enough was enough. Jacaerys may have been a Velaryon like his father, but he was also a Targaryen like his mother. It was he who carried the dragon’s blood, and dragons took what they desired or felt what they deserved. And he desrved to be with you more than Aemond.
“It’s alright Aemond, we’ll talk more later! Let’s go Jace, we shouldn’t keep our mothers waiting any more than we have.” Grabbing his hand before walking out of the gardens, you weren’t able to see the younger prince throw a triumphant smirk to his uncle before once more facing you with the story of how Luke accidentally got egg in his hair.
Watching his literal bastard of a nephew walk hand-in-hand away with his pearl, Aemond Targaryen felt his fury grow more potent with each step. He hated that you called his nephew by his nickname, all while he had none. What’s worse was the fact that you allowed him to refer to you as “Ashi.” What a ridiculous name, only a lowborn such as his nephew would refer to someone as precious as you as something as study and simple like “Ashi.” You were a pearl – his pearl, in fact. A fact that he felt was important to emphasize as he watched your head being thrown back in laughter. His anger grew to an all-time high when he watched you ruffle Jacaery’s hair with abundant affection.
Not wanting to make a scene, he walked to his mother’s chambers in fuming silence. While her presence wasn’t yours, maybe he could think of a plan to get you away from his whore of a sister and her illegitimate offspring.
If worse comes to worst, he might need to recruit his sister to his cause. He knew that Helaena would especially be thrilled in receiving your presence. You were the only one besides your parents that did not treat his beloved sister like an oddity. If you were not with Aemond, you were often found stitching with the young princess. It seemed that you were the only person in the entire world that could get her to smile.
Such a sweet girl, his pearl. Someone so kind was not meant to endure the presence of lowly bastards – even if they did technically carry royal blood.
He needed to come up with something fast.
Translations:
“Nyke pendagon iksā brilliant. Eman dōrī rhēdan anyone else qilōni kostagon ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie hae sȳrī hae ao. Kostā solve problems bona aegon ēza trouble lēda during aōha lessons lēda se Giēñatī. Aemond, iksā ñuha sȳrje raqiros. Gaomagon daor ivestragon kesā sagon daor rūnas.” - “You’re brilliant. I’ve never met anyone else who can speak such fluent High Valyrian, especially at your age. You can solve problems that Aegon has trouble with during your lessons with the Maester. Aemond, you are my best friend. Don’t say that you will be forgotten.”
Tagging:
@valeskafics, @faesspace, @aphroditesmoon, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @nellychick, @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @bellamys-girl1, @immyowndefender, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @elinedjarin, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @lokiofasgard12, @boxedpandas, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @mckiquinn, @cvspians, @aemondslove
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd au#house of the dragon x you#house of the dragon fic#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon x oc#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys velaryon x oc#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x oc#jacaerys x reader#jacaerys x oc#aemond x reader#aemond x oc#reader insert
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The Sticking Point 3
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)
Character: Loki
Note: Work is starting to get pretty busy again.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you all. Take care. 💖
You are left undisturbed for near a day after the news arrives. You should be grateful for the reprieve but you cannot find respite among your unease.
Edith is gone, your world is splintered, yet this marriage must proceed. Not for your own sake, but for your family's. You expect your father wouldn't be content to have you return to his household. The only benefit to your sister's tragedy is that he was able to rid himself of you.
Doreen informs you that you are to ready for another lunch. You choose a gown of faded peach and a bonnet with a narrow rim and white ribbon. She helps you dress before leaving to look in on your mother.
You look in the mirror and wonder if maybe you were prettier your voice wouldn't matter so much. You pin the brooch with the blue bird just below your neckline. You pretend Edith is there with you, talking you through this. I believe in you, sissy, remember when you stole my cap back from that angry hog?
You wait to be called. You hate to presume or wait around where others might be disturbed by your presence. It isn't Doreen who comes but another servant, a broad steely-haired woman. She bids you out and you follow meekly, gaze straying to the golden frames and painted canvas.
The meal is hosted in the dining hall. A long ebony table with matching chairs. Each seat is upholstered with emerald velvet and capped with curlicued posts. You are shown to yours by Parson to the one reserved for you.
Your mother sits with her tears hidden behind her fan, not so much as looking in your direction. Doreen stands at her shoulder and offers a handkerchief. You can only hear the reprimand she would issue should you be blubbering so.
You rise as the duke enters, but not alone. Your mother leans heavily on the way, gathering herself with several flaps of her fan. She snaps it shut and tucks it away as she raises her chin, shooing away Doreen.
“Lady Thea,” Laufeyson begins before addressing you, “my parents, the Grand Duke Odin and the Grand Duchess, Frigga.”
He steps aside as an older couple stand regally in the archway. The man is burly but stout, with dark grey hair streaked with white. His jaw is set squarely and there is a familiar blue tint to his eyes. The woman is tall and blond and fair, her figure untouched by her age and her hair so golden that the grey strands only seem to make her shine.
You recognise them. The portraits in the main hall. Even with some decades since the artist’s work, they are beyond compare to their pigmented likenesses. They are as elegant and resplendent as their son. It sinks a rotten pit in your chest. Perhaps, they might not want you either.
“We’re acquainted, Thea and I,” Frigga declares, “I believe your father might recall her.”
“Yes, Lady Thea,” he bows, “I know your husband better, I’m afraid.”
The duke has a pinched look to his lip as he listens with his chin high. He moves stiffly, gesturing to the table, “mm, yes, let us be seated–”
“Loki,” Frigga says as she slowly wades forward, her skirts rippling like water, “what about your brother? He received an invitation, didn’t he?”
“Mother, certainly he did, but he is ever… unpredictable,” Loki offers. It is jarring to think of him as anything but the duke. To think he is anything but the master of Jade Park.
“Lady Jane is with child,” Frigga counters, “it might take them some time.”
“Lady Frigga, Lord Odin,” your mother begins, “I cannot remark upon your son’s hospitality enough. He’s been a wonderful host, especially…” she pauses and turns her head, touching her cheek with a gloved hand.
“Oh, we were distraught to hear of Lady Edith. Such a tragedy. So young and beautiful.”
You stare at the wall. You try not to think of the statement laced between her words. You are young too but not so beautiful.
“And your younger daughter is endearing, that is a rather charming brooch,” she turns her green irises on you.
“Thank you, Lady Fwigga,” you hold your head high as you cling to a thread of dignity.
Her cheeks bulb and there is a slight tremor in her chin before she can answer, “oh, that is a peculiar accent, dear.”
You don’t know if you should thank her. You can’t tell if she holds any derision but you’d prefer she not mention it. It’s obvious, it needn’t be emphasized.
Your eyes skitter over to Odin who watches you with quiet consideration. He does not hold the same disapproval as your father but you can’t read much in his face.
“She is all I have left,” your mother bemoans, “two daughters. That’s all I got. How I wanted to give my husband his heir but… it was not to be and now…”
“Oh, Thea,” Frigga drawls, “if you are to fraught to remain–”
“No, no,” your mother expands her fan and pushes air into her face, dabbing her tears with her knuckle, “no, I’m so happy for our families to come together.”
“As are we. It is only sensible–”
She is interrupted by some furor at the other end of the house. A smile curls her lips as a booming voice fills the corridor like thunder. As your eyes drift towards the doorway, they meet Loki’s. He looks at you with a furrow between his brows before he shifts his gaze towards the clamour.
The men rise first. You get to your feet as Parson rushes in to announce the new arrival. As he introduces Lord Thor and Lady Jane, he is almost breathless. The couple appears behind him, the towering duke clapping the groom’s shoulder so he staggers. The duchess gives a pretty smile to the grand duchess as her hand rests on her rounding stomach.
“Oh, Jane,” Frigga sweeps across the chamber to embrace her daughter-in-law without pretense, “you are immaculate,” she pulls back and cradles her cheeks, “you look well.”
“Do I? I’ve been struck sick for days.”
“But it shall pass,” Frigga avows and beckons the duchess with her to the table, “Lady Jane, my first son’s wife.”
You bow your head and your mother does the same, taking the lead as you remain silent, “Lady Jane, a delight to… meet you. Oh, my apologies,” your mother fans herself more rapidly, “your eyes, they have the same shape as my dear Edith’s.”
“Edith?” Jane utters and looks at Frigga. The grand duchess leans over to whisper gently. “Oh, my condolences, Lady Thea, oh and such timing as this?” She turns to you, “a betrothal is supposed to be a joyous affair, I cannot bear to think how you are doing.”
You don’t know what to say, as often you find yourself lacking. Your lips tremble but you do your best to keep your composure.
“I will miss my sista vewy much,” you try to speak slow and clear, but it just sounds clumsy, “I didn’t know…” you see the flicker in her eyes, the dimple in her cheek, the judgment casting a shadow over her, “I didn’t know you and yaw husband would attend.”
Jane’s lips part and her brows rise as she looks at her mother-in-law. Frigga tries not to acknowledge the almost taunting expression. You can’t. You feel it throttling you. Just be quiet.
“How fetching,” Thor intones, surprising you as he comes to stand behind his mother and wife, chewing a biscuit he snatched from the tray.
“Fetching?” Jane scoffs.
“The way she speaks, yes? I think it is… interesting.”
“That hardly matters,” Frigga insists, “it is what one says, not how they say it.”
You clamp your lips together. You want to crumple to the floor and sob. You don’t want to be stood here like some jester to entertain these people. You want to go home and see your sister’s casket. You want to be near her, even if she’s not really there.
Again, you find Loki’s distasteful glare. His throat bobs and his lips thin even further.
“Yes, yes, let us sit and eat. My staff has worked the morning to prepare us a fine lunch,” he chides, “I’d hate to see it wasted.”
🔹
You stare at your untouched plate of cold meats and cheese. You’re not very hungry. Perhaps it is grief, or more likely it is shame. You want to shrink down to a morsel of dust and disappear.
There is an odd sort of skill acquired by those who are quiet. Observation. The ability to see so much, to take in every gesture, every twitch, every look with meaning. And you do not miss those errant gazes in your direction. Some with anticipation, others with dread, each waiting for you to say another twisted syllable.
Your mother fills the silence you refuse to break. She regales the table with the story of how she met your father on the promenade, how he trod on her skirts, and she hit him with her reticule. A tale you’ve heard anon.
She hiccups suddenly and cups her hand over her mouth. You turn to look at her as her wrinkles deepen and her gulps become sobs. She shakes her hand and waves her other. Doreen appears at her shoulder.
“My lady,” the servant says.
“Oh, Lady Thea,” Frigga dismisses the maid with a subtle flick of her fingers, “let us get you some air. It is such a lovely day, and I believe we do have some matters to attend to.” She helps your mother to her feet, hanging on to her elbow, “Lord Odin, you will accompany, in case she faints.”
Odin grunts. He hasn’t said much of anything. He seems more enamoured of this plate. As he stands, he stuffs a roll of sliced ham into his mouth. Chairs scrape as you stand to see them off. Doreen follows the older trio through the archway as they set off.
You resume your seat and watch the tablecloth. Your mother was of little assistance while present but without her, you are defenseless. Loki sips from his tea as Jane spears a slice of pear with her fork and Thor cracks a hard-boiled egg in his hand.
“So, I’ve not seen you before. You haven’t debuted?” Jane asks.
Your eyes flit up to hers. You almost don’t believe she’s talking to her. You’d been praying they’d forget you were there.
“My sista was ill and she is older so I was waiting until she went fast.”
“Fast? Went fast?” Jane repeats as she pretends to think, “went fast where?”
Loki sighs and sets his cup on the saucer with a harsh clink, “first. She meant first.”
“Oh, my, apologies, I’m afraid I have a bit of trouble understanding you. I don’t think I’ve heard any sort of affectation,” he smiles falls to something more sinister, “it is rather… garish.”
“Jane,” Thor says through a mouthful of egg, stopping himself to swallow, “she speaks clearly enough.”
“I’ve heard of physicians who can tend to that. They can teach you how to pronounce your words properly. Through repetition.” She enunciates each word, making sure to move her lips deliberately.
You fight a grimace. You swallow and look at your plate. It isn't the first time someone's made those comments, she will doubtful be the last. Just like those boys who used to call you 'widiculous' or 'wavishing'.
“Please, this doesn’t need to be a whole point of conversation,” Loki reproaches.
“I am only offering advice.”
“You are the one who spoke to her. None of us wanted to hear her.”
“Loki,” Thor says appalled, “she is to be your wife.”
“I was supposed to marry her sister. The normal one. The dead one.”
You flinch and let your shoulders slump. You bring your hands up and cover the brooch on your dress, as if holding Edith tight. Your lip pokes out as you fight a tide of grief that threatens to erupt.
“Aw, look, she is going to cry,” Jane taunts.
“Jane,” Thor’s voice hardens, “no more.”
Jane snaps her lips shut and rolls her beautiful hazel eyes. She pops the slice of sugared pear into her mouth behind her cruel smirk. Loki sneers at his fork as he twirls it in his hand. Thor gives you a glum look but it lands like a slap. He cannot relate to you, he can only pity you, and that is worse than contempt.
“If you are cuwious, Lady Jane, I have been to many physicians. They cannot help me,” you shrug, “just like they could not help my sista.”
Thor clucks and lets out a breath through his nostrils. Jane doesn’t falter, smiling as she chews, and Loki pushes himself to his feet. His chair threatens to topple as he swivels on his heel.
“I would see to our parents, make certain they are well and that this… contract is still in effect,” he takes rigid steps along the table, “I should hate to squander any more time in uncertainty.”
#loki#dark loki#dark!loki#loki x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series#au#the sticking point#mcu#marvel#avengers#thor#jane foster#frigga#odin
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Updated ( ? ) Intro
Wanted to revamp my intro post a bit ! Take 2 I suppose lol
✦ ⟡ ✦
✦ Some basic info about me:
⟡ You can call me Novzz, Nova, Nov, or just Nz if you want. Or if you think of any fun nickname, feel free to call me that as well lol
⟡ I have a typing quirk where I tend to space my exclamation and question marks a lot. I also tend to use emoticons often. If this bugs you while talking to me, tell me and I’ll gladly stop using them while interacting with you ! I also use tone tags a lot since some of my text could be seen a certain way than what I tried to make it come across as.
⟡ Huge tumblr newbie who likes various things. Please bare with me as I figure stuff out lol.
⟡ My activity varies heavily on the site itself, but if you ever want some basic info on characters ( that I will ever so rarely post about probably ), you can check out my th where I’ll post art and snippets about them every now and then if you want.
✦ ⟡ ✦
✦ What can you expect here exactly?:
⟡ I mainly post art of various things, game screenshots and clips, rambles, and reblog lots of things from various fandoms I like, or just things I found cute, funny, or cool.
✦ ⟡ ✦
✦ About my works:
⟡ I don’t make full on detailed drawings too often, so I mainly doodle whatever comes to mind a lot ( trying to work on this ^^’ ).
⟡ My art can involve things like bright colors, eye strain, blood, or even mild gore in it at times. These will all be tagged accordingly ofc. Though if my art has things in it that you need tagged, feel free to tell me.
⟡ I’m very experimental with my art at the moment, so the way the lineart or coloring style looks most likely will change around a lot. Apologies for that ^^’
⟡ My favorite thing to doodle right now would probably be characters from fandoms I like drawn over images or with text I found funny, characters interacting using various audios I also found funny, or ideas and designs for things bouncing around my head. Also slowly trying to ease into doing pmvs ( both serious ones and non-serious ones ), so hopefully in the near future I’ll post those here as well.
⟡ Doodles could include images / texts that could be suggestive. I’ll tag these accordingly as well,
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✦ Interest / fandoms:
⟡ I love many animals of various shapes and sizes, and you’ll most likely find me reblogging them a lot. This includes sea critters, bugs, or cats most of the time.
⟡ As for fandoms / media I like right now, I mainly take interest in hollow knight, rain world, deltarune / undertale, and fnaf. My brain mainly bounces around these for the most part.
⟡ Some other things I like are pokemon, various shows like fionna and cake, adventure time, or invader zim, dhmis, bugbo, and the amazing digital circus. This list will probably change as times goes on, as I just dip my toes into a little bit of everything lol.
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✦ ⟡ That’s mainly it I believe, hope you enjoy your stay here ! ⟡ ✦
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Greetings! Grüße! Здравствуйте! Hola! Hej!
Hallo! :D
This is my introduction post. If ya feel like it, please read through.
NAMES LIST HAS BEEN FIXED FOR NOW, but be aware that it will most likely break again in the near future.
EDIT: So, about the names list. Every time I update it, the link breaks, and I have to go back and fix it. At this point, it's just annoying and tedious trying to backtrack it every time I change my username, so, I hereby declare it a graveyard for faces past. Make of it what you will.
I'm Bis, or Bucket, but you can call me by my account shorthand if it pleases you.
I go by She/Her or He/Him but I lean heavily towards She/her.
I am in many, many, MANY fandoms, and my interests tend to switch rapidly and without warning. I reblog a lot, and I will flood your dash with whatever and be totally unrepentant.
If you're going to follow me, please be aware that I don't, can't, and won't remember to tag everything for triggers. You're responsible for your experience here, but I absolutely will not, under any circumstances, go out of my way to worsen it or trigger you on purpose.
I block easily and with little consideration. I won't hound you down either if you block me, for any reason. Your reasons are your own, and I respect your decision. I expect you to extend me the same courtesy.
My age is Don't Ask, I live in the US and I'm not saying where, I am online whenever I feel like it and that is not all the time. I have hard boundaries and if they're crossed, instant block. No ifs, ands, buts or whys, straight block.
I only speak english, sorry to say, but I am making a tiny effort to learn at least a few words in others.
I have Many, Many, Many usernames and change them rapidly with little warning. If you need the list, it's >>>right here<;<<. If you see an unfamiliar name on dash, it's best to just assume it's me.
The names list also doubles as a fandom tag, so use that to see whatever I'm in.
I don't have dedicated fandom tags, but I do have infrequently used blorbo tags, but they aren't featured.
I will, under no circumstances, interact with the harry potter fandom or J.K Rowling or her works. Her work is beyond bigoted, she is beyond bigoted, her fanbase feeds into it and refuses to stop, and she uses her fame to actively ruin jewish and trans lives with a massive terf following. I block if I see it on dash on sight.
Same thing for Hetalia and AOT.
As this is a showerfam blog, I am wont to RP whenever I feel like it, but I have a tendency to forget about it, so please, be patient with me.
That's all I got for now.
Fair tides and warm winds out there mate, good hunting! :D
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I posted 8,049 times in 2021
21 posts created (0%)
8028 posts reblogged (100%)
For every post I created, I reblogged 382.3 posts.
I added 43 tags in 2021
#mdzs - 8 posts
#ask me stuff - 6 posts
#i wrote this - 6 posts
#aftg - 5 posts
#wip - 4 posts
#wangxian - 4 posts
#nerik - 3 posts
#leah writes 100 fics - 3 posts
#i'm going to marry that girl - 2 posts
#my dad saw my mom singing in a choir - 2 posts
Longest Tag: 94 characters
#i would sleep so much better if my uterus weren't crushing my bladder to the size of a thimble
My Top Posts in 2021
#5
Having a baby with the love of my life!
