#(no idea how good copper would be for this but eh)

[ivnscribbles]

being back at college has gotten me a tad stressy so did some headshots of some characters from a lil story idea i've got. yahoo. I am about to go off in the tags.

[indigowallbreaker]

Needing to kiss to hide from bad guys - number 17 kiss for leonie x felix?

I'm realizing I've written this prompt for a Felix ship a few times now. It's funny how easy it is to put him in these situations. Also thank you, anon, I love this rare pair <3

[other mermay prompts]

--

Leonie was in the market when she heard the whispers. She saw the men herself, striking out with thick hooks and ropes and nets. Her blood ran cold even before she heard the murmurs around her.

"... spotted a mermaid nearby... Foul things... Goddess bless these men and their..."

Tucking away her money pouch, Leonie scrambled away.

Half an hour later, she scrambled back toward town, this time carrying a confused looking merman with dark hair.

"I could've fought them off!" Felix snapped as Leonie skid down a grassy hill. She heard the group of hunters shouting not far behind them and was cursing herself for not thinking to bring something to cover Felix's tail. It would have to be enough that Leonie's bright hair was obscured by a hood. They wouldn't know it was the tanner's daughter that had napped their catch.

"If you had escaped, they would've just got in their boats and chased you," Leonie said. "You're done for once they get a good look at you."

"So what's your plan?"

"Hide you."

"How?"

"Working on it."

Felix grumbled but tightened his hold on Leonie's neck as the sounds of the hunters grew louder again. His tail, midnight blue and speckled with amber, twitched as if aching to swim away.

On top of the hunters at their heels, there was the countdown in Leonie's head to consider. Being Felix's human friend all these months had given her a pretty good idea how long he could survive without water. And that time was ticking away with every step.

Forcing away panic, Leonie pushed into the first storehouse she saw. It was cluttered with crates and barrels. Nets tangled beyond saving were piled in a corner, and rusted tools along one wall were covered in dust. Abandoned storehouse. Perfect.

Leonie placed Felix on a crate and began looking around, quickly locating a threadbare blanket. "What are you doing?" Felix hissed. "They saw a human run this way, they'll check all the buildings on the edge of town first!"

"I know, I know, I know." Leonie threw the blanket over Felix's tail. "Stop moving. If they come in here, follow my lead."

Felix scoffed. "You didn't have a plan six seconds ago. Now you have a lead to follow?"

Leonie shushed him and strained to listen. The crunch of boots on dirt was getting louder, angry voices growing close. Leonie watched the door, hand on Felix's shoulder, feeling him tense as footsteps stopped just outside.

A breath before the door flew open, Leonie pressed her mouth to Felix's.

To his credit, he didn't fumble or push her away. In fact he leaned into the kiss with an ease Leonie wouldn't have expected. He was normally so jumpy when she got too close-- she had assumed he just disliked physical contact. But the way Felix's hand rested on her hip and his head angled to soften the kiss told Leonie she had assumed incorrectly.

"They could be hiding in-- eh?"

Felix pulled back from Leonie, aiming his best glare at the men who had burst into the storehouse. An unnatural glow lit his eyes but the men were too flustered to notice. They grunted excuses and apologies before turning around again, leaving the storehouse door open in their hasty retreat.

Leonie remained in Felix's light hold for a few heartbeats. That glare had yet to leave his face, and Leonie found herself fascinated by the glow. Though his eyes were dark amber, Leonie was reminded of the ocean-- of the copper light cast on the water when the sun sat low in the sky, just before night truly enveloped your boat and torches in town were the only way to find shore again.

Then Felix looked down at her, and Leonie shook those thoughts away. "That did it," she stated.

"Not your worst plan," Felix admitted, his hand sliding off her hip.

"We need to find you water, and a new place to hide."

He hummed in agreement and wrapped his arms around her neck. "Let's get going, then."

Before, in panic, Leonie had scooped Felix up without thought. Now her heart gave a lurch as she held up close again. She forced herself to think about how badly he needed water, how much trouble they were still in. Even in the face of all that-- his arms around her neck and his breath on her cheek were pretty damn distracting.

Standing straighter, Leonie ran out the door, darting in the opposite direction of the hunters.

