gray wool

glazelazer  asked:

can i get a aesthetic for cotton, dark streets, and moths? thank you!

I tried to go for a darker theme, but the two bottom corners turned out kind of iffy. If you’d like me to redo it, don’t hesitate to ask!

anonymous asked:

Erik in mittens* *(i bet Christine knit them. I bet Erik hates them cause his fingers feel like they're in jail. And i bet he's sweet enough to wear them anyway.) (But that's none of my business ;3)

A beautiful soprano visits his house now.

No matter how many times she comes to him, no matter how many times she sits patiently in his little boat as he rows it across the lake to his doorstep, no matter how many times she stands beside his piano to sing—when he considers this fact, he can scarcely believe it.

It nearly drives him to anger, the notion that his mind might play such a cruel trick on him. Whenever he extends a gaunt hand to assist her, however, she becomes a corporeal form, and it grounds him for a short while.

Today she hands him a wrapped parcel, and the solid matter beneath his fingertips is another tangible link between the two of them. His gaze flicks from the object to her face, questioning.

“A gift,” she says. “For you.”

A gift. A gift for Erik, the monster. Erik, the skeleton. He wants to ask why, but his tongue seems to fill his entire mouth and he is blinking back tears.

His long fingers quiver as they pick apart the brown paper wrapping. Then they extract a lump—no, two lumps—of gray wool. Mittens. He stares, unmoving, at her gift where it lies on a bed of paper atop his open palms.

“For your hands,” she says, as though it is the application that confuses him. “They are always so cold.” He finally looks up; her cheeks are flushed, and she quickly averts her eyes. “I made them. I have something else for you as well, almost finished, but if you do not like—”

“They are magnificent,” he interjects. “I shall put them on immediately.”

His hands are frigid by default, yes, but they do not actually bother him. He does not tell her as much. Instead, he slips his hands into the mittens and flexes them for show. Her eyes brighten, and he wonders how he will ever live out the night.

He wears the mittens for the entirety of her stay, and when he rows her back across the lake, it is with thick gray wool gripping wooden oars. More than once he catches her eying his hands; she seems pleased. How can he ever take off the mittens after this?

Once she is gone, however, he feels a pang of anxiety whenever he wiggles his fingers within those fleecy casings. There is something not right about the presence of the mittens, and his unease is confirmed over and over again throughout the course of the day.

He cannot play the piano, to start. He tries to write, but his grip on the pen has all the precision of a large bear. Any form of washing—clothes, dishes, his person—is out. He manages to read for all of ten minutes before he abandons his book as well, frustrated by how long it takes to paw at a page until it turns. Each mitten has become a lumpy gray prison. He resents them.

He resents them, but he is still wearing them when she returns with another parcel the following day. “The second item, as promised,” she says, smiling. She wears her own mittens, which are a faded burgundy.

She watches him grope at the paper wrapping, slippery against gray wool, before she moves to assist him. “You needn’t feel obligated to wear those at all times, you know.” She unfurls the paper and leaves him to discover its contents: a gray scarf, clearly handmade but more than sufficient.

“I…thank you.” His voice is a hoarse whisper.

“Come,” she says, and she takes his gloved hand into her own. “Let us test it out, shall we?”

It is dark when they surface at the Rue Scribe, and it is snowing. When did he last see snow? He cannot recall, but he is certain that he has never seen it like this, drifting down from the heavens to dot her cloak and settle into her hair. He watches two snowflakes commence a soft, swirling pas de deux in the amber spotlight of a nearby gaslamp.

He has never understood the appeal of snow, not even as a child. But now, with her beside him, it is sheer magic. He exhales and watches his breath freeze and wishes that he could freeze time, too.

“Hold still,” says the angel beside him, and she gingerly wraps the scarf around his face. It obscures much of his mask, and the tilt of his hat obscures the rest while still affording him his vision. How had he not considered this option before?

She is looking to him expectantly now. His body trembles, and he sucks in a great breath as he gazes out in the direction of the boulevard. “Mademoiselle?” he asks, extending his elbow.

A mittened hand slips into the crook of his arm, and the pair of them begin their stroll.

Allura/Shiro Same Train AU

He killed her. It was awful. They commuted in on the same early train, he got on two stops after she did and they always sat in the same carriage. She had started being very specific about it. It had become part of her routine. Third from the engine, stand near the sun shelter on the platform, go to the second floor, sit by a window, wait.

He had never said a word to her. She had never heard him say anything but they’d fallen into that odd rhythm of familiar strangers. They had started sitting near each other to make sure that when the pack of college stusents got on, they’d be able to command and entire pod of chairs. Another solo commuter might join them now and then but the loud group complaining about professors stayed away. She did her case reviews and he scrolled something, probably email, on his phone.

They didn’t talk.

They just sat in proximity until they got to the city and she got off and he kept going to somewhere else to do God knew what in a decent but not pretentious suit.

It would have been nice if he was a middle aged woman. No. It was nice. It was just that he killed her because he was gorgeous and silent and not interested and why couldn’t she be the one to say something first? She was not shy. That was not who she was, she could talk to anyone. She was a trial lawyer, talking was what she did.