7 notes • Posted 2021-03-23 23:05:52 GMT
#4
Wei Wuxian hoisted his pack, full of clothing and canned food, onto his back, staggering slightly under the weight, and prepared to make the hike up to the Nie family cabin.
He was breathing heavily and his thighs were burning by the time he arrived at the cabin. He fumbled with the key, trying to get his already cold fingers to cooperate when the door opened in front of him.
“Wei Ying?”
Wei Wuxian recognized the man standing in front of him, would always recognize him, even though it had been at least three years since they had last spoken to each other. His knees felt weak, not just because of his long hike uphill. “Lan Zhan?”
Wei Wuxian needed a vacation. He didn't expect that a trip to the Nie family cabin in snowy Canada would give him something he needed even more.
Written for the @mdzsrbb. Art by @jill-question-mark can be found on Twitter here.
8 notes • Posted 2021-05-15 17:18:23 GMT
#3
“Why are we doing this anyway?” Kevin whined. “This is so dumb.”
Thea swatted his arm. “It’s not like you to back down from a challenge,” she said.
“For like sports or academics, both of which are noble pursuits,” Kevin protested. The camera zoomed in, showing an extreme closeup of a pimple on his chin.
“One,” Neil interrupted. The camera zoomed back out and swung over to Neil. “Last week, it was your idea to have a race to see who could eat a plate of spaghetti the fastest using only a spoon. Two, this might actually have practical application in the near future since you’re one of the straights and will probably wind up with a picket fence and 2.4 kids in the next five years. Three, are you scared?”
Andrew and Neil, Katelyn and Aaron, Kevin and Thea, Matt and Dan, and Nicky and Erik compete to see who is the best parent.
Here it is! Fic #100 for AFTG! Congratulations @aftgnextgeneration. I hope you enjoy your prize!
12 notes • Posted 2021-01-26 18:48:02 GMT
#2
“Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.” -- I'm feeling Nicky/Erik goodbye-but-not-forever feels
I’m not even sure how many years it has been since you sent me this prompt…but you’re getting it now! You’re welcome, lol.
Nicky took a breath of lung-searing cold. It didn’t really help. Tears still leaked out of his eyes, freezing on his cheeks. Snow flurries whipped past him, reaching with icy fingers down the back of his neck and seeking every bit of exposed skin.
“You could have waited for me inside,” Erik said, a warm, comforting presence appearing at his side.
Nicky shrugged but allowed himself to be ushered in out of the cold.
The train station was nearly empty. A bleary-eyed, middle-aged woman sat behind the desk; she didn’t look up when they entered, just continued to tap away at her phone.
“It’s not too late for me to buy another ticket,” Erik said, setting Nicky’s suitcase on pulling him into a tight hug. “I can see you off at the airport instead.”
“You’ll miss a day of work,” Nicky protested. “It’s just a few more hours.”
“Precious ones,” Erik said. “They’re the last ones I’ll get for a long time.”
Tears flooded Nicky’s eyes at the reminder. “Am I doing the right thing?” he asked.
Erik leaned forward a little and kissed Nicky firmly on the forehead. “Yes. They’re your cousins and you have the opportunity to give them a better life than the one you had. There is no guarantee they’ll have a huge, buff German to run away to when they finally get away.”
“I could be selfish,” Nicky said, his voice uncertain. “I barely know them. I haven’t seen Aaron in years and I’ve never met Andrew.”
Erik just raised an eyebrow.
Nicky flushed. “I can’t do it,” he admitted. “I can’t let my fath— I can’t let Luther take them. Even if they’re straight as arrows, he’ll find some fault with them. I love Aunt Tilda but she was a shitty mom. Who knows how long it’s been since anyone loved Andrew and Aaron.”
Erik hugged him tighter. “I know,” he said. “It’s fine. I know you have to do this.”
“It’s your fault you know,” Nicky sniffled. “You’re so good at loving me.”
“That’s a bad thing?” Erik asked.
“It means I know what they’re missing,” Nicky replied. “It means I can’t just stay here with you and be happy knowing where I would be without you.”
“That’s because of you, Liebling,” Erik said. “I had nothing to do with it. Your heart has always been big. Coming here just gave you the time and space to learn it.”
Nicky buried his face in Erik’s chest. “What am I going to do without you?” he wept.
“Hey,” Erik said, burying his fingers in Nicky’s curls and gently pulling his head up so they could look at each other. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”
“What if I call you at four in the morning and you’re asleep?” Nicky asked.
“Then I’ll be very tired, but I’ll answer the phone,” Erik said patiently.
“What if I’m very busy and I can’t call you at all?” Nicky persisted.
“Then I’ll miss you, I’ll send you encouraging emails, and I’ll wait for you to have time,” Erik said.
“What if you meet a smoking hot man who will let you do unspeakable things to him?” Nicky asked.
“Then I will say I am in a happy and committed relationship and I hope he finds someone to do unspeakable things to him soon,” Erik said. “I’m not going to just forget you, Nicky. When the time comes for us to reunite, I’ll still be waiting.”
“But what if—” Nicky’s words were cut off with a kiss.
“I love you,” Erik said, once Nicky was well and truly breathless.
“I love you too,” Nicky said.
The announcement for Nicky’s train sounded in the station and Nicky took the handle of his suitcase. Erik walked him as far as he could go and stole another quick kiss before they parted.
Nicky was the only one in the train car and didn’t bother trying to suppress his tears. The absence of Erik at his side throbbed like a wound. One piece of his heart was already in Columbia with his cousins but another would remain in Germany with Erik. He hoped it wouldn’t be too long before those pieces could be reunited.
24 notes • Posted 2021-01-12 02:38:12 GMT
#1
Wei Wuxian nearly tripped over the door frame on his way into the coffee shop. He was late and he knew it. He paused just inside the door to catch his breath and looked around, scanning the room for his date. Thankfully, the place wasn’t too full; there wasn’t a lot of seating, and most of it was filled with small groups or couples on dates. Maybe his date hadn’t arrived yet. He looked around again, this time, his eye catching on someone at a lone table in the back corner.
The man at the table had his head down as he dug through his bag; he hadn’t looked up at Wei Wuxian’s entrance. However, he was wearing the blue tie Wei Wuxian was expecting, so he immediately crossed the coffee shop and plopped himself down in the chair across from him.
“Hey, I guess I’m your date. My name is—” Wei Wuxian’s voice cut off abruptly as the man looked up at him. “Lan Zhan?”
Wei Wuxian gets set up on a blind date and it goes so much better than he could have hoped.
Written for the @mdzs-mixtape event.
27 notes • Posted 2021-04-28 02:38:58 GMT
Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →
#my 2021 tumblr year in review#your tumblr year in review#Not a lot of original stuff#but that's not surprising because pregnancy fried my brain#but you can expect more from me in 2022!
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To Build A Home (10)
Masterlist
Pairing: Rosa Diaz x fem!reader
Summary: Rosa spent years building a friendship, relationship, and eventually a marriage and home with you. This tale follows your journey together up until her sudden murder. Now that you’ve tracked down her killer before anyone else, will you do the right thing and send him to prison or take care of him yourself?
Warnings: some emotional grieving with everyone involved, brief moment of soft!Rosa
A/N: this is the last chapter of the series! I’m sad that this is ending (aside from future blurb requests) but I’m excited to have more time to work on other things! I haven’t really worked on I Don’t Feel Alive much in the past few weeks so posting dates are TBD, but I will be opening my requests again soon while I figure it out! anyway thanks again for all your feedback, comments, reblogs, any little attention you gave to this series, I appreciate it all.
Previous chapter here
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A frantic knocking brings Jake and Amy’s attention away from their book or phone, the two of them locking eyes across the table.
“Were you expecting anyone?”
Jake shakes his head, following Amy as she jumps to her feet and heads to the door. Upon opening it, her heart breaks at the sight of you on the other side, holding a bouquet of flowers that caught a few of the tears spilling down your cheeks.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry for popping up so suddenly,” you spoke hoarsely, attempting and failing to clear your face with one sleeve. “It’s our first wedding anniversary and I was going to visit her grave but before I knew it I was here. I don’t want to speak to her that way and I don’t want to see her that way again and I don’t want to—”
You fell into Amy’s waiting arms as you broke, repeating “I don’t want to” until it turned into mumbled sounds mixed in with your sobbing. Jake quickly came around to close the door, putting the flowers you dropped off to the side before sandwiching you into a hug from the other side.
After you’d finally calmed down enough to breathe the three of you moved over to the couch, sitting in silence until you were ready to share what was on your mind. You held the bouquet in your arms once more, cradling it to your chest with one arm while you organized your thoughts.
“I didn’t even get to call her my wife for a year before she was gone.”
Amy shifted her teary gaze to you, placing a hand on your free one with a gentle touch. Jake sat on the other side of you, listening while trying to get a hold of his own emotions.
“We’ll never get to celebrate one year, five, ten, fifty. I wanted all of that time with her and it was stolen from me so easily.”
“Why don’t you write her a letter?” Jake suggested quietly. “When my grandma passed, Gina and I wrote letters to thank her for everything she did for us, and basically say anything we didn’t get to say before she went. I actually, um...I actually wrote one to Rosa the other day.”
Your eyes watered as you turned to him, a tear dropping as you addressed him. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked, brows pressed together in confusion.
“I’ve been so lost in my own grieving that I forgot you lost someone too.” You turned to Amy. “Both of you have.”
“Y/N,” Jake placed his hand on your shoulder, offering you a sad smile. “Yes we all lost her, but she meant something different to each of us. We can’t always relate to each other’s pain with this because it’s different for all of us, and it’s not selfish to take the time to focus on working through what you feel.”
You returned his sad smile with a little more hope behind yours, placing the flowers on the table in front of you and grabbing both of their hands.
“I love you guys. Thanks for always being there for me.”
Amy chuckled a bit, squeezing your hand between both of hers. “It’s one of my favorite things to do.”
-
You’d barely been home from Jake and Amy’s apartment five minutes before there was a knock on your door. You opened it and a grin appeared on your face at the sight of Terry and the twins.
“Hi, Auntie Y/N!”
“Hi, sweet angels!” you greeted them as you pulled them into a group hug. “Hey, Sarge. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just picked the girls up from a playdate and I needed to bring you this.” He handed you a plastic bag that you instantly recognized.
“Is this the—”
“Yeah.” He sighed heavily. “I was going through the case file and realized this was still in evidence. I was able to sign it out because it had no relation to anything, and based on what today is, you may need it.”
“Daddy let us put something in there for you, too!”
“Yeah! It’s an invitation to dinner tomorrow and your favorite cookies,” Cagney added, her eyes suddenly widening. “Sorry, that was supposed to be a surprise.”
“It’s okay, Cagney,” Terry assured her with a pat on the shoulder before turning back to you. “Are you going to be okay? We would love to have you tonight, too.”
“I’ll be fine, and I’ll be there tomorrow. Thanks for the gift, angels,” you addressed the twins as you hugged them one last time.
You took your time opening the bag once you were alone, setting the card and cookies to the side and using your shaking hands to sift through the rest of the items. Underneath things like toothpaste and deodorant sat a little booklet titled “First Year of Many”.
You took a deep breath and opened it to a page with a handwritten note, handwriting you knew to be Rosa’s. Blinking back a few tears, you stroked your finger along the page carefully before finally reading her last words to you.
“Y/N Diaz, I love you. I was going to stop there, but I know you love it when I get mushy or whatever. So I’ll add that this has been the best (almost) year of my life. Being your wife and having you as mine is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, especially after the horrors of coming out to my parents and being framed. You’re my favorite person in the world, and I can’t wait to celebrate our wedding day every year for the rest of our lives.”
By the end of the note you were sobbing again, and you had to take a few moments to breathe before you could move onto the pictures. Each one was from different days in the past year starting with your wedding day, and you admire her beauty through nonstop tears. Some were taken on special events like birthdays, with or without friends, and others were simply selfies from lazy days where you fell asleep before she did.
You closed the book and took the bag in your bedroom, setting the book on your bedside table to look at again later and placing the other items in the bathroom. You grabbed your phone and sat on the couch, dialing Rosa’s number and trying not to cry again when you heard her voice for the first time in months.
“Rosa Diaz’s phone. Leave a message or don’t.”
“Hey, baby. Um, happy anniversary. I really liked your present, by the way. Nowhere near as good as what I was going to get you.” You laughed a bit, sounding somewhat pathetic mixed in with sniffles.
“I miss you so fucking much. I miss your voice, your snorting laugh, riding on the back of your motorcycle, and cuddling morning, afternoon and night. I’ve never known pain like this before and I never want to again.”
A couple seconds of silence passed before you started again.
“I hope you’re safe and happy wherever you are. I hope you have unlimited axes to throw, and the Nancy Meyers movies are easily accessible. Most importantly, I hope you don’t miss me as much as I miss you because this really fucking hurts. Arlo and I feel like an incomplete puzzle without you. Anyway, I love you and—”
The automated voice cuts you off and you hang up instantly, not needing another reminder that you’ve run out of time to talk to Rosa. Part of you felt lighter after spilling your thoughts out to her, even if she couldn’t hear them. You smiled as Arlo padded sleepily into the room and climbed onto the couch to lie next to you, resting his head on your thigh. You thought back to Rosa’s vows, realizing that her wish of building a home with you had been granted.
You just wish she’d gotten the chance to live in it a little longer.
-
Tags: @creepingwolfberry @rosadiazswifey @milkfromhell @marie-03 @jay-is-groovy @gaulty74 @xetherealbeautyx
#to build a home#rosa diaz#rosa diaz x reader#rosa diaz imagine#rosa diaz x fem!reader#brooklyn nine nine#brooklyn 99#brooklyn nine nine imagine#brooklyn nine nine fic series#brooklyn nine nine x reader#b99 fic#b99 imagine#b99 fic series#b99 x reader#b99 fanfic#b99#stephanie beatriz
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Worth the Risk, Part 6
Rating: Mature (18+only)
Word Count: 1770
Pairing: Army Pilot!Poe Dameron x Nurse!Reader (1940s AU)
Summary: It’s the 1940s, Army pilot and Captain Poe Dameron is flying on missions for the United States Army in Europe. After being shot down off the coast of France, Poe wakes up in an Army hospital in England, to find you, a nurse, taking care of him. Throughout the process of his recovery, Poe finds himself falling for you, and even though you, for the most part, maintain a professional relationship with him–you’re falling for him as well. Both of you know the risks of falling in love during a war, but then again, both of you have never cared much for being cautious.
Warnings: Fluff, sex, bit of angst
Taglist: @fanfic-addict-98, @thescarletknight2014, @blushingwueen, @americasass-romanoff, @ginger-swag-rapunzel, @spider-starry, @totelpoedameron, @captain-america5, @liadamerondjarin, @m1rkw00dpr1ncess
Taglist is open! Send me a message, ask, or comment here if you would like to be added! Sorry that it took so long to get this up, this chapter definitely took on a life of its own as I didn’t expect the smut to happen this soon in the story, but well...the muse wanted what the muse wanted😇 Like reading this? Please feel free to leave a comment on the post, in an ask, or even a reblog. I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU❤️
Poe was now able to move around the hospital independently, thanks to use of his cane. You had caught him one afternoon giving a pep talk to a young man that had lost his leg. Poe had such a sense of optimism that it really was infectious--he got even the most depressed patient to smile.
And even though you knew Hux was watching you closely, when he wasn’t looking, Poe would steal you away to kiss you. Both of you knew it was risky, especially if Hux caught you--but neither of you cared much for the risks. Poe jokingly would say that he’d beat Hux with his cane if the doctor tried to have you reassigned--part of you believed that there was a tiny bit of truth behind his words.
Now that Poe was able to move about with use of the cane, he was able to leave the hospital and venture into the village with you. These moments were precious to you because you knew, now that Poe was getting stronger everyday--he’d be rejoining the Army soon. As much as you wanted to keep him here, with you, you knew that it wasn’t going to be possible.
Already the rumors flying about an invasion of Normandy were making Poe restless. His place was with the Army.... not with you. Moments like right now, where the two of you lounged on a grassy hill, underneath a large oak tree--would be put on hold. You knew this was the risk you were taking when falling in love with him, you just didn't know how much it was going to break your heart when he would be forced to leave.
“Sweetheart,” Poe mumbled against your hair. “You’re quiet.”
“Thinking,” you answered, languidly playing with his hand.
“What are you thinking about?”
“You’ll be rejoining the Army soon.”
Poe sighed. He’d been thinking about it as well. Despite Hux being an asshole, the man was a brilliant doctor and he was convinced that Poe could return to active duty in the next few days. Snap had already brought his uniform by. Which made saying good-bye to you loom in the not so distant future. “I know,” he sighed, brushing his lips over your temple.
You fought your tears. “I heard about what General Eisenhower wants to do--how dangerous it is--and I know you’ll be asked to fly--and I worry, Poe, I worry that you won’t make it back.”
He shifted you in his arms so you were looking up at him. There was that same worry etched into his features, pooling in his deep brown eyes. Poe stroked your cheek with his thumb, rubbing comforting circles into your skin. “I worry I won’t make it to you; I worry that Germany is going to win this thing and plunge the rest of the world in the dark grips of fascism. I worry about you and your safety. Which is why I have to go. You understand, right?”
Tears brimmed your thick lashes. Of course you understood; you just hated the thought of him fighting, of putting himself in danger to protect others--you feared losing him. “I understand,” you whimpered, feeling a few of those tears escape the prison of your lashes and run down your cheek.
Poe sighed when he saw your tears. Gently he lowered his lips to your cheek and kissed them away. When you turned your head slightly into his embrace, his lips moved over yours, soft and sweet at first but then demanding and desperate. His hands roamed over your blouse, popping each button open as he laid you back in the tall grass. His mouth traced a bruising trail down your neck, over your collarbone and then between your breasts.
Vaguely you became aware of the heat pooling between your legs as his hands touched every inch of exposed skin. You were alone out here, far from the village, far from the hospital--no inquiring eyes were going to see you--and this just fueled your desire. Tugging on his curls, you moaned as his tongue swept over your hot skin.
Breathing heavily, Poe’s hands hovered near the hem of your skirt. His eyes drank the sight of you in but also searched for assurance that you wanted this as much as he did. “I want to touch you...but only if you want me too, darling.”
“Yes...Poe I want you to touch me,” you sighed, your voice husky. “I want to know what you feel like, I want to know how you can make me feel.”
“Yes ma’am,” Poe teased, licking his lips and slipping his hand underneath the hem of your skirt. You felt his palms, calloused, slide up your thighs, and his fingers dug into your flesh slightly as he hesitated. “Are you sure?”
Heart thundering against your chest, you simply nodded. You were sure-- you had never been more sure about anything in your life. Poe leaned forward and captured your lips between his own, catching your lower lip between his teeth and giving a gentle tug just as his fingers slipped underneath your panties and grazed across your sensitive nub. You groaned into his mouth as he continued to kiss you, heavily.
Poe continued to rub across your clit and your silky folds. Gently, he pushed one finger inside of you, shivering at the soft moan escaped your kiss swollen lips. “Are you...are you okay with this?” he panted, fighting the urge to move his finger inside of you until you gave him the okay to do so.
