#i listened to “kiss from a rose” by seal while proofing this . . .
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"you have invited CHILDE to a rematch . . .
keep your dog on a leash
✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!male!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!childe, puppy play, collar/leash/dog ears/tail plug, anal play, vaginal sex, riding to g-whiz pipeline, praise + dirty talk, creaming, creampie, alluded aftercare .
A/N : it's about time i continued this（；´д｀）ゞ
"is that correct, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to confirm."
"I thought you were bluffing."
You smile. "What makes you think that, puppy?"
Ajax swallows harshly; the movement of his Adam's apple is enthralling, a nervous up n' down that you follow with your eyes. It's not obstructed quite yet, but the leather in your hands begs to encircle his throat; so, too, does the strip of it that hangs and brushes against your feet.
"I just—" A pitiful whine bleeds into his words as he shakes his head, tilting it obediently back to allow you to clip the collar in place. You gently cup his neck in your hands, satiating that itch of yours.
You tease with a small, "You just?" even as he shifts from leg to leg, the tail-plug you've donned him with a heavy weight in his ass. The tail—a bright orange, the faux fur of it striking against his pale n' scarred skin—only accentuates the pretty headband on the crown of his head, one ear pointed up and one left floppy like a lil' puppydog.
He whines. "Stop teasing."
"'m not," you defend, albeit weakly for you know you've been caught, red-handed and hands-full of Ajax, releasing him to instead tilt his head up by his jaw and to fiddle with the clasp at the end of the leather strip. It's equal in color to the collar he already wears, and it clicks into place easily; you allow yourself to whistle at it. "Pretty puppy, all leashed up for me."
Of course, any retort or complaint from him falls short when you've got him fixed in your lap; Ajax's body trembles, foot to head, as he softly moans into your own throat. You can feel the cool metal of his dog tag brushing against your skin—just like the way the fur of his tail, still snug inside his ass and pressing against your cock where you're balls-deep in his cunt, tickles at your legs.
Deep and husky, small groans tumble from your throat with each rhythmic clench of his cunt, teased wide from your fingers, earlier, and now stretched to its limit with you buried inside. "Relax, puppy," you have to say, have to stroke his tense thighs with the broad palms of your hands to soothe him.
"I—mm—I can't, you're—" he hiccups, soft and low but keening. "You're too big."
You quietly laugh, but the movement of your torso jostles Ajax slightly and makes his grip across your shoulders tighten. "Sorry, sweet thing," you murmur, letting him relax into you with a bated sigh.
In apology, you run your fingers—feather-light—across the tops of his thighs, jumping from freckle to freckle, and kiss him on the top of his head, right between his pretty puppydog ears. The droopy one brushes your cheek in semblance of a kiss.
It's endearing—cute, even; or rather adorable, like a real puppy, the ones you see across every city—, the way he nuzzles into your throat. You think he'd purr if he could.
(Puppy, kitten: same fucking difference.)
"Pup," you murmur (because this is puppy-play, tonight), thrusting your hips up once, twice. He cries out at the pleasure, at the friction of your pelvis bumping against his sensitive cock.
But then you still, and you gently tug his head out of your throat by the soft n' worn leather leash. "Eyes on me, puppy," you murmur. "Let me see those pretty blues."
His eyes are half-lidded where they meet yours; they're dark and heady, the pupils blown wide. He whines, and his lashes flutter; but they do not close.
"Good boy." A deeper red erupts on his already-ruddy cheeks, spilling down to his neck and his upper chest. The collar is a tantalizing divide.
"Please, please," he whimpers—all fucking puppy-like and cute, and, oh, how you want to ruin him: ruin him, until his ears fall askew and all he can do is helplessly whine into you.
You hold him by his love-handles, the soft, strong fat a perfect fit in your palms, as you begin to gently move him in your lap. His hips roll—back and forth, gentling along like waves lapping against a shore—helped along by your hands; the whole while, you've got the leash held snug in your one hand, pressing against his side.
There is slack, in that leather. After all, the leash—the collar, too, and the tail and the ears—are all a ruse; they all serve a purpose, simply, in allowing Ajax to not only love but to be loved in turn.
He is, in all senses of the word, a puppydog: he's loyal to a fault, putting others—the Tsaritsa, his family, you—above himself. But in this, he is greedy—like you've got a treat dangling in front of his nose, just out of reach but so, so easily able to beg for. And, dog person or not, you're certainly an Ajax person.
After a while of the soft back n' forth, your thighs and cock slicking up more in his and your arousal's both—a mix of your pre—, you decide to up the ante, just a little.
"Hold on, puppy," you murmur, rather sudden. He has all of a second to hold on—hands scrabbling for the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging, grasping on like he's got thick, thumb-less paws—before you're pressing him back and down, belly-up on the mattress.
"Ah!" He yelps out loud, the switch of positions making the plug press further into him. Your cock slips out, but only for a moment; you easily right that wrong, sliding in all smooth and tender. You've got your knees pressed to either side of him, under him, his thighs open across yours and his hips tilted up.
"Ready?" you ask.
Ajax whimpers, and he nods.
"Good." With a parting kiss to his nose, you take tight hold of the leash—the handle of it fitting perfect in your fist—and lean back on your heels. He mewls when your cock drags out, and cries when you pull him back by a hand on his hip.
You're able to move him how you want him—all with one hand. It makes him dizzy, whimpering small, punched out noises with each thrust. "Oh, please!"
What's even better, is the saccharine way he can feel the plug rubbing against your cock, even through his flesh; he arches into you, testing the gentle give in the leash. You follow him, but the pull is a heavy weight; you do not choke him, but it keeps him right where you want him: looking down at where your cock meets his.
"Look at yourself, puppy," you groan out, bringing the leash down to your wrist as you press down into his lower stomach. Your other hand keeps him steady by his hip the whole while, forcing him to meet each thrust of your hips. "Your pretty cunt takes me so well."
He stares, transfixed, at the lewd picture, at the way his cunt is spread wide on you and accepting each bump, each bud against his g-spot.
You grin, devilish. "Look at this thick cock, too," you murmur, dragging your hand down—right through the thick curls at the apex of his thighs, trailing to his navel in a way you so desperately want to lick—to stroke him off. "I can feel it throbbing against me, hm?"
Ajax whines, at that. "I'm so hard for you—"
"All for me?" You gently rub at his cockhead, providing sweet friction against his most sensitive spot. His back arches, more whines spilling from his parted lips, and—and just like you wanted, his ears come askew. "Oh, 'Jax," you coo. "Your ears came off."
You start like you're going to right them, but to do so would mean to dislodge your thumb from his cock; he whines, shakes his head, small pleas and, "No, leave it, 'm so close," circling your ears.
You give him mercy, today. "Puppy's gonna make a mess for me?" you ask, light but groaning, soft moans of your own slipping past your restraint. He's clenching so perfectly around you, throbbing and wet, and his cock jerks against you in a way that sends your mind spinning.
"G'nna cum! Please, please," he starts to beg. "Please, can I cum? I've been—" he hiccups, "—so good for you, haven't I? Haven't I?" It's a testament to how far he's gone that he babbles so endlessly, each plea sending you closer and closer to your own edge.
"You've been perfect for me, puppy," you coo. "Such a good boy for me. G-go on then, cum all over my cock—I'll fill you up, just the way you like it. Gonna fill you up nice n' deep, make sure it all stays in you right where it belongs."
Rather suddenly, Ajax's thighs begin to jump anew, his cock pulsing heavy beneath your fingers—and just like that, he's gone. Pretty n' sticky white, thick and opaque, dribbles past your cock, the base surrounded in the starts of Ajax's release.
"Good boy, good puppy," you murmur, keeping your thrusts even and your thumb gentle against his cockhead. He cries and mewls and whines, ears completely gone now as he thrashes; all the while, the clench of his cunt sends you over your own edge, filling him just like you said you would. "My perfect boy."
You stay pressed deep into him as you move away your fingers from his cock, letting the leash fall from your other hand's tight grip. Little red imprints—hardly harsh, and surely soon to fade away—stay stuck in the freckled skin you leave behind.
"You did so good for me, sweetheart."
He laughs, breathless, whimpering slightly when he jostles your soft cock from its comfortable rest. With a sigh, you pull yourself from his warm, wet cunt, and you watch, enraptured, at the sticky white that clings to your cock, at your cum dripping from his messy hole.
Sweetly, you ask, "Still think I'm bluffing?" even while you tug at the plug in his ass, gentling it out and soothing his whine with a rub against his other hole. (You definitely don't do it to rub the mixture of your cums into his ass, too. Nope!)
He grumbles, once he relaxes into your touch, into the warm cloth you bring up to clean away the mess. "No," he says. "I'm sorry for doubting you."
But then, he grins. "But if doubting you gets this treatment, maybe I should do it more often."
Sly bastard.
oh my god;; i hope i did him justice. he's my good puppy o(*￣▽￣*)ブ also, unrelated: i'm gonna be updating my masterlist tmrrw c; expect more annoying spam on your timelines, i apologize . . .
19 FEB. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .
#i listened to “kiss from a rose” by seal while proofing this . . .#this song is so ajax-coded ><#sub childe#childe x reader#sub tartaglia#tartaglia x reader#puppy sub#sub genshin#genshin smut#trans smut#genshin x reader#top reader#amab reader#male reader
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Title: Nothing short of a dream
Rating: T
Summary: In which Itachi has a nightmare, which may not be a nightmare at all.
Written for Shisuita Week 2021 Day 1 Prompt: Dream
ao3 link
“Shisui, no…” he hears a quiet whimper.
Instantly, Shisui opens his eyes. Pale moonlight, streaming through the small window, has painted the room haunting silver. Shisui glances to his right and sees Itachi lying in bed next to him, his long dark hair strewn across the pillow. He’s clearly asleep, but tears are streaming down his cheeks, and quiet sobs escape his lips, making Shisui’s heart clench. He sits up on the bed and reaches out, resting his hand lightly on Itachi’s shoulder.
“Itachi,” he calls out gently, “Itachi, wake up.”
Itachi shifts under Shisui’s touch, still in the grasp of sleep, but Shisui’s persistent – he calls Itachi’s name again, lightly shaking his shoulder.
“Shisui?” Itachi mumbles, waking up, eyes still bleary from sleep.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” Shisui replies softly, “But you were crying in your sleep, and I was worried. Are you alright?”
Itachi doesn’t answer – instead, he sits up on the bed and pulls his legs close to his chest. Shisui remains quiet – he knows Itachi will speak when he’s ready.
“I…had a nightmare,” he says finally. Shisui sighs as he reaches over and pulls Itachi close against his side.
“It must have been terrifying,” he murmurs, gently running his fingers through Itachi’s hair, hoping to soothe him with the caress, “But it’s just a dream. Everything is ok.”
“I know,” Itachi bites his lip, not looking at Shisui, “But it felt so real.”
“I’ve had nightmares too when I was young,” Shisui replies, “And I’ve found that telling others about them made them far less scary. So, if you want to share, I’m here to listen.”
Itachi looks at him quietly for a moment as if weighing his words.
“It…was terrifying,” Itachi’s voice is barely louder than a whisper when he speaks, “You died and left me all alone.”
A sad smile blooms upon Shisui’s lips as he takes Itachi’s hand into his and presses soft kisses to his knuckles, “I’m sorry you had such an awful dream, but I’m right here, and I will never leave you.”
“In my dream,” Itachi continues, his voice shaky, “We were shinobi of the Village Hidden in the Leaves. Our clan decided to rebel against the village. You and I have tried stopping them, but we failed, and you…”
“What a strange dream,” Shisui murmurs quietly, worry rising in his chest.
“You have entrusted the fate of the clan to me,” Itachi breathes out, “But I couldn’t do anything – and in the end, I had to kill everyone, including mother and father. Only Sasuke was left alive.”
A cold hand of anxiety clenches Shisui’s throat, but he smiles through it. Pulling Itachi closer, Shisui wraps his arms around him and presses soft kisses to his cheeks, wiping away the tears. He wants to reassure Itachi that he’ll always be by his side, that nothing will ever separate them - not again.
“Itachi, my love, that sounds awful,” he says softly.
“It was,” Itachi nods, glancing at Shisui, “But now that I have told you, I feel slightly better.”
“I’m happy I could help,” Shisui replies, pressing a light kiss to Itachi’s temple.
Silence falls upon them for a moment.
“Will you hold me while I fall asleep?” Itachi asks quietly, moving against Shisui, “I…just need to feel that you are here.”
“Of course,” Shisui murmurs.
They shift on the bed, Itachi facing away from him, as Shisui wraps his arm around Itachi’s middle, pulling him close to his chest. Itachi’s hand comes to rest atop of his, squeezing it ever so slightly.
“I was so scared,” he whispers.
Shisui lifts up on his elbow and leans forward to Itachi on the cheek.
“There is nothing to be scared of,” he says, “Shinobi lead the life of violence and often meet quite a brutal end. But you and I are simple innkeepers, and ours will be a long and happy life. I promise you that.”
“I love you, Shisui,” Itachi murmurs sleepily.
“And I love you,” Shisui replies.
He listens quietly in the dark until Itachi’s breathing steadies. Once Shisui knows that he’s deep in the grasp of slumber, he carefully pulls his hand away from Itachi’s and climbs out of bed.
When he had used Kotoamatsukami on Itachi and Sasuke – and the villagers – three years ago, he thought the plan fool-proof. It seems that he was wrong – apparently, Itachi’s memories have started to come back in the form of dreams.
Worry stirs in his chest, and Shisui feels a lump in his throat. As much as he hates himself for doing what he did, he knows it was necessary. The memories would have tormented Itachi, and Shisui couldn’t allow that. More than anyone, Itachi deserved to be happy. That was why Shisui took him away from Konoha, from the pain and violence of the shinobi world, and tried to give Itachi a chance at a new, happier life. He was too late, of course, and for that, Shisui would never forgive himself, but he did the best he could with the circumstances.
If only he had been stronger, if only he had never left Itachi in the first place…
He knew he made a mistake the moment he leaped of that cliff. Itachi needed him, and he was leaving him alone to deal with an utterly impossible problem – like a coward. Like a traitor. The realization burned – he swore to Itachi once that he’d never betray him, and there he was, doing just that. When the blinding pain pierced through his body once he hit the water, only one thought was left in Shisui’s mind – he needed to come back to Itachi.
Somehow, his prayers were answered. A man, who Shisui later learned was Orochimaru, had found him on the bank of Naka river and offered to help him.
“My experiment can heal you,” he said, “And, who knows, perhaps even restore your eyes. But it will be painful.”
Shisui scoffed – after what he’d gone through, he cared little about pain. Still, the offer was suspicious.
“Why would you help me?” he asked.
“I’m just looking for test subjects for my experiment,” the man replied calmly, “And, besides, letting you live might keep things…interesting.”
The man’s hand was on Shisui’s arm, hauling him up – his skin felt cold and slimy like that of a snake and sent a shudder through Shisui’s body. A part of him wanted to refuse the offer, but he steeled his heart – he had to return to Itachi.
The experiment worked, almost better than Orochimaru had expected – it took nearly a year, but Shisui’s eyes were restored with their full abilities. To Shisui’s surprise, Orochimaru let him go without much trouble.
“It was a pleasure,” the smile on Orochimaru’s lips was utterly unsettling, “I look forward to working with you in the future.”
Shisui didn’t dignify him with a response. There was only one thought burning in his mind – to get back to Konoha, to get back to Itachi.
He was too late. When Shisui saw Itachi, he was standing over red ruins of their clansmen’s corpses, grasping a sword in his hand, and, at his feet, was Sasuke’s lifeless body. Bile rose up in Shisui’s throat, and his head spun – this was all his fault. If he had never left Itachi, this would have never happened.
The broken sob that left Itachi’s lips upon seeing Shisui shattered his heart.
“Are you here to judge me?” Itachi asked, “You haven’t answered my prayers once, and now you choose to appear to me. Should I have done this earlier?”
He was laughing then, and Shisui felt paralyzed with fear. It was clear that whatever he had suffered through in the last year – whatever he had to do that night – was testing the limits of his sanity. And it was all his fault. It was his duty now to help Itachi, any way he could - to give him the life of peace he always wanted.
Kotoamatsukami allowed Shisui to erase the memories from Itachi – and Sasuke’s – mind. As if the massacre didn’t happen, as if they were never shinobi in the first place but rather simple innkeepers of a small tavern in a country far away from the Land of Fire. To ensure that their new life would not be disturbed, he used Kotoamatsukami on the other villagers too, making them forget Itachi and Sasuke, laying the blame for the murder of the clan exactly where it belonged – at Danzo’s feet. He hoped that whatever punishment Danzo suffered would be long and painful, and he deeply regretted not being there to see it.
It warmed his heart to see Itachi so unburdened, living the life of peace. He seemed so happy tending to the garden and the inn, going to the nearby river to swim or fish with Sasuke and Shisui, and spending quiet evenings reading on the porch. Perhaps, it wasn’t fair to take Itachi’s memories, but it was Shisui’s only chance to give him happiness – and he’d do anything to preserve it.
He wonders from time to time if death has changed him. Before, he wanted to do everything to keep the clan alive and at peace with the village, but now the only thing he regretted was that he wasn’t there to take on Itachi’s mission, to take away the burden from his soul.
Shisui walks into the small room on the first floor of the inn and lights the candle on the desk. Settling on the chair, he pulls one paper from the stack and picks up a pen, then pauses for a moment, musing how to start the letter – after all, he’d never thought that he’d have to contact Orochimaru again. But, perhaps, the time has come.