But not to Train Guy.

There would be a delay and he would glance up and make eye contact as though to say, “ugh this,” or something strange would happen or the crossword guy who sat at the other end of the car would yell out a request for a “five letter word ending in u,” and Train Guy would give her this little smile like they were in on the same joke and she’d think about him all day.

She finally cracked around the time the weather started getting cold in October. He had a coat, it was just one of those gray wool coats that a thousand people had but he made it look good. That morning crossword guy called out a request for “knight, seven letters,” and Train Guy gave her one of those half amused, half annoyed smiles and she cracked.

She dug a post it note out of her purse and put her name and number on it. She fiddled with it until the tinny speaker system announced that her stop was the next one.

She stood. He sat across from her, closer to the window while she’d taken the aisle seat. She caught him glance up at her and leaned down to stick the post-it to the screen of his phone without breaking eye contact.

Goddamn it, she was close enough to know that he smelled good.

“If you ever want to tell me the thoughts that go with that smile, give me a call,” she said then wheeled and headed for the stairs as the train pulled into the station.

Valentines day imagines

Imagine grell in these situations, for the upcoming holiday:

- Grell, wearing a red skirt and pink sweater, with matching wool gray socks

-Grell, feeling bad that not everyone gets a valentine, so she stays up all night making cards and buying the candy hearts for everyone in the dispatch

-(lawrance Anderson smiling at a box of candy hearts left from an ‘anonymous reaper’ who just happened to write with red pin

-Grell, not having a date for valentines day, so she spends it going to human restaurants and watching the lovers… Hoping one day it could be her.

-Grell getting drunk on champagne at the office valentines day party and confessing that she thought Eric’s scruff was kind of hot

done chasing ;;

Summary: How do you chase after someone who’s chasing someone else? 

Word Count: 3,192

Tags: Bridgette/Felix ; Identity Reveal

ao3 won’t post this right now; will add link later.


There was never a doubt Bridgette loved Felix.

She loved him more than anything; he had been kind to her when no one else had, made her feel welcomed and to an extent, loved. She wanted nothing more than to return the favor; let him know he was wanted, had someone he could depend on.

Sure, she came on strong but Bridgette wasn’t one to back down easily.

Not when he rejected her offer to go to the park; or the library; or the music festival; or the café down the street. Not when she got doused with water from that puddle; when she burned her tongue on the tea she had gotten to impress him.

She kept going on; telling herself that it was all worth it if he ever said yes. And Bridgette believed he would; as long as there was even a chance he’d say yes to her - just once, if only to get her out of his hair - she would keep charging on.

That’s what she did; leapt into action and let her heart guide her.

So why was she hiding behind a column, listening to her mind for once?

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Can you write a quick Jonerys wedding scene? Like all secretive and stuff

Heeree it is

-Where is he? He should be here by now! It’s getting colder and we need him here. - Said Samwell Tarly to Brandon Stark, who was huddled up in his chair by the fire. Sam wrapped the cloak tighter around himself.

-A raven arrived this morning saying they will be here this morning. It’s night now. - Said Sansa, looking down through the window.

-Maybe they got stuck in the storm? - Answered Arya. Bran was still silent, looking in the fire. Sam approached him carefully.

-Bran, is there a way you can see what Jon is doing now? Maybe he’s hurt and needs help, or maybe they’re snowed in.-

Without a sound, the Three Eyed Raven closed his eyes and opened them again, as white as snow. In his mind, he found his brother in a goodswood. He was fully dressed and cloaked, in his best furs and clothes, the Stark sigil shining on his chest, a gray piece of thick wool fabric draped across his arms. He was standing next to Davos Seaworth, and across him was Tyrion Lannister, a woman Bran never saw before, a man with a stern expression who was holding up the Targaryen banner, a large bald man, another man with blue eyes and black hair was on the other side, holding up the Stark banner. Between the two parties was an elderly small man dressed in a fur coat with the seven pointed star painted on his back. He was old and was holding a piece of fabric in his gloved hands. Bran turned around and heard footsteps, the snow creaking under two pairs of feet. A tall, blond man wearing armor with a bear sigil was escorting a woman that must have been unmistakably been Daenerys Targaryen. She wore a long, white gown, contrasting Jon’s black, with white fur on her shoulders and cuffs. She wore a silver pin and chain across her chest and there was a single winter rose in her hair and a small bouquet in her hand. Her other hand was looped under the older man’s arm and she had a soft, faint smile. Jon’s smile grew wider as she came closer. The older man placed the Queen’s hand in Jon’s after she gave her flowers to the woman and they turned to the septon.  

-You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection-              

Daenerys turned around and Jon draped the gray fabric on her back, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

They joined hands and the septon tied them together with the ribbon, continuing the ceremony.

-In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity.-

Jon and Daenerys turned to each other, still smiling.

-Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days.-

-Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days.-

Jon lifted Daenerys’ chin and gave her a deep kiss and they wrapped their hands together, bodies pressed against each other as close as possible. The septon smiled at them, as he rarely got to marry the people who bear honest and deep love for one another.

-I love you. That’s all that matters in this. - He whispered into her ear.

A single tear rolled down her cheek and he kissed it away.

-Perform the bedding ceremony to seal the marriage. - Said the septon before turning away. Jon picked the woman clad in white up and carried her away, earning laughter from the group.

Brandon woke up from his vision and turned to his family in shock. Sansa got up.

-What is it?-

-I know why they’re late.-

Steve Rogers Imagine.

Steve X Reader X Bucky

Imagine, you were Steves Ex, now together with Bucky. He comforts you after Bucky enters cryo-freezing once more.

Warnings: Angst, comfort, flashback, complications

Gif not mine..but godamn. 

Originally posted by bluebrooklynkid

Steve Rogers had been utterly tormented by the affirmation of love between his once best friend and former sweetheart. Now he sat across from her, tearful and heartsick in her kitchen. He was unsure how to proceed, was it right for him to hug her? He really wanted to hold her and steal her pain away, the pain he knew was still entirely his fault. He could offer his comfort at the very least even though he was terrified that one touch could make him come undone.
Steve cautiously stood and stepped forward as if he were diffusing a violent situation like a bomb threat or a hostage hold up.
Y/N was trying to hide it, biding her tears away but they fell far too fast to keep up.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he could say. All he could muster at this moment, comfort wasn’t his strong suit. When they were together the best he could do when she was troubled was hold her so he offered the only relief he could with outstretched arms.

Y/N was weary. She was angry, bitter and heartbroken in this moment. She was Probably the only woman in the world that held onto resentment for the handsome Captain, but she was more irate with herself. Furious at the small tingle in the pit of her stomach when he came close, outraged at her own body for sinking into his offered arms.
She cursed herself, immersed in the luxury of his warmth but she resolved it to be that of a friend seeking comfort in another friend. Y/N couldn’t lose herself like this, not after everything, not after she had given herself so completely to James. Fresh tears fell, nothing could ever be normal, she gave that up years ago when she fell in love with a stranger. Someone that was far more complicated than he let on to be.
Steve would hold onto her for as long as she needed and ever the gentleman, he kept his arms around her shoulder. In this moment, he wished that he wasn’t chivalrous. He wanted to soothe her the way he used to, caressing the sides of her body, tracing every curve, kissing the top of her head while inhaling the sweetness of her. He couldn’t not now, not ever again. The task would prove difficult with having her in such close proximity again and given the way his heart fluttered when he saw her again. It felt like the first time all over again, he relished in the familiarity of it all…

He found an apartment just a block up the road from his childhood home in Brooklyn and spent most of his days either working out at the gym or reading up on the past seven decades. Brooklyn was like an alternate universe now, trendy and cutting-edge filled with little designer boutiques and nightlife hotspots, so far removed from the city he called home. Steve couldn’t bear the thought of living life without Brooklyn so he put up with the obscure changes. Every day,  he would walk down the block and around the corner to have a bite and read the thick books borrowed from the library. His Diner of choice was a family-owned joint named ‘Hal’s’. It had passed into the very hardworking hands of a 30 something man named Oscar and his nitpicking wife Donna. Despite their constant battles in the kitchen, the couple always made a point to welcome patrons as if they were one of their own.

Steve sat in a red cushioned booth with his mind immersed in a book written about the 60’s, The sexual liberation, the bra burnings and technical advancements were enough to make his eyes go fuzzy and his brain hazy. He placed the book down, pinching the bridge of his nose before taking a sip of steaming black coffee.
His eyes darted to the doors as the bell rang and she walked in.
His heartbeat quickened, his palms became sweaty and his nerves were shaky.
She was a walking pinup caught in the wrong decade. Y/H/C hair that was curled just so and parted deep on the left side. Even underneath the gray bundle of wool Steve could that she had a body that could stop traffic. His light blue eyes traveled up towards a face that blew him away, it seemed impossible that in 2011 someone like this was walking around without him noticing. A soft Y/S/C complexion, defined cheeks and scarlet lips pursed ever so gently, breathing in the warm heat that melted the cold from outside. She was holding the hand of a scrawny little blonde boy that seemed to quiver with fear the moment he walked in with her.

“Auntie Y/N, I don’t wanna.” He pouted.

She only smiled warmly, big, beautiful, y/e/c eyes made Steves insides flutter. She knelt down to his level wiping away what seemed to be a tiny trace of blood on his small little mouth.

“Now listen here Marcus, you have to tell them sooner or later.” She reasoned with the small boy.

Oscar hadn’t even noticed their entrance as he was arguing with his wife about something trivial once again.

“My mom’s just gonna get mad again, and my dad is gonna call me a sissy.” He sniveled.

Steve couldn’t help but feel a slight tug at his heart when the boy mentioned that part. He had been pummelled on these streets, beaten, broken, spit on but in the end, he was granted the last laugh.

Without skipping a beat his aunt was already soothing him.