Your mouth fell open, relishing in the pleasure that coursed through your veins at having just his finger inside of your body. You’d had sex before but this time... this time felt different...in a good way. “Yes,” you gasped, “yes... this is better than okay, Poe.”
His thrusts were gentle and steady, as his lips pressed wet kisses along your neck. Your hips moved with him, your breath increasing, your heart racing... and when you came, you were sure you had never experience an orgasm so blissful in your entire life.
While you recovered from your high, his lips brushed sensual kisses along your neck. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” Poe whispered against your damp skin. “I want to have all of you.”
“I only want to be yours, Poe,” you whispered back, running your fingers through his soft hair. “Make me yours.”
Gently he undid the button on your skirt, pulling it down your legs. Next, he hooked your panties with his thumb and slid those down. You were now laying in the grass with nothing but your bra on and your blouse hanging off your shoulders. He began to caress your skin all over with his hands, his lips, and his tongue, causing you to sigh in content.
You could feel how hard he was through the fabric of his pants brushing against your thigh. Just as he had done, you undid the buttons on his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and then slipping your hand underneath the undershirt to feel the coarse hair that trailed from his belly-button to the waistband of his pants, the firm muscle. Poe moaned, softly and together you began to work on getting his belt undone.
He kissed your pulse point on your neck while you got his underwear off. Poe sucked in a sharp breath when you touched his cock. It had been a while since he’d had sex, and God, if you kept touching him that way, he was sure he was going to come right in your hand. Managing to gather his senses just enough, Poe took your hand, pressed his lips to your palm, and then let go, gripping your waist. His brown eyes met yours, looking for reassurance that you wanted to continue.
Softly you smiled, the tips of your fingers gripping his muscular thighs, one hand reached up and pulled on his dog tags.. Poe leaned down and kissed you, hotly, and then ever so gently, he slipped inside of you, groaning as you walls wrapped around him. Just for a few seconds you both laid there, unmoving, foreheads touching, panting.
Pressing his face against your neck, Poe slowly began to thrust his hips, rocking into you at steady, firm pace. You arched your back to meet each thrust, ecstasy coursing through your veins as his lips alternated between planting soft kisses on your neck and moaning, blissfully against your skin. As you arched into him once again, he wrapped his arm around your waist and sat up, pulling you onto your knees on either side of his legs.
You gripped his shoulders as the new position of you on top of him changed the angle and depth of his thrusts, he was now meeting your frantic movements. Your skin burned from his touch, from the hot sun setting just beyond the hills--each sigh, grunt, and moan mixed in with the singing of the birds and the rustling of the leaves in the wind.
Both of you were breathing heavily at this point, gasping for air as you inched closer and closer to your release. You reached it first. This was not your first sexual encounter but it was the most intense and you had never felt your body reach completion so hard, so splintering that you were certain for a moment that you blacked out.
Feeling you climaxing around him and hearing his name shouted towards the sky, Poe thrust, deep inside of you one last time, his whole entire body shuddering as wave after wave of intense satisfaction washed over him.
Poe pressed soft kisses on your damp skin. “I love you.”
You swallowed a sob and rested your forehead against his. “I love you, too.”
“Do we have to go back?” he murmured.
“I wish we didn’t,” you answered, quietly.
Sighing, Poe gently removed himself from inside you. Finding your discarded clothing the two of you dressed, attempting to smooth wrinkles and fix your hair as to not give it away what you’d been up too, but you were sure that if anyone got close enough to you--they’d be able to smell him on you.
Poe grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I know that I have to leave soon--but that was the perfect way to say good-bye.”
You felt your heart breaking, reminded that he was leaving soon. And it was the perfect good-bye... you just prayed it wasn’t the last good-bye you ever had with him.
#star wars fanfiction#poe dameron fanfiction#poe dameron imagine#star wars imagine#poe dameron x you#poe x reader#poe x you#1940s AU#100 followers celebration#worth the risk#poe dameron x female reader#poe dameron x reader
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Insecure - Shane x my farmer, Terra
By popular demand (sort of, I mean I have never posted content on Tumblr out of fear it would get stolen or that I’d get harassed for it, so “popular” means like 2 reblogs and around 30 likes, THANK YOU ALL), here’s my fic about Shane being an awkward scared bean!
Summary: Terra and Shane had grown really close over time, and have formed somewhat of a routine. Shane goes to the saloon after work, Terra meets him with a beer for conversation. When Terra stops coming to the saloon, Shane begins to wonder what he did wrong, and if he messed up.
TWs: Implied self harm near the end, Talk of Suicide and Suicide Attempts, Anxiety and Depression, General Angst, Language (let’s be honest, Shane definitely swears a lot)
Word Count: 5373
Thursday, 18 Spring, Year 2 – 3:40 PM
I hadn’t seen her in days, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d done something wrong.
Stocking those infernal shelves day after day made it hard for us to see each other as it was, even though we’d been dating over half a year by now.
At the end of last summer, she’d approached me shyly and handed me a bouquet and a beer. The beer, I’d come to expect, as she’d began greeting me at the saloon on a nightly basis when I got there at 6, drink in hand, and during the summer, sometimes with a freshly grown hot pepper.
Even after starting my therapy, she was always there with something, whether it was a beer because I’d “earned it” or a sparkling water because I was still trying to get away from my past emotional crutch and she knew that. Hell, she knew that all too well.
But two days ago, she wasn’t there. I was worried so I sent her a letter, and even then, no response. With work, I didn’t have much time to ask around town or visit, so I’d asked Jas and Marnie to tell me if they saw her anywhere, and even then, nothing.
I was becoming increasingly more convinced that I’d upset her somehow. What had I done in the last week to upset her? Had it been my tone when we talked on Saturday? Was it the beer can on the floor when she came to see me at home on Sunday? What WAS it?
I shook my head. Deep breaths, Shane. I channeled my counsellor’s advice. “Don’t panic, just breathe.” I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.
“SHANE.” Morris’ voice boomed behind me. Startled, I stood up quickly, can of chili still in hand.
“Yes, sir?” I somehow managed to say without stuttering, despite my nerves still being high from the voice behind me.
“Your shift ends in an hour and a half, and you still have two aisles to stock.” Morris didn’t really sound angry at me, but he wasn’t exactly known for being a pleasant person to work for. There was a reason the girl with the ginger hair at the counter looked like a corpse from dawn until dusk every day.
“Sorry sir, I was taking a quick breather.” I made up the excuse knowing that Morris wouldn’t care whether I was 5 centimeters from a mental breakdown or not. He wouldn’t care what I said.
“Just don’t let it happen again. You still have plenty of work to do.” He smiled at me, and I felt ill.
He turned around quickly at the sound of the doorbells jingling. “Hello, welcome to JojaMart!!”
I rolled my eyes. What, am I not allowed to breathe here anymore?
“Oh! Miss Terra!”
My shoulders shot up from the pouty slumped state they were in upon hearing her name. Terra? What was she doing here? She hates JojaMart almost as much as I do at this point.
I heard a hushed voice to Morris and rapid footsteps away from my direction. I rushed to the edge of the aisle, desperate to see her face, to ask what was wrong, if she was okay. If WE were okay.
Nothing, just the same tired cashier, and no Terra, no Morris.
I looked around a bit, but to no avail. She must have gone to his office to talk with him in private.
What for though? She literally talks shit about him every time we hang out. What would be so important that she’d be willing to talk to Morris PRIVATELY?
With a sigh, knowing that Morris would fire me if I was caught loitering around the aisles, I went back to work.
Thursday, 18 Spring, Year 2 – 7:20 PM
Never in my life had getting blackout drunk sounded so appealing as I sat in the corner, completely alone, and with far too many questions spinning around in my head.
Seriously, what was this afternoon all about? Even after changing out of my uniform and clocking out, Morris wouldn’t talk to me, and even if he did, I doubt he would have said anything. Not like he owes me anything, I’m just a pawn to him, and he has always made it clear he doesn’t “care” about us.
I felt my heart sink again as I remembered watching Terra walk away from the store through the glass doors in the rain, wanting desperately to call out to her but feeling completely powerless in the face of my fears and my douche of a boss.
Not even Lewis and Willy’s banter about fishing off the docks when they were young, or Gus’ finest pizza could snap me out of the funk I was in. The only thing I could understand tonight was that Terra blatantly didn’t want to see me today.
I stood up and left the saloon, far earlier than I ever had before. Maybe, just MAYBE, I could run into her, especially if she was trying to avoid me. She knew my schedule well, not like it was difficult to memorize. Wake, eat, work, drink, sleep; rinse and repeat. She knew exactly where I’d be and when, and if I had any chance of finding her, I needed to use that to my advantage.
I started out toward the forest. Maybe she was fishing by the lake? She had a particular fondness for the dock where we’d first sat down and really talked, and she loved fishing there. Something about a “constant flow of 25-inch-long smallmouth bass.”
Upon finding nothing, I checked my phone. 8 PM. Maybe she was home? It was a longshot, at this hour, but worth a try. She really pushed her body to the limit when it came to sleeping.
I headed north to Vervain Farm, sidestepping some weeds and a fallen tree branch as I headed up the docks. Her farm was very much right in the middle of a number of small rivers, and the numerous “isles” that made up her farm were traversable only by small bridges.
“Terra?” I asked softly, almost as if my voice didn’t really WANT to be heard. Clearing my throat and shaking my head, I called again. “Terra?”
My voice echoed in the wind, as a chilling breeze swept through my tattered jacket and into my bones. No response. I approached her cabin and stood on the doorstep in the rain for what seemed like forever before I finally gathered the courage to actually knock louder than a pathetic tapping.
I heard silence, then a shuffle, and then nothing again. I knocked again, hoping she was there, but all that answered my knock was a muffled “mrow?”
Terra’s cat, Citrus, emerged from the cat door and rubbed up against my leg, before realizing I was soaked and shaking his head indignantly at me.
“Hey boy,” I said under my breath, well aware that it was cold enough to see my breath fogging up the night air. “Have you seen Terra?” I asked, stroking his fur with my cold hands.
He looked up at me, green eyes wide and curious. “Mrow?”
I sat down on the porch beneath the gable, petting Citrus for another few minutes, listening to the rain and his purring, and trying to breathe normally.
Where is she? My mind was going crazy, and I swore I felt hot tears welling up in my eyes.
I grabbed Citrus close and let out a single sob. The cat, more than a little disgruntled by my actions, meowed loudly in surprise and growled at me until I loosened my grip.
“S-sorry.” I stuttered, feeling my jaw tensing up and chattering from the cold. “I’m sorry.” I repeated, scratching the cat behind his ears.
The orange tabby mewled at me once more before reentering the house, and I sighed heavily.
Alone again.
I stood up and shook my head aggressively, feeling the raindrops flying out in all directions from my messy purple hair.
The rain had lightened up, and I knew that this was the only chance I had to get home without receiving another cold shower from mother nature.
As I descended the stairs, I swore I heard a voice inside, but then again, at this point, I was too tired, cold and sad to know if it was merely an auditory hallucination or not.
I fell into bed at Marnie’s place at 9 PM on the dot, and as I did, I tried to empty my mind of all these thoughts. Terra, my insecurities, my loneliness, everything. And as I eventually drifted off the sleep, around 2 in the morning, I dreamed of Terra and I’s first date.
The gridball game with the Tunnelers, the game where I kissed her suddenly out of excitement, and panicked, thinking I’d just ruined my chances with this wonderful woman who had given me hope again. As she kissed me back, I remember feeling everything fading into the shadows. The game’s noise, the crowd’s screams, the tipsy feeling inside my head, everything was gone. Only her and me.
And god, was it wonderful. The last Sunday of Fall, and the last game of the season. We’d won, but I barely even remember that part. I remembered the taste of her lips on mine. The faint scent of beer and fried food as I inhaled deeply, taking it all in.
Moments like that could drive an atheist to Yoba, because in that moment, I had kissed an angel.
On the bus ride home, she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder, hair messy, and a little bit tipsy herself. She was just so beautiful. Even as she drooled a bit on my jacket and made strange noises in her sleep, I just fell harder and harder for this woman every time I took a breath.
“Terra, I love you so much.” I said under my breath. “You give me hope that there is a future for me after all. You make me feel like I actually mean something to someone. You give me a reason to try harder, and I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”
A small snort answered my statement and I felt my face start to hurt from how wide I was smiling. “Terra, I think that I want to marry you someday. No, I know I do. Terra, I want to make me the happiest man alive…god this sounds so cheesy. I’m trying to say that…I love you. And I hope I can make you happy for the rest of my life.”
After the bus stopped in Pelican Town, I woke her and walked her home, thanking her for the wonderful time, and laughing at her jokes and her story about a funny dream she had on the ride home.
Of course, she didn’t know what I’d said, but I did. And those words were tattooed on my heart now. I want to marry her. I really, REALLY do. But I can’t propose without a Mermaid’s Pendant, and lord only knows how the hell you get one of those anymore.
Morris appeared in my dream, sly and shrewd. I knew he knew something, but there was no point in asking what he knew, because he would never tell me so long as he lived and breathed. He owed nothing to a stupid subordinate.
The night was long, and full of miniature dreams and nightmares in which I was alone and drowning in my fears.
God fucking damn it.
Friday, 19 Spring, Year 2 – 8:20 AM
A rolling fog had settled over the valley, and the walk to work was much chillier than usual.
The milky white haze was so thick that I could barely to the end of Marnie’s cow paddock. As I continued my walk, I wondered if maybe Terra would answer her phone.
I dialed her number and stared at her contact name as it rang. It read “Brat” with a purple heart emoji. I always wondered if she had me named something in her phone, especially since she was literally the only person in my contacts WITH a nickname.
“Hi this is Terra,” Her voice jolted me out of my daze.
“Terra, oh thank god, I was so worried—”
“Unfortunately, you caught me in the fields, on in the mines, or…whatever. Anyway, I’m not able to talk right now.” I exhaled. God, I was so stupid. Was I so desperate to hear her voice that I didn’t realize I’d gotten her voicemail? It’s not like I hadn’t heard it before.
I hung up. Even if I could competently leave a voicemail without enough “Uh’s” and “Um’s” to outdo Jeff Goldblum, I didn’t know what I’d say to her, much less if she wanted to hear it at all.
I sighed heavily, feeling like all my happiness was draining out of my fingertips into the foggy air.
I clenched my fists, in a vain attempt to stop myself from feeling so rotten. I didn’t have much say right now. After work, I could go to Pierre’s, or sit outside her house until she got home…actually no, the last one would just come across stalker-y. And at this point, the last thing I needed was to drive her further away.
God damn it! Damn it damn it damn it!
I kicked a rock into the mists of oblivion, hearing it splash into the river. I needed to get my dumb ass to work before I lost my job. Not like anyone else in town was hiring, so I’d be fucked if I lost the job.
So, dragging my feet more than I ever have in the past, I dragged my shallow corpse of a body into JojaMart.
Friday, 19 Spring, Year 2 – 4:40 PM
10 minutes until my shift ends. I said to myself, feebly attempting to ground myself in reality after the most out-of-it shift I’d ever had, even including all the ones I’d been forced to work while hungover.
The clock’s incessant ticking had me so high strung I was convinced that the next tick I’d hear would make me break the fucking thing over my knee.
A constant reminder of where I was, that ticking. A steady reminder that I’m wasting away stocking canned goods in a dead-end town for a corporate dunghill while the love of my life refuses to speak to me.
My eyes felt hollow, like they weren’t really seeing things, more like they just stared off into the blackness of nothingness and stayed there.
The snapping of Sam’s fingers in my face startled me back into reality. “Earth to Shane, hellooooo.”
“Sam?” I sounded almost drunk in my bewilderment, which wasn’t ideal right now. The last thing I need is for my coworker to think I’m zoning out because I’m drunk off my ass on-shift.
“Yeah, me.” He grinned his borderline obnoxious sunshiny smile. “Your shift ended like, 3 minutes ago. You’re usually out of here in a flash.”
I stared back at the clock I’d been fantasizing about murdering, surprised. He was right somehow.
“You’re one to talk, your shift ends at 4, what the hell are you doing here still?” I retorted, indignant at the younger man’s tone for no good reason.
Walls up.
“I fell asleep in the break room, don’t tell Morris.” He sniggered; way too proud of himself. “You going to the saloon? I’ll come with. I’ve got about twelve games of pool to lose tonight.”
I wasn’t thrilled by this bright and smiley tagalong, but it wasn’t like he was wrong. Where the hell else would I go? Not like anywhere else felt right today.
May as well let myself relapse like the coward I am.
“Sure. Give me a second to get out of this shitty uniform.” I said, disappearing into the break room.
Friday, 19 Spring, Year 2 – 5:10 PM
Sam wasn’t a bad guy really, but right now he was the worst guy for me to be around. He was too cheery, and far too talkative.
I thought the clock was annoying, but Sam reminded me far too much that I was a total wet blanket just by breathing with a smile.
“How was work, dude?” My mind didn’t really register the question until I heard the bells jingle as the door shut behind us.
“Uh?” I answered gracefully. “Oh, right. Work. Uh, um.” I stammered. Pathetic, Shane, you seriously suck shit at conversation. Why does anyone bother with you to begin with?
“Yeah, work. Good ol’ Joja.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Long day, huh?” He seemed sympathetic, but to me, that meant pity. And I didn’t need his pity.
“Yeah, sure.” I said.
Walls fortified.
“You okay?”
The fucking worst question of all. In the deluge of questions this kid asked me, that one bothered me most, and for really no good reason.
It made me angry, it made me want to cry, it made me want to scream, and it made me, most of all, just feel empty.
“Not really, Sam. Please stop talking.” Was the politest response I could manage.
Sam raised his finger as though he had something to say, but quickly decided against it.
Good. Please stop pressing me before I throw myself in the river and pack my coat full of stones.
We walked in silence for a while until we were passing the Mullner’s house, when Sam piped up again with a smile. “Hey Shane, I think tonight will help you get your mind off of…whatever’s going on.”
I stared at him, actually stopping in my tracks. Why did this kid sound so fucking condecending? And why did he give two shits about my mental wellbeing?
No one gave a shit about that, except Terra, and now she was gone.
“Why are you acting like you know me?” My voice was steeped in venom, probably more so than I’d intended. “Why do you give a fuck what’s going on with me?”
Sam stopped too, staring at me, worried.
“Stop acting like you understand me. It’s pissing me off.” I felt my face getting hot. It wasn’t anger, it was tears. “Get lost, kid.” I suppressed a sob, hurting my chest and making my eyes burn with tears.
Sam stepped toward me. “Shane, I didn’t mean—”
“SHUT UP!”
I turned around quickly as the tears fell. “Just…please…go away.” My voice choked. “Pl…ease.”
Sam took a deep breath, and then grabbed my arm, dragging me around the corner and through the door of the Stardrop Saloon.
“What the fuck are you--? Get your hands off me! Let me go! Get off!—” I struggled against his grip, but to no avail. I fell to the ground, and Sam dropped me. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice.
“Shane?”
Turning around in a daze, I saw Terra. Golden earrings, brown hair tied neatly in a bun, familiar purple sweater, leather boots, and gorgeous blue eyes. My heart stopped for a moment, and then began rushing again as I realized I was still crying, on the floor, and in complete disarray.