[imagines-fandom-backup]

Chapter 2.1

Masterlist

Warnings- Usual PB violence, swearing, allusion to SA at the very end

2 years later

All of us were gathered around Freddie's casket. Tommy stepped forward. "I promised my friend, Freddie Thorne, that I would say a few words over his grave if he should pass before me. I made this promise before he became my brother-in-law, when we were in France, fighting for the king. And in the end, it wasn't war that took Freddie. Pestilence took him. But Freddie passed on his soul and his spirit to a new generation before he was cruelly taken." The service ended right after that.

I took a little walk with Thomas and Ada. 

"We thought now that Freddie's gone, you might come back to Birmingham."

"We really miss you, Ada."

"God, do you know how funny it is that Tommy's got chauffeurs in uniform now?"

"It's just for the occasion."

"Do you know how unfair it is that you have 4 Bugattis when half the country's starving?"

"So now they've made you ashamed of us, eh?" We stopped walking.

"Sometimes when I think about how I used to be, it makes me embarrassed." Tommy and I glanced at each other. 

Polly walked up to us with a smile. 

"Karl is with his cousins. I caught them trying to pinch flowers off a grave. Ada, are you coming home?" 

"I'm going home."

"We make her embarrassed," I mumbled. 

I looked at Ada who rolled her eyes. 

"That's not what I said."

"There's another reason we want you home. We're planning an expansion. I'm taking premises in London."

"Tommy, it's a funeral. Business can wait."

"Polly, if Ada was weeping, then I'd stop. But she's not. The expansion means it's gonna be dangerous to be a Shelby in London for a while."

"Yeah. Well, I'm not a Shelby anymore. And I'm not a Thorne now either. I'm free. I've got to get Karl home." She walked away. 

She left the 3 of us standing there. Polly turned to look at Tommy. 

"I told you to let me do it."

"It's alright. I'll have some men watch her house till the danger passes." We watched a man on a motorbike ride up to Arthur. 

He quickly whispered something to Arthur. Arthur waved Tommy over as he started walking toward us. Aunt Polly leaned over to me. 

"Till danger passes."

"That'll be the bloody day." She nodded as we walked towards the crowd. 

Tommy, Aunt Polly, a few of our men, and I went to the Garrison. Someone had blown it up. We walked underneath the chains to get a better look. A copper was already there waiting for us. "It happened at exactly 7:00 a.m. Nobody saw anything. Our patrols were not in the area. Mr. Shelby, you got any idea who might have done it? I'd say it was something to do with the gas." 

We both know that's not true. We knew exactly who did it and why. He handed money to the copper. "Just been fitted." Aunt Polly walked inside. "Madam, the structure hasn't been declared safe. Madam," he yelled after her. 

She bent over to pick something up off the ground. ​​"This is all over the place." She handed some to Tommy. It was green confetti. What the hell? Tommy nodded to the copper.

"You can go."

"Right." He walked away. 

We stood there looking at the building. "Who? Who did this to us," Aunt Polly asked. Tommy and I went to a pub to find the people who did this. "Whiskey, Irish. None for her." He flopped his hat down on the counter. The bartender poured him the drink. Tommy put the money on the counter only for it to be pushed back to him. 

"Heard there was a bit of a bang in your part of town."

"Gas and electric don't mix. Who would've thought they would, eh?"

"How's business otherwise, Mr. Shelby?"

"You know something? In these times of hunger and hardship, business is surprisingly good." He turned to lean against the counter. 

He took a swig of his drink. A little boy walked down the old wooden steps. His heavy footsteps echoed through the small building. "Which one is the Peaky Blinder devils?" Tommy downed his drink to follow after the little boy. I was right behind him. We followed the little boy through backyards and alleyways. 

We had no idea where he was taking us. We walked inside a warehouse with one pig hanging up on a metal hook. It was naked and gutted. 2 men grabbed us from behind. They stripped us of our hats, guns, and coats. They put bags over our heads before pulling us along. They sat us down on wooden chairs before taking the bags off. 

We were sitting in a tiny room. A man and a woman sat across from us. There was an old table separating us. There was barely any light in the room. The only light was from the spaces between the boarded-up windows. 

"Thomas and Anna Shelby."