“Hey hey now. Don’t ever let me catch you saying that word again okay. You’re, not a sissy bud, you stood up to those boys and you know what?”

“What?” he shook.

“That makes you braver than they could ever be because bullies are just a bunch of scaredy-cats.”

Marcus giggled and wrapped his thin little arms around his aunt, she wiped away the last of his tears before propping him up on one of the swivel chairs at the front counter.

“Oscar?” She called in a smooth voice.

The boys father appeared from behind the swinging door of the kitchen and smiled at the sight of his baby sister and only child.

“There’s my boy. How was school kiddo?” He asked.

Oscar filled a glass of milk and sat it in front of Marcus followed by a few fresh chocolate chip cookies.

“Okay I guess.” he sniffed.

The man’s brow furrowed slightly.

“Did you get beat up again? Were you crying?” he asked rather brashly.

“Oscar!” The beauty scolded her older brother.


“Stop talking to him like that, you sound like dad. Marcus was sneezing the whole way here, the cold weather doesn’t help much.” she lied sending a wink in her nephew’s direction.

“Sorry, kiddo it’s just.”

“Drop it, Oscar.” She interrupted.

He immediately changed the subject.

“Thanks for picking him up y/n. You got time for some grub?”

She was already in the midst of pouring a cup of coffee.

“Could you be a doll my dear brother and make me up a sandwich to go.” She pleaded.

“You can’t stay?”

“I have to be at the club by five. New band, we need to see how we jive.”

She blew the hot steam above the white china mug finally satisfied with its temperature, she took a sip leaving a red tattoo along the rim.

“How are you getting home?” Donna chimed in. She flipped her over inflated golden hair back over her shoulder.

“Walking.” she took another sip.

Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Y/n caught his eye briefly and smiled at the handsome stranger. It racked her brain slightly, he seemed to be so familiar but she couldn’t place it.

“Y/N !” She scolded out of concern for her sister in law.

“Yeah, you gotta get a car or a boyfriend to walk you home,” Oscar added. “What about Robert? He’s had the hots for you since you were kids.” Oscar stated bluntly.
“No.” She sipped on her coffee hoping this overplayed conversation would be over sooner than later.

“You’re so picky.”

“I’m not picky Oscar. I just don’t think its too much to ask for a man to control his grabby hands. Maybe hold the door open once in a while and may you recall the teary eyed little girl that came home with a bloody nose at the hands of Robert.” She stated.

“You were kids.”

“ I was 13.”

“That was almost ten years ago and besides, boys pick on girls they like.”

She rolled her eyes in plain view of her older brother.

“Men like Robert are, all the same, bully’s don’t change. Do you really want me with someone like that?”She finished.

Taking one last gulp of her coffee and set the delicate cup into a bin of soapy water behind the counter.
Marcus had returned with a small paper bag in his hands and he raced over to his aunt.

“Here Auntie y/n.”

He proudly handed the bag towards her. She peeked inside hit instantly by the smell of wheat, fresh bananas, and velvety peanut butter.

“Did you make this all by yourself?” She asked.

Marcus scuffed his sneakers and bashfully nodded.

“I know it’s your favorite.” he added.

“Thank you, Marcus. Now there’s a real gentleman.”

Oscar and Donna forgot momentarily what they were fighting about before and instead looked on as proud parents at their little son swelling with pride.

“Are we still getting ice cream tomorrow.” he asked sweetly.

“Of course. I’m going to pick you up a little earlier if that’s okay with your mum and dad.”

“By all means, Saturday’s are his favorite day. We’ll be here as usual.”

Y/N had helped out with Marcus since the day he was born. As he grew older she would take him shopping or to the park, sometimes even the fair when it was in town, but Saturday was ice cream day, rain or shine.  

Steve caught her eye again and she smiled before exiting the diner bundling her jacket buttons back up as she braced the cold and carried on down the street.

Steve cursed himself for not running after her but at least now he knew that he had at least a slight chance of running into her again.
Y/N, even her name exuded class. In the brief few minutes, she spent in the diner he could tell immediately that she had a kind heart and it was always in the right place. She did not put up with any guff, she was brave and passionate about what she believed in unafraid of standing up for even the littlest creatures. Few and far between was that a common trait in mankind. As a bonus, she was a stone-cold knockout.

Steve felt that rush all over again and holding her in his arms once more made it all the harder to ignore the feelings he tried to push down. He didn’t want to ever let go again.

It was her soft voice that pulled him back, and the emptiness of her body leaving his.

“Where are we going?”

“ Tony found you a piece of land upstate, small town. You’ll be safe.”

Anxiety flushed through her body. 

“How long will he be frozen?” She asked the unbearable question. 

“I don’t know, Y/N.” She found herself grabbing onto the captain for better stability and he welcomed her into his arms, but then he heard it. Words that would complicate the entire situation. 

“I’m pregnant.” She whispered into the crook of his neck, the sobbing only set to increase. She was at her lowest then and he would help her pick up the pieces, he owed it to her and he owed it to Bucky. 