“Terra—! I, um, hang on, I, wait, uhhhh…” I panicked and basically spilled out words like a semi-truck carrying nothing but alphabet soup crashed into a wall.
“Shane, what’s…?” Suddenly her eyes widened. “Oh my god, Shane.”
Her arms were around me instantly, her lips on my forehead, and suddenly I couldn’t feel anything. Numbness covered me the instant her hands made contact with my skin, and I couldn’t hear anything.
None of the noise from the tavern, none of the eyes staring, none of the tears on my cheeks, just her arms around me. I felt like I was home again.
I snapped out of it to hear Terra apologizing profusely, on the brink of tears, as I stared into nothing. “I’m so sorry, Shane, I didn’t think about how you’d interpret my actions, oh my god, I’m so sorry…”
“F…for wh…what?” I rasped, throat dry from dehydration. “It’s…my fault. Right?”
She stopped moving, stopping to stare at me. “Wh…what?”
“I fucked up…and…you…you finally realized…that I’m…just a…piece of shit.” I was dizzy, and Terra was growing increasingly more concerned.
“Baby, baby no!” She shouted her pet name for me, turning a few heads from the arcade area. My face was burning. No no no no don’t look at me. I bit my lower lip, suppressing a sharp inhalation that would have certainly made me start hyperventilating.
“Baby I…” Terra stopped and sat back, staring at me. “I was gone because I was…” She paused, pursing her lips.
“I was looking for this.”
She reached into her sweater and revealed a blue conch shell on a leather string.
It was a Mermaid’s Pendant.
Everything went white for a moment. Wait. She wasn’t serious, was she?
Me?
I stared at her in complete shock, jaw gaping, breathless and completely incapable of saying anything. “Terra, you…”
“Shh.” She put her index finger to my lips and put the necklace around my neck. “Shane. Breathe.”
Right about now I noticed exactly how many people were surrounding us. Almost everyone from town was here. A Friday night at the saloon was busy enough already, but there were some new faces, like Jodi and Caroline, both of which I’d never seen in here before.
Everyone. Sebastian, Abigail, Alex, Willy, even LINUS, was staring down at us, as I felt my face heat up in embarrassment. She’d been planning this for days. Everyone was here. For us. For me.
“I…” I cleared my throat, scrambling to sit up straight, and try to recover whatever dignity was not currently ablaze in the depths of hell. “I…”
Terra looked concerned. Oh my god, she thought I was going to say no.
She’s just as scared as I am about what this means.
“I accept!!” I shouted.
Silence, then eruptions of applause.
Terra tackled me with a hug and began to cry into my chest. And unbeknownst to even myself, so did I. Gus cheered and turned on the jukebox to the oldies channel he always played. Sam smiled down at me, Sebastian congratulated me…Lewis tried talking to me about how to go about arranging a wedding, but I couldn’t hear him.
I was far too busy crying. Someone, no, not just anyone, TERRA, just told me that they want to spend the rest of their life with me. ME!
Part of me wondered if it wasn’t somehow just an elaborate prank, but the tears in her eyes and the pendant around my neck snapped me out of that illusion immediately.
Terra was going to be my wife.
Holy shit.
After the commotion died down I asked her everything I’d been meaning to ask over a well-deserved beer and basket of chips. “Why did you actively avoid me for the last week?”
“I’m a really bad liar and I know how perceptive you are, and I was really worried you’d find me out. I wanted to invite everyone because they’re all really important to me, but it was hard getting around without running into you.”
She looked incredibly guilty, and I felt my heart tighten at the sad look on her face. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” I laughed a little. “Just…give a guy a warning…or something.” I took a huge sip of beer. “I mean, I was basically staying up all night thinking you were ghosting me because I left a beer can on the floor when you visited on Sunday.”
“The what?” Her oblivious question made me realize exactly how stuck up in my head I was about the whole thing, of course she hadn’t even noticed.
“Wow.” I exhaled. “I feel…stupid.”
“That makes two of us.” She replied, putting her head gently on my shoulder. “I didn’t even think about how this might affect your anxiety.” She bit her lip. “God, I’m an idiot.” She slumped, seeing her so broken up over my mental state destroyed any lingering doubts I may have had about how genuine she was being with me.
“Terra, baby…I…” I stopped. I was about to tell her that she wouldn’t have HAD to worry if I were normal, but I stopped myself. I wasn’t great at sitting and talking feelings with a borderline stranger, but there was one thing I’d learned in abundance in the short time since I began therapy.
I couldn’t keep blaming myself for everything. I would consume myself and end up even worse off. And it had been a battle to stop, especially considering recent stressors.
“We both messed up, baby.” I answered. “You made a mistake, and I got super worried and convinced myself that you were breaking up with me in a slow and painful way. And worst of all, I was convinced I deserved it.” I paused as Terra looked up at me. “Baby, I want to marry you. I’ve wanted to marry you since that night at the gridball game, but I’m such a goddamn trainwreck that I wanted to get better before I proposed. I…”
“I wanted to be worthy of you.”
Terra looked into my eyes with a lot of confusion and a lot of love.
“That’s when I decided I wanted to marry you, too.” She blushed a deep pink and looked at the floor. “I…heard you saying how much you loved me in my dreams.”
I froze. Wait. Had she also heard the—
“I heard you tell me you wanted to marry me, too.”
I felt my face burning. Fuck. I was hoping she wasn’t going to say that.
“After a few days of thinking about it, I decided to look into how to propose.” She continued, laughing. “I eventually found out, about halfway through winter, that I needed to propose using a Mermaid’s Pendant, which can only be received from a ghost you can find in the RAINY season.” She scoffed. “I was really angry about having to wait, actually.”
Seeing her pout about this was adorable, even though I had no goddamn clue what she was talking about with a “ghost” and the “winter” and “rain.”
“I only got the pendant yesterday, actually. I was on the beach at like 6 PM and I saw the Old Mariner standing on the island across the bridge.”
“It cost me a lot of money, so I spent the rest of the night at the beach, fishing up some big fish to sell to repair the dent in my funds.”
Wait. “How much did it…cost?” I said, concerned.
“It’s…not a big deal now. I got the money back from a good harvest and quality fish.” She smiled a toothy grin. She knew what I was doing. I was fishing for a reason to blame myself, and she put an end to that right quick.
“Hey Shane,” Sam’s voice came from behind me. “Hey dude.”
I turned to face him. “Hey…uh, I’m sorry about earlier.” I scratched the back of my head awkwardly. This kid was just trying to help and I’d just yelled at him and made myself out to be a total ass.
“No, no, I get it, man.” He held up his hands as his two friends ducked out the doors of the saloon. “I would have been really confused and angry too. And I know now that you have a lot of anxiety and…a lot of baggage.” He paused, glancing at me, as if looking for approval. “I shouldn’t have forced you, and I’m sorry too.”
I smiled, and Sam looked at me as though he were witnessing a unicorn cantering through the fields of heaven. I guess it really was true how little I smiled in public, good lord. “I appreciate what you did for me, Sam.” I put my hand out to shake his hand, and he reluctantly accepted. “Thanks.”
“For…wait, what?”
“Thank you for being such a good friend to Terra, and for helping me out, even though I’ve been nothing but unpleasant to you.”
“Uh, no problem, man, I just…I’m glad that it all worked out.”
Sam ducked out, and I felt my nerves cough and sputter out like a dying lawnmower.
“Shane,” Terra said my name and snapped me out of my drowsy stupor. “You should get home. You’ve had a long day.” She smiled. “We can get together and plan the wedding tomorrow. I’m thinking the 22nd would be a good date.”
Wedding. God that word sounded foreign to me.
“Alright,” I sighed. “Let’s blow this joint.”
Waving at Gus and Lewis as I left, Terra and I ventured out into the cold.
As we started toward Marnie’s ranch, I paused.
“Wait, Terra, the 22nd is a Monday.” I felt my heartbeat trying to race, but falling victim to my slightly intoxicated bloodstream. “We can’t possibly get married then, I have…ugh…work.” I grimaced.
“Oh, about that.” Terra laughed. “I may or may not have prematurely gotten the next week of work off for you by talking to Morris.”
The pieces connected suddenly. “Wait, that’s what you were doing?”
“Well, yeah, what, did you think I went in there to blow the bastard? I’d rather die.” I laughed loudly at her crudeness, spooking a rabbit into a bush nearby. “It wasn’t easy. We can do Monday, Tuesday, any day. I just think that Monday is best because then we’ll have a whole week to move you in and get adjusted.”
Moving in? Oh god, that was something that made my heart leap. I’d be living with Terra. Holy shit. Married and living with the love of my life, and by MONDAY? This was clearly all a ridiculous dream.
“Fuck, pinch me.” I said breathily. “I have GOT to be dreaming.”
“Why so?” She laughed. “I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.” She added coyly.
“Oh shaddup.” I retorted. “I…still can’t believe any of this is real.”
She leaned over and kissed me square on the lips, tilting her head to the right and bending into me with a passion that not even the horniest dream could manifest.
Her tongue danced behind her lips, asking permission, and I opened my mouth, allowing her access, grunting slightly as her hands caressed the back of my head, stroking my hair.
She pulled away, leaving me wanting more. “Are you convinced now?”
I shook my head. “God damn, how did I get so fucking lucky?” Laughing, I caressed her cheek, kissing her forehead. “Seriously, what did I do to deserve you?”
She beamed at me, grabbing my hand and continuing to walk toward Marnie’s. “You went through hell every day, waiting for someone to love you.” She turned back. “It took me…a long time to realize what I felt for you. I realized rather suddenly actually, after…that day.”
She couldn’t meet my eyes for that moment, and I knew that it still haunted her. The blood, the broken glass, the cuts, the beer, everything. I realized in that moment what I would have lost, had I succeeded. I would have missed out on everything good that had ever happened to me.
She interlaced her fingers with mine. “We fit like a pair of puzzle pieces.” She said. “And without you, I don’t feel like I’m complete anymore.”
“Terra, I…I don’t think I knew what “complete” felt like until I heard you talking to me when I was resting at the clinic after…all that. I heard you saying that you might love me, but that being in love scared you. You kissed my cheek, my bandages, and when I officially “woke up”, I just remember feeling…whole.”
Terra blushed. Clearly we both had said things to the other when they were “sleeping” that we were shy about saying to the others’ faces. “Terra, you’ve made me the happiest man in the world, and EASILY the happiest man in Stardew Valley.” I said, turning to her.
I took her hands in mine and kissed her gently, feeling all the worries and fears of the day wash away like the tides rolling out to sea. “I will never stop loving you. And I will do my damnedest to make you the happiest woman alive.”
“I love you.”
#stardew shane#sdv farmer#sdv oc#sdv#sdv shane#stardew valley#stardew farmer#shane x farmer#shane sdv#farmer sdv#ship#fanfiction#sdv fanfiction#shane sdv fanfiction#wtf are tags#stardew valley shane#shane stardew valley#kill me#i wrote this in like three hours#i remember basically nothing#i legit just thought dumped 5k words in 3 hours and forgot to exist#hope y'all like it#i'm scared af tbh#here goes nothing#actually something original#ixey posts
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healed scars | laurel lance x fem!reader
a/n: i really love laurel and i’m still annoyed that they killed her off. (this takes place around the legends of yesterday crossover)
y/s/n = your superhero name
warnings: mentions of blood, death
word count: 1.7k
masterlist | request list | request rules
reader was sent from the future and is now a part of team flash. you gained your powers from human experimentation by argus. team flash teamed up with team arrow to defeat vandal savage but you got shot by one of his henchman and after the wound was stitched up, you’re in the training room when laurel walks in
i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated
You were currently in your training room, taking out your frustrations of the day on the black punching bag. With each punch, you imagined it was Vandal Savage, wanting to get your revenge for him shooting you.
How stupid were you that you didn’t see that gun aimed at you?
The one thing you should have done when you all arrived at the abandoned factory, the one thing you were always taught to remember, was to be aware of your surroundings. If you had done so, then maybe you wouldn’t have gotten shot.
Yes, Caitlin stitched up the wound, and yes, the injury wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but the fact still remained that that immortal son of a bitch got one up on you.
You stilled when you heard footsteps coming up from behind you and then continued to throw punches at the bag.
“I don’t need a motivational speech right now.”
You said irritably, expecting either Barry or Cisco to give you one of their famous hallway talks.
Whilst you appreciated them, and often welcomed them, a hope speech was not what you needed right now.
“Wrong team.”
That definitely was not a voice belonging to Barry or Cisco.
You turned around and saw Laurel, lawyer by day and vigilante by night, Lance staring at you, watching you train.
You didn’t respond and instead went back to taking out your anger on the punching bag.
“Doesn’t your arm hurt?” Laurel spoke after a moments of silence.
You shrugged at Laurel’s question.
“Pain used to be the only thing I could count on but now…now everything’s numb.”
“I get that. After Sara died, I felt nothing but anger. I felt like I lost-”
“A part of yourself.” You finished as you stopped hitting the bag.
You glanced up to meet Laurel’s prying eyes and then refocused on punching the now wearing bag.
“I didn’t realise you had experience with loss.”
You laughed dryly as you continued hitting the bag with your boxing gloves, “Laurel, my entire life consists of loss.”
“Who did you lose?” Laurel asked delicately, now intrigued.
“Who didn’t I lose?” You rebutted. “My mother. My sister. Even my son of a bitch father.”
After each name, you hit the bag harder and harder until you felt one of your sutures blow and the blood trickling down your shoulder.
“Dammit.”
You muttered under your breath as you removed your boxing gloves and placed them on the metal table located near the punching bag.
Then you walked over to the small medicine cabinet situated in the corner of the room and grabbed everything you needed to redress the wound, including the small medical kit Caitlin insisted you have just in case.
“You know how to suture right?” You asked, unzipping your jacket and pulling it down so Laurel could properly clean the wound.
“I’m a vigilante who fights crime. Of course I know how to suture.”
She responded sarcastically as she began to wipe your wound with antiseptic and then started to restitch the wound.
“You’re not even flinching.” She said in surprise.
“Like I said, I’ve dealt with pain before.”
“When you were taken, you mean?” Laurel asked, pulling your stitches tight.
“I’m assuming Barry told you and Team Arrow everything?”
There was no malice to your words, just general curiosity.
“In his defence, he didn’t want to say much but you know how Oliver is.”
“It’s fine. If we’re working together, you should know whether I’m a liability or not, especially after I got shot.”
“Hey,” you turned your head so you could face Laurel, “so what if you got injured in the field? When I first took up the mantle as the Black Canary, I got my ass handed to me by a lot of assholes. Trust me, you’re not a liability.”
You smiled feebly and replied a grateful “thanks.”
“Who would have thought that we’d be working together as a vigilante and a meta-human?”
“How my life has become this, I have no idea.” You both laughed.
“There, done.” Laurel announced, pulling the last stitch tight.
“Thank you. Would have done it myself using my powers but I can’t exactly see the wound.”
You explained, discarding the wipes in the bin and putting the medical kit back in the cabinet.
“Why do you practice combat if you have powers?” She asked, her arms crossed.
“Can’t rely on powers. I mean, I know how to control them and everything, but there used to be a time in my life where I didn’t have them. And now, with all these metas, who’s to say that one of them can’t drain powers or take them away? Then what? I’d be vulnerable to attack.”
“Smart thinking.” She said impressed as she nodded in agreement.
“Afraid Team Flash doesn’t share that same sentiment. I do adore Barry but I keep telling him that he should learn hand-to-hand combat.”
“And Barry being Barry thinks he’s just fine with his speed.” Laurel finished.
“Exactly.” You laughed.
Your eyes narrowed, an idea coming into your mind. “Do you want to train with me now? I mean, we have time.”
Laurel opened her mouth as if to politely decline but you interrupted before she could.
“But if you don’t, that’s fine. I just-”
“No, I’d love to. Just…your powers.”
“What about them?”
“Don’t they give you an advantage?”
You lifted up your sleeves to show Laurel the bracelets around your wrists.
“Power dampening cuffs, courtesy of Cisco. Couldn’t use them even if I wanted to. Besides training without them is more worth while.”
Laurel removed her jacket and tied her hair into a ponytail.
“Well, a moving target is better.”
You went to the corner of the room and grabbed the large wooden sticks you often trained with.
“Definitely.”
You said, throwing one of the sticks to Laurel.
Laurel made the first move which you dodged with ease and then you turned to knock her off her feet. But before you could, Laurel blocked you and then you both officially began sparring with each other.
You were impressed with how quick Laurel was on her feet and she was intrigued with your fighting style, as it reminded her of the way Sara fought.
You hit Laurel’s stick and then quickly span, grabbing her arm and hooking your leg under hers, effectively throwing her to the mat.
“Damn,” she breathed out, her eyes moving from the staff you had against her throat, to you who was breathing just as heavily as she was.
You stared intently at each other for a few moments, your heavy breaths echoing throughout the room, before being interrupted by a stampede of footsteps.
“What the hell is going on in here?”
Both you and Laurel looked to the doorway where both Team Arrow and Team Flash stood, watching the two of you.
To them, it looked as if the two of you had gotten into a fight.
“Relax, Ollie. Y/n and I were just sparring. That’s all.”
You moved the stick away from Laurel and reached down to grab her hand so you could help her up.
“And she beat you? She must be good.”
Your eyes flickered over to the petite blonde who was standing next to Oliver.
“Not that you weren’t great before. I just meant that Laurel’s a good fighter. Obviously. Because she’s the Black Canary. Which you knew but I just-”
“Felicity, don’t worry,’ you interrupted her rambling.
“I know what you meant. And to answer your question, yeah, I totally beat the Canary’s ass.” You smirked.
“Hey! You didn’t beat me. You just-”
You raised an eyebrow in amusement. You were baiting her and it was totally working.
“Yeah, okay, whatever. You won.” She surrendered.
“Oh, I’m geeking out so hard. Y/s/n just beat Black Canary in a fight. God, if I could post about this on a blog somewhere, I so would!” Cisco rambled, making you and Laurel laugh.
“So do we have a plan yet?” You asked, changing the subject to more pressing matters.
“Yeah, but it’d be easier to explain when we’re in the cortex because we laid out a detailed game plan.” Caitlin answered.
“Well, then, let’s go.”
Everyone left the room and as you followed after them, you were stopped by a hand on your arm.
“Y/n, where’d you learn to fight like that?”
You looked back at Laurel, your brows narrowing.
“Different people taught me different things. Why?”
“The way that we sparred right now. It was how Sara and I sparred, even after she was resurrected, and it was a technique she learned from a group called the League of Assassins.”
Your eyes widened at the mention of Sara’s resurrection. You had heard rumours in the future of a place that could do that, a pit of some sort.
And the mention of the League also peaked your interest considering you had met a few members after escaping ARGUS.
“And you’re asking if I’m an assassin?”
“No, I’m-Yes. Yes, I am.”
“No, Laurel, I’m not an assassin. It would be a lie to say I’ve never killed anyone before but never on someone else’s orders.”
“But how-”
“I met a lot different people where I’m from, Laurel, some good, but mostly bad people. Or at least, that’s how we’re taught to think of them. The majority of the people I’ve met and learnt from were just trying to survive in a dystopia and when I encountered them, we were able to offer each other something. I help them get the agency off their backs and in exchange, I learn a few tricks or rack up a few favours.”