"You blew up our pub."

"Anger defeats fear. Good."

"You blew up my pub." 

"Tommy has a reputation to uphold," she looked over at her partner.

Her partner looked Tommy up and down. He finally spoke. 

"A reputation for not being scared of anything."

"In all the world, violent men are the easiest to deal with," she seemed to almost laugh.

Tommy glanced at me then back to them. "So tell me, which brand of rebel are you...eh? I read somewhere that you Paddies started fighting amongst yourselves now. The king offers you a peace treaty and you start a war about it. That's funny, don't you think? A war about peace." It went silent as the 4 of us stared at each other. 

"So are you for the treaty or against the treaty? Forgive me, I get confused," he leaned back in his chair. Her partner slowly reached for the gun. He got up from his chair, dragging the gun on the table as he walked over to me. The lady crossed her arms over her chest.

"You are one decision away from your deaths, Mr. Shelby." 

"So stop fucking smiling," her partner snapped.

I cleared my throat as I shifted in my seat. "Your name is Irene O'Donnell. You have a son at the Cherry Wood Road School in Harborne. He has irons on his legs. His name is Sean. He comes last in every race...poor boy. Poor boy, race is important. If you know what I mean, Irene." The gun was cocked and held to the side of my head. 

It was cold on my temple. Her partner didn't seem too smart. "Oh, she speaks. There are other ways of carrying out this mission. Please allow me to put the bullet in the scum tinker's head." Irene watched as she waited for my reaction. She wasn't getting one out of me. 

She still stared at me. 

"No. They research their enemies. That's why they've been chosen."

"We are chosen," Tommy asked. 

I looked at her partner. "I'm chosen."

"Can the chosen one smoke," Tommy asked again. 

The gun was taken from my head. Tommy reached in his pocket for his cigarettes. 

"A vacancy has appeared and you are going to fill it."

"Chosen by whom?"

"An informed consensus."

"We have things to do. So perhaps you could tell the chosen ones what we've been chosen for."

"From now on, you shut your fucking Gypsy mouthes and listen to your instructions." We were ushered out of the room. 

Our jackets and guns were hanging on the hooks next to the naked pig. We didn't say anything to each other as we got dressed. "Fuck," Tommy yelled as he knocked over some boxes. I stood aside as I watched him. Why can't anything just be normal? He wiped his mouth with his hand before putting on his coat and hat. 

I went home as Tommy went to his office. I guess the look on my face told Aunt Polly that I didn't want to talk about what happened. She could hear it from Tommy. We had a family meeting soon anyway. We sat around waiting for Tommy to get here. Finn was pacing back and forth. "Sit down, Finn," Arthur snapped. 

Finn finally sat down next to me. John looked at Aunt Polly who was staring out of the window. 

"Where the bloody hell is Tommy?"

"He is on his way."

"Alright then, while we're waiting patiently...Whiskey. Left over from the explosion. Good stuff." He put a crate on top of the table. 

He started pouring us all glasses. After the day I've had, I wasn't going to say no. John cleared his throat. 

"Right, before Tommy gets here, I think there are a few things we need to get straight between the rest of us."

"You think?"

"Yes, Anna. I want to know...when did we take a vote on this expansion south?" He waited for an answer. 

Aunt Polly turned around, walking closer to the table. 

"You have anything to say, you wait for Thomas."

"Polly's fucking right," Arthur agreed. 

"I see all the books. Legal and off-track. So stuff you don't see-"

"I see the books too, John-"

"And in the past year, the Shelby Company Limited has been making 150 pounds a day. Right? A fucking day! Sometimes more. So what I wanna know is why are we changing things? Polly, look what's happened already. Haven't even set foot in London yet, they've already blown up our fucking pub."

"Who said anything about Cockneys," Arthur asked. 

"Who else," Esme asked. 

"Do you know who did it," I asked as I turned to look at her. 

"No, she doesn't know who did it," John interjected. 

"I'm told only family is allowed to speak." She looked back down at her book. 

Tommy walked into the room. No one saw him until he spoke. "Everyone is allowed to speak. On your feet, Esme. Let's hear what you have to say." John cleared his throat. He stood up a little straighter as he planted his feet firmly on the ground. 