Reckoning-Michael Gray and Alfie Solomons Imagine

Requested: Yes

Warnings: violence, some sensuality, some language

A/N: This is a sequel to A Tangled Web to Weave so read that before you read this one.

Originally posted by all-about-that-fandoms

Originally posted by littlesati

    There were no stars in the sky that fateful night. Amongst the sounds of couples laughing, drunks hollering, and whores cooing at potential customers was the sound of a pistol being beaten against a skinny black man’s head. It was a dark alley in London so no one would really pay it any mind—-especially when they noticed the two large black men in long wool gray coats standing at the entrance whilst Y/N and Octavian Y/L/N handled business.

   The man cried out again as Y/N cracked a bone in his shoulder with her silver pistol. He covered his head with his blood-streaked hands and curled further into himself on the cold ground, but Y/N wasn’t going to let him get away that easily. She knelt down and grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar, glaring at the quivering man in front of her.

    “Tell the Harpers this is what happens when you do business on the West End and don’t let them even think about the East End,” she hissed.

    “P-p-please, let me go,” he sputtered in blood.

    Y/N scoffed and dropped him back on the ground, pivoted, and walked over to Octavian, who was smoking a cigarette and looked dapper in his black tuxedo with his black trench coat draped over his shoulders. His brown eyes shimmered with mischief.

    “Theo and Ron will haul him back over to the Harpers,” Octavian said, handing Y/N his handkerchief.

    Y/N happily took it and wiped the blood off her pistol. “You would think the Harpers would know better to stay in the south. North, East, and West London are ours.”

   “Can’t blame them for being ambitious. You did quite a number on him, Y/N.”

   “Thanks, I learn from the best.” Y/N slipped her pistol back into her beaded silver clutch.  

    Though Octavian usually flexed his muscle when the twins had to handle business personally, sometimes Y/N would lash out on those who did them wrong herself. Usually, it was because she had some pent up aggression that wouldn’t be expressed the same way through dance. The Michael and Alfie situation had definitely fueled her with enough aggression to last for a while. A few months had passed since they both admitted their feelings for her and nothing had been quite the same since. Alfie was strictly business during their meetings and Michael gave her the cold shoulder. Y/N knew she was to blame, but she also knew that she cared for them both for different reasons and Octavian chastised her for not making up her mind. Rather than take her anger out on him, she took it out on junkies who hadn’t paid them or competition that was trying to move in on their territory. While it didn’t solve any real problems, it did satisfy Y/N’s bloodlust for a while.

   Fifteen minutes later, Y/N and Octavian were strolling into their London town home. Olivia was waiting for the twins at the door, but she looked a lot more anxious than usual.

   “Good evening, Olivia,” Y/N slipped off her brown mink coat and handed it to her, “we had a spectacular night at the club.”

   “And the after show wasn’t that bad either,” Octavian said with a smirk.

   “Well, you might want to put your coat back on, Miss Y/L/N, because Mr. Solomons just rang and said that you must go to the bakery immediately; it’s an emergency.” Olivia glanced at Octavian. “Both of you.”

   “If it was really important, Alfie could’ve come to the club and told us himself,” Octavian said.

   “This is Alfie we’re talking about—-he hates clubs and jazz and Sabini’s got men in the Onyx all the time.” Y/N prayed that she wasn’t shaking too much as Olivia put her coat on over her shoulders. “Thank you, Olivia. Please prepare some chamomile tea for our return.”

    “Yes, Miss,” Olivia said.

    “I won’t need the tea.”

    “I’ll drink yours then.”

    Y/N did her best not to show her apprehension during the drive to Alfie’s bakery. She had seen him a couple of days ago, but he hadn’t said much and barely looked at her. So why did she care if her burnt orange frock with the satin tie around the waist looked pristine or if her bob was still smooth? He never noticed the difference anyway, but she still wanted to look good for him. But she also liked looking good for Michael too.

    Finally, they reached Alfie’s bakery and Octavian helped Y/N out of the car. They walked slowly side by side into the bakery, being greeted by the few men Alfie had working to near morning hours. They found themselves escorted into his office and the strong, cockney Jew was sitting at his desk, smoking a cigar. Two glass tumblers filled with rum were set on the desk in front of the two seats in front of his desk. 

     “Octavian, Y/N, I see you got my message,” Alfie said.

     “Yes, what is the emergency?” Octavian asked.

     Alfie stood. “We’ll get to that in a moment. No one took your coats? Bloody ‘ell, can’t fin’ good men anywhere anymore.” He walked around and took both of their coats off though the twins did protest. Then, he hung them up and had the twins sit.

     Y/N narrowed her eyes at Alfie. He was more skittish than usual and something grave had occurred. “Alfie—”

    “You want a smoke?”

    Alfie handed her one of his and lit it. Y/N took a long drag before blowing a puff of smoke towards the ceiling. It helped her relax a little more but didn’t curb her suspicions of her Jewish business partner.

     “And have some rum, please,” Alfie said as he sat back down.

     Octavian sipped his first and nodded. “It’s good, but we all know you didn’t call us here on an emergency just for a smoke and a drink.”