“Wow, there’s so much about you that people don’t know, isn’t there?” She said, interested.
“People don’t ask. So I don’t tell.”
“That’s lonely.”
“That’s life. It’s the way I’ve lived for almost a decade. Now, we better catch up with everyone else or they’ll wonder where we are.”
You decided to change the subject again,
“So your sister was resurrected? How does that even happen?”
“God, it’s a long story but basically…”
Laurel began explaining the situation to you as you both left the training room and followed both teams into the context so you could be debriefed on the plan.
#the flash#arrow#laurel lance#caitlin snow#cisco ramon#felicity smoak#barry allen#oliver queen#legends of tomorrow#supergirl#laurel lance x reader#the flash x reader#arrow x reader#arrow x the flash#westallen#dctvedit#felicity smoak x reader#cisco x reader#caitlin snow x reader#oliver queen x reader#barry allen x reader#black canary#black canary x reader#c: laurel lance#c: healed scars#s: mine
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Reblogged from the prior tumbl, originally posted 02/04/2016. Question submitted by @makiruz. Slightly reformatted to avoid a readmore cut and whatnot.
In Full of Sith, they always ask new guests how they got into Star Wars. And you know? That's a good question, how did you got into Star Wars?
HEH. Oooh, that’s a bit of a loaded question. So I’ll give you the short answer, which I suspect would fit the thing you mentioned what I haven’t heard of; and then because I’m a wordy bastard what overshares, the long answer which is more accurate and has content warnings for self harm and suicide.
SHORT ANSWER
It was the 80’s. I was young, in single digits, though I couldn’t tell you exactly what age. I was already dealing with an irregular sleep cycle, though all I knew was I had a flashlight, a pile of books near/on my bed, and a thick pound puppies duvet to read under.
I don’t know if I was in my room or on my way to/from the bathroom, but I could hear my parents watching something downstairs. Swooshy noises, a shrill screee, and some thwoom bzzts.
Of course I went downstairs.
I don’t know if it was episode 5 or 6. I’ve a fondness for 6, but carbonite left a HUGE fucking impression on me, and my parents have always approved of muppets, so Yoda.
I knew I loved it. I didn’t have any toys, though I think somewhere there was a print edition of A New Hope running around. I do recall multiple sleepovers at my grandmother’s place – a tiny house on acres and acres of woods – and she’d sometimes pull out Return of the Jedi and we’d watch it together on her tiny TV. Later on I’d be in bed, staring out at woods and trees that I knew, but seemed huge to a little kid, and I’d dream of Ewoks.
RotJ was Gram’s favorite, and for many years mine, too.
I like Ewoks.
VERY LONG ANSWER
TW: mental illness, depression, self harm, suicide, abuse
In late elementary, early middle school, my brother and I were basically reading ANYTHING we could get our hands on. He sometimes dove into books that didn’t interest me, so I’d read the first of something and then be bored and he’d keep going.
Star Wars EU was one of those. It was too grim for me. I think I didn’t run into any of the really good writers. It was all Han and Luke and Leia on the covers, so take that for what you will. There also was no Wookiepeia, so I was depending heavily on the writers’ abilities to convey things to someone very visual, yet pretty impatient with descriptions, so it never took.
I was in high school when The Phantom Menace came out. Mine honorable brother was off at college, so it was with great excitement on my part, and bemused tolerance on my parents’, that they and I went off to the theater.
On the one hand, I was dazzled.
On the other, there was Jar Jar. There was the fact that I hadn’t been impressed with the re-release of the OT – Han shot first. FITE ME. There was the fact that TPM didn’t feel like Star Wars, which was darker and grittier and…simpler to me.
So I wrote it off. Packed Star Wars away as “one of those things” that I’d been into, but felt like I was moving past. I was obsessed with Gargoyles, I was looking at going to college, and I would keep m’damn ewoks without needing to try to extend that vision with gungans.
College sucked. I went in, not sure if I wanted to go into English, for writing, or Psych, because I had always been what I’d now call The Mom Friend. I met a nice guy who tried, but things never really clicked between us, and there was an interesting bit that he was mad about Star Wars and insisted that I read the Rogue Squadron books.
That was a Good Decision. Dating him, not so much.
I had a huge assortment of Life Issues. Got into an abusive relationship that would end up lasting 14 years. Transferred schools. Got the fucking Psych degree, though literally only by the grace of a professor who didn’t want to see the kid not graduate just ‘cause she couldn’t numbers and I did go in and try. Talked to him and still couldn’t with the maths but the effort was there to bump me a few points above failing.
I was burnt out. I was depressed. I tried killing myself a few times – not very good at it, as you can see. Took up self-harm as a coping mechanism. Failed in the still never successful search for a decent therapist in Pittsburgh. Got a job slinging food, because needed some kind of income, and people without pressure was nice. The keeping on a schedule thing failed, leading to an average of 4 hours sleep a night. Losing contact with family and friends because I couldn’t stand the pressure of “how are you?” and “what’s going on in your life?” Clinging to Warcraft because repetitively farming was better than clawing open my back or neck again, and the people there were ok with some rando dropping out of sight on a dime, and only a persistent few had the grace and spirit to make it past some serious defensive issues of mine.
I stopped writing. Stopped caring about Gargoyles, stopped being able to see into that AU I’d made for myself of a crazy clan and the weird human who survived cancer with them.
Stopped going on IM, for the same reasons I stopped talking to people.
I still kept track of some folks via LiveJournal. A handful of the Gargoyles folks who were determined, gods know why and thank you, since I know several are here on the tumbles and I genuinely love you to bits.
I quit my job after five years, because enough was enough between the fact that it had all the hallmarks of an abusive relationship and I was fucking tired of being a manager without any actual authority, and the endless hamster wheel of hiring and people quitting because it was a nice, but highly dysfunctional place.
I missed the customers, though. Several of them are here too, and it’s kinda funny ‘cause I know in at least one case I talked to them about Star Wars. I still hope they’re not too shellshocked that I kinda went down the rabbit hole pretty deep.
Started getting more sleep. Not less anxiety, not less depressed. Tried out a few depression medications, with very mixed results.
Then one day @dogmatix came into the LJ area I still hung out in. Enthusiastically recommending to all and sundry that if there is even a shred of interest in Star Wars, THERE IS THIS THING YOU SHOULD READ.
She drew a Wookiee. That was a character?
I’d always liked Wookiees.
And I needed something to read.
Star Wars was one of those things, from back in the day before things went to shit. Low investment, since if I didn’t like it or didn’t care, then eh. Whatevs. Dogmatix was one of the Gargs holdouts still in my circle (or whatever it is that I was hovering at the edges of), and in the past I’d liked her recommendations more often than I disliked them.
I’m also endlessly weak to her art.
Wookiee.
So I did that thing. That so many of us here have done. It took me about 2 weeks to get through Re-Entry. It had trouble taking root in the depression, but Obi-Wan going crackers was something I could empathize with and appreciate.
There was the hope that had been missing from the EU novels I’d tried reading back in the day.
There was Wookieepedia, which meant I could stop and see what a Nautolan was. I had tabs open for DAYS so when someone named Adi or Gallia who were apparently the same person? I could see who that was. I got stupidly distressed that Abella didn’t have an entry, until I twigged and checked for a Chitanook, and holy shit I could never tell what character was going to crop up as canon, obscure EU character, or home brewed.
I honestly expected to set it aside, get updates as they happened, and gradually step away because that’s how things were going at the time.
But I still needed something to read, to stave off empty hours when my brain was too full of screaming.
On Ebon Wings. I’d loved The Crow when I’d seen it back in high school, and that story tapped into the powerful visuals and the lovely message I’d adored and in ways I still don’t quite understand it somehow validated that I could be mad and still be ok. Maybe. Maybe not now, but someday.
Maybe.
So I gave in and got a Tumbl. I’d been a stubborn holdout, regularly checking the same half dozen feeds daily because dammit, I don’t wanna go through the trouble and I was close to giving up on LJ and another journaly thing? That was stupid. But I wanted to follow Flamethrower and Dogmatix, and it made it infinitely easier to follow several blogs (and oh GODS one of those is a mutual and holy fuck I swear I screamed the day that happened and it’s still a high to realize).
Dogmatix wrote Möbius and Accidental Timeshare, wherein Venge goes universe hopping. That’s also a weakness of mine.
I’d been kvetching IRL about the treadmill and wanting something to watch, and someone mentioned in Dogmatix’s feed The Clone Wars – which conveniently was on Netflix. So I figured what the hell. I was disinclined to like clones – ‘cause yeesh, they’re the reason the Jedi all died, and yeah, ok, the Order was SERIOUSLY FUCKED UP, but.
I still had never seen Episodes 2 or 3.
I turned on the Clone Wars movie, and within ten minutes I nearly fell off the back of the treadmill due to crying.
THIS was the Star Wars of my youth. THIS was what I remembered. A little grim. Lots of quips.
That sound. Lightsabers igniting. A-wings rumbling overhead. Blasterfire, and that music.
I had to stop and calm down and for the first time in ages WRITE [, because I just had to ramble about how it all hit me in the feels]. I had no idea I’d missed this.
By the end of the movie I’d decided ok, I wanted more. Wasn’t sold on these clone fellas, and damned if I could tell one set of armor from another (this is ALSO due to the treadmill screen being calibrated to be a compromise of a very short person – me – and a very tall person, which means neither person gets a decent view but that’s not what the treadmill tv is for).
I’d been told there was an order to the episodes, but I didn’t care. Continuity is for those who think about the future, and I was still regularly suicidal.
So the first episode I watched was Yoda romping around a planet, playing with droids while three clone troopers tried to babysit his mad little ass.
They had me, all in one episode. I loved these guys. They had individuality, I could tell them apart by the voices (which is sometimes just as important to me as visuals) even if I couldn’t name them, and the personalities –
They were loyal. Their primary concern was old batty Yoda which I had adored as a child because MUPPETS. They were willing to die to keep him safe and there was this lovely reciprocity in taking care of each other and all of them, clones and Jedi alike were doomed to extinction and I don’t think I knew yet HOW the clones were except they weren’t in the OT so there was shit going down.
Tragic figures, loyal found family, incredible voice acting, Batty Old Yoda who OH YEAH FUCKING KICKED SO MUCH ASS I COULD NEVER GET ENOUGH.
I wanted to keep those three clones. I was willing to keep them all.
Final blow, that knocked me into the fandom so hard I’ll be surprised if I ever leave?
THIS.
The origins of Balance. This is the post that started a simple notion, to try to write something when I’d gone….anywhere from 7 to 10 years of not writing A SINGLE. DAMNED. THING of substance – and that was after thinking I might try to get a degree related to it.
Darth Wraith was a tentative idea. I was scared @deadcatwithaflamethrower would be irked I wanted to play in her sandbox (oh my gods I was inserting myself into a conversation with her this amazing person who wrote blindingly well and so damn much and how the FUCK was I daring to speak up about a silly half DREAM I’d had because once again I couldn’t sleep).
Then, because I was trying to break out of the depression, the cycles of mental ill health, and if I was on this tumbls thing, fuck it, I’d try the IM thing again.
I’d been gone long enough that pretty much no one on my contact list was still there. That…was ok. There wasn’t the pressure.
And Dogmatix popped on, asking if I wanted to share details about this Sith Qui-Gon thing.
I had A SCENE. ONE. SCENE. And she was spinning it off into this EPIC, which at first I was gleeful because she had neat ideas and I couldn’t wait to see what she would do with it and then wait, she’s not talking about writing it herself, this is more about something WE could work on.
Thank gods it was IM, because I had a little panic about commitment to a project when I regularly was sure I wasn’t going to see tomorrow and if I didn’t wake up one morning that’d be MORE than ok.
Still. There was that itch. The visuals in my brain. The characters I’d started to like in Flamethrower’s universe, which had formed my mental voices for them.
The only sound in my head for so long was just screaming.
Writing down that scene in Knock On Effect, where Venge meets Wraith – that felt good. It never changed much from the first draft to what was posted. The rest grew, and quickly. It was clear if we were doing this, then there were multiple stories, spanning in universe years.
And then there were spinoffs. Wonderful ideas and plots spiraling away from this one notion, and gods I wanted to write about those glorious clones.
How’d I get into Star Wars?
Chance. One strange little step at a time, and a bunch of miracles and horrors that kept me bleeding but not dying. Damn good fic. The kindness of friends. The generosity of strangers.
The tragedy of a once great order of space monks, and their allies-forced-to-be-betrayers clones.
One little picture, of Qui-Gon Jinn with Sith eyes.
#tumblageddon#reviving from the purge#star wars#tw#self harm#suicide#depression#mental illness#abuse#emotional#Norcumi has Opinions again#deadcatwithaflamethrower#dogmatix#i did not expect to cry when writing this#star wars saved my life#literally
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tapestry 👑 V
Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)
This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.
Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.
This Chapter: The court celebrates the harvest.
Note: I’m a goddamn liar and ended up writing this after work and staying up past midnight because I have a problem people. I need help but until then I’m gonna keep posting so here ya go, my lovelies.
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!
The week of the harvest celebration had come, though time seemed to stand still. Each day dragged on dreading the next. Anxious of what the king should do next, of how the court should roil once more, of your own part in the brewing mess. Even as the waters calmed it did not comfort you. Peace only assured you that chaos was on the horizon.
Rose continued to stew in her anger. You dared to think it was jealousy. While the king persisted in his prolonged stares during rehearsals, your partner did not ease matters as he passed along his master’s messages. Each added to the weight on your shoulders, the guilt that stabbed you each time you looked at the queen. Though you did not encourage it, you felt your part in it just as grievous.
And your father. When you met again, he did not spare a word. His disappointment, his frustration, his anger all spent upon you. Your disobedience had nearly cost him. Never mind that it kept your reputation in tact, that it gave hope to a future betrothal. He didn’t want an earl’s wife, he wanted a king’s mistress. The baubles you refused to accept, the promise of a title greater than his own father’s. You factored little in his desires outside your ability to fulfill them.
The saffron brocade was stiff across your chest, cut much lower than your usual gowns. Each woman was to wear a different shade of autumn for the performance. The king and queen would lead in goldenrod yellow as satins and silks of auburns, scarlets, and moss would swirl in. In imitation of a rush of leaves falling from the barren trees, heralding the change of seasons.
A seamstress knelt at your feet and pinned the skirts. The queen ran a finger along her throat as she considered you. It was the final fitting before the banquet; you were the last of the women to attend their measurements.
You could barely look Eleanor in the eye. Hearsay was rife as it always was but did she believe the whispers. Did she think the king truly enamoured by you? Did she know of the letters? The gifts he sent along with them? The ones you would not open, that were sent back untouched.
If she did, she did not betray herself. She smiled as she neared and touched the golden border along the top of the bodice. “Tighter around the waist,” She suggested to the tailor. “A half inch lower here.”
You looked down at your chest. You blinked. You really didn’t need less fabric there. As it was, your cleavage was more than noticeable. You bit your lip but did not protest.
“The colour is marvelous,” The queen looked you in the face. “Are you well, my lady?”
“I am but…” You hesitated as the seamstress pinned the bodice. “There are matters we should speak of, your highness.”
“Yes, I think there are,” She nodded and gestured to the seamstress. “If you would excuse us a moment.”
The other woman acquiesced with a bow and quickly retreated. The door closed behind her and left you alone with Eleanor. She smiled and swept away from you to sit on a cushioned bench as the pins in her ashy blonde hair caught the light. She patted the cushion next to her.
“Sit, let us talk of what worries you so.” She cooed.
“Your highness,” You approached reluctantly. “I do not think myself fit for this. I am a poor dancer.”
“You are not so bad,” She said as you sat beside her. “Heavy-footed but not entirely hopeless.”
“Hopeless enough.” You grumbled. “Especially in a place such as this.”
“I know you shall do just fine.” She smiled. “But you do not refer to only the performance, do you, lady?”
“No, no, I do not,” You looked at your lap. “Surely, you’ve heard.”
“There are no secrets at court,” She returned. “I know my husband’s attention has strayed again. I hear Lady Rose and her detest, her complaints of her neglect. And it makes me most happy.”
“But the king…”
“The king does as he wishes. I cannot stop him but I can abide it so long as I am not met with nonchalance and scorn.” She held her head high. “I can stand any mistress but none who would shame me so openly.”
“I...I have refused the king. Every time. I do not wish to involve myself in your marriage. Your highness, I admire you too much. I would never--”
“You’re a smart girl. I trust you are able enough but this court is perilous. Allies are rare but should be welcomed,” She pulled a loose string from the tail of your hood. “So long as you are...covert, I would have no reason to mind the dalliance.”
“P-pardon? Your highness, I don’t understand--”
“Do with my husband as you please. I know you, my lady. You are loyal and you will not so blatantly degrade me. If I must bear this marriage, I shall bear it with a mite of dignity.”
“I please none of it and yet he does not relent. If you are truly my ally, can you not stop him?”
“He will not relent. He never has and I’ve never been able to stop him. No one has.” She sighed and her long lashes flicked. “I do prefer you to Rose. Oh, I do very much.”
“You…” For a moment you gasped for air. The realization struck you in the chest. “You have maneuvered me thus, haven’t you? Because you knew the king would never tolerate your mistreatment of his mistress and so you thrust me before him.”
“I did not thrust you, my lady,” She smiled. “You were merely well-positioned at a most opportune moment.”
Your mouth was bitter with betrayal. The queen had seemed the only genuine character at court but in a moment, she revealed herself to be just as vile as the rest. Perhaps it was easy to pity a scorned woman but it was little excuse for the disgrace of another. You could not forgive her crime on the grounds of another done to her. You clenched your hands together as you tried not to scowl.
“And you expect me to appease him? To forfeit my virtue to him?” You stared at your skirts.
“I expect you to do as you think necessary,” She said, “But my husband gives little heed to what is necessary. To what it proper. He will take as he pleases, not as you please.”
You looked up at her. Terrified. “And you would not stop him?”
“Cannot.” She shrugged and a glimmer of regret flashed her in eyes. She pitied you. “It is not so bad. You will be taken care of after. A husband will be found, or if that does not please you, a household all your own. I swear it on my honour.”
“Your honour?” You scoffed. “You bartered me to your own husband.”
“A barter you could only dream of,” Her green eyes sharpened. “You don’t know, cannot know, what is like. To be ridiculed daily. To be tied to a man who can never love you, a court that will never accept you as their own.” She shook her head. “I did mislead you, I admit it, but only because I know you to be honest. To be without presumption. You would not bring me further shame because you fear it yourself.”
“Do you not realize that you’ve already brought shame upon me?” You stood and crossed the room. You couldn’t stand to be near her. “You are not a friend to me, my queen. I am...alone.”
Silence. You heard the rustle of her skirts but she did not near you. You turned as she reached the door. She adjusted a pin in her hair as she reached for the handle. She exhaled softly.
“You will change so that the dress may be altered and you will go. And you will never speak to me as you have again. I am still your queen.”
👑
The day of the harvest arrived. The feast hall was draped in golden and bronze silks as the court gathered along the trestles. The benches did not overflow as dancers hid beneath the canopy just beyond the doors, awaiting their grand entrance to the plucking of lutes and trill of flutes.