"I speak for your household. So could-"

"John, this company is a modern enterprise and believes in equal rights for women. On your feet, Esme." Esme looked at John as she put her book aside. 

She slowly stood up. 

"I'm not a blood member of this family. But perhaps indeed because I'm not a member, I could see things in a different light. So I'll get to my point."

"That would be nice."

"Aunt Pol," I whispered as I gently nudged her. 

She shrugged as she lit her cigarette. "As my husband said, Shelby Company Limited has become very successful. But London...I have kin and Shepherd's Bush and Portobello. It's more like wars between armies down there. And the coppers fight side-by-side with them. And there are foreigners of every description. And the use of bombs is the least of it. I have a child. Blessed with the Shelby family's good looks. I want John to see him grow up. I want us to someday live somewhere with fresh air and trees. And keep chickens or something. But London is just smoke and trouble, Thomas. That's all I have to say," She sat back down. 

Arthur stared straight ahead. "That was a lot of words. A lot of words. Wash them down with a nice drink." He handed Tommy a glass of Whiskey. "Thank you, Esme." Tommy finished his drink. 

He lit his cigarette. 

"Firstly the bag in the pub had nothing to do with London, understood? The bang is something I'm dealing with on me own. Secondly, we have nothing to fear from the proposed business expansion as long as we stick together. After the first few weeks, nine-tenths of what we do in London will be legal. The other tenth is in good hands. Isn't that right, Arthur?"

"That's right."

"Some of you in this room have expressed your reservations. Fair enough. Any of you who want no part in the future of this company, walk out the door. Right now. Go raise your chickens. For those of you with ambition, the expansion process starts tomorrow." Tommy walked out of the room. 

The next morning, I was invited to go on a holiday with the boys. Arthur and I waited outside of John's house for Tommy to get the car and for John to come outside. I called up to his window. 

"Tommy's here."

"Alright, hold on." Tommy got out and stood next to the car. 

"John," Tommy yelled this time. "I'm coming!" John's voice sounded louder this time. 

Arthur took a swig out of the bottle he was holding. Tommy looked over wondering what it was. "Seven o'clock, twelve, ten if I'm still sober. I got it from the doctor." He handed it to Tommy. "It keeps me nice and calm." Tommy smelled the brown liquid. 

He pointed it at Arthur.

"Same thing they gave us in the trenches, stop us fucking wanking."

"Polly said it's good for me temper. It slows me down. "

"Arthur, there are some things Polly doesn't understand." Tommy turned the bottle over to pour it out. 

"Tommy," I shouted. 

He shook the bottle to get the remaining drops out. "I need you fast, not slow." He tossed the bottle to the side. John finally came out of the house.  "She wouldn't let go of me fucking leg."

"I bet that's not all she wouldn't let go of," Arthur laughed. 

"You know she's against this, Tom. She's got opinions."

"Nothing wrong with opinions, John."

"Get in the fucking car."

"Shut up!" We all climbed in. 

I sat in the back with John as Arthur climbed in front. "Peaky Blinders are going on fucking holiday," Arthur shouted as he stood up. "Sit down, you mad bastard." John pulled him back into the leather seat. We drove until we hit the field. The boys got out to take a pee break. I got out of the car to stretch my legs. 

They were making jokes about raising chickens and living in the countryside. As we walked back to the car, Tommy ripped up a tarp from the very back seat. There was a body in the back.

"Who the hell is that?"

"It's Irish business. I thought it'd be best to deal with it meself."

"I was sitting that close to a random dead guy? I'm not helping." I hopped into the front of the car as they buried him. 

We finished our trip to London by night. We walked into a crowded club. It was full of drunks and druggies. The music hurt my ears. The people dancing around us were giving me a headache. John seemed to like the atmosphere. I did not. 

We found a table in the middle of the room to sit at. They brought out a bottle of booze. "Isn't this Sabini's club," I yelled over the music. Tommy nodded as the waiter put the bottle down. 

"Jesus Christ. Everybody in here is a fucking face."

"Just the lieutenants, John. No sign of the officers." 

"Let's line 'em up," John smirked as he lined up the glasses. 

He started to pour us all a drink. A different waiter walked over to our table. 