He hopes Itachi’s dream was just a fluke of his mind – that by the morning, Itachi won’t even remember what he’d seen – but Shisui knows that there is no such thing as being too careful. Especially not when it comes to Itachi’s well-being. And so, he writes the letter. There is no guarantee, of course, that Orochimaru knows enough about Kotoamatsukami or the Sharingan to be useful, but there is no one else who could help.
Shisui’s hands quickly form the necessary seals, and the paper in front of him disappears in the flicker of pale blue light. His heart feels heavy – he knows that Orochimaru’s help always comes with strings attached.
Whatever Orochimaru asks for will not cannot be too much – after all, Itachi’s happiness is worth everything.
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Wishing It Was You; Tommy Shelby Imagine
(A/N - hey guys... its been a while. I started this in april and finally finished it. she might be my longest yet my fave imagine ive done. im tired and lazy so sorry if there are any mistakes. PLZ let me know what you think and my ask is always open!! ily)
Tommy knows he's standing next to Grace.
He can feel the warmth radiating off her skin, can feel the pressure of his hand against the curve of her waist, can smell her expensive perfume, with it’s notes of rose water and lemon, lingering on her neck, but all he sees is you. Grace is leaning into him, her giggles sounding like twinkling diamonds as she laughs at a joke he hasn’t registered, his mind completely preoccupied with thoughts of the woman standing at the other side of the room.
He hadn’t expected to see you here. In fact, he hadn’t expected to ever see you again. It strikes him like a bullet in his gut, leaving him winded and gasping for air in the middle of an expansive ballroom, the gin on his tongue suddenly as hot as acid.
Have you seen him yet? The thought fills his brain like a buzzing hornets nest, the feeling is immediate and prickling at the back of his skull.
Do you know he’s here? Have you noticed him?
Most importantly though… Did you come alone?
His hand unconsciously tightens around Grace’s waist and she smiles at him, as sweet as sugar, completely unaware of the femme fatale on the opposite side of the room, capturing her husbands attention and luring him like a siren.
He bites his tongue until he can taste metal and copper. A fresh wave of guilt and shame collapse over him but he swallows it down like it’s nothing but a lump in his throat.
He loves Grace, he adores her. He isn’t doing anything wrong.
And yet, he can’t take his eyes off of you.
At first he thought he was going mad. He hadn’t believed in ghosts and spirits since he was a boy, sat in a caravan, reading tarot cards with his Mum. He became too used to death and decay in the war, too used to seeing blood and rot to believe in a chance of a second life - not when he had sinned so much in his first.
He hadn’t thought of you in so long. Hadn’t conjured up the image of you in his mind like he used to do late at night, imagining the feel of your skin against the pads of his fingertips, the smell between your shoulder blades, the weight of your ribs underneath his.
You were always at the back of his mind though. No matter how hard he pushed you away, your smile and voice would always linger at the back of his head, a beam of sunlight whenever the shovels would get too loud.
You were real though. You were back. He could tell only because of the way you captivated everyone around you, the faces of those enchanted by you were proof that you weren’t just a memory his drunken mind had created. Throwing your head back and giggling, chewing on the bottom of your painted lips, you had everyone under your spell.
He can’t take his eyes away from you. Its like he’s a puppet and you’re toying with the strings without even realising. He’s tethered to you, no matter how far apart you may be.
“Tommy?”
Grace’s syrup like voice cuts through him like a blade, and he straightens up. He’s acting like a teenager and the thought repulses him, he’s a businessman, not a child. He’s fought in the war, dealt with fearless gangsters and killed men with his bare hands, how come seeing you has rendered him breathless?
He turns to look at her, her gentle features illuminated under the chandeliers, her brow is furrowed with a mixture of mild irritation and curiosity and he lets her familiarity wash over him like the ocean. She smiles kindly at him, turning her attention back to the guests surrounding her, and Tommy feels a clench of white hot shame that whilst he is stood next to his wife, his mind is dizzied with the thoughts of another woman.
Grace is Grace.
She’s beautiful and soft and kind and warm. She was the stability he needed, the type of woman he needed to come home to, she tended to his wounds and listened to his rants and kissed his scars. She was too good for him and he knew it. She had lied and deceived him in the past, but it strengthened their love, rebuilt their trust like a fortress. He loved her, he wanted to have a family with her.
But she would never be you.
You were as familiar as the peaked cap that adorned his head, you were as much as a part of him as the gun in his holster. Your face flashed in his mind whenever he heard the last gasp of air from an enemy, it was you who appeared in his dreams and rescued him from the depths of his nightmares. It was as if you were stitched into his skin since the very first day you met when you were children.
He needs to get home, he can’t stay. Too long and you’ll sink your claws into him. Too long and everything he’s worked so goddamn hard for will start to crumble around him.
He flattens his palm against the back of his wife’s dress, ready to make hasty excuses and polite apologies and leave, nestle her into the back of his car and drive far away.
He opens his mouth to speak, but before words can slip from his tongue, he spots a smug, sparkling eyed Polly approaching, arms spread, lips curled into a smirk.
Fuck being polite. He’s Tommy fucking Shelby, he can do whatever the fuck he wants.
His hands curve around Grace’s spine and she tuts in protest, ready to scold her husband for his haste, but she snaps her lips shut at his flushed expression.
“Oh Tommy! Isn’t it wonderful?”
Polly approaches, already buzzed, arms spread like a bird in flight, just waiting to engulf him. A cigarette dangles from the corner of her cherry painted lips, her eyes gleaming with a mix of alcohol and mischief.
He inwardly curses, Polly cornering him like a lioness, ready to tear him and his wife apart. She’s practically chomping at the bit, the delight of seeing your familiar face and the knowledge of what that’ll do to Tommy and Grace making her float across the floor. She’s drunk on elation and glasses of champagne, her mind too fucked to even think about the consequences.
“Oh Tom!” She repeats, cradling his face like he’s a boy again. Under any other circumstances he would be delighted to see his Aunt so happy, a sight he was rarely blessed with, but now he’s wishing for anything else. Grace’s grip tightens, he can feel her stare on the side of his skin, burning holes into his flesh. Polly feels her gaze and turns to the blonde beauty, her disdain for her nephews wife enough to drill the final holes into his coffin, sealing him shut into eternal darkness.
“It’s (Y/N)! She’s back.”
Grace stiffens beside him, arching a penciled eyebrow at her husband and opening her lips. Tommy can feel his palms moisten, an unfamiliar sensation that takes him back to being a teenager, one that only ever occurred around you.
“Who’s (Y/N), Thomas?”
————————————————————
You were the same age as Ada, reserved and soft spoken, new to Birmingham and all of its smoke and gristle coloured cobbles. She saw you one day in the school yard; sat alone on your first day, picking at the skin on your swollen lips, round doe eyes following the other children roughhousing and laughing. She was immediately drawn to you, her inquisitive mind growing protective, and it wasn’t long before she strode over to you, confident as ever, introducing herself and deciding to take you under her wing.
The two of you became fast friends, sharing jam sandwiches and apple slices under the sun, skipping along the streets and throwing stones into the cut at dusk before your parents hastily called you inside and scolded your recklessness. You barely left one another’s side, spending every night you could at each others house, giggling and gossiping under the covers, trying on your mothers makeup and making sticky pinkie promises to be best friends forever.
The years passed and you still remained attached at the hip, growing closer than ever as your limbs grew and you wandered into adolescence, facing every problem you encountered together. You were Ada’s shoulder to cry on when her mother passed, sleeping next to her in a single bed for month on end as the night terrors kept her awake. You grew closer to Ada’s family as well, especially considering the amount of time you spent there. Aunt Pol became a surrogate mother to you, chastising you and supporting you and always being there for you, sometimes with a smack on the back of the legs, like the time she caught you both smoking before you hit your teens.
You became a fond fixture in the Shelby household, slotting in like just another straggly stray at the dinner table every night. You were young, but you weren’t stupid, you had known the Shelby boys since the very first day you came back to their house and even as a child you could sense the mischievous aura surrounding them. As you grew, so did your curiosity, and it wasn’t long before you learnt of the betting shop located in the back room of Pol’s house. Ada and Polly were both protective of you, and managed to keep you out of trouble despite the spark of interest that brewed in your stomach and so that back room just became another chest to lock in the back of your mind.
They both knew that there was something different about you, and as you grew from a timid child to an inquisitive teenager your thirst became insatiable. Ada had always recognised the unpredictable nature the you harboured, you could be quiet and meek but under the surface your brain was a kaleidoscope of spontaneity. It was you who suggested late night adventures and rain splattered trips that got you both into trouble, you who dreamt of cities and lives bigger than the both of you. Ada adored that about you, your desire for change something she wasn’t used to in the dismal, grey town she grew up in but deep down she was terrified that you wouldn’t ever be satisfied.
She wasn’t the only one who noticed the impulse in you. From the very first time he saw you all those years ago he noticed the crackle of electricity under your docile exterior, bubbling under the surface like lightning that struck the sky. Of course, back then you were just a child and Tommy was far too interested in pursuing the betting shop than taking notice of his little sister’s friend, but he always kept an eye on you. The two of you had a bizarre relationship, despite the age gap between you both, you managed to find a level ground. Whilst Arthur and John would ruffle your hair and swing you over their shoulders as if you were still a toddler, Tommy would talk to you as if you were an adult, the two of you could bicker like siblings but there was a mutual respect underlying it all, you both connected by your need for more.
It came to a head when Tommy was counting money at the betting shop one evening in August. The sun was fading to the colour of a bruised peach and the air was still warm, notes stuck to his fingers and he hummed in frustration just as the large doors swung open. His head snapped up and he came face to face with a flushed Ada, her cheeks were as red as a Gala apple and tears welled in her wide eyes. Tommy immediately reached for the gun shoved in it’s holster ready to send bullets flying over his watery eyed sister, before her exasperated voice broke through the silence.
“It’s (Y/N)! She’s had a fight with her fucking dad and now she’s gone! Please, Tom, can you help me find her?”
As Tommy had the family car, he was left trawling through the country lanes surrounding the city whilst Ada and Pol searched your usual hiding spots in Small Heath. According to Ada, you had about a two hour head start from your house, and Tommy’s foot itched over the pedals at the thought. This was hardly the first time you had run away, usually it was over to Polly’s for the night after you had had enough of your family, but after a particularly bad spout with your parents last year, Ada had found you halfway to London. You were definitely a flight risk.
Tommy’s hands clenched over the steering wheel as the sky darkened, you were a beautiful teenager, walking alone through the streets at dusk; it was a recipe for disaster. Tom knew you could hold your own, but the creatures that lurked around at night were ravenous and there was no way in hell he would let them sink their claws in you.
Tommy could feel heat prick at the bottom of his spine. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that the feelings he harboured for you stemmed much more than the ‘sibling love’ he disguised them as. The attraction between the two of you had always been there, something magnetic joining you both before you could realise it. Over the years it had blossomed, despite his attempts to distinguish the fire that you brought out in him, something about you had captivated him.
All of his thoughts turned to wisps of smoke as he rounded a corner, nearly swerving into a thorn bush as he spotted you. You were walking with determination, and he couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face as he watched you march forward like a solider, your small frame filled with force. Your hair was loose, draping around your shoulders like a halo, bouncing with every step you took.
He trailed behind you, edging his foot off the gas and waiting as the car slowed next to you. He knew you noticed the intrusion from the way your shoulders tensed briefly, and he allowed the car to match your pace, the two of you moving like boats on water. He knew you would be the first to speak, and allowed your words to run over him like warm milk and honey.
“Hello, Thomas. Out for a drive?”
He smiled, rolling his eyes slightly before responding. “C’mon (Y/N), time to come home.”
“No thank you.”
“It’s getting late.”
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”
He tensed his foot against the gas, the car rumbling lowly and rolling forward. He pulled it into park right in front of you, the dark exterior blocking you from walking any further up the lane. You exhaled in frustration, the tips of your ears and the apples of your cheeks flushed the colour of Shepard’s delight, and he cant help but bite back the smile curling in his mouth. He patted the seat playfully and watched as you scuffed your foot into the mud like a child, coyly sucking on your tongue before clambering next to him, crossing your arms and settling into the leather.
Tommy’s hands rested on the steering wheel, he flexed his fingers for a moment before turning to face you, examining your skin under the dim light. Both of your fathers had a lot in common, alcoholic, nasty and violent, something dark like rum boiling inside of their blood, men who ruled with fear and aggression. There were no marks he could see, not like the time your arm was coated in purple thumb prints that left him seething, only calmed once you and Ada had snuck off to her room and he could control his thoughts with a cigarette. That night he pretended he couldn't see Polly watching him like a hawk.
“He didn’t hit me this time.”
Good. He would have killed him.
“Kind of wish he did though, Mum bought a new frying pan that could have come in handy.”
He let you talk, the birds and the wind the only noises disturbing the peace. You were quiet, and it was rare for you to open up like this, so he cherished the moment despite the underlying bleakness of it all.
“I know it seems childish, but it just feels easier to get away.”
He hesitated, looking down at you picking your nails in the front seat of his car. The words forming on the edge of his tongue tasting like whisky, not knowing how to comfort you without implicating himself. He tried to imagine himself as Polly or Ada, the kind of person who would know what to say.
“You have people that care about you, you don’t need to fuckin’ up and leave.”
“I know I do, but anywhere is better than Small Heath.”
He blew air through his teeth. “It ain’t so bad.”
You swivelled to face him, round eyes and raised eyebrows set on him like a sniper. “Really, Tom? You do know you’re saying all this sat in the front seat of a bloody Bugatti? Bought with dirty money might I add?”
It’s the first time he’s seen you so heated and despite the truth in your words the sight of your small face twisted in annoyance is enough to make his lips curl, only adding fuel to your fire.
“You can sit here and tell me that all you want, but you know better than anyone that there’s more out there than Birmingham. I can see it in you Tom, and if you want you can act like you don’t need anything more, then that’s fine by me! But I hope you’re alright with lying to yourself.”
He stared deep into your eyes, expression blank and solid as if your words had truly punched him in the gut. You watched him for a moment, cheeks flushing slightly and eyebrows scrunching, wondering if maybe you had over stepped the line before his eyes glimmered and he held his hands up playfully, peaked cap bouncing with every exaggerated movement.
“Alright, bloody hell. Remind me not to get in a fight with you. I can see how much our Ada has rubbed off on you.”
You let a tiny smile tug at the edge of your lips before it expanded and took over your face, tossing your head back and letting your hair fall over your shoulders as you grinned. Tommy swore he felt his heart skip a beat. He started the car as quickly as he had stalled it, feeling it purr and jut under his feet, the world righted once again now that you were sat next to him. The car rolled over a bridge, and after you crossed over onto the other side he cleared his throat, opening his mouth to speak.
“If you ever feel like running away again, come and see me first, alright?”
He kept his eyes on the road, but could feel yours on the side of is neck, running softly over his flesh like fingertips.
“If I didn’t know any better, Thomas,” You spoke teasingly, using his full name just to get under his skin, “I’d think you were going soft.”
The evening sun beat down onto the two of you, and as the car lurched forward he mirrored your own smile, because maybe he was, for you.
————————————————————————-
After that long drive home it was like a switch had flipped. The two of you became closer, as if an invisible thread was tying you both together. You were allowed into the betting shop more often, counting coins and change and bickering playfully with the Blinders. Tommy took you to your first horse race under the guise of “teaching you more about the business” you wore your finest dress and he pretended he couldn't feel his breath catch in his throat when he looked at you. His hands clung protectively around your waist as you downed a glass of strawberry wine, rolling his eyes and smiling as you laughed into him as the horses galloped and the crowds cheered. You spent evenings climbing through the window in his bedroom, sitting on the sloped roof tiles as rain pattered onto the streets below, sharing a cigarette and watching the stars peek through the smoky air, unsaid words bubbling behind both of your lips as yours knees pressed together.
The rest of the family noticed the change between the two of you, but said nothing. Even Ada couldn't help smiling to herself when she saw the glances that you shared, her kind and clever older brother was the only man she could possibly think was good enough for her best friend. Although she would never admit it, it meant he was distracted enough to not notice her leaving to spend time with a certain man named Freddie.
Tommy drove you to the beach for the first time, exploring the pier and walking barefoot across the sand. Your wide smile as you danced in the surf and talked under baying seagulls was forever cemented into his mind, he vowed silently that he would move mountains just to see you happy, the feeling unlike anything he had ever felt. He taught you how to shoot a gun, your body pulled flush against his as you squealed in delight as the bullet ricocheted off the can. Your conversations flowed like running water, able to converse and laugh about everything and anything from dusk till dawn. He was mischievous and playful and would crack jokes even on your worst days, when your father was mean and your mother was distant, he would make you feel whole again.
That’s why, on a rainy Thursday as the two of you walked side by side by canal, you pulled his face towards yours with your small hands and kissed him. He froze, with all of his previous girlfriends he had always initiated things first, but with you he had felt uncharacteristically hesitant, terrified of scaring you off and losing you. However as your parted lips met and he felt you smile into his mouth, tasting of cherry jam and stolen tobacco, he let his hands snake around your waist as if they had been carved there. The wind whistled and the rain splattered both of you, his peaked cap sheltering his ruffled hair and your face from the droplets, it was freezing but heat crackled between the two of you. You were practically half his size, resting on your tip toes to meet him fully, but in that moment he knew you had him utterly under your thumb.
The relationship the two of you shared was pure and untainted. It was all soft skin and moonlight painted faces, freckles and wide teeth and apricot coloured skies. His hand would brush against yours as he walked you home, you’d laugh into his neck at the Pictures, your words would mingle together at midnight as you sat and talked. Things couldn't have been more perfect, as sweet as the whisky tea you would drink with Ada and Polly, as merry as the laughs you shared with the brothers and as syrupy as the kisses you would have with your first love. But just like the smoke that filled the once clear sky above your heads, your life was soon to darken.