    “I figured it’d help soften the blow.” Alfie folded his hands on his desk. “There’s no easy to say it, but, earlier today, Tommy gave his family up to the police.”

    Alfie’s words echoed in her ears but Y/N wasn’t quite making the connection. Tommy Shelby, the same man who managed to screw over the IRA and get out from under the Russians for his family had handed them over to the police? The same police that were in his pocket? That made no sense. But if Tommy got them put in prison, that meant that Michael was in prison.

    Y/N gritted her teeth at the thought and took a large hit off of her cigarette. For the first time in a long time, she wished it was stronger because she could feel the panic begin to rise inside of her. It started from her hips and was working its way up. If it got to her heart, she might snap. 

    “Why would he do that? Tommy’s family is everything to him,” Octavian said.

    “He got into some trouble with a priest and there was an issue with his son—-”

    “When did you find out about this?” Y/N interrupted.

    “Excuse me?” Alfie asked.

    “You heard me.”

    “I found out about a minute before I called your house, thought you two should know ‘bout our partner.”

    “If nine tenths of the Shelbys are in prison, the Blinders are screwed, which means we’re all screwed,” Octavian said in a level tone.

    “No, the Shelbys may be the core of the Blinders but the Blinders are made up of several men loyal to their family. However, they could be paranoid since they could be next,” Y/N said.

    “As long as I still ‘ave my business, I can loan a few men to help you,” Alfie said.

   “Thank you, Alfie, for telling us.” Octavian stood. “We should be on our way.”

   “I’ll leave when I finish my rum,” Y/N said, her eyes trained on Alfie.

   The older man looked concerned and it was appropriate.


   “It would be rude for me not to. Besides, I have some things I want to discuss with Mr. Solomons. He’ll get me a car home or you can wait here, your call.”

   Octavian hesitated. “Very well then, I’ll be waiting outside.”

   When Octavian left, the panic within Y/N was right at her ribs and the cigarette was shaking in her hand.

   “Y/N, ‘m sorry about Michael. ‘m sure e’ll be out in no time, you know Tommy.”

   “That’s the problem, I don’t know Tommy.” Y/N grabbed the rum and downed it in a gulp. “Pour some more.”



   Alfie sighed before filling her tumbler again and Y/N held it in one hand and her cigarette in the other. 

   “Did Tommy get his son back just for selling out the rest of his family? Oh, but he probably has a clever idea to get them all back, doesn’t he?” Y/N spat. “It might not work this time though and if it doesn’t then…then the whole family could be taken advantage of in prison. You know how criminals are treated by the guards, imagine having the bloody Shelbys in your block. What’ll they do to poor Ada, Polly, Finn, John, Arthur…”

    “Michael.” His name came out in a dead pan fashion from Alfie and his eyes seemed to darken at the name. “That’s the one you really care about anyways, innit?”

    Y/N took another drag. “I care about all the Shelbys.” 

    “But not in the same way as you care about Michael. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other—-looks right disgusting some times. He looks at you like he hasn’t seen the sun in days and you’re it and you look at him and…and you would look happy.”

    Y/N sighed. “Trust me, Alfie, he hasn’t been looking at me like that lately and neither have you.”

    Alfie banged his fist on the desk. “You’re so frustrating! Of course I ain’t lookin at you the way that boy does because I ain’t no boy! I’m a man and I take what I want! Even if I’m angry.”

    His nostrils were flaring and his face was beginning to redden. Y/N had definitely touched a spot with him and she thought she liked the reaction. As she downed the rest of the rum, she could feel it shoving the panic back to the pit of her stomach. She took one last drag of her cigarette before putting it out in Alfie’s ash tray.

    “Really, because you haven’t taken what you want in months, barely even spoke to me,” Y/N said.

    Alfie groaned. “Because I was mad at ya! But unfortunately for the both of us, you stay stuck in my mind, like the pain my arse you are.”

    “But you still thought you should tell me about Tommy and…and Michael.”

    “Because I knew you’d be pissed if I didn’t and because I care about yeh.”   Alfie relaxed back into his seat and it seemed like he got most of what he wanted off of his broad chest.

    “Oh please, you’re probably grateful that your only competition is rotting in a jail cell right now!” 

    Alfie slowly stood in his feet. “Be careful how you speak to me.”

   “Or what? You’ll hit me, beat me like one of your men who fell out of line?” Y/N taunted.

    The rum and nicotine had put her in a provocative mood and being provocative was better than panicking. Alfie slowly walked around the desk, like a lion stalking its prey. He grabbed Y/N by the shoulders and yanked her out of her seat. She tried hitting him and scratching him, but it was though she was trying to harm a boulder since he didn’t react at all. Alfie kept staring into her dark eyes as he carefully backed her into the wall. Y/N went to hit him again but Alfie grabbed her wrists and pinned them to each side of her head.

    “I told you to watch your mouth,” Alfie whispered in that rough Cockney accent.

    “Why don’t you watch it for me?”