"There has been a mistake. I'm afraid you are going to have to leave."

"We just bought a fucking bottle," John shouted.

"A couple of the men know you from the tracks in the north."

"We get that a lot."

"They say you have no business coming south of the line without prior agreement."

"What line would that be, my friend?"

"They say, this is provocation."

"Right, well, you tell them we're on holiday," I smirked as I held up my drink.

I took a drink as did Tommy. "You're breaking the rules. They say you are the Peaky Blinders." A glass was thrown at our table. It shattered everywhere. "Peaky scum," someone shouted. Tommy immediately turned to that person. 

A giant fight broke out. We fought until a gun went off. The waiter was pointing a gun at us. "Get out," was all he said. We had no choice but to make our way outside. "We came here not to make enemies but to make new friends. Those of you who are last will be first. You know where to find us," Tommy announced on our way out. We took the bottle of booze with us. 

We walked back to the car. Arthur reached into his mouth. 

"I think I lost a fucking tooth. At this rate, I won't have any. Some fucking holiday this is."

"Yeah. You lost without your fucking medicine now, Arthur?"

"Here, this'll fix you."

"Give me that." He took the bottle of Whiskey from Tommy. 

Tommy pointed to John as we walked along. 

"You John-boy, eh? How are you? Or should I ask your fucking wife?"

"Give over!"

"No more talk of chicken, you hear me?"

"Fuck the chickens," Arthur slurred as John broke out into a fit of laughter.

Tommy walked a little further ahead of us. "Got 50 quid in my pocket. Let's go paint the town, eh?" That's exactly what we did. We didn't get back home until late morning. We were all exhausted and drunk. It was a miracle that we made it home in one piece. It was the most fun any of us had in a while. 

I sat with Tommy in his office late at night. He sighed as he looked up from his paperwork. 

"Polly is pissed at me."

"Why's that?"

"I poured out Arthur's medicine and this came in an hour ago." He handed me a slip of paper. 

'Let's break bread.' It didn't have a name but it came from Camden Town. I sighed as I put the paper down. "Do we go see Alfie?" He shrugged as he took a drag of his cigarette. After he finished his drink, we made our way out to the garage. We didn't feel like walking home in the rain tonight. 

I flinched at the sudden cold raindrops. Luckily, we didn't have to walk far. I sighed in relief when we made it under. I put my hand on the cold door handle. The back door creaked open. A man with a gun pointed at me stepped out. I held up my hands as I backed up. 

Another man came out, then another. We tried everything to keep them off of us. They just kept coming. Tommy and I were both on the ground in seconds. They were punching and hitting us as if we were trash. I had no idea how many men there were now. I didn't even care at this point. 

I knew one or both of us were going to die. I was drifting in and out of consciousness as I lay on the wet ground. They were still working on Tommy. I wished I was unconscious. I was surprised I already wasn't. The pain was too much. "Get her over here," one of them screamed. 

They pulled me away from Tommy as I screamed. I couldn't move. Fire ripped through my body every time I did. I couldn't fight them anymore. I got a glimpse of Tommy. It was almost too dark in the garage to see. He was lifelessly laying there.

I was barely above the surface as they pulled me up. The last thing I felt before everything went dark were hands on the buttons of my pants. 

[discopig]

That Other Girl (Thomas Shelby x Reader) [Part 3/3]

Part 1 | Part 2

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 2,244

It had been a week since your argument with Tommy, and you hated admitting it, but you missed him. As much as Tommy was a busy man, and a lot of your time spent with him involved him doing some sort of work while you kept him company, you still spent every day together, and this was the longest you’d ever been without speaking to each other throughout your 6 year relationship, and it was hitting you hard. You found that time moved extremely slow, and seeing as you weren’t on good terms with Tommy, you didn’t really get the chance to hang around the Shelby household, so the loneliness was starting to become overbearing.

You decided to distract yourself by going back in to work at the Garrison, and as much as you would have liked to avoid Grace and Tommy for as long as possible, you still had bills to pay and didn’t like the idea of the customers you’d grown to know over the years, getting used to Grace and you not being there. She had already turned Tommy into an idiot, you weren’t going to let her stop your earnings as well.