It all happened so suddenly, maybe your blissful youth had created a candy coated picture over the political dramas happening around you, but now they couldn’t be ignored. There was going to be a war. You knew from the start the brothers would be drafted, they were filled with pride for their country, they were young and fit and strong, they knew how to fight, punching and slashing with their razor blades, but you loathed the idea. You bit your tongue until it bled, knowing there was no point in arguing, but that didn't stop you staining your pillow with tears every night.
You refused to let the boys see you in such a state, and tried your best to enjoy the last few days you had until you would be separated from your family. The ache in your chest remained despite your false bravado, dinners were different, quieter, and you would often catch Polly staring at nothing, as if she could see a ghost.
Tommy took you away the night before. He drove the caravan for miles, his favourite dappled mare pulling you through fields of wildflowers as the sun followed you overhead. You parked in the woods by the river, silence falling over both of you. His hands laced through yours, thumb running over your soft skin, and you watched him, drinking in all of his beautiful features like whisky.
“Will you wait for me?”
His voice is quiet, so unlike his usual boyish, playful tone. Seeing him so vulnerable was like a bullet entering your heart. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the soft cotton of his shirt dance against your cheek.
“Forever.”
He intakes sharply. He plucks a daisy from the grass, toying with the tiny flower between his large palms before turning to you and pushing it behind your ear, looking at you in a way that makes your body melt like butter.
“I love you.” He watches you, gauging for your reaction, but you don’t give him any, you just look up at him with those big fucking eyes. He exhales, turning back to face the water as he continues. “Known it since we first met. Since that very first day, when we were just kids, I knew. You had a hold on me since day one. I couldn’t leave without telling you…telling you how grateful I am for you.”
His voice softens, “How much you mean to me and because of that,” He clears his throat as if struggling to get the words out, “I’ll understand if you want to move on, find someone else or…”
You don’t let him continue, you attach your lips to his as if they were magnetic, feeling him collapse under your touch. You pull away much too soon for his liking, a smile reaching your eyes as you press your forehead against his, the light making you look angelic. “Stop talking.” You kiss him again, harder, in that teasing way you have mastered so well.
“I love you too.”
Under the stars, as the moonlight bathes the caravan in a soft eerie glow, you pull off the straps off your sundress, watching Tommy follow you as if he’s in a trance. Calloused, firm hands meet your tender flesh as he worships you like a Goddess, unable to believe that you are human. You give yourself to him fully, and it’s unlike anything he’s felt, the connection flowing between your bodies stronger than anything, love and lust connecting as your bodies mesh. Despite his earlier sentiment, as he buries himself inside of you, he loathes the idea of another man touching you and you can feel the heat radiating from underneath his skin and pull his face to you, staring him down, telling him everything he needs to know.
You’re his, and he’s yours.
Candles flicker around you, painting your limbs the colour of the sunrise. You playfully touch his nose, and then his lips, dragging them open with your finger. Your bodies are slick with sweat, exhausted but alive, feeling as if you are the only two people in the world despite the knowledge of what lurks ahead, you just feel young and blissfully in love.
“You won’t forget about me, will you Shelby?” You tease. “Won’t find a nice French woman to take my place?”
You’re joking but he kisses you silent, eyes connecting to yours, “I’ll never be able to replace you, little one.”
——————————————————————
No one expected the war to last as long as it did, least of all you. Every day you sat by the radio, waiting and wanting desperately for news that it was over, but every day you would leave with tears filling your eyes. You busied yourself the best you could during those long, dark days. You and the girls ran the betting shop, you looked after John’s kids and Finn as if they were your own - despite your young age, the war had forced everyone to grow up.
Four years is a long time, and that’s exactly how you felt as you waited on the platform, hand in hand with Ada, waiting for your boys to come home. You felt as if you had swallowed rocks, nausea bubbling inside of you, acid in your throat. He had been home three times since it had started. Three times in four years had you been able to see his face in real life, touch his skin, tell him words that wouldn’t do justice on paper. You had seen the effects of the war distort the people around you, heard awful tales of shell shock and seen men returning home with missing limbs and broken hearts. Every day you waited for that call, that piece of paper that told you Tommy wouldn’t be returning, but blessedly it never came, and finally, he was coming home.
You’ll always remember that day he came off of the platform. The last time you had seen him had been so long ago, but even then you had noticed the grey of his skin, the pain in his eyes. He was quieter, milder, refusing to speak of the horrors he must have endured, instead focusing on light happy stories. You wondered how much he had changed since then.
He was beautiful.
He still had that boyish look, his sharp jaw and tousled hair, but he looked older, haunted. You felt your knees buckle at the mere sight of him, the way his eyes danced over the platform, looking for something, someone - you. Your eyes met and you watched them glimmer, something you had been starved of for so long that you devoured the feeling. Euphoria bit through your skin and tears pricked at your eyes. You ignored everyone else, storming through the crowd like you were the solider, racing with your arms wide open, not caring how childish you looked. He smiled in what looked like relief and laughed in exhaustion as you fell into his arms. He held you so tight that you could feel the air expel from your chest but you didn’t care, you cried hot, wet tears into his shoulder, and you felt him bury his head in your hair. He looked at you, breathing hard and opening his mouth, but before he could speak you smashed your lips onto his, melting into his touch like all those years ago.
“Welcome home, Tommy.”
——————————————————————
Weeks passed, and it was as if the darkness had seeped into his skin. You longed to tear it off of him, wished that you could swap yourself with him, carry a little bit of his pain, but you knew that was impossible. Night was when he found solace, with you wrapped up in his arms, breathing in your sweet clean scent, something he had been deprived of for far too long. If you strayed too far in the night, woke up for some tea for a sore throat or simply because your mind was restless, you would hear the gut wrenching moans and cries leave his lips and would dart up the stairs two at a time to crawl back onto him. The first time you heard it he sounded like a fox with its paw in a trap, something so inhumane that it stayed with you like an awful lullaby on loop in your brain. As you managed to wake him from his own nightmare, he pulled you impossibly close, breathing into your hair as you whispered words of comfort, feeling utterly helpless.
After the war, everyone had their own poison. Arthur started boxing, channeling his anger and frustration into fighting, Freddie started protesting, looking for change in places he found wrong, and for others like Danny Whizzbang, sometimes the war clung its teeth in too far and refused to let go.
Tommy however, became obsessed with power.
You had known about his incredible work ethic and savvy business skills since the very first day you met, but now his hunger was insatiable. He was up before the birds had started chirping, planting soft kisses on your collarbones as he left for work, and didn’t come to bed until you physically had to drag him away from his desk. You were worried, but as always he conducted himself in a manner that made it seem like he was always in control, smooth and charming, unfazed by his hectic schedule and the looks you sent him.
It came as no shock to anyone that Tommy had been leader of his unit, the kind of man that people would listen to and follow without hesitation, the kind of man that knew how to be in charge. You knew some things about what had happened in the tunnels, horrors so unimaginable that it tore your heart in two to think of him suffering, and you were just left wondering what kind of marks that would leave on a man. His high ranking earned him thanks and praise wherever he went, he was honourable and that lead more and more men to join the Blinders, wanting to be close to such a powerful man, wanting the things he could offer.
The experiences he’d suffered through had led him to become disillusioned and determined to move his family up in the world, especially you. He became increasingly overprotective, a trait you at first found endearing and then ultimately suffocating, you knew he meant you know harm, wanting to shield you from the things he had endured, but you felt like a child again. You longed for trips to the country, to walk along the beach with him, to sleep under the stars, but it was as if that part of him had been killed on the front line.
You would be a liar if you said you were unaware of the illegal activity going on in the betting shop, you had always known of the shady dealings going on behind closed doors, but they thrilled you, excited you, mainly because you always knew that Tommy was in control, he could never get hurt. Your whole life you had always wanted more, hungry for a lifestyle that never bored you, but now you were wondering if you had bitten off too much.
He was changing, morphing in front of your eyes like a creature you had read about in a storybook when you were a child. Growing up his violent tendencies were sporadic, but with both of your fathers being unpleasant men he was always tainted by his family reputation. You had helped sew razor blades into their peaked caps, had seen the fights in the school yard over petty childish things, and had wiped his knuckles clean when he beat Tim Green black and blue after he called you and Ada vile names. Back then it was exciting, the adrenaline making you fall onto him, enthralled by this beautiful man, feeling safer with him than you had ever felt before, but now you were wondering if you should be scared.
He would rather die than hit you. He had never called you anything other than sugary sweet pet names, never once raised a hand other than to caress your cheek, never in a million years did you think he would ever hurt you, not intentionally. But it pierced your heart like a bullet, walking down the street, watching those you once called friends hide in their houses, whisper his name like it was sour milk, spit at your feet once you had left. It never bothered you what those small minded people thought of you, but knowing the awful things they thought of your Tommy, that killed you. It felt like a knife in your ribs when you leant back against him and felt the unfamiliar weight of a gun tucked into the waistband of his expensive trousers, as if it was nothing more than the cigarettes he constantly carried. It clawed at your throat like a rabid dog, when he came home at midnight, covered in blood that wasn't his, his eyes grey and pale.
You wanted to be by his side throughout everything, holding his hand and being the woman that he had turned to for everything, but it felt like you were hidden in the shadows. He didn’t want you involved, wanting to rise up on his own merit, and give you all of the rewards without seeing the carnage he was leaving behind, but that wasn’t you. You weren’t some housewife who just tended to his wounds and looked the other way when he stuffed the local officers pockets with bribes, you wanted to be his equal.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, it was that he didn’t trust anyone else.
Some nights you would sit staring at the moon from the windowsill of his small bedroom, reminiscing on making love under his scratchy sheets, giggling into his skin, thinking of days when you would tell him anything and everything, and he would always know what to say. You hated yourself for thinking this way, knowing that he had fought for his country, with the terrors he had lived through, of course he would be a changed man, but this seemed more than that and it tore your heart in half.
He’d slip into the room at midnight, any miseries of the day diminishing when he saw your small frame, and he’d wrap his arms around you, whispering into your hair. Any bad thoughts you had would vanish as he cradled you, reliving all the times you had in the past, feeling as if home was a person, but you would be jolt at his words. He’d tell you of all the things he would buy you one day, spun tales of all the things you deserved as if he could magic them from thin air. He spoke of a large manor, marrying you in a ceremony with a thousand roses, expensive cars and hand-cut jewels, things that were enough to make anyone salivate, but not you.
The war had forced you to put your life in perspective. Those gut wrenchingly long nights away from your lover, biting your lip raw wondering if he was suffering. Days spent feeling numb, trying to distract yourself from thoughts that plagued your head, you wanted to escape. Small Heath had suffocated you, the smoke and the ash now clung to your lungs thicker than ever, and you were desperate for a gasp of fresh air. You thought that was what Tommy wanted too, thought that the both of you would flee Birmingham, climb on to a ship, sail around countries neither of you could pronounce, kiss under hot rain and see the buildings you read about in the newspapers, but maybe not.
You would have to make sacrifices. That’s what love is, you told yourself, tying your hair up with an expensive silk hairband that Tommy had bought, that wasn’t really you. You loved him, adored him, you were so head over heels with him that the thought of leaving made you feel nauseous. You would follow him to the end of the earth if he asked you to. This was the man you wanted to marry, the only man you could picture yourself having a life with, and you knew that he felt exactly the same. That’s what love is, you remind yourself, staring at the unfamiliar painted face in the mirror, it’s about compromise, right?
When Arthur bought the Garrison, despite Tommy’s apprehension, you took a job as his accountant and secretary, helping him keep business afloat when all he wanted was to drink his money. You fell into a comfortable routine, waking up early and working late, taking extra time on Sundays to learn how to bake, going a little further into town to buy fresh vegetables from the market, reading books that had sat on their shelf for years. You wore a smile that could melt even the toughest of hearts, but deep down you were so mind numbingly bored, it felt like you had slipped on somebody else's skin, trapped in your own ivory tower. It all became worth it though, when Tommy would come home, his skin igniting against yours, lips savouring the taste of your flesh, the only good thing in both of your days. His hips pressed against yours, scratching your nails into his back and feeling him melt under you, enthralled by you, both of you so totally in love that it radiated around the small room, you knew why you did it. Curled under his arm he would smile and laugh, tell you snippets of his day, talk about the future, and hearing his words and charming accent, the way they fell from his lips like wisps of gold, running his hands through your hair, knowing that it was for a better future for both of you, you accepted your fate.
Ada noticed it first. Of course she did, you two were practically sisters. You knew each other like the back streets of Birmingham, like the lines and curves on your hands. She watched the way your vibrancy dimmed until you could fit in with the grey coloured photographs on Polly’s coffee table, listened as your giggles and playful teasing came to a halt and you spent more and more hours alone, separated from the world. She was heartbroken, torn between shaking you and forcing you to come to your senses, willing your vivacious personality to rise to the surface, and knowing that doing so could ruin the best thing Tommy had going for him, and shatter both of you into a million pieces. The rest of the family saw it as well, your light dulling with every day that passed, but they were unsure how to help without stepping over the protective line Tom drew around you, and with business tougher than ever, there was more than enough on their own plates.
To Tommy you were the most precious thing in his life. Because of you, his youth had been damn near perfect, meeting you had changed his life and he felt that he owed you the world. After the war you had rescued him from the depths of his own murky head, your letters and the image of you in his battered brain and been the only thing keeping him alive on he frontline. Whenever he felt like he was drowning, it had always been you that had pulled him from underwater, your smile putting the air back into his lungs. You made him feel alive, made him feel like in the world of smoke and debris he could breathe, that even on his lowest and darkest days, it was you that kept him going, but even he knew that was a lot for a person to carry.
You were wilting like a flower and he despised it. You had always been so beautiful. You could light up a room just by entering it, could trap men and enamour women with nothing but a look, could take his breath away with just a smile, but you were fading away. He had felt the darkness radiating off him since he returned home from the war, and he had fought tooth and nail to stop it corrupting you, you were too perfect, too pure, to be dragged down with him. He thought that he had kept you untainted, thought that he had done what was best for you, but now he wasn’t so sure.
He watched you when you weren’t looking, his eyes always finding your features no matter where you were. Whenever he was nervous or unsure he would find you and his breath would steady and his heartbeat would calm as if you were a shot of rum on his tongue. Almost a year after he had returned home did he start seeing you clearly, he had been so wrapped up in love, in coming home, in becoming the best man he could be, that he had clouded over you like fog on a winter morning. The glisten in your eyes had faded, they had dulled like a worn penny, and your collarbones and ribs began to rise from under your flesh. He tried to think of the last time he had made you laugh, a proper belly laugh like when you were kids, and he came up empty. He knew what the reason was but he refused to accept it, refused to admit that their might be cracks in your perfect relationship, because losing you just might break him.
He tried to be better for you, but he was too far gone. He could feel you slipping away from his fingertips and there was nothing he could do. You had tried to change for him and in the process you had lost part of yourself, and the war had carved a hole between both of you. It was heartbreaking and nauseating, both of you loving each other too much, but ultimately becoming different people. He refused to let you go without a fight, he knew he was being selfish and possessive but he couldn’t just let you leave, you had both been hopelessly in love since the very first day that you had met, you were soulmates. He chain-smoked you like a cigarette, took in your body like it was holy, craved your touch like it was medicinal, you were his everything. You were the reminder of the good days, looking at you and he was transported back to his youth, chasing you under apple trees, kissing until your lips were full and swollen, laughing until your ribs grew rough. You couldn’t imagine life without him, and every evening you clung onto his body, inhaling his sweat and tobacco covered skin, tracing his tattoos like they were bible verses, a million words lingering between you both. You were clinging on for dear life, knuckles glowing white as you refused to release your grip, desperate for everything to work out.
On a Friday, he let you go.
Curled up beside him, you felt otherworldly. He allowed himself moments of weakness around you, to everyone else he was the devil incarnate, but he softened whenever he touched you. He wanted these final moments to last forever, his girl wrapped up in his arms, the only bright light in his world of darkness. Tears were welling in his eyes, something so unfamiliar to him that he had to catch his breath, clear his throat before he could speak.
“I’ve not been good to you.”
Your head rose, resting on his strong chest as you peered at him, noticing how he refused to look at you.
“If I was a better man, a stronger man, I would have let you go sooner.”
“Tommy…”
“I’ve been selfish, little one. Too fucking selfish, and I see that now.”
You sat up further, already knowing his next words, your heart racing like one of his prize mares in your chest. You cling onto him, knuckles tensed as you feel him under you, willing him to look at you, but he can’t. He knows that if he sees your beautiful face, watches the tears slip down your cheeks and your lip quiver, he’ll crumble. That’ll be it, he’ll have broken, sweep you under him and try to piece you back together, but he knows this time he can’t.
You trace your fingertips over the hairs on his chest, the rhythmic motion helping to calm your rapid breathing. You feel like you’re in the firing line, on your knees, head bowed, just waiting for the final shot to blow your skull into pieces.
“I’ve never loved somebody the way I’ve loved you.” He coughs, rubbing his nose, and you’re not sure if its because it’s the tobacco in his lungs or the lump in his throat. “And know I’m realising that, what I’ve put you through, was wrong.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Tom, none of it. I’d do it all again if I could. In a heartbeat.” He knows you’re telling the truth, the honestly in your tone making his heart swell, but it doesn't make it any easier. He knows what he has to do, he has to be the bigger man, no matter how much it’ll wreck him, he has to do the best thing for you.
“I know you would, but that’s not the life you deserve.”