    Alfie closed the little distance between the two of them, pressing his mouth against hers. As Y/N kissed back, she felt the familiar burn of his beard around her mouth and smirked into it. When she tried to lean into him more, Alfie pushed her back against the wall before kissing her more aggressively. She kissed back with just enough passion and soon, Alfie released one of her hands to lock the door without breaking their intense embrace. Y/N took advantage and trailed that hand across his shoulder and Alfie growled as he grabbed her right leg and wrapped it around his hip, pushing them closer together. The heat seemed to have gotten the best of them and soon, Y/N’s hands were clawing at Alfie’s hair while Alfie was holding himself back from ripping off her dress. When he began kissing down her neck, Y/N huffed and smiled at the feeling of his facial hair tickling her neck. With her eyes closed she was able to focus on the feeling and the feeling brought her to a different memory.

    It had happened a couple of weeks after Y/N met Michael. It was late and she had come to Birmingham to check on the Blinders spreading hers and Octavian’s product around the area. She ended up running into Michael at the Garrison and they played several hands of poker with Arthur, John, and Isaiah over bourbons. After several drinks and hands, the Brummies realized just how good at cards Y/N was.

    “Bloody ‘ell, she took all my money!” Arthur announced angrily.

    “’s not my fault that the cards favored me,” Y/N grinned. “I’d like to collect my three hundred pounds now.”

    All three of the men muttered curses at her as they gave her their money, but Michael couldn’t help but laugh. 

    “How did you get so good at poker?” Michael asked.

    “Years and years of practice, Shelby.”

    “It’s Gray.” 

    “Makes no difference ‘round here, really, but Gray works better with your name.” 

     Y/N caught the cheeky looks that Isaiah, Arthur, and John shot Michael as they left, but she pretended not to as she shuffled some cards and sipped some more bourbon.

     “I can’t believe you and your brother are related, you’re like two different people,” Michael said.

    “We only share half of the same genes and it would be so boring being like Octavian.  Micromanaging the books, micromanaging the men, and micromanaging me must get old.” Y/N smirked. “But I do envy how much he gets to use his fists.”

     “If he’s the smarts and the muscle, what’s your role, if you don’t mind me asking,” Michael said.

    Y/N smirked. “Exactly that: I’m charming and people—-especially men—-underestimate me, so they wouldn’t be surprised if I drugged them or they wouldn’t question me if I lured them into getting jumped.”

   Michael raised his eyebrows. “Impressive.”

   “And what’s your role in Shelby Brothers Limited?”

   “I’m a manager.”

    “So you don’t get your hands dirty.”

    “I wouldn’t say that.”
    Y/N chuckled as she took another swig. “You’re full of surprises, Michael Gray, and I like that.”

    After countless drinks, Michael had Y/N pressed against the wall of a secret passageway in the back of the Garrison. They had started out making out passionately before Michael began trailing his mouth down the side of her neck. Y/N had to bite her plump bottom lip to keep herself from moaning. It wasn’t until Michael’s hands began scrunching up the sides of her dress, that she found herself sobering up.

    “Michael, stop,” Y/N said. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

    Slowly Michael let go of her dress and looked into her eyes. Though they were slightly bloodshot, they seemed serious when he said, “Fine, I’ll wait for you then.”

    Y/N blinked and realized that the scratching on her neck was because of Alfie and that she was in Alfie’s office still. She shouldn’t be doing this, not now. She slowly grabbed his hands and pushed him away. He frowned at her.

   “What’s the problem?” Alfie asked.

   “I can’t do this. I’m only doing this to try to forget about Michael and I can’t. I’m so sorry, Alfie,” Y/N said.

    Alfie stepped away from her and it was obvious that he was mad and hurt. “So, you were just going to screw me until he came back?”

    “No, I…I can’t do that; I couldn’t do that.” Y/N ran a hand through her hair. “You deserve so much better than this.”

    Alfie shook his head. “Save the speech and leave ‘fore your brother thinks we did something we haven’t.”

    Y/N moved slowly as she grabbed her hat from the floor and slipped on her coat. She really cared about Alfie, but not in the way he wanted her to. He would find someone else someday, but it wasn’t Y/N. She would’ve told him that if she didn’t think it might break him in some way. So, she quietly slipped out of his office, fixed her hat on her head, fixed her lipstick in the reflection of a picture hanging on the wall, and strolled outside.

    “Must’ve been some important discussion,” Octavian said when Nathan, their driver, closed the car door behind Y/N.

    “It was extremely eye opening. I’m going to Birmingham tomorrow, Octavian, and you can either join me or stay here.”

     Octavian wound up tagging along with Y/N to Birmingham, the prison to be more specific. It was weird for both of them since they knew that it could’ve easily been them holed up in the large, gray building with barely bread and water for food and drink. Plus, the guards would love to break in their new batons on the twins who ran a lucrative drug ring. However, he did make his presence useful by helping Y/N persuade a guard that the Shelbys once had in their pocket to sneak Y/N into the prison. After a promise of an eight ball of coke, Lieutenant Pendleton happily led Y/N into Michael’s cell block.