You stood quietly, head down, hands clamped together as you recited the steps in your head. You weren’t prepared. No matter how often the master led you through the steps, you’d never be ready. You weren’t a dancer and you were too distracted to retain the simple choreography.
A shiver went up your spine as a familiar voice met your ears. The space was tight and the performers were close. Steven’s laughter boomed in the small space and you looked up. The king and queen were at the front of the procession, several pairs between you. He was drawn by your movement and grinned at you before you shied away. The queen batted her lashes and took her husband’s hand. Her response was not heard.
“You should not be so nervous,” Lord Barnes intoned. You’d forgotten his presence beside you. “You are not so tragic as you think.”
“Ever gracious but a poor liar, Lord Barnes.” You huffed. “I have noticed how you’ve padded your boots.”
He chuckled. “Of the dozen pairs among us, do you think we would stick out so sorely?”
“I hope not,” You said. “Thought I apologize if I should make fools of both of us.”
“You are much too cynical.” He stepped closer. “You deny yourself even the slightest error. How can one find any pleasure in life with such suffocating restraint?”
“As a lord who would never face consequence for his lack of, I doubt you could understand the caution of a lady.” You returned.
“Surely not. I could never be so pious. So...boring.” He mused.
You bristled and turned your face away from him. You looked around at the other dancers as they chattered and fidgeted in their impatience. Rose snarled as she caught your eye and shrugged off Lord Alan. You blanched and tucked your chin to your chest.
“I was teasing, my lady,” Barnes leaned in. “You needn’t take it so heavily.”
“I am aware, my lord. I can understand humour, as poorly as it may be presented.” You looked to him pointedly. “I may be plain but I am not simple.”
He laughed again. He glanced around and you followed his gaze to the door. The king peered between the bodies and watched intently. You stiffened and returned your attention to your partner.
“So I’ve noticed.” Barnes said. “As has he.”
“And you, his infiltrator?” You arched a brow. “Do you recount our every word?”
“I might be a loyal companion to the crown but I am no informant. What we speak of remains between us, I swear it.” He assured you. “But I might tell you something...most intimate.”
“So you would?” You prodded.
“I’ve known Steven since we were children. I know him better than any. I know him beyond the courtly disguise he wears.” Barnes faced you and took your hand. He drew you close. “As I stand near to you, he watches, he seethes, because he is quite taken by you.” His voice was low. “And the more you refuse him, the more taken he shall be.” He raised your hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “And he has rarely been refused in his life...he will not stand for it long.”
“Is this a warning or another message?” He dropped your hand and stepped back.
The queen’s voice rose above the babble and she clapped her hands. “Lords, Ladies, we are due. Positions, please.”
She turned and the king raised his hand for her to take. Each couple mirrored them and you took Barnes hand as he stood side by side with you. He looked to his feet and pretended to kick the dust from his toe as he spoke under his breath.
“It is both, my lady,” He whispered. “A king’s requests quickly become commands.”
👑
“May I?” Barnes was beside you before you could flee.
You’d hoped to cling to the wall until you could manage to sneak away. As late, you’d grown much too conspicuous for that. You turned back to him, caught in your retreat, and sighed. He was not the only to note your attempted escape. Your father sneered from his seat and the king raised his head above the queen’s as they spun along the boards.
“I wouldn’t pain you or your toes further, my lord.” You replied.
“I can bear it,” He assured you. “And there is no other partner I wish. They’re all rather dull.”
“Dull of foot might be more painful than dull of wit.” You returned and he grinned.
“The wit does outweigh the foot, my lady,” He offered his hand. “Come on.”
Your eyes were drawn back to your father. He tilted his head dangerously. You couldn’t tell if it were to deter you from dancing or from leaving. You forced a smile and took Barnes’ hand. He guided you onto the floor lithely. His feet were swift and kept clear of your own.
“Did I mention how wonderful you look, tonight?” He marveled as you turned in time with the room. “The cut of that dress is quite complimentary.”
You kept your head high and did your best to follow the steps. “Thank you, my lord. That is kind of you to say.”
“Not so drab as that habit you wore before,” He japed. “Was it the queen who recommended the brocade?”
You stared at him. You struggled to piece together the puzzle. Did he operate upon his own resolve? Upon the kings? Or perhaps he was just as much the pet of the queen? Your lips pressed together as you peeked again across the room. Both king and queen watched you as they moved their bodies gracefully to the music.
“The queen did,” You answered evenly. “She was certain to see that all her ladies were attired fittingly for the event.”
You avoided his gaze as he watched you. As you tried to decipher him, he did the same to you. Your foot came down on his but he did not flinch as he smoothly guided you along the floor. The music swirled around you with your skirts as you were led in the jig. Your head spun with the candlelight and crowd of satin and silk. He squeezed your hand and you looked to him. He smirked as the music eased to the next tune and he bowed to you.
“My lady,” He said as he led you by your hand.
As he turned you, you found the king waiting. You searched through the crowd, the queen was already swept up by Lord Samuel. She paid no heed to her husband’s ploy. You wondered if she were not a party to it. Lord Barnes released you and nodded to his king. “Your highness.”
“Would you allow me a dance, my lady?” The king coaxed.
You fought not to dissemble. You glanced around and found your father still watching. He leaned forward as he nodded. His hand was in a fist on the table. You didn’t dare resist. You took the king’s hand and let him lead you to the melody.
“My lady, you are more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you,” He said breathily. His eyes did not meet yours as they wandered to the top of your bodice. “I’ve found it most difficult to think of anything but you this night ...truly every night.”
“You flatter me, your highness.”
“I am honest. I bear myself to you.” He said. “And you still refuse my gifts? Still refuse me?”
“You know I cannot--”
“I know you are afraid but you haven’t reason to be. I shall protect you; from the queen, from the court. You shall be mine and I shall make certain you are kept well.” His blue eyes burned down at you. “I only long to give you everything. To give you all of me, all I ask in return is you.”
“You are married--”
“But not in love.”
“You are king and I am an earl’s daughter. Unwed and without betrothal.”
“As king, I can see to your future. I can give you title, a castle, lands…”
“So I shall lower myself to courtesan for you?”
“No, no, never. I shall raise you, my lady. Hold you in the highest esteem.”
“You shall ruin my reputation.”
“Can you not see how I suffer? My lady, you torment me so.”
“Your highness,” You stopped short and he nearly stumbled. “It cannot be. To prolong it will not change the circumstance that divides us. I do not seek infamy, I do not seek controversy, nor will I lower myself to be your mistress.”
“Lower…? I do not ask you--”
“You do. For what shall people say? What do they already whisper?” You rescinded your hand. “Your highness, you have not considered fully what you ask of me. You have not considered me.”
“I--”
“Excuse me, your highness,” You touched your stomach as it knotted. “I think I am unwell.”
He blinked, stunned. He bowed his head and you backed away from him. You readied yourself for his pursuit. For him to stop you. He did not and when he was hidden by the crowd, you turned and scurried to the door.
You didn’t slow until you reached an alcove just along the corridor. You were shaky as you leaned against the stone and caught your breath. Would the king be upset? Surely your father would but you could face his wrath as you had your entire life. You recalled Barnes’ words. Would the king cease to merely ask?
And who could save you? The king had a dozen allies and you had not one. The queen would not stop him, nor would his leal friend. Your father, surely, would find a way to assist him. Your own blood would sell you into scandal. You were so very alone.
A sole scuffed upon the stone and drew you from your reverie. A shadow loomed just around the corner and you tucked yourself into the alcove. You flattened your skirts with your hands and held your breath. The footsteps neared and you didn’t dare to move.
The king’s tall silhouette appeared before you. He walked past the alcove as he looked around. He sighed softly and hung his head. He tapped his toe as he stopped and hooked his thumbs in his belt. You watched, paralysed.
He let out a disappointed grumble and turned back. The toe of his boot caught the hem of your skirt as it splayed out from your hiding spot and he stopped. He looked over and his eyes met yours in the dim of the lanterns. They pierced you through the shadows and his lips curved.
“My lady,” He greeted, “Why do you run from me?” He stepped forward. “Hide from me?” He lowered himself to his knees as he reached for your hands. “Can’t you see how desperate I am? How I am completely at your mercy?”
“Your highness, please,” You begged as he gripped your hands tightly. “Please, this is indecent.”
“My lady,” He brought your hands to his lips and laid a dozen kisses upon them. “I cannot wait. I’ve never waited so long and it pains me deeply. Every second I am away from you, I cannot think. I cannot live.”
“Your highness,” Your voice was coarse as you tried to escape his hold. “You would tarnish me.”
He released your hands and you tried to brush past him. He caught you around the waist and pulled you against him. He pressed his face to your stomach and kissed the taut brocade. He nuzzled into you and raised his chin to look up at you over your bosom. You caught his shoulders as you struggled with him.
“Please, please…” You could barely speak. You were terrified at his strength, at how easily he held you there. He walked forward on his knees as he pushed you back into the alcove until you met the wall. “Please…”
He dropped his arms and you felt your skirts lift and you sobbed. He lowered his head as he tugged at your skirts and you felt the cool air on your ankles. He bent and you pressed yourself to the wall. You could barely breathe as you watched him. He lowered himself until his lips met your slippers. He kissed both and sat back on his heels.
“Can’t you see, my lady?” He peered up at you. “You have me on my knees?” He bent to kiss them again. “I am yours.” He declared as he sat up once more. “Entirely yours.”
You clasped your hands before your chest. You were trembling. You could not speak as you stared down at him. He let your skirt fall back into place as he stood. His shadow enshrined you as he reached out to touch your cheek.
“Are you afraid, my lady?”
You nodded and turned away from his touch.
“You needn’t be for I shall find a way for us to be together. A proper way.” His fingers trailed down and he dragged his thumb along your lower lip. “I promise you, I will.”
For a moment, he held your face. His hand firmly cradled your chin and he leaned in until his breath was upon your lips. His thumb traced your lips and he closed his eyes. He let out a long sigh and pulled away from you suddenly.
“I will wait,” He said, though he spoke more to himself than you. “I will wait.” He opened his eyes and bowed to you. “My lady.”
You watched him back away, too stunned to move as his shadow faded down the hall and his footsteps softened to silence. You cowered in the stone alcove until you were certain he was gone. At last, you found your strength and stepped into the amber light of the lanterns.
Lord Barnes’ foreboding rang in your head; ‘A king’s requests quickly become commands.’
#tapestry#king!steve#Steve Rogers#steve rogers x reader#dark!steve rogers#dark!steve rogers x reader#dark steve rogers#dark steve rogers x reader#mcu#marvel#fic#series#au#medieval au#captain america#dark fic#dark!fic#bucky barnes x reader#Bucky Barnes
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In The Bleak Midwinter || Part 6
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12 & Part 13
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader
Warning: Character death & adult content
Gif Credit: @ txepulin, @shelby-tommy, @ckare, @ smallestdeath Thank you for allowing me to use your gifs!
Tag: @lainey-lane, @pindlemouse, @thelastemzy, @helloandreabeth, @fandoms-broke-my-life, @taylxr0, @shelbysbushblog, @accio-witty-username, @iamtheonewhocares, @infinitelycharmed23, @kingsmanstories, @shelby-gin-limited, @taylxr0, @sympathyfortheblinderdevil, @neversleeping4am, @icebluegriffin @johhnshelby If you left a message I tagged you. If you don’t want that just let me know. And If you want to be tagged in the future let me know.
Note: This chapter is based around the opening scene in 4.02, naked by the window, in the tub. This could definitely be a hard chapter to read. And I really tired to capture the gravity of the situation both between Fiona and Tommy, but also John. So I hope that comes through. This chapter is far beyond my comfort zone. I’m not comfortable writing adult content and I’m definitely not confident about it. That’s part of the reason I’m really trying to push myself as a write with this chapter.
I want to give a special thanks to two people who were crucial with this chapter. @tommysmutnothingbut Thank you so much for taking the time to give me some pointers. This chapter is nothing like your incredible work, but I really tried to take your suggestions and apply them. Let’s just say I definitely had my fair share to drink when I wrote it ;) Also, @lainey-lane, My editor. I couldn’t have written this without you. You know it scared me shitless so thank you for reading it and giving me honest feedback! And always having my back!
Both these ladies are incredible writers as well, so if you haven’t checked out their work, I highly recommend it.
As always Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are greatly appreciated! Thank you to everyone who supports this story! Without you, I probably wouldn’t write it or at least not post it lol. This one goes out to the 900 followers I some how managed to get. Don’t know how that happened, but you fucking rock!
You arrive back in Small Health early in the morning, when the smoke from the factories and chimneys mixes with the fog coming off the canals and leaves the smoke laced air heavy like dew in your lungs. It sticks to your clothes and your skin like dirt that’s hard to wash off.
Everything’s painted dark like soot, not even the morning rays can soften as the sky looms a hazy shade of greyish yellow. Whistles blow all around you for the factories as a horse and cart trot on by.
You half expect a drunken man to stumble past you, trying to beat the rising sun, but no one dares come near you this time, not with Tommy Shelby by your side.
You never imagined coming back here to stay. You’ll never miss this place.
You barely make it back to Small Heath before word reaches you of the tragedy that’s unfolded.
It’s chaos, Arthur is nearly inconsolable when he arrives to tell Tommy. Even with Linda by his side, his words slip out past a choked breath, eyes heavy with tears, face crinkled with lines.
Tommy’s composed even in the eye of the storm, as Ada trembles, biting at her lip to hold back tears, while Linda asks a flurry of questions no one bothers to answer.
Tommy doesn’t blink - he commands. Barking orders, and suddenly you’re all headed to the hospital, even you and the children, because he doesn’t want to leave you alone and there isn’t time to round up men, he needs them to guard Michael.
But you see it, as you ride off to the hospital, the boys tired weary eyes staring back at you from the backseat, exhausted from the long night and confused over why everyone is crying.
You see it as you glance over at Tommy in the driver’s seat, his knuckles white as they grip at the steering wheel, gaze focused, eyes barely blinking… Everyone’s heart is broken.
The news is only confirmed at the hospital - John is dead, Michael gravely wounded.
Polly is like a winter storm blowing in heavy from the east. She hollers and cries, you hear her voice billowing out from the hallway, past the swinging blues door where Tommy told you to stay and wait with the children.
“What are you doing here?” Linda asks as the storm rages on around you.
Her question ripping your attention away from the wails echoing out from the long white hall. You turn to her, taking in the pale color of her skin, more pale than you ever remember.
“I don’t know.” You answer honestly with a quick sigh. Your gaze drifting down to the multicolored tiled floor where the boys play with a handful of tinker toys you managed to grab before you left for the hospital. Playing quietly, but not blind to the pain unfolding around them.
You suddenly, don’t know how you’re going to break to them Christmas isn’t coming today, or that John is gone.
“I don’t know…” You numbly repeat, your gaze returning to that long white hall.
You console Polly the best you can like Tommy asked. Rubbing your hands up and down along her arms as you listen to the flurry of words and demands she makes, that Michael will be alright, he’ll be ok.
You don’t know what to say, you don’t know anything in that moment, but you are a mother and that alone stirs an empathy deep from within you. You can’t imagine what you’d do if something ever happened to Finn.
“He’s strong Polly. Strong like you. He’s gonna pull through.” You assure her, giving her arms a strong squeeze as she finally meets your eyes.
You’ll always feel a connection to this woman, this fearless strong woman who saved your life and your son’s with her generosity, but looking at her now you hardly recognize her.
She looks at you, her son’s blood smear on her nice fir lined coat, beautiful in her cloche hat and ringlet curl as she stares at you with eyes swollen from too many tears, her pupil wild and unhinged as she meets your gaze.
“If he- If he-“ Her voice starts to waiver and crack, the sound of it alone shatters your heart more deeply than it’s already broken.
You pull her desperately into your arms, clutching her close. “He won’t.” You swear it. “He won’t.”
You’ve lost track of time and space until you see Esme come charging in, her heels clicking heavily against the tile with her quick step.
Her dark eyes look frantic even from a distance, her hair half pinned, the other hanging loose and frayed about her face like a bird’s nest, her husband’s blood still smeared across her hands and cheek.
You notice she has only half of the brood with her today as you rise from the bench on her approach.
You barely know the woman. Only met her a time or two briefly, but you want to say something, feel you should say something, but the words never form on your tongue as she leaves the children at your side, next to Charlie and slips past you as if you weren’t there at all.
It’s only when she returns sometime later to fetch the children that you find your tongue.
“Esme,” You breathe heavily off your lips.
She meets your gaze, haunting brown eyes, make-up smeared down beneath her lashes. The grief and emptiness in her eyes steals your breath as your head shakes slowly.
“I’m so sorry.” You manage to say.
Motioning for the kids to rise she looks you dead in the eye, her gaze sharp and unyielding.
“This family’s cursed. ‘Specially Tommy. If yer smart, you’ll take yer boy an’ run as far away from here as yeah can.” She warns you, like a fortune teller revealing your terrible fate.
Then she turns from you, scooping up little ones as she motions the others along. Before she’s gone, like a mirage disappearing on the horizon.
A part of you wonders if you should go, but you know in your heart you can’t leave him.
Your there all day it feels like, people coming and going past those swinging doors as you do your best to keep the boys preoccupied.
Your own nerves rattled and shot as your heart hangs heavy in your chest, trying to wrap your mind around a tragedy that’s too big to grasp.
You don’t know what time it is when Tommy returns. Your back stiff, butt numb from sitting on that wooden bench for too long.
It’s his eyes that catch you first on approach. Those eyes of his, deeper than any you’ve ever known, they stare at you more hollow than you’ve ever seen, blinding against the stark white hall he descends from. His face a tapestry of sharp edges and shadows.
You rise quickly from the bench to meet him. Smoothing out the wrinkles on your skirt as you rise.
You can’t stop yourself as you go to him, your hand finding his cheek, touching the sharp bone softly as those hollow eyes shallow you up on sight.
“Tommy,” You call softly to him with concern, your heart breaking all over again with the sight him, the unspoken pain radiating from his eyes.
Taking your hand, he pulls it from his face, but clutches it tight.
“Let’s go.” He says simply, his voice raspy like a strained whisper.
No explanations, no details, and you accept that, given the circumstance, he owes you nothing right now, as you round up the boys and leave as quickly as you came.
You pull together dinner, if you could call it that - Christmas is ruined, a dark cloud over a treasured day. A permanent stain today will always be remembered by.
“What about Christmas mum?” Finn asks over supper, picking at the sandwiches Linda so generously brought over for the children. His big green eyes staring at you from across the table like a deer caught in the crosshairs.
Little ones eager for presents, Charlie’s quick to chime in, his big worried eyes scanning between Tommy and yourself. “Did Santa forget us?”
Your eyes fall to Tommy beside you at the table, but his lips are mute, gaze strained and miles away as he pulls heavily at his cigarette. Swiftly downing the rest of the whiskey in his glass, before rising unceremoniously from the chair to pour himself another.
Your heart is unbearably heavy as you look back at your boys. Their big eyes awaiting your answer. You haven’t told them about uncle John yet. You’ve been waiting for Tommy to take the lead, but you can see it in his eyes, he isn’t ready to say the words aloud.
With a sad smile and heavy tired eyes, you try your best.
“Santa didn’t forget you, my loves. Something came up is all. He’ll be here tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll celebrate Christmas. Now finish up your supper now.”