Silence falls across the room. Both of you bathed in smoke and ash and moonlight, memories flutter around you like torn photographs, drifting down onto the wood floor like snowflakes. The air is thick with tears that you both refuse to let slip, you had both known this time was coming since long before either had you had spoken the words. This was love. It tore you and ripped you in half, and neither of you had gone down without a fight. You loved one another so much that it had consumed you, swallowed you both whole and you wouldn’t change a thing. Despite the pain, it had been the best years of your life.
“I don’t think I know how to exist without you.” You confess, your lover such a part of you that it feels like you’re going to lose a limb, a terrible hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach.
“You will. You know I wouldn’t let you go if it wasn’t safe for you, you know I wouldn’t…I’ve got some money for you, to find a place to stay, somewhere far away from here, OK?”
“I’m not taking your money, Tom.”
“Yes you are.You’re not leaving unless I know you’ll be alright, eh?”
“No I’m not T, seriously -”
“Always so bloody stubborn!” He laughed, pinching your outer thigh playfully, a gesture so innocent and intimate and awfully familiar that it makes you both deflate with sadness.
You refuse to let the silence engulf you. Refuse to accept that this might be the last time either of you smell one another’s skin, the last time you can take comfort in one another, refuse to accept that forever might not mean what you thought. Refuse to accept that saying goodbye felt like the right thing.
“Tom. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll rule the world one day. But promise me something, promise me you won’t lose yourself? Promise me that you won’t do anything that you can’t come back from. For me?”
He nods, burying his face in your hair.
His exasperated laugh sounds like sparkling champagne, “I almost drove myself mad thinking of what I was gonna say to you, but I couldn’t find the right words. After everything we’ve been through though, we don’t need words do we, little one? I love you and you love me, that’s more than enough. No matter what happens, it’ll be us forever. Even if we’re apart. We don’t need words to say what we mean.”
Your lips met his, making him come alive just as you had done under the canal all those years ago.
“So let’s not talk.”
Tommy wished forever that he could burn the image of that final night behind his eyelids, see you whenever he closed his eyes. He dreamt that he tatted you on his skin, could trace your figure whenever things got too rough, that you would pull him back to shore. That final night felt like a dream, you both cried, sank into one another’s bodies, muffled one another tears with open mouthed kisses. Your beautiful gangster falling apart only for you, his darling angel clinging to just him in those final hours. Your bodies had intertwined for the last time, exhilarated with lust but exhausted from sadness, communicating through touches and kisses.
Tommy slept the best he had done for years. No dreams of shovels, no thoughts of the business racing through his skull. Instead he let himself get utterly wrapped up by you,falling into a satisfied sleep with his girl next to him. Woozy and delirious, when he first opened his eyes he forgot about everything that had happened, felt that unfamiliar emptiness in the bed beside him and thought that he’d find you nestled in an armchair drinking sweet tea, but nausea filled the pit of his stomach like acid when memories came flooding back.
It wasn’t until he saw the envelope he had filled with notes and coins for you, unopened on the desk, and your treasured photograph of the two of you from that very first beach visit, left on top, painted with a cherry red lipstick print and the words, “Goodbye, Tom. I love you.” Did he lose it. He flung the peaked cap off its hanger, let out an animalistic roar and shattered his fist through the wall, before falling to his knees and burying his head into his hands.
———————————————————————————————-
He had heard that you came back. Similar to a alley cat, you snuck in and out of the city under the cover of moonlight, only being seen by those you wanted. He had heard that when Ada fell pregnant, and she stayed locked away in Freddie’s basement flat, you were the only person she let in. Sometimes he would loiter on those back streets after work, hoping and dreaming for a glimpse of you, something to satisfy his hungry mind, but he never got so lucky. You kept in contact with the others, sending them letters and postcards, but they kept them hidden from him, and he pretended he didn't fantasise about ripping them open and devouring your words. Polly and Ada would speak of you sometimes, but would fall silent whenever he was nearby, and he would pretend he was unbothered, despite the want of knowing where you were clawing him inside out.
He threw himself into work harder than he had ever done before. He could feel himself slipping away, and without you to ground him he felt the darkness start to consume him, but he would never blame you, you were too good, and he would have ruined you. He dreamt of you every night, thought of you in every spare moment, so it was easier to be doused in another’s blood or making a dangerous deal than to be left alone to his own devices. Wondering if you had met someone new made him feel violently ill, it was like torture thinking of another man making you happy, another man touching you, making you smile. Almost every night he paid a visit to a whore house, fucking somebody else and dreaming it was you, he knew it was unhealthy, but he couldn’t stop. You lingered in his brain constantly like the smoke that left his sullen lips.
He became used the the thought of being alone. Enamoured with the idea of being on top; controlling and dominating the streets was all he cared about. You were always at the back of his mind, wherever he looked he saw you, thought of you, it drove him crazy, but then again you always had. He was in desperate need for a distraction, some form of happiness to grasp after you had left, he knew he had to move on, but he was uncertain he would ever find it again. He had to get used to the nauseating fact that you were gone, and then, like a ball of sunshine, the new blonde barmaid smiled at him and he felt his world lighten.
But now you were back.
————————————————————
He can’t remember walking towards you.
His feet and brain were disconnected, he had become an entirely different person than the calm, collected business man he usually was, his composure crumbling the moment he saw you. The second he saw a falter in your conversation, when you excused yourself from the enamoured, sleazy men around you, practically drooling as you stood before them, did he know he had to say something to you or risk regretting it for the rest of his life.
He apologised quickly to Grace, half heartedly and rushed, something he knew he’d have to explain later, but he couldn’t stop himself. He also didn’t miss the curl of Polly’s lip at the sight of her nephew infatuated with you, reminding her of the teenager she missed dearly.
Every move of his was calculated. From business to his personal life, he refused to let himself be ruled the same as the common man, everything he did was deliberate and precise, but even he’ll admit he was tongue tied as he pushed past the rest of the people in the ballroom, eager to reach his target.
You had stepped outside. Desperate for the relief of cool air against your flesh, the comfort of the stars above you and the solace of a must needed cigarette between your lips. Tommy couldn’t help the smile on his face, 5 years of separation pouring out of him as he exhaled at the sight of you, so close that he could reach out and graze your skin with his fingers. It was intoxicating, you were intoxicating, and he hated himself for still being enchanted with a woman he couldn’t have and shouldn’t want.
Movement behind you made you turn your head, dazed and hazy from the alcohol and the smoke filling your lungs, but you felt stone cold sober as your muddled mind placed the man before you. Air left your body like a pinched ballon, your chest expanding with surprise.
He’ll admit seeing you so flustered at the sight of him did wonders for his ego. Igniting the flame inside of his stomach that proved that you still thought of him, still cared for him. But just as quickly as you lost your cool, you regained it instantly, straightening up and letting a soft smile grace your features, and he felt himself melt.
You looked so familiar, yet different.
You were more tanned, freckles across the bridge of your nose, constellations he could remember tracing when he was a teen. Your hair was longer, tousled into a style he had never seen on you, but it looked right.
He could tell your dress was expensive, embroidered and embezzled with lace and crystals, a finely crafted necklace sliding off of your collar bone, and thoughts of gifts from admiring suitors sent him into a tailspin. He loathed himself for it, but his eyes narrowed to your left ring finger, audibly exhaling when it came up empty, and he didn’t know if he should feel relieved or ashamed.
A moment of silence and shared memories flashed between you quicker than the spark of a match. A warm familiar feeling brewed in the pit of your stomach, so gut wrenchingly nostalgic you feel as if you have been winded. Both of your senses are heightened, you can smell him, imagine the feel of his hair, despite it being almost shaved to his scalp, imagine the tattoos under his expensive suit, can practically recall your nails tracing them in a sleep induced haze. You had forgotten just how he made you feel, and the recognition makes you both halt.
He breaks the silence first; as if to prove to you his new status. He was no longer as boyish, as playful, he controlled the room, owned it, and the devil sitting on his shoulder wondered if that extended to you.
“Hello, (Y/N).”
“Hello, Tommy.”
He almost falls to pieces at the sound of his name on your sugar sweet lips, reminding him of the times before the war, the times he had locked away in his mind. You’ve turned a strong man weak, rendered him speechless and you grab the control as it slips from his fingertips.
“It’s been a long time, Tom.”
“That it has.”
“You’ve been away for quite some time.” He inhales sharply, determined to clasp the reins once again, determined to dismantle you and get a reaction, “Didn’t even see you at Freddie’s funeral, would have been nice of you to show up.”
The funeral was years ago but he still hates the fact that he hadn’t seen you that day, he was burying one of his best friends and yet you had clawed all over his mind like a virus. He even stayed after everyone had left, saying private words to his friend, and wondering if he could catch a glimpse of you, but that evening he walked home as alone as he came.
You raise a brow in challenge, your eyes glinting with a mix of disbelief and humour. “I stayed with our Ada for over a month when Freddie died, I was by her side through the thick of it. I didn’t come to the funeral out of respect, I didn’t want it to be about anything other than him.”
He swallows your words, nodding slowly. Letting the silence settle around him like smoke before he asks you his next question. “Where did you go?”
A small smile fell on your lips, and you looked up at him in a way that almost made him turn his head as it was too familiar, too painful.
“Anywhere and everywhere. Paris, Rome, Berlin. It was nice to see them rebuild after the war. I stayed in America for a year or so, Boston and New York, and then settled on the beach in California for a bit, it was beautiful.” He listens to every word that escapes your mouth, noting how happy you sound as you describe your travels, so breathless and elated as you reminisce.
“You did always love the sea.” He says gently.
“Yes,” you smile, “I do.”
“What brings you back? To a party like this?” He changes the subject, not wanting to linger in the past, fearful of what that might bring up in him.
“I’ve been in London with a friend, I owe him a favour and ended up here.”
Him. Three words that strike him in the gut and nearly make him double over. He can feel the heat rising in him, he’s married and it’s been years since he’s seen you, but the thought of you with another man makes vomit and red hot anger ascend inside of him.
“He’s just a friend, Tom.” You say slowly, offering him an olive branch, you shouldn’t have to explain yourself but you want to, because it’s just as hard for you. “He owns a distillery but he doesn’t do well at parties, so I offered to take his place.”
He laughs humourlessly, almost breathless from disbelief at the sheer incredulity of it all. “Solomons? Of fucking course.”
“You know of him?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.
“You could say that.”
“Well,” You grin, “Looks as if we have something in common.”
The knowledge that you were mere miles away, laughing with Solomon’s, head thrown back as you made time for a man that wasn’t him, drove the nail further into Tommy’s own coffin.
“So your dress? Your jewels? Presents from him?” It comes out harsher than he intended but he doesn’t care, the sight of you has made him as inebriated as a dozen shots of whisky on an empty stomach and he allows it to distort his words.
“I make my own money, Tommy.” You respond.
He steps closer, the toe of his expensive leather shoe inching towards you like a high tide.
“Do you ever think about me?” The words escape him before he has a chance to stop them, and he sees emotion pool in your eyes, and he watches a breath escape your lips.
“Everyday.”
He isn’t sure what to say, suddenly feeling 15 again, if anyone saw him now they would be in utter disbelief that he was the same ruthless gangster they knew. He is within reach now, you could extend your fingers and feel him under you like you had once done a million times before, you wonder just how different his lush suit would feel compared to the ones he had run around in when he was a teen. His eyes scour your face, drinking you in like water, comparing your face to the last time he had seen you. Neither of you let your eyes meet one another, darting away like rivals, and yours slip over his head back into the crowd.
“Is that your wife?”
His head snaps up as if he has been doused in ice water, and he follows your gaze across the floor. He sees Grace, surrounded by other women, but her eyes trained on the two of you. He knows later he’ll have a conversation he isn’t ready for, knows he’ll have to explain feelings he’s kept hidden for years, but he turns on his heel, away from his wife and towards you.
“Yes.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“She’s not you.”
Silence. He loathes himself for his words but hates himself even more that he doesn’t regret them.
“Good. You deserve someone better.”
Your eyes finally meet.
His are stoic and unwavering, lacking the spark you loved but still the same ocean eyes you loved to drown in. Yours are filled with emotion, finally exposing yourself after so many years, you soften him to the touch as your eyes meet his, melting him like an icicle.
“I know what you’re thinking, Tom.”
“You always have.”
You smile softly. “I almost came back you know.”
His ears prick up like a bloodhound, his heart bursting under his flesh.
“I heard rumours. People would whisper in the street about a devil, I knew exactly who they meant before they even spoke your name aloud.”
He inhales sharply, not knowing where the story will take him, desperate to regain control but ultimately knowing he’ll always be trailing after you.
“They said you were cunning and brilliant but they also said you were ruthless and cold blooded. They said you were a man on a mission, a man destined to get to the top, they told me they were scared of you. Terrified.”
He steps closer.
“I begged Ada to tell me everything, managed to get her drunk from expensive liquors, you know the ones she loves? The ones that taste like the sweets we would nick after school?”
He nods, the memory distant but familiar. The taste of sugar on your lips, teeth clashing together, giggles that sounded like bells.
“She told me the darkness came back, took you away. She said she was worried for you, she told me she didn’t want to lose her brother, not again. I was going to come back, but I was a coward.” Your voice falters, and he wants nothing more than to cradle you in his arms but he knows he can’t and instead watches the rise and fall of your chest. “I was worried that if I came back you would get worse, I’m not good for you Tom. You know that.”
“You’ve always been good for me.”
“You say that cause you love me,” You tease, “But we’re not kids anymore, Tommy.”
He looks at you, older now, taller. He can remember the colour of your hair from the sun, the grass that stained your knees, the way you felt under him. He can remember everything. If you aren’t good for each other, why is he still under your spell?
He can see the way your face contorts, passion evident on your features.“She told me you met a woman, fell in love and got married. I was mad with jealousy at first, like a bloody woman possessed.”
He hates the way your admission makes him feel smug.
“But Ada, she told me she was good for you. She told me how she makes the shovels stop Tom, she makes you a better man. I knew in that moment that you deserved her, and she deserved you. You deserve to be happy, because you’re a good man, Tom.”
You walk towards him, luring him to you like a ship to the shore. He responds immediately, so close that he can feel the warmth of your body, smell the wildflowers that linger on your neck.
“I asked for a sign that night,” you say softly, “a sign that you would be alright.”
“A sign?” He asks almost playfully, just enough teasing in his tone to remind both of you that maybe he isn’t too far gone.
“Yes, a sign, and I got one.”
You tear your eyes from him, down to your diamond encrusted purse in your hands. You open the clasp, and rummage around, slipping out a piece of paper no bigger than your palm. You rest it against your fingertips before holding it out to him, and he slowly takes it, not missing the sparks he feels as your hands touch.
He turns it over, and let’s out a genuine laugh, one that shocks you both.
It’s a newspaper clipping, from one year ago, the black and white print almost seeming harsh under the light of the moon. He traces the picture with the pads of his fingers, smiling more this evening than he can ever remember.
He clears his throat and reads softly, “Tommy Shelby’s mare “Little One” comes first place at national derby.”
Your eyes connect once again, the corners of your mouth upturned. “Little One.” You repeat, “She was my sign.”
He nods, looking down at the picture of the thoroughbred he loved dearly. “She’s the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen, but she’s stubborn as all hell, can be aggressive too.”
“She sounds lovely.”
“Oh, that she is.”
You tentatively place one hand onto his chest, as if you are taming a wild animal. He responds to your touch like he’s been craving it his entire life.
“I should go, Tom.”
He doesn’t know what to say, or do, something so rare for a man always one step ahead. All he can think of is to cling to you like a child, wanting to savour the moment for as long as he can.
“I don’t want to lose you, not again.” He admits, his tough facade shattering like glass.
“You let me go once before Tom, you can do it again.”
He holds you against his chest, not bothering to wonder who can see him in such a fragile state. A lifetime of memories flutters between you like pages of a book. Everything unwinding in your mind, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. You feel like a teenager again, can smell him beside you, feeling as if you are curled up back in his single bed, running your fingers through his hair.
“You’re going to go back to your wife, Tom. Your beautiful, kind wife. The wife who is good for you, and you’re going to go and be happy.”
He thinks of it all, the money and the mansion. The power, the gold and jewels and paintings that lather every wall in his house, he thinks of everything he has, and wonders how any of it compares to you.
You place one palm against the side of his cheek, pulling him into you and you shake your head as if you can read his mind. You plant a soft kiss against his skin, it scorches into him like a branding, like rubbing salt on a fresh wound. He exhales shakily, watching as you step away from him, forever beautiful and young and enchanting, slipping back into the teenager he chased around sunflower fields and danced with under the stars. Back then his hands were freckled and tanned, now they are covered in blood.
“Goodbye, Tommy.”
“Goodbye, Little One.”
He swears he only turns away for a second, to locate Grace, to try and think of any explanation for his erratic behaviour this evening, to not let you see the emotion flooding over his face like a tsunami, and when he turns back around, maybe to stop you, or maybe to get one final look before you go, you’re already gone.
#peaky blinders imagine#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby oneshot#peaky blinders oneshot#thomas shelby imagine#writing
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Tarsus iv
Summary
Big, black holographic letters before a plain white wall. A name seared into his memory like a fresh burn scar that itched, stung and roared when touched, followed by the most bullshitty question he had ever heard, in neat, 20 % transparent letters:
TARSUS IV - Were Kodos' actions defendable?
Anyone who has ever been in a class, has usually met that one guy.
'That one guy' is the guy who, without fail, doesn't arrive a second before he has to. And after a week or so of finding the barely-in-time arrival annoying, you just get used to it, and stop paying it attention altogether.