      Most of the prisoners moaned or catcalled when she passed, but Y/N blocked it all out. All she knew was that she was going to see Michael again and it was the only thing that mattered. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel nervous or anxious about talking to Michael, but she felt calm instead. She didn’t feel like shouting it from the rooftops unlike some girls, but telling Michael to his face was close enough.

     Finally, they reached Michael’s cell and the guard blocked Y/N’s view as he unlocked it. “You’ve got five minutes.”

     “Thank you, Lietutenant.”

     “Just make it quick. They’ll rotate in six so I’ve got to get you out of here in a minute.”

     Y/N nodded and walked into the large, but sad cell. It was four dark gray walls of nothing. There was nothing to lie on and no sort of bathroom. Off to the far left, Michael was laying down on the cold floor, wearing a white t-shirt and black suit pants. He was still toned but slimmer than the last time Y/N saw him. Part of her wanted to beat the men that had done this to him and the other part just wanted to hold him.

     “Michael?” she called. 

     He didn’t move nor respond.

     “Michael, we haven’t got a lot of time,” she said as she walked closer to him before kneeling down behind him. “Michael.”

    Y/N slowly reached her hand out to touch him but before she could, Michael slowly sat up and looked at her. He looked upset, pale, and bruised. He narrowed his eyes at her.

    “What are you doing here?” Michael asked.

     “I heard what Tommy did and I had to see you. Are you all right?”

    “Did you talk to Tommy?”

     “Briefly. It is much more complicated than you think, but, Octavian and I are helping him get you and the rest of your family out.” Y/N ran her hand through his hair but he flinched. “Someone hurt you.”

     “Happens when you’re a Blinder and you get thrown in prison. How are you here anyway?” Michael’s eyes widened and he stood, bringing Y/N up with him. “You’re mad to be here. A guard could see us any second–”

     “I bought us some time, Michael. My brother and I have a little pull with the coppers here.” Y/N hesitated at she looked up into his light eyes. “When I was told about you being in prison, I panicked because I thought I would never see you again. You’re the finest drinking buddy a girl could ask for and you have this beautiful way of being polished and put together but also tough and scrappy. You’re corrupted but pure at the same time. You’re so sweet to me and you shouldn’t be. I’m so not worth your time and you never pushed me to do anything more than I wanted.”

     “Is that all you have to say?” Michael asked.

    “No, I am so sorry for what I put you through with Alfie. I never thought that two men would be interested in me and gangsters nonetheless. For a while, I thought that I was dividing my attention equally between the two of you, but then I realized that it’s wrong not to give someone you love all your attention and that I was giving one of you more attention than the other because I cared about them differently,” Y/N said. “I love you, Michael Gray, and I cannot lose you.”

     Michael slowly cupped Y/N’s face and stared intently at her. “Do you know how much you drive me mad? Even when I was furious with you, I still thought about you constantly. I wanted to talk to you, but I  wouldn’t let myself out of pride.” He kissed her sweetly. “You will never slip through my fingers again.”

    “Never,” Y/N whispered before kissing him back.

    For once in her life, Y/N was truly happy. In the back of her mind, she knew they only had a few minutes left before Y/N had to leave, but she cherished it. Michael, Polly, Arthur, Finn, John, and Ada would be out of prison if it was the last thing she did. 

A Pinch of Nutmeg

Pairing: Jensen × Reader

Word Count: 6500

Summary: The reader is a young and upcoming chef who takes up an opportunity in Vancouver where she by chance befriends Jensen. 

Obviously I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time.

Welp, I did it again. Again, this is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. 

After taking a break between high school and college, you enrolled at local university to simply appease your parents’ desires. But your true passion belonged to your part-time job. You were plainly a line cook at a restaurant which was joined with a brewery yet the chef valued your opinions and even featured some of your creations on a seasonal rotating menu.

You had countless arguments with your parents about pursuing this venture further and applying for culinary school but their disapproval was clear. They didn’t think it held a future or would put on too much stress. They thought you should enroll in college for a ‘real career’ as they put it. You just felt they never understood your passion. Neither of them drank alcohol, your dad never touched a vegetable, and your mom was too overwhelmed from your younger siblings to even try to cook something that was not prepackaged and frozen. You had considered applications for culinary schools but never took that final step. It was the last argument you had with them that pushed you to register at least for some gen eds.

At the present moment, your classes were the furthest thing from your mind. It was ‘Restaurant Week’ in your city which encouraged people to dine out, try new foods, and for chefs to create weekly specials offered at a reduced cost. One of your dishes was featured for the week. Poutine with breaded fried chicken livers and a maple, mustard gravy. Yes, livers did not sound appetizing, but done right, they were extremely savory and delicious, so much so it was sinful. And you wanted to show your town that. You even invited your parents to come try it, proud one of your items was featured but they had yet to show.

Currently the dining room had a 45-minute wait to be seated and orders were flying in nonstop. But it fueled you, thriving under the pressure. You were focused on your station and were even helping others pick up the slack.

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