Making what little promises you can to ease their worried minds. You can see in their big tender eyes, it’s more than the absence of Christmas.
It’s the sadness in the eyes of everyone around them. The pain hanging heavy in the room. They’re in need of comfort, reassurance and you give it the best you can.
It’s only after supper, after you’ve sipped away at far too much of Tommy’s open bottle of whiskey that the weight and truth of today find you.
Bringing plates to the sink it hits you like a blow to your gut… John’s gone. Died on his own doorstep, in his wife’s arms on Christmas morning.
Tears burn heavy in your eyes, but you don’t understand. The loss is great – yes. The magnitude of this tragedy unbearable, but you barely knew him.
That’s when it hits you - he was like Finn to you in your mind and heart. And with his loss comes an old familiar festering pain of your own.
You brace your hands heavily against the sink to steady yourself as a sharp gasp leaves your lips. Shuttering and quaking up your chest as your throat tightens and tears you can no longer hold in begin to spill free.
“Yeah alright, mum?” You hear Finn call with concern from the table behind you.
You hear a chair slide against the wooden floorboards and heavy steps move your way as a wave of tears and grief wash over you.
“She’s alright, Finn. Take Charlie and go upstairs, get ready for bed. Behave an’ you both can open a present before bed.” Tommy’s voice fills your ears.
So close, and radiating, you practically feel it blowing against your hair before it’s masked by the sound of little feet dashing and scurrying across the floors, pounding up the stairs.
“Come ‘ere, come ‘ere.” Tommy commands on a low whisper as you feel his arms wrap around your shoulders and pull you to him.
You bury your face against his chest, his strong arms winding securely around you, pulling you to him as a sob quakes and rattles its way up your chest and past your lips.
You never got to mourn your brother, not properly. You had a small child to care for, to keep alive. Finn was barely four and you were suddenly on your own.
One of your brother’s old war comrades took you in, let you stay with his family while you figured things out, but there was no mistaking it, you were alone in the world.
You and Finn against the savagery and brutality that canvased the streets of Small Health. You had to survive and for that reason, you buried your brother and moved on. But some losses never leave you…
It wasn’t until this moment, reminded of his death in the face of John’s, the loss of your brother mixing with the tragedy of John’s death, finally you broke.
Your hands clutch and fist at Tommy’s shirt as he holds you close, his lips pressed against the crown of your head, his voice a deep husky whisper against your hair.
“It’s alright, Fee. It’s alright.” He whispers.
It’s then you feel heavy with guilt, Tommy has lost his brother and here you are, the one in tears. Pulling back from his embrace, you wipe the tears quickly from your eyes.
Pulling yourself together, you make yourself strong like you’ve had to so many times before.
Rising on your toes to reach for him, you look into Tommy’s sad eyes as you slip your arms behind his neck and pull him into a tight hug.
The pain was undeniable in his eyes and surely compounded by all the things he’ll never get to say to John, the amends he never got to make.
“I’m so sorry Tommy. I’m so sorry.” You whisper softly against his ear, holding him close as you feel him slowly give in, slowly bury his face against your neck.
“I know how much you loved John.”
You can hear his breath grow heavy as strongly as you can feel it vibrating off against your neck. You feel his arms clutch you tighter at your waist, his hand running slowly up your spine as he draws your body flush against him.
Your skin heats up, your breath quickens with the closeness. The heat of his body seeping past his cloths and into yours from such close range.
“It’s ok,” You whisper, your words barely audible they’re so faint as you stroke the back of his head, hair pricking at your palm as you feel Tommy’s heavy breath waver against your neck, his muscles tighten around you.
But just as quickly as you have him, he’s pulling away like smoke in the wind. You see tears shine in his eyes before he quickly pinches at them to cast them away. Composing himself, killing his feelings like no one does better.
“I’ll get the presents.” He says vaguely, clearing his throat, finding any excuse to escape this moment as he slips from your side and leaves the room.
It breaks your heart, but as you know all too well, there’s no cure for grief and you accept he simply isn’t ready.
“Present! Present!” You hear echoing down the stairs to the rhythm of little feet trotting down old wooden steps.
You turn toward the boys as they reappear, anxiously awaiting their prize with barely contained excited. The sight of them draws the first smile on your face for the day.
Seeing that light in their eyes nothing can extinguish, watching in amusement as they fidget and squirm barely able to contain themselves. At least there’s this, this beauty not even the horrors of today can steal from Christmas.
You’re drunk, plain and simple. You lost track of how many swings you took from Tommy’s bottle and you can’t recall if you’ve eaten anything today, but at least you had enough sense to put the children to bed.
Careful not to wake them as you picked them up one by one off the floor where they tuckered out after all the chaos at the hospital and playing with their new toy.
Takin’ them upstairs, you placed them together in the bed meant for you and Finn. Figurin’ they’d feel safer together tonight, before going in search of Tommy. You lost sight of him after the boys opened their present, but you let him be, figuring he needed a little time and space.
You find him in the room he told you use to be his when you all arrived early in the morning. He’s standing by the window, tall and commanding, gazing out into the darkness beyond.
He turns around with the sound of you. Your eyes meet as you wrap your arms around yourself.
“The boys are tucked in bed in the next room.” You tell him quietly.
He nods with understanding. “And you?”
“Thought yeah might like some company.” You say, with a light shrug, suddenly not as confident about comin’ in here after him, but you had felt in your heart, still do, he shouldn’t be alone right now. Not after today.
Tommy turns from the window, staring at you with eyes as deep and hollow as the day’s events.
“I was ‘bout to wash up. Care to join me?” He says, his face serious as a stone as if what he’s just asked you isn’t utterly salacious.
The whiskey makes you snort when you laugh in response, your eyes surveying the room and finally noticing the copper washtub by the fireplace, steam rising off it.
“No,” You answer, smile tugging on your lips. Barely the second smile you’ve had all day.
But Tommy doesn’t laugh with you, instead he takes a step toward you.
“Join me.” He says again, his breath far too calm for a man with a request of this magnitude.
His eyes reaching for you, practically sinking tethers into your belly and pulling you to him.
Tommy’s been drinking. He’s probably had twice what you have, but he still looks more sober on his feet than you. But you’re not fooled, you know you’re both drunk.
“No,” You tell him more firmly this time, your voice quiet, your head shaking slowly from side to side.
“Could wash the blood off.” He tells you as he takes another steady step toward you. Your face scrunches in confusion, and Tommy elaborates. “Your hands and hair.”
Looking down, you finally see it, dried underneath your nails. You grab at your hair, finding a few dry matted patches.
You hadn’t even noticed. You never touched John or Michael, never saw them. You must have gotten it from Polly when you were trying to comfort her or the night before when you found Tommy covered in blood.
You haven’t gotten a moments peace until now in the last twenty-four hours. After years of quiet, it feels like the whole world is coming at you full speed.
“I’ve seen plenty of naked women, Fiona.” Tommy tells you, his voice suddenly so close as you look up and find him standing right before you.
His words might have wounded you if you were together, but you’re not, so you don’t let them.
You understand he’s not trying to hurt you, he’s trying to disarm you, and you meet him with a challenge of your own.
“That may be, but you’ve never seen me naked.” You answer back, meeting his eyes with a challenge of your own.
An amused light touches Tommy’s eyes with your response, sends a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.
But then he’s moving into your personal space, leaning in closer to your face, his voice as intoxicating as the drink burning through your veins.
“Then I’ll close my eyes while you undress and climb in the tub. Just bring yer knees up. I won’t see a thing, love.” He whispers to you, his husky breath warm against your cheeks, winding you up in a way only Tommy can.
Your heart starts to pound, your mind grows fuzzy under the power of his proximity, his smell and the coaxing sound of his voice, as you try desperately to hang onto your last shred of decency.
With eyes closed, afraid to meet his gaze, you shake your head no.
“No Tommy.” You whisper back, hanging by a thread, trying to stay strong.
Then you feel his head fall to yours, pressing lightly. His hand cups your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek, as his breath fans against your lips.
“I need yeah, Fee.” His breath is heavy and aching at the end.
The first real sound you’ve heard him make all night. It reminds you of everything he’s lost today, everything he went through.
His little brother gunned down on his doorstep on Christmas morning. His cousin in the hospital with an uncertain fate.
And despite every rational reason inside you, you find yourself slowly nodding in agreement, surrendering.
Tommy keeps his word. His eyes stay closed as you nervously strip off your dress and stockings, slipping quickly into the washtub.
The water is hot, instantly calming and soothing all your tired achy muscles from a day that felt like it went on forever.
Sinking under the water, you try to rinse any lingering blood and sweat from your hair and face before you come back up and push your back against the washtub.
Pulling your hair over your shoulders, you draw your knees up tight to your chest and give him the word.
You shut your eyes as Tommy undresses, even though he never says you have to. Heart pounding hard in your chest, you draw your lower lip nervously between your teeth.
Your nerves are on edge in anticipation as you feel the water shift around you and listen as Tommy slides in across from you.
You feel his toes brush at yours, the slightest tease of skin to skin. This washtub wasn’t made for two, not like this.
You hear your breath coming out quick and you find you’re not ready to open your eyes, as you start to second guess your decision. You’ve never bathed with a man before, it’s been years since you were even naked with one.
But then you feel Tommy’s hand brush yours at the edge of washtub, rubbing gently over the back of your hand.
“Relax Fiona. It’s only a bath.” Tommy coaxes you gently, like a horse that’s gone spooked.
Slowly you open your eyes and Tommy fills your vision. It’s only reassurance you see in his piercing blue eyes.
Releasing your hand, he leans back against the end of the washtub, the back of his head resting on the rounded lip of it as he draws a cigarette to his lips and his eyes fall closed.
He has far more room than you, but he’s larger, and yet, he still feels so close.
You try to distract yourself from the intimacy of this position. Far more intimate than any you’ve shared with a man in years.
His tattoo’s catch your eye. You wanna ask Tommy about the ones on his chest and arms. You wonder what they mean, but you’re afraid you shouldn’t be starin’.
Even though given the current situation that’s a little hard. His body tempts the resolve of your gaze. You can’t help but drink him in. Lean, but strong. His muscles defined, but not intimidated.
Tommy’s strong, looking at him completely exposed you know he could take you, pin you to a wall or any other surfaces he pleased, but not break you, like some of the men who come out of the factories. Men you fear would snap you like a twig, but not Tommy, he’s cut in all the right places. Places you wish your wandering mind wouldn’t notice so keenly…
“Escaped the fuckin Prussian calvary-“ Tommy speaks up suddenly, catching your attention.
“Got ‘im out of the fuckin trenches, got ‘im home safe in one piece. An’ he dies on his own fuckin doorstep, ‘cause I needed Vincenzo Changrette to pay.” Tommy says low on his breath, words barely audible as he pinches tightly at the bridge of his nose before taking another long pull of his cigarette.
Tommy’s confession absolutely breaks your heart. Admitting what you already presumed, he blames himself for what happened to John. But you see now it’s more than that.
You remember the story he told you in what feels like life time’s ago now, of the bleak midwinter. You remember Tommy shared he was a superior officer. He did everything he could to get his men and brothers home, get his little brother back safe.
And for what? So he could be gunned down Christmas morning in front of his wife. The circumstances of it all is unbearable. But there’s no way Tommy could have known it would go down like that and knowing he holds himself responsible pierces through your heart.
“Tommy,” You call, voice breaking with concern as you reach for his hand.
He squeezes it lightly in return, but never lifts his head off the rim of the tub, never looks your way.
“The water feels good, eh?” Tommy asks, changing the subject, his breath rolling off in a way that tells you that conversation is done and he won’t be speaking of it again.
“It’s nice.” You agree, releasing his hand and respecting his wishes even if they break your heart.
You relax enough to rest your cheek on your arm as it sits along the rim of the washtub. While your other hand skims along the top of the water, the steam rises up around you, clearing out your senses and slowly lulling your mind.
Mixing with the whiskey heavy in your blood, leaving you relaxed and subdued as you listen to the crackle of the fire at your back, it’s warmth radiating against your bare skin.
You lose track of time, it all begins to slip away, the horrors of the day, the pain in your heart.
But even in the haze you sense it. Feel his eyes on you before you slowly raise yours to meet his gaze. Those powerful deep blue eyes waiting, ready to capture you.
Tommy’s looking at you in that way of his, like no one else can. Like you’re the only person in the world. Making you belly coil and senses come alive. He’s so handsome it terrifies you.
With those deep-set eyes, made ever darker by the rise of his cheekbones, the sharp edge of his jaw, and those lips your tongue still desires to drag against, your teeth to nip at.
After Finn’s father you set feelings of love and desire aside. There’s no room for them in a game of survival. No one, but him has tempted your resolve. No one, but Tommy has made that side of you come back to life.
His eyes hold you steady and you find yourself sitting in silence, staring into the soul of a tortured man bound to linger among the living long after he’s stopped giving a damn about life and death. A man you’ve so foolishly let yourself fall for. And sometimes you swear he knows it too.
The way he looks at you, it makes your belly flutter, your heart beat faster, and suddenly you’re seventeen again and you know you’re in way over your head, about to do something you can never take back.
Sitting up out of the water, Tommy takes your hand from the rim of the washtub and gently pulls you toward him.
“Come ‘ere.” He whispers, his voice deep and husky, like something from down below come to pull you under.
“No,” You whisper back with a slow shake of your head. Trying to hold on to your good sense.
But Tommy is relentless and he knows you’re weak to him. He knows you want to, he always knows.
Leaning in closer to you, Tommy tugs you far enough into the middle of the tub for his other hand to slip through your wet hair and pull you close.
Stripping the breath from your lips as he steals a kiss. Soft and slow, his mouth melting into yours in a way you could swear reveals he’s weak for you too, before he slowly leans back just enough.
“What’d yea say, Fiona?” He tempts, his breath a husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.
Your eyes open and meet his dark determined pair and you know you’ve lost this battle. You lost it the moment you climbed into this tub.
You want to fight, but what’s the point? He already has you. He already knows your weakness.
And looking into his blue eyes, you think you might know his too.
The heat, and the steam, and the whiskey - after everything that’s already happened today, suddenly his eyes look like damned salvation, like maybe you could heal each other from this pain.
Drawing your knees slowly down into the water, Tommy’s hand finds your waist, guiding you as you shift positions, his dark steady gaze never leaving yours.
His legs slip past yours, the feel of skin on skin catches your breath for a moment. You find your thighs sliding down along either side of him as Tommy pulls you over to his side of the washtub, the water sloshing about with the movement.
Lowering onto his lap, your hands settle and curl around the muscles on his shoulders to steady yourself. You feel the length of him already growing firm beneath you and your eyes pinch shut as a shaky breath vibrates off your lips and a shiver runs over your body, out through your spine.
“Tommy,” You let out on a breath shaky from nerves, your hand slipping around the back of his neck, along his short-cropped hair as the other holds steady to the lean muscle of his shoulder, your fingertips tracing the scar on his back.
You haven’t been with a man in years and the last time you were all he cared about was getting his, you could have been anyone.
Finn’s father was different, but you’re old enough now to know the intensity of young love is what made that passion burn so hot, but you knew nothing back then, he was your first.
Now suddenly you find yourself in a whole new league, with a man nearly ten years your senior, torn between mounting desire and uncertainty of the unknown.
But Tommy always seems to read you, and he’s gentle, far more gentle than the man that runs these streets. The man who’s maimed and beaten countless men.
The hands that touch you feel like they aren’t capable of such atrocities. Only his calluses and unyielding hold of his grip give way to a darker craftsmanship.
The warm wetness you feel on his hand is soothing as he tenderly cups your cheek once more. While his arm wraps around your back, pulling you closer to his chest in a way that makes you feel safe in his arms.
“It’s ok, Fiona…” He tells you softly, his voice deep and convincing as if he’s promising he won’t let you fall.
Skin to skin you can hardly breathe as you grow drunker off the feel of his strength melting into your softness.
Opening your eyes, you look deeply into Tommy’s as he rests right before you, your noses brushing lightly at the tip as the water sways around you, and in that moment, you believe him. You believe this is ok.
What your doing isn’t a mistake you’ll both have to answer for later. A choice not driven by grief and whiskey. Or a hollowness inside you that desires to be filled, but something worth breaking all your rules for.
And you trust him. Trust him to be here in this moment, while you’re both so broken and exposed. And when Tommy draws your face to his for a slow burning kiss, you never look back.
His kiss burns against your mouth with need, creating a hunger you haven’t felt in so long you nearly forgot you could feel it.
But as you break apart and look deep into his eyes, you see it again. Tommy hides it well, always pushing it down, but you remember it. It’s that same vulnerable look in his eyes he had when you first started working for him, after Grace died.
It tells you what some have forgotten, but you already know, Tommy isn’t dead inside, even though he wishes he was. He still feels the crushing weight of his actions. He may not show it often, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t eat him alive.
You run your hands tenderly along the edge of his face as the sight of his pain breaks your heart.
“Tommy,” You breathe out to him as his gaze drops to your body, his hands sweeping your wet hair back behind your shoulders as he begins to slowly caress and explore the shape of you.
Slipping above and beneath the water, as his palms roam the contours of your curves, his fingertips lingering teasingly on the delicate spots that make you gasp and shiver.
His dark eyes shooting back up to yours as a heavy sigh leaves your lips with the feel of his thumb brushing teasingly against the peak of your nipple, your breast full in his palm.
Drunk off the moment, there’s hunger in his eyes as his hands work to elicit the same pleasure driven cry from you again and again.
Tommy kisses you hard, devouring the taste of you when he can’t take just watching you melt in his hands any longer. You feel him stroke you along your thigh, his exploration advancing.
As the kiss breaks apart, the tip of his nose brushes your own, you still see it, slivers of the pain that makes those often unyielding blue eyes look so vulnerable to you now.
You cup the side of his jaw, running your thumb along the scruff of his cheek, heart heavy with the pain in his stare.
“Tommy,” You call to him softly again.
But you realize he can’t go there as Tommy’s hand trails up your thigh. The other gripping your hip so you can’t jerk away from his touch as his fingers find your warmth and begin to gently caress you, stealing a gasp of surprise and pleasure from your lips as you finally see this is what Tommy needs.
You realize this is what he wants. This is what you can give him to ease his pain and yours too as he leans in to steal the gasp from you lips.
The fire continues to burn strong, filling the room with radiating heat that compliments the whiskey humming through your veins, but it’s the passion of Tommy’s kiss and the move of his fingers that really sets you on fire. Curling, finding places inside of you, you swear only his hands can reach.
He loves to tease you. Loves the way you rock against his palm, hips grinding against him, begging for more.
“Is that the spot?” He toys with you as if he can’t see you’re coming undone. His breath husky and as drunk as you feel as you gasp against into his kiss, consumed by pleasure.
You want to feel him too, discover him, bring Tommy as much pleasure as he’s rushing through your veins.
Your hand slips from his shoulder, trailing down the valleys and grooves of his chest and taunt abdomen, exploring the feel of his body on your hand as it slips down beneath the water.
It’s the sound Tommy makes when you take ahold of him, the heat of it vibrating against the shell of your ear, sending shivers rippling under your skin.