Therefore, no student really cared when one infamous James T. Kirk deftly slid into the auditorium to the beep of an attendance card and the hiss of the doors sealing shut behind him. This was also why his best friend, Leonard "Bones" McCoy, didn't have to follow his eye roll up with any kind of comment; as Interspecies Ethics 241 approached its end, any snide comments he could come up with had all been said once or twice before.
Neither he, nor Spock - a vulcan exchange student that decided to stay behind on Earth after his semester was up, and also the only of Jim's bedroom encounters with aliens that stayed tangled in the sheets - started when blonde hair and a cheerful grin climbed not as much as leaned over the two back rows of the auditorium and shoved them apart, to press an out-of-breath kiss to green-tinged lips.
"C'mon, Bones, move over."
Bones let out a snort. "If you wanna sit with the cool kids, you gotta be on time." Jim opened his mouth to complain, but was cut off with a sharp, "it's full, Jim! Go sit in the back."
Respect and discipline was two values which Starfleet Academy held highly, so when the guest lecturer started speaking, Jim merely gave his friend an ugly look and struggled himself into the back row, splitting up a couple of friends.
He hadn't unpacked his bag or sunk into his not-nearly-cushioned-enough-but-apparently-ergonomic seat before the lecturer announced the theme of his lecture, and in the same breath, captured Jim's attention like no teacher could ever hope to do.
Big, black holographic letters before a plain white wall. A name seared into his memory like a fresh burn scar that itched, stung and roared when touched, followed by the most bullshitty question he had ever heard, in neat, 20 % transparent letters:
TARSUS IV - Were Kodos' actions defendable?
He stood, and gestured for the girl next to him to stand. When she didn't react, merely cast a look at him that asked him how stupid he was or what he was on, he grit his teeth and shoved past her, probably painfully crashing into knees and stepping on toes and backpacks on the way, but with a numbing anger, he couldn't bring himself to care.
Affronted, their teacher rose from her seat next to the controls to the holo, hissing an accusing "Cadet!" as the door next to her opened with the internal override.
Not turning away from the lecturer, who busily continued as if nothing had happened, Bones scoffed at the vague shape in the corner of his eye of a fellow student flipping the bird on their way out. Some people just had to make a scene.
When the class ended, Bones turned to see that Jim had run ahead of them, which, though uncharacteristic of him, wasn't surprising. Bones knew better than to expect Jim to act a certain way; the guy always ended up doing the exact opposite. Whether it was because he liked to fuck with people's heads, or it was just in his nature to be unpredictable, Bones had yet to find out.
Spock didn't talk a lot unless prompted to do so by Jim, so the walk to the absolutely packed cantina was a silent one. Traveling through Monday morning hallways was a game of pinball with not-quite-awake latecomers and last minute crammers reading up on whatever subject their test would be on, which meant that securing a table was a privilege of the students quick to exit class. Neither Spock nor Bones rushed needlessly, so the discovery that Jim had secured a table for the three of them was a welcome one.
How Jim had already acquired lunch as well, though, was a bit of a mystery. That Bones got an avoidance rather than an answer when he asked as much was even more of one.
"Sorry. Just had to run ahead," he answered, attempting to fit half a sandwich in his mouth and not chewing thoroughly before gulping the chunk down in a manner similar to a bird of prey in a hurry. "I skipped breakfast this morning, so I was— I'm—" Jim cut himself off with an odd expression in favor of shoving more food into his oral cavity.
Bones stared expectantly. "Starving, Jim. You can say it if you try hard enough," he teased. Spock, as per usual, misunderstood him, and saw his chance to demonstrate his knowledge to his inferior human companions.
"Indeed, it is not a word considered 'taboo' amongst humans, especially since a famine has not occurred since late 21st century, due to advanced—"
"The fuck it hasn't. Just because Vulcan and Earth has a limitless food supply, it doesn't mean that the rest of the universe is as lucky."
Spock didn't appear offended, but something about his face made it clear that he didn't appreciate much being interrupted and belittled in the same sentence. Leonard assumed that his own face was just as expressive.
"'The hell, Jim? We're talking about Earth, not the rest of the universe. What crawled up your ass and died?" He would probably be amused that Jim had managed to eat half his lunch with an impressive three bites, but was a bit too busy feeling secondhand offense from Spock when all Jim saw fit to answer with was a scoff. "Don't get all touchy over Tarsus IV. 'S only a week long subject."
Spock suppressed an instinctual wince as James' metal chair scraped over the stone floor, creating a noise that cut painfully into his ears.
"I forgot my PADD in the classroom," he stated, abandoning his lunch as he collected his jacket and bag, throwing over his shoulder as he went: "See you in Nonverbal Communication."
Spock had, and suspected McCoy had as well, seen his beloved store away his PADD in his bag as they were approaching his acquired table, and therefore immediately revealed the statement to be invalid. What reason Jim would have to make the untruthful statement, however, Spock didn't know. He decided to voice as much. "I am struggling to understand the human tendency of 'lying white.'"
"White lies, Spock. It's 'white lies.'" Bones was torn between wanting to laugh at the vulcan, and buy him an educational book on FSE expressions, but thoughts of Jim distracted him. He sighed. "Yeah, me neither."
The day after, Jim was wholly absent from class. Spock would easily admit that he did not understand this sudden behavior of James'. While his 'boyfriend' might certainly not be the most logical of humans, he could always be trusted to do his very best in every situation, and always 'come out on top.' While often absentminded, always listening. While perpetually late, never did he skip class. Unless he was not feeling well?
Jim had taken up the habit of always calling Spock sometime between 23:48 and 00.07 every evening, which meant they had half an hour for talking before Spock begun his meditation. Their nightly conversations were illogical, as they rarely had anything of importance to discuss that could not be discussed at another more favorable time, but most nights, they provided Spock with a sense of calm, which aided him in his meditation later, and he felt himself growing fond of them in a way that surely was not vulcan.
There had been no such call the previous night, and as Jim always was the one to start the conversations, Spock had taken this as a need for privacy, and refrained from calling Jim himself.
Now that the classroom doors sealed shut, preventing latecomers from disturbing the rest of the class, Spock was left unsettled. McCoy, beside him in the same seats as the previous day, looked around the room, restlessly.
Seeming not to find what he was searching for, he settled down with notes from the previous lesson in front of him. "Probably slept in," he mumbled, as the lecturer started speaking.
Unsure of how to put words to his 'gut feelings,' Spock kept quiet.
Tarsus IV was an uncomfortable topic, and also one of the reasons that Bones wasn't all that fond of the big, black, star spangled silence up there. After all, Earth was a very safe place to live, with everything you needed at least somewhere nearby, and a lot of safety nets if something should go wrong. Serving on a star ship, or at a base somewhere on a barren planet several lightyears away from civilization, you had no safety nets. Limited supplies and death in all directions.
And still, the only place he truly belonged.
Even if Tarsus IV reminded him just where he was going and how bad an idea it really was, he kept a straight face and his fingers steady when they broke up in groups for discussions, listened to witness descriptions and took notes during the lengthy lecture on theories and controversies on and around the still touchy subject. The lecturer treated the whole topic tastefully, theorizing rather then concluding, which was a rare find, as most people seeking to comment on the incident either were theorists who painted it as a cruel massacre and wholeheartedly believed Starfleet to be behind the whole thing and Kodos still alive, or professors who had found proof that everything had gone to plan, and no innocent life had been stolen.
Bones did find the guest lecturer interesting, but not half as much as Spock, it seemed. He had attempted to mock the vulcan for it, but black eyes had turned to him sharply, and merely stated that "the conflict between logic and ethics is extremely fascinating, and Dr. Durmeg seems to have conducted thorough research, with valuable findings that may be the most relevant information pertaining to the discussion of Tarsus IV ethics." Sometimes Bones wondered why he bothered.
The walk towards the lunch hall was less obstructed on a late tuesday, and for once, Spock elected to talk during the whole walk. Bones didn't know if the vulcan brain allowed vulcans to process more information at one time than the human brain did, or if it was just Spock, but the young man had come up with some 'extremely fascinating' theories that had Bones wondering if he shouldn't be right up there beside the lecturer.
He wasn't done talking when he reached the table that Jim - mysteriously - had captured a second day in a row. Gracefully sliding down into the chair opposite his boyfriend, Spock busied himself with his brought, vegetarian, lunch.
"It is most unfortunate that you missed this class," he said as he released the smell of a vulcan salad from its container. It seemed to smell pleasing to him, but Bones felt mildly nauseated by the odor. Unaware of his friend's discomfort, Spock elaborated: "The Dr. Durmeg expressed interesting and valuable viewpoints on the Tarsus IV crisis."
Jim's vague hum seemed to confirm the statement, and discourage rather than encourage an elaboration, but the tone was either lost on or ignored by Spock.
"Indeed, he made some quite convincing arguments that Kodos' action were entirely justifiable—"
"Nothing about Kodos is justifiable."
Spock seemed to consider the statement for a second, tilting his head. "Had you attended class—"
"We're through."
"I beg your pardon?"
Jim stood, locking his PADD and putting it away. "We're over, Spock."
And in the next second, Jim was gone.
Spock tried, futilely, to grab onto a sensible thought that would explain these actions. He turned to McCoy.
"I am not entirely sure that I understand the full meaning of this particular human—"
"He…" Bones narrowed his eyes at the hallway where Jim had disappeared. "He just broke up with you."
He hadn’t slept for days, hunger gnawing at his insides as if his body could eat itself inside out and survive that way, dull teeth scraping at his nerve endings as he felt as if he had a black hole inside of him that was pulling at him, rendering him immobile and whimpering.
Tara had fallen to her death, slipped somewhere she should’ve been safe but wasn’t because she was sluggish and blinded by the gnawing, and Yvonne had fallen asleep, but not woken up the next morning or the one after, and now they were down to ten, ten almost- and just-barely teenagers, nine who should’ve been safe in their beds maybe even with their parents by their sides if they were lucky and hadn’t decided to throw away the fact that they were so blessed as to be chosen for the sake of saving one single blind passenger, save him for nothing because now they were all going to die, all alone and hopeless, now that the darkness came and stole him away, as he passed out because he was too hungry and too cold and too hurting to fall asleep but his body couldn’t take anymore and—
Jim didn’t awake with screams and moans anymore, mainly because the nightmares didn’t plague him any longer, but also because they weren’t as much nightmares as bad memories, and if there was one thing Jim didn’t do, it was linger on the past. However, the experiences left him shaking, cold and with a wave of nausea washing over him as he stretched out under the sheets, just to feel the soft cotton all around him, just to forget the sensation of wet, dirty, sandy clothes clinging to his body.
The room was completely dark, but the window let in a slight shimmer of blue light that caressed his desk, the spines of the books in the book shelf, the night stand and the empty right side of the bed. With a shaking breath, he reached for his cell phone, ignoring the glaring numbers of the display in favor of thumbing through his programmed contacts, not trusting his voice to carry the voice commands correctly.
It wasn’t until his thumb rested over the name so dear to him, that he realized what he had actually done not too many hours previous.
Releasing the device with a sigh, he curled back up under the cold sheets, staring at the insides of his eyelids. Spock wouldn’t be mad, Spock would probably understand and brush it away as emotional human behavior, and act as if nothing had happened, but the sudden realization that he had broken up with Spock left him inexplicably shaken, to the core, and feeling alone and very small and like he didn’t belong.
If he didn’t cry himself to sleep, it wasn’t because the black hole in his chest didn’t hurt.
"I don’t think I’ve seen you worried before."
The observation wasn't anything but that: An observation. Interestingly enough, seeing as almost every reference McCoy made to his behavior came in the form of an insulting attempt to, presumably, elicit an emotional response.
In the same fashion, Spock voiced his observations on Jim's behavior, and the questions it had raised within him.
" I don't delude myself as to think I have gotten him pinned down, but as I've for a while studied Jim's behavioral nature, this sudden 'breaking up' seems to me unmotivated and uncharacteristically not thought through. Additionally, I have come to the conclusion that this could be related to the current lecture subject and our discussions of it, which leaves me 'puzzled.'"
Leonard cringed visibly from the strange, if not audibly painful mixture of informal and formal federation standard english. "Keep working on your colloquial english, Spock. Anyway, would've thought vulcans didn't worry."
Spock opened his mouth, to answer one remark or the other, Bones assumed, but was interrupted by the lecturer's arrival. He thought he might've caught a glimmer of disappointment in those expressionless eyes as Spock sat down next to him, swiftly entering vulcan notes into his PADD ("quite logically, seeing as the experience would not only ensure easier and more correct recalling of the lesson, while simultaneously provide exercise in FSE to GV translation.")
The belated beep of the attendance card distracted him, though, and he turned in his seat to face his romantic partner - his boyfriend - who again had arrived barely on time, his appearance speaking of an insufficient amount of sleep. Beautiful blue eyes sought his, and Jim sent him a tight smile.
When Spock returned his smile (or what he hoped came across as one) with a slight nod and warm eyes, Jim could finally breathe out, and try a happier expression. He sunk into an end seat in the back, and drew out his PADD.
He didn't particularly want to be there, but then again, he didn't particularly want to be single any longer than he had to, (although he was pretty sure Spock had no idea what "we're through" meant anyways.) So he tuned out everything else, and started drafting up an explanation that wouldn't set off Spock's internal lie-detector, or leave anything for his vulcan curiosity to latch onto.
An hour passed by without making itself known as Jim debated family problems, insomnia, existential crisis, hell, even male PMS, and he had a good thousand words worth of half-assed stories when he became aware of the silence. Not break-silence with co-student chattering, not lecture-silence with the lecturer mumbling to himself during stops in his presentation, not note-taking silence with tap-tap-tapping on PADDs. Just silence.
Worrying that he might have been asked a question he wouldn't have the faintest idea of an answer to, he drew a breath, and looked up.
Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't the gazes of a hundred and fifty six students, one guest lecturer and one teacher simultaneously directed at him.
He sent a look at Spock and Bones, fully intending to have them explain what was going on via eye contact, but the sad, pitying? look on Bones' face, and Spock's suddenly calculating eyes made him wary.
Turning his eyes to the front of the auditorium, his mouth went dry, and the black hole returned.
Spock returned his eyes to the hologram that had put a stop to the lesson.
Younger, thinner, paler, more haunted, hair dirtied by dust or dirt and with barely discernible tear tracks burrowing their way down a blank face, stood his boyfriend by a rescue shuttle, the Platon, the first shuttle to touch down on Tarsus IV after the Kodos incident.
The hologram was highly pixelated and taken from a low angle, and this, along with the folds of clothing that obscured the motive, suggested that a compact device had been used in secrecy, to obtain the picture. Had anyone seen it be taken, the photographer would likely be reprimanded, and the picture deleted. It should have been deleted, even if it was not discovered while it was being shot. Wouldn't there be witness protection? Wouldn't someone be hired to ensure that any picture of such nature was deleted from—
Opening classroom doors spurred him from his somewhat hysterical inner debate, and before he really was aware of his actions, he had packed up and went out the door, chasing Jim's hastily retreating back.
Leonard, on the other hand, was rooted by the sudden revelation, and didn't retrieve control of his limbs until the doors swished shut behind Spock.
Swearing under his breath, he, too, rose from his seat. Every step he made towards the door and every number on the override code felt incredibly awkward and loud in the silent room, but awkwardness wasn't really what was on his mind at the moment.
Sinking down into a corner of the fire evacuation staircase, Jim didn't really feel much. There was the insane, pressing pain in his chest and burning in his eyes, and maybe he twisted his ankle on the way here, but it felt as if his mind was just a floating mass, incapable of holding a thought, resulting in a buzz, like a wrongly configured communicator. He became aware of an arm snaking around his shoulders, uncharacteristic of Spock, and a warm hand massaging his shoulder, very characteristic of Bones, and maybe it relieved the pain a bit, or maybe it didn't.
He let out a puff of laughter. "I drafted like…" He did a headcount. "Fourteen different lies to tell you."
Spock needed no further explanation. He cocked his head "I think the appropriate expression is: 'Truth will out.'"
Jim neither corrected or laughed at the erroneous use of the saying, and instead snorted out a quick "maybe."
Leonard ground his teeth, rubbing his best friend's shoulder in what he hoped was a soothing manner, while he tried to sort out his thoughts before his mouth could spew something that went unchecked by his brain. 'I'm sorry' were the most pressing words, but they were lame, and Jim would probably appreciate them as much as he appreciated a fucking hologram that confirmed him as one of the nine Tarsus IV survivors being stretched out over the holoscreen in front of a whole class of starfleet cadets.
It wasn't very surprising that Jim was the first one to speak, because there wasn't a whole lot to say. The words surprised all of them though. Including Jim himself.
"I wasn't supposed to be on Tarsus IV," he confessed, grabbing a random thought out of his head and pulling it out of his mouth. And when he started talking, everything else came detached, easily:
"I snuck onto a ship to get over there. I was just so sick of Frank and Winona and Iowa that I figured I'd go somewhere they couldn't get to me. Somewhere they couldn't just… Go act all worried in front of the police and get them to haul my ass back into the house when I wanted to be alone."
He blinked repeatedly to clear his vision again, and dared a glance up at the two best people in the world. They radiated endless patience and comfort, and something that the black hole didn't take, blossomed in his chest.
"Uh… I was in eight or ninth grade, and there was this summer camp, or school, I guess, over at Tarsus IV. An advanced academical course for kids and language courses for parents and guardians, and everyone would live in really cramped houses. I was bored out of my mind with regular school, so I really wanted to go, but Winona wouldn't take me, and hell would freeze over before I took Frank, and I obviously couldn't go alone, so I snuck aboard the ship."