You walked into the Garrison to find Harry behind the bar polishing the glasses, Grace nowhere to be seen. 

“Well look who it is” Harry smiled at you, “ready to get back to work eh?”

You couldn’t help the smile forming on your face as you’d missed Harry and work

“You bet I am, my ankle’s not all there yet but I’ll take it easy”

You joined him behind the bar and started sorting out the liquor bottles that were all over the place from the previous night. You had been working for about half an hour when the door to the Garrison opened and Grace walked in, her eyes going solemn as she spotted you.

“You’re back to work I see” she spoke, tying her apron and joining you behind the bar

You wanted to pull her hair out, but you figured it wasn’t her fault Tommy had taken an interest to her, especially as she’s knew to Birmingham and might not have known of your relationship, but you still didn’t like her as you couldn’t shake off your suspicions of her having something to do with that  copper

“Yes I am, slowly trying to get back into it, my ankle really screwed with the balance of things”, you could tell she wasn’t really paying attention to you.

“Thomas talked about you, you know?”, you went rigid at the sound of Tommy’s name, especially coming from her mouth, “He hasn’t been doing good without you, shows up every evening and drinks bottle after bottle. Had to lock him out once, he almost broke the door down” she rolled her eyes at the thought.

You felt worry creep up inside your veins, as angry as you were at Tommy, you still cared for him and couldn’t find it within you to throw away years of your feelings from him because of your argument, but when you looked up from the bottle you were holding, at Grace, the worry seemed to fade away as you realised he had just been spending time with her while you hadn’t heard from him

“He tell you what happened?” You asked, wanting to know just how much he might’ve shared

“No he didn’t tell me anything, just said you two had a fight, lots of rambling about how he was gonna lose you, how he fucked up. I felt sorry for him but then I figured I don’t know what he did, and maybe he deserves whatever’s going through his head”

You nodded slowly at her words

“He came by a lot when you were out with your ankle”

“What did you talk about?” You had assumed that if Tommy refused to tell you, maybe she would

“About life I guess, I’d tell him about my life back in Ireland and he’d tell me about all sorts, ranting about work, his brothers, nightmares” she replied, “he spoke a bit about you, your family” she stated the last part with an edge of disgust, you sat in silence, lost in her words, “I don’t think you’re good for him”, you snapped out of your daze.

“Excuse me?” You asked, astonished

“You and your little posh family, you’re not like him, your roots are different and I can tell he’s getting tired of it.” You almost had to hold your jaw shut  to stop it from dropping to the floor. What was it with people bringing up your family? You had been in Birmingham for years, and most people wouldn’t be able to tell you were any different from those born and raised in the city, if not for your slightly differing accent. 

You were frustrated she brought up your family as Tommy had yesterday, but then it clicked that she must’ve been the one to feed him all those ideas about you being some posh brat while Tommy was shit-faced drunk, and you were pissed. Not only at her, but at Tommy as well for being stupid enough to even acknowledge anything she said about you

“Listen here you freak”, you glared at her “I don’t know what you’re doing in this city, and why you think you have the right to speak on who I am and my relationship, but you best believe I will find out, and when I do, I’ll have no issue kicking you out myself. First out of my bar, and then out of my fuckin’ city, you hear me? I’d kick you out right now if I could” you spat.

Grace stood there silent, and you returned to sorting out the bottles, trying to control your anger and not knock Grace out with a bottle of very expensive whiskey

You had decided you’d had enough of being lonely, and dragged John out of the house to go to the new museum that had opened a few weeks back. John wasn’t thrilled, museums not being his thing, but he was happy to spend time with you, cracking his highly inappropriate jokes every 2 seconds.

“Tommy’s been doing horrible you know that angel?” 

You couldn’t help but scoff at his words

“Please no Tommy talk for today, I just want to enjoy the museum.” You tried to brush him off, but you couldn’t help but worry for Tommy.