The grit of his breath coupled with the feel of Tommy’s fingers pushing faster within you, stroking that sensitive spot that sets your senses on fire, and suddenly you’re coming completely unraveled in his hand.
Your forehead presses firmly into his as you rock urgently against him trying to chase the high. Your breath ragged and escaping you as your grip tightens around him.
“That’s it,” You hear Tommy whisper to you encouragingly, his breath strangled and heavy as the rhythm of his hand urges you to ride out the high racing through your veins, leaving your body on fire and his name gasping softly off your lips in desperation.
You could stop here, locked in each other’s arms, take each other to the edge and fall off with your hands alone.
But’s it’s not enough, not nearly enough. And you know it isn’t for Tommy either as he grips your cheek firmly, staring deep into your eyes as you come back down from your release.
His pupils blown wide, eyes so dark behind heavy lids you could almost swear the flame came from him and not the fireplace at your back.
It’s the way Tommy kisses you, nipping at your neck and jaw before devouring your mouth to fill you with the taste of him.
His frenzied assault leaves you wanton and rocking against his hand to relieve the pressure that’s suddenly mounting inside you once again.
His kiss, it moves against you like he’s wanted this, wanted you for far longer than tonight, but tonight he needs you. Needs you to purge him of everything he can’t bear to feel inside any longer.
And despite trying to push it all away, you want this too. Want to be his. Want Tommy to know you, all of you, even if just for tonight.
As his fingers leave the warmth of you, you have to resist the whimper that quivers at your lip with the loss of him, but as his hand covers yours, stroking the length of him together, you know what’s coming.
Tommy thrusts inside you as his tongue delves deep within the warm recess of your mouth, drowning your cries as your body envelopes him, your mouth filling with the taste of him as your body does the same.
Your hands wrap wildly around the back of his neck, your forehead pressed firmly into his, your breath short and hitched as your body tenses trying to accommodate him; it’s been years since a man was inside you.
Tommy clutches you close, his fingers caressing the curve of your hips, breath panting and ragged against your jawline and neck as he peppers you with tender kisses, working your body to relax.
Tommy grips firmly at your face as your hips start to roll against him, slowly at first, rediscovering the feel of this.
His fingers curling around the line of your jaw and neck as Tommy seeks out your eyes, staring into those endless pits as if they could reach down to the very fiber of your soul as he fills you completely.
Water runs off your chin and down along your neck as Tommy grips at your jaw and pushes your head back, moving you as he pleases.
His lips kiss and nip their way down your neck as you lean back with his assault, the angle arching your back into Tommy as you rock against him, sinking him deeper inside you and leaving an aching gasp of pleasure spilling rapidly from your lips.
Tommy’s kiss picks up its pace as it returns your mouth, stealing the breath right off your lips as your mind wages a war between the need for air and the taste of him against your tongue.
Your arms clutch him tighter, hands desperately gripping at his neck and down along his back as Tommy takes charge.
His arm snaked securely around your back as Tommy uses his strength to move you up and down along the length of him as he pleases, the water gliding you faster as his hips thrusting into you in wild tandem.
There’s a feeling, that same demanding hunger building deep between your thighs once again with every thrust. You chase it, desperate to feel it again and again as it builds every time Tommy pushes deep within you, your bodies colliding.
Your hips rock frantically against him, following his lead, greedy for that feeling. The kind of pleasure that clouds your thoughts, makes every nerve in your body tingle and spark as it builds and mounts with the promise to explode if only you can catch it.
Water splashes heavily at your back like waves crashing in toward the beach as you and Tommy charge closer toward the edge - lost in each other.
You know it’s spilling out of the tub onto the old wooden floorboards below, you can hear the heavy drops, but you can’t bring yourself to care as Tommy’s grips your tighter, pulling you back down onto him at the exact moment he’s pushing recklessly into you. Sending a desperate gasp reverberating into his open mouth as a shockwave of pleasure jolts you violently closer to the abyss.
You’ve never felt like this before, not even with Tony.
Tommy knows your body so well without ever having touched it before. Every button, every itch, his experience reveals itself as he drives you closer and closer to the inevitable edge you’re so hungry to reach.
With Tommy every sense inside your body is completely on fire. Every sense inside focused on him and what’s building between you. Nothing else matters, the world doesn’t exist.
Your hands grip desperately at him, breath panting as you steal another kiss he’s all too willing to give. Your hunger for release growing more frantic as Tommy’s hands grip and mold at your flesh. Moving your body in ways that only heighten your pleasure and leave you desperately following his lead in hopes for more.
Your senses flood with the feel of Tommy thrusting within you, filling you till you can hardly breathe. The feel of his hands - moving you, teaching you how to go higher than you ever have before.
You gasp desperately against his mouth as he lifts you off him slowly only to swiftly pull you back down before you can even catch your breath.
“Tommy-“ You gasp, your body clenching around him as you begin to teeter over the edge.
“Tommy-“ His name keep spilling from your lips and against his as your heart pounds wildly out of control.
Your breath begs for that undefinable relief you know only he can give you as your clutch wildly at the back of his head, holding him as close as you can get.
You feel Tommy’s hand leave the curve of your back with the desperate plea from your lips, sinking beneath the water before it finds you.
You gasp sharply, your eyes locked on Tommy’s as the pad of his thumb finds the sensitive bud of your body, tucked tightly between your waring bodies, at the apex of your thighs.
Your fingers dig into his scalp and back, your head pressing firmly into his as you rock frantically against his hand and the length of him, reaching for something just beyond your reach and yet so close.
A place you feel only he can take you as the swirl of his thumb suddenly sends it charging at you. Your heart pounds beyond control, you can hardly breath, lost in the sensation of Tommy all around you, the fullness of him within you as you feel yourself begin to slip and crumble.
You feel Tommy’s fingers dig into your back, his breath growing deeper and more erratic against your lips as he speaks.
“That’s right, love… Let go.” The husky rich grit of his breath is heavy against your lips, giving you that final push over the edge as you clench your thighs around Tommy, your hips grinding against him as the swirl his thumb drives the madness racing inside you.
Suddenly the world stops as you gasp sharply, Tommy gripping you tight. For a split second everything disappears, blows out around you like a giant explosion far bigger than the first one, only to come crashing back in like a tsunami, washing over you in waves of fire and ecstasy.
Sparking and burning so hot it blows out your senses as you rock harder against him, listening as your voice gasps out his name as if it’s the only name you know.
You feel Tommy falling apart seconds behind you, your release pushing him over the edge as he grips you tightly against him, the strength of his arms holding you flush to his body.
Skin against skin, you’re still riding out the explosion pulsing through you, his name pitching off your breath and into Tommy’s ear as his rhythm grows more frantic, more erratic by the second, his breath gasping.
Tommy’s grip on you grows tighter as he moves you more swiftly against him. You try desperately to find your breath as you feel Tommy’s head fall heavily onto your shoulder, his face in the crook of your neck as your fingers tug at his hair.
A curse rips deep from within his throat, your name following quick behind in a heavy burst of breath against the nape of your neck as you feel his muscles grow tight all around you. As you feel Tommy tense beneath your palms, against your body as he releases into you.
You come down slowly in the grips of a heavy haze. Tommy holds you firmly to him as he slowly sinks deeper into the water.
Dragging you with him as his head settles along the back lip of the tub. His breath sounds as heavy as yours feels.
You can feel his heart pounding through his chest beneath you to the same frantic beat yours is moving to. You rest your head against his shoulder, his skin slick from water and sweat.
Your face settles in the crook of his neck as your body lies sprawled across him. You don’t try to move, you stay like this, with him still inside you, and the hold Tommy has on you tells you he doesn’t want you to go anywhere either.
Every fiber in your body feels completely spent as your eyes lull closed. Your lips trail lazily against the skin of his neck before you kiss him tenderly.
You hear Tommy spark a cigarette. You listen half in a dream as he pulls at it, listen as the smoke blows free from his lips.
Your arms winding around him beneath the warm water as your breath slows and deepens.
He shifts just slightly, his cheek turning into you before his lips press against your brow, while the hand on your back moves lazily along your spine.
Your lulled by the slow steadying of his breath, the feel of his touch, the inhale and exhale as he pulls from his cigarette, the slow burn of the paper.
The fire leaves the room warm, but the feel of Tommy beneath you, wrapped around you, leaves you warmer.
The heaviness of the world and all the pain that awaits you in the morning slowly slips away as your eyes fall closed.
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Primrose Path (Harry Wells x Reader, Chapter 1)
Rating: Explicit
Summary: When you, a lovely florist, move to Central City to open your flower shop, you had no idea you’d fall for such a complicated and dangerous man who deals in a less-than-legal business. Harrison Wells - a major player and powerhouse within the underground mafia world of the region - sweeps you off your feet as you quickly become his greatest weakness.
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Mentions of War, Coarse Language, Blood and Violence, Minor Character Deaths
Tag List: @aryasnape @cursedfaechild @jadedragon1903 @disneyoncerlover815 @child-of-winter-1215 (please check to see if your Tumblr settings are set to receive mentions from us for future tag related purposes!)
A/N: Well, here we are. After four months over our labour of love, @central-city-meta-pocalypse @letyourimaginationrun and I would like to present our baby, Primrose Path. We will each alternate in posting the chapters, kind of like how they did the Crisis on Earth X crossover - each posting a part of the whole product. For example, next week I will reblog Chapter 2 from C-C-M-P so that everyone has had a chance to read it (if you don’t already follow each of us). Please keep in mind this is an AU - Alternate Universe - so not everything will be canon. We’ve made plenty of changes to fit our story. And so, after writing +100,000 words of a story full of fluff, angst, drama, sex, heartbreak, and so much love, we are extremely happy to finally be able to share this with all of you. Thank you for being patient and without further ado, here’s Chapter 1!
Primrose Path.
Phrase: the pursuit of pleasure, especially when it is seen to bring disastrous consequences...
You had heard about Central City and their metahuman phenomenon, but seeing a person’s abilities with your own two eyes is the most amazing thing you’ve ever witnessed.
When you'd watched the reports on the news before moving here, they only ever showed the dangers of metahumans and the ones who decided to try and bring this city to its knees.
But your first encounter is nothing like that.
You almost drench your poor flower pot stationed outside your flower shop, Primrose Path, when you see your first metahuman. The man is rugged and dirty with tattered clothes. You assume he’s homeless, and offer a kind smile. He returns it, then takes notice of the begonia display drooping - a cause of the relentless summer sun. The man reaches for a petal, and instantly at the contact, the flower blooms back to life in full colour. You stand there mesmerized. It's an utterly incredible gift, the power of restoration, right there at this man's fingertips.
“My goodness, thank you, Sir-”
“-Stand back, Miss!” hollers an authoritative voice. When you turn, you see a tall, blond, and well-groomed police officer who is taking cautious steps towards the man, acting as though he's just threatened your life rather than give assistance to your flowers. His hand is readily on his gun in his holster. You start to panic.
“No, no, really officer! I’m fine, he-”
“Get inside to safety, now!” he shouts. You drop your watering can and the contents spill all across the sidewalk. There’s no reason to be afraid, but the tone of the officer’s words themselves is what’s most frightening. You heed his orders and run into your flower shop. The very second you close the door, the officer clamps a pair of rather heavy duty handcuffs on the man, who is now hanging his head, and reads him his rights.
But even though muffled behind the glass, it sounds as if this metahuman, this man who did no wrong, has none.
***
Harry ends his call, sighing heavily as he sinks back down at his desk. Papers litter the glass plane, all regarding new projects and current ones to be approved for Scientific and Technological Advanced Research Laboratories - or S.T.A.R. Labs - utilization.
Tossing his own phone aside, his hand smooths over one of the documents in front of him. He presses his lips into a thin line, anger culminating inside him from the phone call. He takes a small gadget from the corner of his desk and hurls it to the other side of the room. The device shatters when it smashes against the wall.
Frustrated, that's what he is. Annoyed, about to go ballistic - a volcano preparing to erupt and spread fiery lava at any second.
There’s a brief, firm knock at his office door.
"What?" he snaps, one hand rubbing his temple while his other hand grips the arm of his chair. The door opens and a man puts his head around it, looking a little anxious at the tone of his boss' voice.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Sir, but we've just had news that one of the vacant shops has been occupied by someone no one seems to have heard of. Apparently they’re from out of town. It's only two blocks away and... Well, we thought you should know."
Harry's eyes narrow at the lower-rank man, adjusting his posture so that an elbow is propped on the armrest of his chair while his chin sits in the middle of his palm. He looks at the timid employee for a few seconds, with a dangerous storm brewing in his glare. The younger man swallows, palms sweaty as he avoids doing any sort of action to piss off the dark-haired scientist.
"I'll deal with it," Harry grumbles through gritted teeth, bitter rage still boiling within him from the previous and unsuccessful phone conversation. The blond goon senses that his boss is feeling extremely prickly at the moment and simply moves forward, placing a piece of paper with the address of the new tenant on the edge of the desk. Turning, he leaves in a hurry without any further words so as to not poke the bear.
Two blocks away? That was awfully close. Somewhere for someone new to get near to him, threaten him in his own territory.
Harry stands, walking over to the large window which overlooks the city below him. This is his city, and he'll be damned if someone tries to make a move to change that. He grabs his gun and strides through the company building, holding an antagonistic expression and glaring at anyone who dares look him in the eye.
Outside, the sun is up in the middle of the vast blue sky, signalling that it’s midday. The city bustles with noise as people chatter through the streets and birds chirp from tree to tree. If anything, the city-life only fuels Harry’s bellicose mood as the world around him seems to experience ecstasy and bliss while he has to address a current complication on his territory.
Harry continues his war-path through the populous streets, weaving through the gaps in the crowds to arrive at the now occupied property. His hand instinctively touches the cool metal of his concealed gun behind him, slender fingers at the ready to pull out the firearm if necessary.
Danger, an anomaly, or another bastard seeking to do away with his work - Harry’s prepared to show whoever the hell set foot on his property just who owns Central City.
What Harry doesn’t expect is coming face to face with… potted plants? An array of flowers that sit within tiny, terracotta pots… He blinks, reading the sign above, Primrose Path, thinking this is some sort of prank or front.
Is this really a floral shop?
Outside the quaint business sit several baskets of brightly coloured flowers, leading up to the door where beyond it, lay more and more crates of blooms all over the interior of the shop. And that's when Harry first hears your voice come from just inside the door.
"Six pink roses and a selection of white flowers to fill it out, wasn’t it? Oh, I’m sure that’ll make a wonderful display. Your mother is going to love it!"
Maybe Harry wasn’t as prepared as he thought.
The tenderness of your voice was definitely something he didn't expect. In fact, it rather takes him aback. Harry ducks and steps out of the way of the window so he wouldn’t be spotted, casting a glance at this new ‘resident’. Oddly enough though, when he catches sight of you, his fingers go limp from clutching his weapon. A weird, warm feeling courses through him as his eyes scan what they can from where he currently stands. It must be his gut warning him of something. With eyebrows knitting together, Harry figures he should go about this with caution.
He observes you with the customer, who had supposedly said something humorous because Harry hears you giggle and sees you covering your mouth. Your eyes crinkle in this adorable way that makes his stomach flip.
“Damn... she’s cute,” he mutters while hiding behind a hanging plant, peeking in through the window once more. He watches you for a few minutes, interacting with the customer and arranging a recent delivery of stock in your new premises. Your bright smile is utterly captivating and Harry finds the corner of his mouth turn up in a tiny smile as he looks at you. You couldn't be a threat, surely? No one that sweet would be trying to challenge him.
You let out another radiant laugh before Harry decides it’s time to leave. At the moment, he doesn’t consider you a risk or even a potential enemy in the future. Sometimes the property he owned was just a prime piece of real estate for someone to open a business. He has a hard time remembering that not everyone in this world has it in for him.
His hands bury into his pants pockets, still unable to wipe his smile away. He walks back to his company with the bell-like sound of your voice replaying in his head. The image of yourself has been burned into his mind.
"I'll come back and deal with this later," he whispers to himself, now registering how dry his throat had become.
He’ll deal with it... just not in the way he initially thought.
***
Ding ding!
You can’t stop the little gasp that escapes you when you see who it is walking through your door.
Since the event with the cop and the metahuman outside your shop, you’d been researching the creation and rise of the metahumans, and all of your reading seemed to culminate around the man now standing at the counter in your inconsequential little shop; one of the most famous, or maybe infamous, people in the city.
Doctor Harrison Wells.
From what you’d read, the man was a mystery, wrapped up in an enigma, wrapped up in a suit. A rather gorgeous, designer suit at that.
Several articles you’d found linked back to the War of the Americas and Harrison Wells’ name was prominently featured within them. He’d been discharged at the end of the war with a commendation and an award for bravery, though you hadn’t been able to find what it had been an award for. But now he seems to be seen more as a war-hero-turned-mad-scientist who had seen fit to turn this city upside down for his own gain as no one in Central City seemed to know what he and his team were working on in the high-rise S.T.A.R Labs building.
But despite much of this mockery and antagonism towards him, he had never been challenged to stop his work. He was a force to be reckoned with, and woe betides anyone who got in his way.
The rumours surrounding him seemed to go from the sublime to the ridiculous and you could not work out which, if any, were actually true. People said that since the war, there was a dark, underworld-type nature of most of his business that no one particularly wanted to talk about. He seemed to exude an aura of fear to the people of this city.
He apparently owned property in virtually every block, knew how to pay off the right people to get him what he needed and had a reputation of being able to… effectively deal with those who refused. The gossip all said that he dealt in the shadows, manipulating those small gangs in the criminal underworld to create the biggest empire the city had ever seen. Which, despite the mayor and elected officials, left Harrison Wells as the undisputed king of all of it.
But you couldn’t bring yourself to believe any of it. A man awarded such an honour during his service surely wouldn’t then come home to terrorize his own city. He was just another businessman, trying to make his way in a corporate world and people wanted to demonize him for his success.
Which brings you to the current hitch in your breath as the rumoured secret King of Central City lays a small bundle of bright blue flowers on your counter. His dark hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it, nothing like the styled pictures on the covers of magazines you’d seen. You notice his piercing blue eyes study you as you watch him. It’s hard not to be captivated by his handsome features but you force yourself to be professional again when he speaks.
“Hi there,” he says.
“H-hello,” you reply timidly. “Is this everything for you, today?”
“It is, thank you.” You ring in the bundle and tell him the cost. Harrison Wells slides a few bills across the flat surface to you, which you then place into the cash register. “Have a nice day...”
You offer your name at his hesitation and notice a slight tug in the upper corner of his mouth.
“(Y/N)... beautiful name.” You can’t hold back an uncontrollable, bright smile at his compliment. He doesn’t seem so scary. Harrison Wells turns to leave, but without his purchase.
“Uh, Sir? You forgot your flowers.”
“I didn’t forget,” the man says with a wink, leaving the shop as the door jingles when he exits. You pick up the pretty blue bundle of flowers and finally process their name.
Forget-Me-Nots.
[Chapter 2]
#reader insert#harrison wells x reader#harrison wells imagine#harrison wells fanfiction#harry wells x reader#harry wells imagine#earth-2 Harrison Wells X reader#earth-2 Harrison Wells imagine#the flash imagine#the flash fanfiction#primrose path#fanfiction#wells trash trio
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