The three of them were all sitting down now, and even if he leaned a little heavily into the arm that was still slung awkwardly around his shoulders (he appreciated the gesture too much to shake it off, even if it felt strange,) it felt like they were just hanging out, talking about whatever crossed their mind. Even now that there was only really one thing on their minds.
"I hid in the room of my classmates on the ship over, and hacked into their databases while they were still unprotected to put my name into the class. I still had to hide in Thomas' closet when we got to Tarsus, though, because I couldn't figure out a way to assign myself some sort of housing, but you know. It just became a kid's game. Hiding from the parents, unless I wanted to be sent back home. Class was challenging, but that's what I went there for, so I had a really great time.
"I guess you know what happened next." He shrugged. "Food went bad, communication lines went down and Kodos decided it was time to play god. Fuck, he had like, a screen to relay public announcements on, and at first, we thought it was really funny in a very pretentious way, but…"
Jim didn't realize he was crying until a salty tear ran down into his mouth, and when the taste hit his tongue, his throat started tightening up. "Just, seeing a huge face of some guy who you really, really trusted before, because he was the fucking governor of the colony, saying that you and you and you have to kindly go die…
"This guy in my class, Kevin Riley, his parents were on the dead list. What kind of monster kills the parents of a kid, and expects the kid to go on fine?
"…When they rounded up the people who were going to die because their 'existence represented a threat to the well-being of society,' it was kind of obvious that he favored kids over adults. I have no idea what he was trying to do. Build his own society, I guess. I think he just wanted to see what he could make us do.
"Anyway, they made all the people on the dead-list gather together, and people were holding onto each other and kids were trying to get through the energy field when they managed to separate all of them. And then, in one second, they were all there, and in the next, everybody had just disappeared. Not a trace there'd been anyone there. I guess we were all in shock, because no one started screaming or anything, and I was just thinking that I was really lucky that I wasn't on the living-list, because it meant I'd sure as hell not be put on the death-list."
Jim chucked darkly. "God, I'd just thought the thought, and the moment after, the peace keeping forces, peace keeping, yeah right, they point their phaser rifles at us, and Kodos isn't looking nice anymore, and he just says that 'there are some blind passenger on Tarsus IV,' and my blood just froze. I was sure they knew who I was and where I was, and I had no idea what to do. He started saying something about how even one more person alive would mean 'slow death to the more valued members of society,' and we kids just panicked. I don't know how many of us there were, but someone pulled me along, and half my class started running for anywhere else. I can't even remember where we hid, I just remember trying so hard not to get caught.
"We had to hide away for one and a half weeks. They fed the 'valued members of society' in a closed area, and no one got to bring any food out, so we tried to find food elsewhere, but it just wasn't ever enough, and god, I thought a day without food was bad, but that was just hell. Freddie from our class gave up after a while and ran to Kodos' soldiers to get some food, but I don't know what Kodos told them, that they had to obey him or something unless he'd kill them, maybe, but they just took him somewhere, and he never came back.
"We hid around the housing area for another half week and I thought we were going to die that one day, but suddenly, someone got the communication back up working, and they signaled starfleet to come and rescue us, and I guess Kodos heard about that, because the soldiers just started firing away at everybody, so we just, we ran away as far as possible from any building we could see, so we hid in some unfinished buildings, and Tara fell off the top of the building and died, and Yvonne and Mark just stopped waking up after a couple of days of hiding."
Suddenly, his words came like a rush, as if he couldn't get them away from him, out of him, fast enough. They tasted like poison on his tongue.
"They found us, two soldiers, or three I guess, and they fired at random into the building, so we found some crates to hide in and under and behind, but Linn wasn't fast enough and she disappeared, and Thomas was just barely, by a hair fast enough to only get half his face blown away when we ducked. We hid away for three hours just holding our breath and not making noises, and then we had to take off our t-shirts to press them against Thomas' face so he wouldn't bleed to death. I have no idea why we didn't just let him bleed out, because it was just naïve and stupid to think that anyone would come to our rescue after all that time, but they did, they did, and…"
He doubled over with a choked sob, and both Spock and Bones were there to catch him, embrace him, rub at him and warm up his shaking, inexplicably cold body.
"I don't know why I'm crying," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I'm over this. I left it behind. It's so, so long ago."
"Bullshit," mumbled Bones right back. "You'd have to be made outta titanium to just leave behind something like this."
"Sharing worries and 'venting emotions' seem to be an effective way of dealing with such problems, Jim. There is no shame in attempting to relieve your pain."
He shook his head. "Four people died because of me. Possibly five."
Warm lips pressed to his temple. "And I grieve with thee, Jim, but--"
The warmth in his chest was back, and the black hole felt as if it had lost it's strength. Even as he untangled himself from the unbelievably emotional display, he felt comforted. He smiled, mainly to himself. "No one's ever told me that before."
"'Bout time we did, then." Bones stood, and offered a hand, which Jim took.
"Let's get to lunch," he said, patting his friends' backs decisively. "Let's count the stares I get when we get to the cafeteria."
Bones thought Spock looked vaguely amused, and saved the visual for future reference. However: "Your face is all red and puffed, by the way."
Jim started rubbing furiously at his face, which probably wouldn't help at all. "Shut up, Bones. Your face is red and puffy. What happened to 'you did a great job, Jim?'"
"I'm a doctor, not a psychologist. I've dashed out enough comfort today," he snorted. "Time to get you to act more like Jim always-arriving-late Kirk and less like a wuss."
"Hey, I don't always arrive late."
"Yeah, you really do, actually. You're gonna be late for your own funeral, someday."
"You're like the worst friend ever. Spock, tell Bones that he's the worst friend ever."
"As I have not yet befriended every person 'ever,' as you say, I cannot ascertain that he is the worst friend ever."
"Spock, you're the worst boyfriend ever."
Spock merely raised an eyebrow at the accusation, tuning out the inevitable jab at Jim's 'taste in men' that Bones was very likely to make. Instead, it seemed impossible to tear his eyes away from the wide grin that spoke warmly of the human trait of getting through anything anyone 'threw their way.'
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Frost and Mischief Ch. 7
Summary: A search for magic enchantments begin, and the rogue guard’s intentions become a little clearer for Elska and her friends.
Pairing: OC x Loki Laufeyson
Warnings: mentions of violence, friends fighting
Word Count: 3,498
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The Note
"You are quite positive you do not want to stay with any of us until we get this guard situation sorted?" Sif asked Elska for the third time since they'd left Thor's chambers. "We really do not mind."
"Sif," Elska placed her hands on her friend's shoulders as they arrived at her own chambers. "I am most positive I will be okay in my own chambers. I appreciate your concern."
"We only worry because you are our friend," the warrior replied.
"And I am so thankful for you all," Elska turned to open her door. "I will see you tomorrow, Sif." With a final smile, she walked into her chambers and slipped off her sandals.
Walking to the window, she realized how sore her body had become over the past week. Training was taking its toll, but her aching body was proof that at least she was getting somewhere.
I think it is time for a bath, Elska began making her way to her bathing chambers, stretching her arms high above her head. A sharp pang in her stomach told her that her wounds from the attack weren't quite healed yet. Arms shooting back to her sides, she began slipping her gown off, rolling her shoulders as she did so.
A soft knock came from her door and Elska reluctantly pulled her gowns back over her shoulders, careful to ensure she was properly covered before peeking out and seeing who had come to see her.
“Loki?” her face was puzzled as she registered who stood before her.
"I wanted to ensure no one had strung you up from the rafters without me,” he grinned down at his friend.
“Yes, because on the way from Thor’s chambers to my own, Sif accompanying me all the way, I was brutally murdered,” Elska rolled her eyes.
“We may joke, but you have registered how serious this situation could potentially be, yes?” Loki’s face took on a more pressing tone. “Are you sure you do not wish for any sort of protection detail?”
"Does nobody believe I can fend for myself?" Elska threw her arms in the air, regretting it as another sharp pang ran through her abdomen. Turning around to retreat into her room, Loki followed her in before the door closed.
"I think you overestimate yourself if you think you could defend yourself against whoever is looking for you," Loki now looked genuinely concerned, and simultaneously frustrated with Elska’s stubborn attitude.
Frowning, Elska knew he was right. She was not as independent as she liked to pretend she was. Three days of combat training definitely did not make her a warrior. She was still reluctant to change her living situation; after all, the guard in question only wanted to talk to Elska.
"Might you know any enchantments that will keep my door sealed to all other than myself??" She finally met Loki's eyes, a defeated sigh escaping her.
"Yes, but what of your daily activities?" he pressed.
"During the day I am either with the queen or with Sif and Fandral," Elska replied. "When I am with the queen, there is never a guard too far away. When I am with Sif and Fandral, I have two of the very best warriors in the Nine Realms by my side." She shrugged, unworried.
"How can you not feel even the least bit concerned?" Loki was growing frustrated.
"It was one guard who, as far as I could tell, merely wanted to speak with me," Elska was sincerely befuddled by how worried each of her friends seemed to be. "Why should I be afraid of a conversation?"
"Because conversations do not always end in peace," his reply was simple.
Elska sat on her bed, placing her head in her hands.
"I should have never told you all anything," her voice was so quiet, she wasn't sure if Loki had heard her statement at first.
"And yet you find me to be the confounding one," Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. As he sat next to her, she rose from the bed, attempting to walk away.
Standing, Loki caught her hand in his own, turning her around to face him. His other hand he placed on the side of her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. Elska’s heart began racing as confusion bubbled in her mind. The last time their skin touched, the man had rubbed his hand like it was on fire. Now, here he was, gently holding her face like it was some precious treasure he was afraid to break.
"I am still upset with you," she tried to break from his grasp, unsuccessfully.
"Had you not told us, we would have never forgiven ourselves if something ill came of this little incident," while his voice was quiet, his words were urgent. "I would not ever forgive myself." His hand fell from her face, though the other remained latched around her wrist.
Turmoil growing inside her, Elska pulled away and stood at the window, arms crossed. While she could see all of Asgard from her spot, her eyes focused on the floor.
Loki walked over to the young woman, raising his hand as if to place it on her shoulder, then letting it fall back to his side.
"Should you change your mind, you know where to find me," he sighed. "I will place the enchantments on your door as I leave."
"Thank you," was all Elska said in reply.
She waited until she heard the door click before looking up.
Definitely time for a bath, she thought, making her way to her bathing chambers at last.
*****
The next morning, Elska was in better spirits. She smiled as she greeted the palace staff she passed in the hall.
"Elska?" she heard from behind her.
"Eira!" Elska turned around, running to embrace the woman who had called out for her. "How have you been?"
"I have been most well, though I hear you may not be faring the same," Eira gestured to Elska abdomen.
"Oh, just some jealous men pining after me," Elska waved away the topic, wanting to keep the conversation light. "How is the dwelling? Might I be able to visit soon?"
"Everyone is doing well," Eira followed Elska's lead, moving the conversation forward no problem. As the two continued walking, she began chattering away, listing off how each individual had been in the past week.
Elska soaked in the information, absolutely overjoyed to be back with the first person she'd ever called her best friend. It baffled her that she'd only been living in the palace for a mere few weeks.
"You must visit soon," Eira said as they reached the queen's study.
"I plan to celebrate the festival in the lower district if possible, so count on seeing me then," the two girls shared a final embrace before parting ways.
Elska knocked lightly on the door before entering the study. As she walked in, she noticed the queen had her nose in a book.
"Good morning, my queen," she walked over to greet Queen Frigga.
"Good morning, my dear girl," the queen stood, kissing Elska's forehead before returning her focus to the book, sitting back at her desk. "How do you fare this morning?"
"Quite well, my queen," She said, taking her seat beside the desk. "And yourself?"
"Concerned," she did not look up as she responded. "It seems we have found previously hidden traces of magic surrounding the thief we caught in the merchant district. Now, it is up to me to figure out how to find the source of this magic, as well as figure out what spells were cast."
Thinking for a moment, Elska thought up an idea.
"Perhaps a trip to the Royal Library may be warranted?" she suggested.
"It definitely couldn't hurt," the queen marked her spot in her book before closing it. "I do not know where to start looking, though."
"You're in luck," Elska met the queen's gaze. "I am quite acquainted with the organization of the library."
"I sometimes forget we have a Royal Library," the queen joked as they began the short walk.
"I think most do, with the exception of Loki," Elska replied. The mention of the prince reminded her of their conversation last night, and she secretly hoped he would not be in the library when they arrived. Eira would be done cleaning, so he most likely would feel no need to protect his research.
Of course, she could not be so lucky.
As Elska opened the door for the queen, Loki's eyes darted to her instantly. He started to say something, but found himself silenced when he realized his mother was with her.
"Good morning, mother, Elska," he nodded his head, rising to kiss his mother's hand. "What brings you all here?"
"A prisoner," the queen replied, gazing around the library. "You might be able to help."
"I am listening," Loki cocked his head to the side, interest piqued.
"While you inform him of the details, I will begin searching for books that may help us," Elska stated, eager to be further from the prince. She curtsied as she took her leave.
First you develop feelings for the man, now you avoid him like the plague, Elska was confused by her own actions. You should have been overjoyed by his actions last night, instead you run from them. She did find her avoidance helpful in her efforts to keep their relationship platonic, however.
Shushing the voice in her head, she began her hunt for anything that would aid in their endeavors. Running her fingers over the many book bindings, Elska relaxed into a much more natural state. She had spent countless hours in this library, concealed, gleaning information from any book she pleased. Truthfully, this library was the reason she was late returning to the dwelling on numerous occasions.
"Spells of Coverage." No.
"Spells to Conceal Documentation." Oddly specific.
"Cloaking Traces of Enchantment." This is more like it.
Pulling the book from its cubby, she began reading through it as she made her way back to the desk area. Looking up, she realized it was now only Queen Frigga and herself in the library.
"I sent Loki to see the magic traces for himself," the queen said, sensing Elska's realization. "He will be back soon."
"I see," Elska stated before handing the book she'd found to the queen. "I found this, it may prove useful." Looking at the cover, the queen smiled at Elska's find.
"Thank you, my dear," she sat and immediately began reading, prompting Elska to go find her own book to aid their research.
Returning to the section she'd found their first topical book, her search resumed. Title after title, Elska was finding that cloaking traces of magic wasn't the most common item of research. After a few minutes, she finally found another book relevant to their goal.
"On Hidden Enchantments," she read.
She returned to where the queen was seated, grabbing a blank piece of parchment from Loki's desk, as well as a quill. Sitting in the nook, not too far from the queen, Elska allowed herself to become absorbed in her reading, pausing every once in a while to make a note.
Unsure of how much time had passed, she was only pulled from her book when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Reluctantly looking up, she saw that it was Loki getting her attention.
"So, where might that guard be that you told me surely would not be too far," he asked with a grin, sitting on the desk nearest to Elska. Rolling her eyes, she returned her attention to her book. "Are you really still so upset with me?"
"Truthfully, Loki, I am unsure of what I feel," she spoke to him, but her eyes remained focused on her book. "Until I know more, it feels more logical to not pay my emotions any mind."
"Perhaps I can help you discern what you are feeling?" Loki offered.
"Tell me, Loki," she glanced up at him. "Can you tell me with certainty that you can discern your own feelings toward me right now?" Elska had a feeling he could not. She hadn't been reading his mind, but she had been paying attention to his actions of late. From his strange reaction the first time they touched to their conversation last night, she had a feeling he was experiencing at least a fraction of the confusion she was.
Just as she expected, Loki answered her question with a scowl.
"Mother told me to inform you of her plans for the remainder of the day," He began walking away, and Elska realized that the queen was no longer in the library with her. "The All-father has requested her presence. She did not wish to interrupt your reading."
"What am I supposed to do?" Elska closed her book and ran after Loki.
"I did not ask," he kept walking, ignoring her appearance as she fell in step with him.
"Should I go find her?" Elska pressed.
"Probably not," Loki turned to her as they arrived to the door of the library. As he made to leave, Elska grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her once more.
"You really are such a thick-headed, pompous ass," she ensured their eyes were locked as she spoke. "You really want to know what I think, Loki? What I feel? Take a look, the walls are down. I do not care if you know, not anymore, because I have already made my decision."
Clearly taken aback by her permission to access her thoughts, Loki shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Elska watched as he regained his composure and looked her in the eye. It surprised her that her awareness of his presence in her mind allowed her to feel him as he read her.
She brought to the forefront of her mind all she had thought about her relationship with the youngest prince in the past few days. Her appreciation for their friendship, her attraction to the man, her learning of what happened in his marriage. Every bit of it, she showed him.
Including her decision to avoid pursuing anything further than friendship with him.
"This decision, it is final?" he swallowed, looking to the ground before he looked back to her.
Elska hesitated a moment, unsure of what he wanted to hear, yet simultaneously unsure if she cared to know.
Rather than answer, she left the room. Like she had said earlier, Elska found it best to just ignore her feelings till she knew more about them.
*****
"You are still leaving yourself too open," Sif spoke, holding her sword to Elska's throat.
"I can not really contradict you, there," Elska laughed. Trading her sword for a hand, Sif helped her sparring partner up.
Elska had told Sif everything that had transpired between Loki and herself. To keep her mind off of things, Sif suggested some combat training. Elska was surprised to find that it was working quite well.
Elska appreciated the confidant she had found in Sif. Leaving the dwelling, she had left Eira behind, a woman who she'd always gone to for advice; she had been someone Elska could tell her secrets to. This was not to say that she didn't still love and trust Eira, she just wasn't as present in her life anymore. In the palace, Elska was afraid she would no longer have someone like that, and then she'd met Sif. In only a few short weeks, she was finding that Sif was becoming a wonderful friend whom she could trust.