You were strolling around the museum, John’s arm lazily thrown over your shoulder, looking at different paintings and sculptures, when you spotted a familiar head of blonde hair in front of you, standing next to a man. You quickly pushed John behind the wall next to you, and slightly peaked your head out to spy on her

“Psst, John, who’s that man standing next to Grace?” You had never seen him before, and your first thought was her father, but then you remembered what she told you about him

John peaked his head out above you, and squinted his eyes to get a better look at the man, who as if on queue turned his head back to look around the museum suspiciously, as though he was searching the area, forcing you and John to quickly fall back behind the wall to hide yourselves

“Holy shit” John whispered, taking his hat off and running his fingers through his hair, his expression a mix of being deep in thought, and being dumbfounded

“What? What is it John?” You asked, eyes jumping all over his face trying to make sense of the situation

“That’s the copper. Campbell.” 

You were sitting next to John at a family meeting, Tommy’s eyes boring into you as you avoided his gaze. It was the first time you’d seen him since your argument, as he’d seemingly been avoiding the Garrison, and consequentially, you. You were feeling a bit better about the whole situation now that your suspicions had been confirmed, but you weren’t quite ready to confront Tommy about it. 

The meeting went on for a little over an hour, Tommy groggily heading it. Just as everyone was about to leave, seeing as the meeting had come to an end, John spoke up

“Y/N was right” 

Everyone looked between you and John, confused

“Grace is working with Campbell.”

You saw Polly’s smug expression from the corner of your eye. Of course she knew

“What? How do you know?” Arthur asked, Tommy was still silent, a dazed look on his face

“We were at the museum”, you saw a spark of hurt in Tommy’s eyes at the mention of you and John going somewhere together while you had been away from each other, “and we saw her talking to the copper, they were all suspicious and everything Arthur, you had to have seen them, looking around the place like a pair of guilty kids hiding from their ma” John scoffed “I’m regretting giving her all those tips now...” You smacked his arm

Everyone awkwardly stared at Tommy, but his eyes were locked onto yours

It was the middle of the night when you suddenly heard banging on your front door, waking you up from your peaceful slumber. You groggily trudged towards the door, as you rubbed your eyes to try and keep yourself awake, however all the energy seemed to rush back into your body when you opened the door and saw Tommy standing outside, his tired blue eyes piercing into your y/e/c ones.

“Can I come in?” He croaked out

You didn’t know if it was the hour of the night, or the sight of him, tired, at the door, but you didn’t have it in you to send him away, so you stepped to the side to let him in, his eyes roaming over your apartment as though he was there for the first time, even though it was basically his second home.

“Would you like some tea?” You asked, worried he might be cold from standing outside

“Yes please”

You led him to your kitchen where he sat on one of your dining room chairs, you noticed he sat in the same one he always sits in, right opposite the stove, so he could watch you cook. You boiled the tea in silence, before pouring it into the mug he had brought over once and never taken back. It was a simple white mug that Finn had scribbled on with crayon when he was smaller, the crayon never seeming to wash off no matter how many times you scrubbed the mug. The both of you sat in silence, sipping your tea until Tommy spoke up

“I’m sorry Y/N” He looked at you with sorry eyes

“Thomas...” You began

“Please don’t call me that” He pleaded

“But it’s your name. What am I supposed to call you?”

“Tommy. I’m Tommy. You always call me Tommy, don’t change that.”

You stared down into your mug, not being able to meet his eye

“I fucked up Y/N, I was in a bad place and I know it’s no excuse but I was so tired and it just seemed so easy to walk in there and fill my system with as much alcohol as possible”

“You believed what she said about me being some stuck up cunt, you didn’t listen to me when I told you she wasn’t to be trusted” as angry as you were, you were mostly sad. Sad your relationship with Tommy had come to this point

“I know Y/N, and I know I fucked up and I know I made a huge mistake I’ll never forgive myself for, but I love you, I love you so much and I can’t live without you. Just this one week without you has broken me and you don’t know how much it hurt me to see you and not be able to hold you, not have you by my side. To know that I wronged you.”

You were staring into his eyes, trying your hardest not to cry

“You’re only saying this because John confirmed she was working for the copper...” you meekly replied, not believing your own words

“No. I was going to speak to you after the meeting because I’d finally gotten the chance to see you. That other girl hadn’t even crossed my mind once”, his voice was firm and you could tell he was determined to have you forgive him

“Tommy... I don’t-”

“Y/N please, give me another chance, I don’t want to lose you because of something so stupid, because I’m so stupid. Please Y/N I can’t live without you” You noticed a tear run down his cheek and struggled to control your own emotions. You loved him and it broke your heart to see him so upset.