The pair reset before heading into their next match. Elska's first day training, Sif and Fandral had helped her discover her talent in dual wielding, a dagger in one hand and a rapier in the other. It limited the control her opponent had over her weapon in battle, and allowed her to keep and enemy preoccupied with one weapon while she utilized the other.
Dashing across the sparring arena, Sif dealt the first blow; if Elska had learned anything from watching Fandral and Sif fight, it was that Sif was fast and would utilize her speed.
Elska tended to be a slower fighter, an observant one. She liked to learn her opponent's habits before getting into the nitty-gritty of the fight. It was harder as a new warrior, still learning the basics of combat, but she was finding that her observant tactics helped her learn quicker, catching on to fighting styles with ease.
Elska deflected Sif's initial blow with her rapier, bringing the dagger in low and swift. An armor-clad forearm pushed the weapon away with a cling as Sif sidestepped to regain space.
The two began circling each other as Elska's mind bounced from idea to idea, debating what her next move should be. Her eyes darted around the arena, seeing if her surroundings might provide any use in this fight. Rather than land on anything helpful, her gaze found a man watching the two as they engaged. Studying his face, recognition sparked in her brain.
"That's him," she whispered under her breath, weapons lowering as her brow deepened.
"Elska, are you alright?" Sif looked behind her, attempting to find what had distracted Elska. Her eyes found the same man, and she put the pieces together.
"Sif, that is him, that is the guard," Elska said, louder this time.
The two women exchanged a single glance of agreement before beginning their chase.
*****
Elska's chest was on fire, she could not remember the last time she'd ran this much, let alone with one weapon strapped to her hip, one to her back.
This man was fast, faster than Sif even.
Right, left, down the alley, up the wall.
The speeding crew must have looked insane to passers by, chasing a guard of Asgard. Why would a warrior and a lady in waiting be after a man of high regard, anyway?
Through the garden, past the fountain, right.
They'd followed the guard to the entrance of the upper district when they lost him in the crowd. It was then Sif and Elska decided to split up and cover more ground.
Elska was perching on a stone fence, eyes scanning over each and every face in the crowd, paying attention to the eyes. The only focus she diverted from searching was being dedicated to casting an invisibility enchantment around herself. She figured it would be easier to catch someone who could not see you coming.
Dwelling on the edge of a gossiping group of nobles, she spotted him. Acting as if he was standing guard to a shop entrance, Elska noticed his eyes were hopping from person to person.
I suppose he is looking for me, she thought to herself. Or perhaps paranoid Sif is about to end his life. Elska smirked at the idea.
Creeping through the crowd, ensuring she did not even breathe on a single soul, she stopped behind the guard, who was none the wiser. She gave herself a moment to relish in her success.
"Looking for someone?" Elska whispered so only he could hear, one hand on his arm, the other on her dagger.
As if he knew she would find him, a wicked grin appeared on the man's face.
"Perhaps you can help me with that," he said, continuing his charade of protection over the shop. Elska's eyes quickly glanced through the crowd, hoping Sif was nearby. She was not too keen on going into this conversation alone.
"Why did you run?" Elska asked, unable to see Sif anywhere close by.
"My business is with you, and you alone," he began walking, startling Elska as she hurried to keep up with him, letting down her enchantment. "I come bearing a message."
"Then speak," Elska demanded, sparking a sick laugh to erupt from the guard.
"Not from me, little Valkyrie, from someone far greater than I," the name caught her off guard.
"I suppose that is better than mutt," she muttered under her breath. "What, then?"
The mysterious guard simply handed her a folded piece of parchment.
"Do not open it here, open it in private," he whispered to Elska as the two caught sight of Sif, who had yet to see them.
'Open it in private.' Like Hel I will open it in private, she quipped silently.
Elska turned to look at Sif. Turning back to the man, she found he was gone. When the two friends finally met in the midst of the crowd, Elska was silent, a stunned look on her face.
Elska motioned for Sif to follow her back to the palace, planning on opening the note when the two were away from prying eyes. Their return was anxiously quiet, heads on a seemingly constant swivel. The 'little Valkyrie' felt no small amount of stress over the contents of the small bit of parchment she now carried in her pocket.
What in the Nine Realms am I supposed to do?
#loki#loki (marvel)#loki x original character#loki laufeyson#loki x oc#thor#norse mythology#norse#tom hiddleston#asgardian oc#asgard#mcu#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#warriors three#my writing#writers on tumblr#writer#fanfic#fanfiction
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I JUST HAD A FANTASTIC IDEA BUT I DONT THINK I CAN WRITE IT MYSELF SO IMMA YEET IT OVER TO YOU CAUSE I LOVE YOUR WRITING, ANYWAYS-- gods au where Muse!me and Aristaeus!mista are constantly dancing around each other and not sealing an official relationship, just kissing each others cheeks and thinking nothing of the gentle affection to each other..... which is greatly frustrating you, the goddess of love, who one day storms up to us looking pissed and smashes our faces together (1/2)
also I highkey had no idea how to put that in a more comprehensible way? I was just spitting out what came to mind >-< (2/2)
Alright aaa this went a bit weird, I think? But I hope you like it! I kinda twisted the idea a little to make it fit in the goddess of love role. :3c
Tagging @lostinthe-jojos since well, her au is just pure delight. 💞
Longing; SaraMis (gods!AU).
Warm sunbeams danced through the trees as Aristaeus carried a sheep on his back, hearing every now and then the soft bleating of the animal behind his back. Sighing as he saw in the distance the familiar figure of the Muse that had steal his heart, the god’s smile lifted the corner of his lips, lighting up his face. Warm chocolate like eyes coming to life; ebony curls sticking to his forehead given the sweat dripping down. However, he seemed to don’t mind it, distracted with the thought of the Muse between his arms, or the way it felt to kiss her cheek and hear her laugh as his curls would tickle her skin.
Stopping once he made his way to the rest of the sheeps awaiting for him, he kneeled, setting down the sheep on his shoulder; then, using one hand, he brushed the animal’s hair, giving it a soft pet in the head. Then, he let it go.
“My muse.” He said then when he came to the muse, sitting under a tree, hands occupied making a flower crown.
She looked at him, smile already shining and eyes full of illusion —deep down, love.
“Aristaeus,” she replied, settling down the crown with so much care, the god could feel his heart melt at the sight. “It’s good to see you.”
Mista nodded, pink shades over his cheeks as he took a seat next to her, fingers fiddling with his clothes.
Suddenly, another voice, significantly sweet but casting a certain grade of annoyance, surprised them. “Aristaeus. Sarah the Muse.”
Before them, the goddess of love and wife of Ares, god of war and combats, appeared. Her dress impeccable as always and the smell of roses surrounding her: her curls falling around her shoulders and the middle of her back —but posture tense as she glared at both.
“Aphrodite.” Greeted the muse, quickly fixing the last strands of the flower crown and standing, leaning subtly in greeting to the goddess, who remained with the same expression.
Aristaeus followed Sarah’s steps, standing as he tilted his head to the side. “What is the reason of your visit, Aphrodite? Isn’t Ares getting into problems again?”
“This is not about my husband, nor do I allow you to talk like I am supposed to watch over him; or like he is supposed to be manipulated and looked down. This,” and she stepped over. “Is about you two.”
The Muse tilted her head now, shyly asking in reply. “Are we bothering you? —if we are, please accept this crown of sunflowers as a gift for bothering you!”
Aphrodite shook her head, calming down significantly as she raised her hand. “Could I have it? Just for a moment.”
Confused but not wishing to anger the goddess even more, the Muse stepped closer, giving her the crown. Aphrodite then sat down and instructed them to do it, too.
“You are aware of my mission, right? And as such, I can feel when people, from men to gods to muses and other beings are in love. And you—” she looked at Aristaeus and then at the Muse. Her hands fixing some of the leaves of the sunflowers under the gaze of the soon to be lovers.
Suddenly, both watched as the crown emitted an orange light; warm as it surrounded them.
Images and feelings started to run over them.
The safety of being in her arms, to hold her waist in the morning while she’s still asleep. The soft hum of her voice when he’s tired after a long day of running around attending to his responsibilities.
The strong grip of his arms around her waist, holding her close and peppering kisses all over her face; the soft giggle that rumbles through his chest when his stubble is no longer one. The deep hum of his voice when he listens to her talk about her aspirations as Muse.
And then, between the images and the warmth surrounding them, the feeling of a hand on his head, moving him softly to the side.
And then, between the images and the warmth surrounding them, the feeling of a hand on her head, moving her softly to the side.
Aphrodite’s voice cutting in like the rain in summer after the heat of the sun, relaxing and tremendous. “—You belong together.”
After that, the feeling of lips pressed against each of their own, the conciliation of two hearts.
Not so long after they got together, Ares have mentioned to her about a man called Aristophanes who believed that once, humans were tied to their other half, but were separated due to reasons that only this race would lead to —and if that was true, then Aphrodite could think about a million reasons: however, as she saw the expressions on the god and Muse, she knew her job there was done.
As the smell of roses and fresh rain and tulips as well as holy perfumes floated around them, she disappeared, leaving the lovers alone.
•••
When she came back, meeting Ares’ arms and resting her head against his chest, he murmured as both saw the couple through the flower crown that would serve as a proof of their love. “You did it again.”
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Happy End
A Kuroko no Basuke One-Shot Fic
NOTES: Inspiration struck me as I listened to the song Happy End by back number. I decided to take a stab at writing a one shot fic. This story was inspired from the song and it really is nice. Try listening to it while reading this fic to add more to the feels. :)No worries, this is a different universe from my ongoing fic Find You. :) I just wanted to write something today as I was thinking of how to plot out the story for Find You.Sorry for this. Enjoy! :D
SUMMARY: "It was as if God heard my plea and gave me a moment. The moment I saw a flurry of skirts and saw you stand a few feet in front of me, everything else -- the sound, the people, the lighting, ceased to exist. All my senses were focused on you and you alone. Nothing seemed to matter as my eyes locked with yours as you stood in your wedding dress, your eyes softening as you tilted your head to the side as you slowly stretched out your hand to me with that small smile on your face that I knew so well."
This is ridiculous.
Everything was decorated in white, light blue, and pink.
Laces adorning each corner, the arcs decorated in white flowers of different kinds, the floor scattered with pink rose petals, the chairs adorned with white, light blue, and pink laces, the center aisle laid a red velvet carpet extending from the stairs of the platform to the opening at the floral arc at the end of the garden that served as an entrance. Everybody was seated in seats assigned to them, which includes me as I sat beside old folks that we all have come to love and treasure. The day was as clear as it could get--- not too sunny, not too cloudy, just enough for everything to be perfectly illuminated. The atmosphere was pregnant with anticipation and joy, complementing the brightness of the surroundings’ motif. Everything in pink, light blue, and white hues signified blessedness, joy, and the sacredness of the event.
It was mocking me of the extreme loss that I have gained today. How irksome.
I could hear the sound of the children’s laughter and the casual chatter of people reside ever so slowly as I saw everybody stood and looked behind to where the floral arc was and then the music began to start. The sweetness of the melody took my eyes to the back where you stood, hand in hand with your father.
My breath stopped and everything moved slowly.
There by the floral arc you stood, dressed in a pristine white dress, with a veil covering your face but not enough for us to be able catch a glimpse of your face. I have seen you in all your beautiful glory, but those times paled in comparison to how beautiful you looked today. As I watched you start to walk towards the front, I couldn't help but watch the change in your expression; first nervousness, another breath and you started to calm down, your eyes starting to glow with joy and glisten with love as you focused your stare towards the front; towards a new future, towards the man whom you’d be spending your every days with.
I watched you walk towards the altar, slowly approaching the two-toned red headed man who stood in a crisp back suit whose eyes glowed with proudness, possession, and admiration towards you. As I watched the silent communication of the stares that happened between the two of you, I couldn’t help but feel the immense pang of hurt and regret.
As I watched you walk down the aisle, I couldn’t help but wish that it was me who was waiting for you there at the end. That it was I whom you would be sharing your every moments with after this ceremony.
God, how I badly wished it was me.
Each step you took away from me enumerated the moments I valued most with you. Moments where you would open your eyes beside me, moments where I would watch you laugh, the sides of your eyes crinkle from the joy of something, moments your eyes would soften when you looked at me, moments when your touch was all I could ever feel, all I could remember. Moments where I felt the warmth of your lips. Moments where I could feel your warmth on me as I held you close.
Moments when you were still mine.
Your hand finally reached his outstretched ones as he guided you beside him and your special moment started at the same time my doom had. I wanted to yell ‘stop!’, do something to disrupt the peace, but I know they’ll be moot so I had no other choice but to watch. I watched, both of your backs, facing the reverend as you both took your vows of love and companionship, as you both placed in the proof of everything else, emphasizing the finality of it all and the sealing of my pain, I knew there’s no going back no longer. It hurt, yet I had to watch.
I finally, and indubitably lost you the moment you smiled and tearfully said “I do.”
The day began to be a blur after I painfully watched him kiss you, sealing everything in, closing every opportunity for me to get you back. I found myself watching at the back of the room of the reception as everybody celebrated your new milestone in life.
Everybody approached the both of you to offer their felicitations as I watched. I knew sooner or later we’d have to face each other today, yet I wasn’t ready. Every pain that I felt was too raw, the regret too fresh and alive for me to be able to pretend that I was happy for you when I know to myself that I wish this was all a bad dream and that you’ll grab my hand and plead for me to whisk you away from all of this.
Yet, this isn’t a dream, is it?
Continuing my insightful observations, I watched you move to everybody as you smiled and greeted them. I watched you smile for photos that were taken with the dozens of guests you invited to this event.I watched your eyes tear up as you giggled with Satsuki as she made her maid of honor speech. I watched you embrace the Generation of Miracles as they greeted you and gave you congratulatory gifts. I watched you dance with him, with your parents, and with everybody else. I watched you grow happier, glow and become lovlier every minute that passed by. The happier you got, the more beautiful you became and it hurt.
It hurt because the joy that your eyes carried now was something that I was unable to do. It hurt because the love and joy of your glance was not for me, but for him. However, no matter how it hurt, my eyes couldn’t look away from you. No matter how many distractions, the number of people who approached me for an inquiry or a simple conversation, my eyes would always land and find you.
As it always had done. As it always will.
Time passed by and everything turned mellow as they all bothered with themselves, communicating and interacting through talking or dancing. The lights dimmed as everybody enjoyed the music that permeated the venue and just did what they could. Yet, I still stood here, waiting and hoping. Hoping that maybe, you’d sort me out, look for me among the crowd.
It was as if God heard my plea and gave me a moment. The moment I saw a flurry of skirts and saw you stand a few feet in front of me, everything else -- the sound, the people, the lighting, ceased to exist. All my senses were focused on you and you alone. Nothing seemed to matter as my eyes locked with yours as you stood in your wedding dress, your eyes softening as you tilted your head to the side as you slowly stretched out your hand to me with that small smile on your face that I knew so well.
I didn’t need any other coercion and I felt my feet walk towards you. I reached out to your hand as you slowly pulled me to the dance floor and placed both of your hands on my shoulders as we slowly moved to the beat that I could no longer hear, and I could not recognize. I followed your lead as I silently stared at your upturned face.
Watching you smile, feeling your nearness and warmth, made me feel dizzy. I could get drunk on you and I wouldn’t regret it. I just wanted to be enveloped in the comfort that your small stature made me feel. We both said nothing as we moved slowly with the beat of the music, the people around us didn’t matter, and I allowed myself to be selfish just this once… just for now; to treasure this dance which I knew was the only time I could ever hold you like this close again.
With that realization I started to remember again all the times I spent with you, but this time in much more detail as you voiced them out to me one by one; Moments where you would open your eyes beside me as you, Satsuki, and I spent a slumber party together during our youthful years. Moments where I would watch you laugh as you hung out with the gang, or at something they teased at me while holding his hand, the sides of your eyes crinkle from the joy of something. Moments your eyes would soften when you looked at me when you would try and pull me out of my reverie to go and practice or when we’re just talking about things at random. Moments when your touch was all I could ever feel, all I could remember in moments you would pull me out fo the house to shop or just friendly touches. Moments where I felt the warmth of your lips as you kissed my forehead for comfort every time I felt nervous for everything, or a friendly peck on the cheek. Moments where I could feel your warmth on me as I held you close when you offered a friendly comfort to a lost cause like me.
We started to smile as we both reminisced about the moments that the both of us shared throughout the years we have known each other; moments that were secretly, intimately dear to me… yet to you it was simply a flurry of special moments with your dearest best friend.
Wave after wave of pain, frustration, and desperation came to me as I watched you smile up at me. I could feel my throat close in, my eyes blur as I remember moments when you said those three words to me, so innocently, and so naturally, as if it came second to your everyday language. I remembered every moment you said them: through the joyful victory on my games, the simple teasing between friends, and the moments of reminder that you cared so much about me. I remembered you saying them over and over again ever since we knew each other up until now.
I remembered them and heard you say them, yet I never said it back.
Emotions overwhelm me as I pulled you close to me in an embrace that I knew would be the last time. Emotions tear up at my skin raw as I could feel my eyes moisten and I shut them close as I inhale your scent and bury my face on your shoulder and I held you as tightly as I could so that I can find some semblance of balance as I feel unsteady with all these emotions that I am feeling at this moment. I wanted to anchor myself to you against all these things that I was unaccustomed of feeling. Ever so softly, these emotions ignited in me a will to speak up and tel you what you needed to know. The softness of its will slowly increase; getting louder and much more demanding, turning the simple desire to say turn it to an urgency. These damned emotions made me want to whisper the three words I longed to tell you; the words I felt so strongly for you all these years; the words that I know you’d always say to me yet carried a different weight and meaning that it did with mine.
The words you’d only dedicate and ardently say to him and never, ever to me.
‘I love you.’
I could feel your sudden freeze at when I whispered that as you absorbed what you just heard and then your body slowly softened under my grasp as understanding dawned on you and I felt you hold me tighter, your hands slowly combing through my hair, a comforting gesture you always did whenever you wanted to give me comfort and you softly saying the two words that felt like I was doused with water.
We were both silent as if the two of as were basking on the aftermath of what I just confessed. And then as if a breeze blew on my ear, I heard your soft response.
‘I know.’
Those two words you mumbled as you held me closer as we danced was the final blow in realizing that you will never be mine. That you have never been, and never will be.
I had already missed that chance. It was now too late.
I pulled away from you and stared into your eyes, searching for answers beneath that statement, but all I could see was your stare, so forgiving, so full of love and relief, tears slowly flowing to the side of your face as you slowly nodded. And I needed nothing anymore. You knew that an apology won’t make everything alright. You knew that there were no words needed to be said but that at this point. You knew all this time, you waited all those years, yet I let you slip away from me. I let you go and I know it was the biggest loss and mistake I ever made. Yet you found relief in my admittance because you knew by saying this it would set me free and lessen the burden of the pain you cannot bear with me. I smiled and nodded.
There’s no other way for me out of this but to accept. I have completely lost this battle even before I realized I needed to fight.
You laughed.
At that moment, I felt a hand softly clap my shoulder and found that it was him. Our time is finally over. He nodded a greeting toward me, shook my hand and extended his hand towards you. You smiled so greatly up at him as I loosened my grip on you and he once again, took you away from me. Your hand was with his as the other slowly pulled away from mine. I watched our hands slowly separate feeling the anguish and loss envelop my senses once again.
This is it.
You took one more glance back at me and I shook my head, signalling you to not worry about me. It still hurts, but I know I have to accept it. I have to let you go now.
I continued to watch you step up the platform and turn your back as you prepared to throw your bouquet to the ladies who were waiting excitedly for the throw. You threw the flowers as high as you could, chaos erupted within seconds as everybody panicked and was anticipating who would be able to catch the next blessing of marriage.
I watched you over and over as I engraved in the memory of the state of happiness I finally saw you in. This was you at your happiest moment and I realized that as somebody you have been with for such a long time, I have no right to burden you with emotions that I kept hidden for such a long time.
As you stared back at him with all the love in the world, and as he leaned in to capture your lips to his, I finally felt myself let go; not completely, but the willingness was finally there. I saw you lean against him as you joyfully watched our friends fight over the flower and your eyes started to search the crowd and finally landed on mine.
Your stare was soft, loving, and grateful. I couldn’t help but smile back. Our silent communication continued as you finally opened your mouth and mouthed a statement that meant a lot of things, yet said simply enough for me to understand.
‘Thank you.’
And that’s when I knew.
Even if I couldn’t love you the way he did and even if you didn’t love me the way you loved him, I was still someone special to you and that was enough.
#kuroko no basuke#kuroko no basket#knb#aomine#aomine daiki#kagami#kagami taiga#fanfic#knb fanfiction
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Twenty Three Minutes
Pairings: Castiel x Reader
Prompt: A wedding.
A/N: As a traditional country music lover, I’m ashamed to tell you what song this was based off of. “Marry Me” by Thomas Rhett. I still think Thomas Rhett is a terrible excuse for a country artist, but I’ll give him credit for this one. I’m not responsible for the feels you might get if you listen to it while you read this. Not one bit.
Warnings: I actually shed a tear while proof reading this. Not gonna lie.
Word count: 1.2k
Twenty-three minutes.
Not a single chair was out of place. Each one arranged with such care, such thought. It had rained the day before but it was hard to tell by how clear and vibrant the summer afternoon sky appeared. Even the willow trees, closing around the setting and hanging above, seemed to drape their branches with more elegance than usual. It was as if nature itself had bent the rules just for the day. Just for this day.
Twenty-one minutes.
Castiel’s tie felt too tight. Was it too tight? He had already spent a total of fourty three minutes fussing over his ensemble. The crisp new suit jacket. The newly hemmed pants. The black tie dangling from his neck. Dean had pointed out that it wasn’t much different than what he usually wore. Just lose the trench coat, he told him. She’d already said that she didn’t care. But that wouldn’t have felt right. He ran a hand over his jaw, his freshly shaved skin foreign under his fingers. He fought the urge to ask Sam once more if his hair looked alright. He had enough cream in it to last a lifetime.
Fifteen minutes.
For the flower arrangements she had chosen Magnolias. Magnolias. A strangely bright sort of flower for a woman with such a dark and dangerous occupation. But that was what she wanted. How could anyone say no? As more and more people filed in, many commented on the contradiction. Hunters from all over. Many he recognized. Jody Mills slipped into the second row with Claire in tow. She gave them a small wave. They nodded from the platform. Castiel’s throat tightened slightly.
In a perfect world, she would have had her grandfather perform the ceremony. Her father walk her down the aisle. Her family smiling from the front row. Her sister as her maid of honor. But that part of her life had long passed. She had her boys, she’d explained in the bunker one night. They were her family now. Having them beside her was all she needed. And of course, Castiel. Of course.
Eleven minutes.
He’d met Y/N long ago, following the release of Lucifer from his cage. She was a hunter working to avenge the murder of her father. He was searching for his. She was near death underneath the blade of a demon in a downtown Seattle alleyway when he stumbled onto her. They worked together for a few weeks, but it wasn’t long before she needed to follow her own path. He understood. She was a hunter. Working alone was always preferred. That was why he was so surprised when he received a phone call from her nearly three years later begging for some type of assistance. Demons had taken everything from her. Family. Friends. Her life. Bringing her back to the bunker was the most rational decision. The best decision.
It wasn’t very long until Y/N became more than just a ‘bunk mate,’ per say. There were many nights where he would catch Sam and Y/N reading together in the library, swapping stories from their college years and laughing at their drunken escapades. Western films played regularly throughout the bunker, Dean ranting about one of the cowboys in the movie while Y/N sipped her beer beside him. And her and Castiel, well, there had always been a connection. Something deeper than a mere friendship. Something more. He’d always felt it. Ever since the beginning.
Four minutes.
He remembered that night well. He thought about it often. She still had flecks of blood in her hair from the banshee they had just slayed. Her forearms covered in dirt with a gash on her cheek. Her flannel shirt had torn right in the middle of her back. The bottom of one of her pant legs had been ripped off completely. Her chest rose and fell as heavy as the tide during a full moon. And when she trained those y/e/c eyes on him he swore Jimmy’s heart was close to beating out of his chest.
They’d been through nearly everything together. He’d held her when she cried late at night, when the nightmares were just too much. She’d consoled him when he struggled with the confusing human experience known as ‘depression.’ They protected one another. Understood one another. There were times where it was hard to distinguish who was who when it came down to it. He knew everything about her. The pain. The fear. The hope. The drive. Everything that made her who she was, he was aware. And he would never change a thing. He loved every single part of her. He loved her. And when he had moved to close the distance between them, she hadn’t turned away.
One minute.
The music began. The traditional wedding tune played on a traditional grand piano. She had been insistent on that. The guests all rose from their seats. Sam clapped him on the shoulder. It felt like a thousand pounds had been added to his body. Suddenly that swig of whiskey that he had turned down from Dean’s flask sounded far more appealing. He had imagined this moment a thousand times in his head, but nothing compared to experiencing it in real time. Everything was just how he pictured it.
And then he saw her.
Oh, Father, he saw her.
The elegant white skirt of her dress blew slightly in the breeze, her arm hooked around the crook of Dean’s elbow. Dean had nearly had an aneurism when she asked him to give her away. Her y/h/c hair pulled up in a loose bun with small flowers scattered throughout. Her lips were painted a light shade of rose. They pulled into the brightest smile at the first sight of the platform. Castiel feared his legs might give way. The guests murmured with excitement. Sam let out a breathless laugh beside him. There were no human terms to describe her radiance. If he did not know any better, he would classify her as an angel. But even that was not enough.
They reached the platform. Her gaze fell to Castiel. Her smile was brighter than any galaxy in existence. He forgot how to breathe. A thousand thoughts swam through his mind. Dean gave her a quick kiss on her forehead and took her hand in his.
And handed Y/N to her fiancé.
Castiel watched his entire world gaze into the man’s eyes; filled with so much love, so much joy. Tears were streaming down both of their faces. It felt like so long ago that he watched her leave the bunker for their first date. And the second. And the third. Until one day she packed up her last suitcase, leaving the hunters life behind and driving away to her new home. Their home. He had stood out in the gravel and watched her taillights fade until the sun had sunk far below the mountain line. The next time she appeared was with a ring on her finger and an invitation in her hand.
He swallowed down his pride and watched with misty eyes as they read their vows. He was her best friend. Her ‘maid of honor.’ Standing at her side like he had for nearly a decade. When the preacher declared them as one and they sealed it with a kiss he wished for the millionth time that afternoon that he could go back to that night and kiss her like he meant to. Like he wanted to.
But time travel wasn’t an option. That ship had sailed long ago. Hand in hand they walked down the aisle into their new life together. He had nothing left to wait for. So he began counting again. But this time, it was the moments he was forced to spend without her.
One minute.
#castiel x reader#cas x reader#supernatural#supernatural one shots#twenty three minutes#spn#castiel#reader#castiel x you#castiel x y/n#the readstiel collection
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Day Four: Cold War Day
Today is WWII/Cold War Day. I forgot to mention that there is a Michelin Star Restaurant in our hotel. That’s relevant because we eat in there every morning for breakfast because the main dining room for breakfast is being refurnished. I can official say I have eaten in a Michelin Star Restaurant!
Our first activity of the day was the Berliner Unterwelten, or Berlin Underground. We had the incredible opportunity to take a tour through one of the only remaining WWII bunkers in the city. After the Soviets took control of the city, they destroyed most of the bunkers to ensure that Germany could never again start a war. The reason this particular shelter wasn’t destroyed is because it was built next to the Subway so it would’ve been unwise to blow it up. It is important to mention that these bunkers are not bomb-proof, they are merely air-raid shelters which, if hit, would actually collapse. So why build them you may ask? Well, it made people feel safe to go underground so it had more of a psychological effect than anything. When Hitler rose to power he promised the German people that he was going to make steel bomb shelters and an incredible air force for the impending war. He promised the German people that no planes would fly over the Berlin city and that he would protect them. The latest shocker... he lied. Hitler put all of the government funding into building a secret air force because, after WWI, Germany was not allowed to have an air force. As a result, the German people got non bomb proof bunkers. The only shelters which were actually bomb proof were above ground and there were only three in the city. As a result, only 10% of the city could fit in these bunkers both above and underground. The rest of the city was forced to hide in their cellars and as a result, many people died from the bombings. The bunkers were a fascinating tour. We first walked through the toilets first which were separated by men and women of course. During WWII, the Germans created their own word for toilet, Abort, because the traditional words toilette (French) and water closet (British) were words of the enemy. Additionally, WC stood for Winston Churchill so obviously there had to be another word created. Today, nobody in Germany uses the word Abort. Only WC and toilette. The toilets in this particular bunker had plumbing but not all did. Some used soil to mask the smell and became eco-friendly toilets. The waste was used to sprinkle on the potatoes for fertilizer. Our tour guide was funny. The toilets generally were relatively small, but she showed us one bigger toilet in the corner. It looked different from the others. Evidently, it was a toilet from an SS bunker. She called it the toilet for the “big assholes.” The next room was very cool. It had glow in the dark paint (toxic of course). We couldn’t touch the walls. The glow in the dark paint was used for two purposes: 1) when the power went out in the bunkers they used the paint so people could see as not to cause a panic, and 2) business people had to spend the daytime in the bunkers after 1943 and they had to be able to see their papers even when the power went out. After 1943, there were air raids during the day by the Soviets and at night by the British. These raids would last an hour to an hour and a half and worst of all, oxygen availability was a large concern. The bunkers had no ventilation system and they were 4 times overcrowded. As a result, they had to use candles set at three different heights to gauge the oxygen availability. The oxygen closest to the ground would run out so the first candle on the floor would go out. Then, the second candle on the bench would go out and the people would have to stand up. If the candle set just below their heads went out, panic would ensue and people would have to fight there way out of the bunker. This did happen during the war. Certain shelters had beds in them for working mothers and their children. Certain bunker rooms had artifacts from the war. There was even an enigma machine on display-- this was extremely cool. One room contained a cart which was used by German women to remove the rubble after the War in an attempt to clean out Berlin. Any materials that were found were recycled as Berlin was destroyed and Germany suffered from a terrible famine. For example, a helmet was on display that had been converted into a colander. Part of a bomb casing was used to make an outdoor stove. People, German women especially, had to be resourceful in attempting to rebuild their lives with very few resources. An interesting fact that we learned in the bunker is that Europe is still finding bombs from WWII that were not detonated. In fact, Berlin alone finds on average one bomb per month! When that happens, they have to evacuate the area and attempt to deactivate it because there is still a risk of it going off. In some horrible cases, a bomb explodes in the city-- most often during construction. Other cities in Germany are even more bomb-ridden. Hamburg for example, finds on average 1.5 bombs per month. Anytime companies build on German soil they have to make sure that no bombs are on the land because if they buy it then the bomb becomes their own property. In Germany, the government does not pay for the bomb deactivation because they believe that the bombs don’t belong to them. In England, the government pays for bomb deactivation when they are found (which is also pretty often evidently). In the bunker tour, we did discuss the Furhrerbunker which is the fully bomb-proof bunker that Hitler made for himself in Berlin and where he lived his final days before his suicide. The Furhrerbunker was attempted to be destroyed multiple times but due to it’s fierce construction it was never able to be fully annihilated. Despite this, Germany has decided to completely seal it shut. Never to be reopened. They feared that keeping it as a historical site would attract Neo-Nazis.
Something that I find very difficult during this trip is the concept of good and evil and how no longer do I see that definitive line. For example, the tour guide in the bunkers, clearly anti-Nazi, was portraying the history in a manner which made the listener feel sympathetic for the German civilians. She discussed the terrible danger and fear that the German civilians as well as the harsh realities of their situation. For example, she told a story of a hypothetical German woman with two children who lost their home in an air-raid. Freezing, they had nothing to wear and the German army brought them clothing to wear. The woman puts on her coat and notices the name of a polish, Jewish last name. She thinks about where this coat came from, but in the moment, she was freezing with no place to live and just wanted to stay warm. It seems that in many cases, German people knew of what had been happening to the Jews, but were also preoccupied with their own safety and survival. It seems that after 1939, all chance to dissent the Nazis had long passed. I find it difficult to blame the German people after that point because resistance meant arrest and death. The Nazis utilized fear in every aspect of their rule. For example, if you forgot to black-out your windows at night, the Nazis assumed you were a traitor trying to help the enemy see the city at night and they’d arrest you or kill you. In short, I’m learning the importance of questioning and dissenting is crucial in the early stages of injustice. The small injustices that the German people ignored early on rendered them powerless when it mattered most. Silence during the initial stages of anti-semitism and racism makes one a collaborator and the inability of the German people to protest or speak out later on does not dissolve them of their responsibility. Some German officers had worked for the German army their entire lives and did not question the army when the Nazis came to power and later found themselves doing unimaginable things and fighting for an unjust, inhumane cause. We, as people, have the responsibility to question everything and trust nothing at face value. I truly felt bad for the German civilians who had to endure the constant fear during the end of the war, but I also feel angry at them for staying quiet when the issues did not involve them in the beginning. It’s easy to sympathize with the German civilians after 1939, but what about the years leading up to that in which the German people fueled Hitler’s horrific dreams? I remain confused and disheartened.
After the bunker, we took a bus tour of Berlin. The tour guide was very nice and I dozed a little while I listened to the tour. We got to see many of the Embassy’s around the city. We also saw some incredible art on the Berlin Wall created by artists around the world. The one pictured above is Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev giving the East Germany President Erich Honecker a passionate kiss on the lips-- this is evidently the Soviet greeting. The blurry street sign is a photo of Tiergartenstrase, the street where Hitler opened the T4 program. The name T4 is an abbreviation of Tiergartenstraße 4, the street address of the Chancellery department set up in spring 1940 in the Berlin borough of Tiergarten, which recruited and paid personnel associated with T4. Under the program certain German physicians were authorized to sign off patients "deemed incurably sick” and they euthanized them. In reality, this was the systemized murder of those deemed unworthy of life by the Reich due to a disability. Many of these patients were children.
After the tour, we were allowed to explore the city for lunch. I finally got to try a Berlin Döner, which is a type of lamb schwarma famous in Berlin. It was delicious.
After lunch we went to the Holocaust memorial in the city which contains a museum underground. The memorial and museum are done well. The memorial quite literally looks like a scar on the Berlin city. It is grey concrete blocks of all different sizes spanning a square in all directions. You can walk in between the blocks and in come cases they span as high above your head. It was designed by architect Peter Eisenman.
After the Holocaust memorial, we went for dinner on our own in the city. Myself and some of the girls on the trip went for sushi. It was good! I got to try some German beer which was exciting. After that, we went to a show at the Friedrichstadt-Palast Berlin entitled, The One. We had incredible seats close to the stage (my iphone picture does not do the distance justice). It reminded me of cirque du soleil combined with erotic S&M costume choice all conveyed through the dream of a young man confronting his demons and searching for his soulmate. It was definitely not an American show-- that’s what was so cool about it. It was crazy, and the acrobatics were incredible. Our group leader wanted to do something fun to take our minds off of the heavy topic for a night. He succeeded.
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