You got up from your seat, panic glossing over Tommy’s eyes before you walked up to him and hugged him, his head resting on your stomach with your arms holding his head close to you

“It’s okay, I forgive you, just don’t cry, please. It doesn’t suit you” You smiled down at him, your hand holding the side of his face as you used your thumb to wipe away the tear on his cheek, Tommy leaning into your touch

“And you really are stupid”, you half cried, half laughed “promise me you’ll never do that again” you held out your pink to him

He smiled up at you and took your pinky with his own 

“I promise.”

AAAAAAH this is the end guys! I decided to give it a happy ending because fuck it why not! This is my first completed series and I really hope you guys enjoyed it. I went a bit crazy with the ending and I hope it’s not too cringe or disappointing, I just couldn’t stop myself. I was thinking about making a version where the reader ends up with John instead (because I love John), so let me know if you would be interested in that

Requested tags: @namelesslosers​

[fandom-puff]

Manhunt

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Requested by: anon ‘Hey, I saw that your requests are open. Can I request a Tommy Shelby fic where y/n gets kidnapped, please? Maybe Tommy’s getting extremely angry and worried and only calms down when he gets her back. Of course it’s up to you. Female reader if possible. Thank you so much :)’

Warnings: kidnapping, violence, swearing, injury (result of knife, beatings)

Bold italics = flashback

Gif creds to owner

“Where the fuck’ve you been?” Polly demanded from her desk, arms folded and lips pursed as Tommy stumbled through the door.

“Ah, let him be, Pol,” Arthur grinned, clapping him on the back. “Reckon his head’s still on his honeymoon. Been stuck in bed with the missus all morning, eh, brother?”

Tommy smirked boyishly. “No. Fuckin’ car broke down. Anyway, YN left ours hours ago, said she was seeing Ada before she buggers back off to London,”

At that moment, Ada walked through the door, holding one of John and Esme’s kids on her hip, bouncing him gently. “I haven’t seen YN today, Tom. Didn’t show up to our reservation in that nice cafe. Haven’t heard from her, so I just thought she was with you,”

Tommy frowned deeply. “But... she left at half eight to catch the bus. I told her I’d give her a lift but she said she needed to run a few errands before she met up with you,” he checked his pocket watch quickly. “It’s gone noon. Are you lot sure you haven’t heard from or seen her?”

“Tom, it’s fine, she’s probably just caught up in the shops or something,” John said, lighting a cigarette.

“No. It’s not fucking fine, Johnboy. She left at half eight this morning, stood Ada up in her favourite cafe- and she’s been going on about it for weeks- and no one has seen hide nor hair of her for hours. Something’s wrong,”

Jaw set harshly, Tommy strode out of the betting shop, closely followed by his brothers. “Oi! Finn. Run and tell Sergeant Moss that I said to have a search party out. Tell him YN’s missing. Then on your way back, go to Charlie’s yard and tell him to keep an eye on the canals for her, alright. Good lad,” Finn nodded and began to run as fast as his legs would carry him.

“What about us, Tommy?” Arthur said. “Tell us what to do,”

***

Slowly, your eyes opened, though you still couldn’t see anything- a length of fabric covered your eyes, blocking out all light. Every inch of your body ached, and you became vaguely aware of the stinging sensation at your wrists- they were bound behind your back, the tightly knitted rope rubbing your skin raw. Judging by the slight jostling movement of your body and the hum of an engine below you, you were in a vehicle, being driven god knows where.

Deciding to keep quiet, you took some deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself, trying your hardest to recall the previous hours...

***

“I’ll see you later, Tom,” you smiled, giving your grinning husband a final kiss goodbye before setting off to the bus stop. Tommy had offered you a lift, but you declined, saying something about errands and scenery. It was an alright day, by British standards, the sun trying its hardest to peak through the thin clouds.

You were halfway to the bus stop when you felt a presence behind you. Hurrying your steps a little more, knowing the old gentleman from the village would likely be at the stop for his weekly shop, if you could just get around this bend, you dared a look behind you, before colliding head on with something- or rather someone.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” you said, making to step around him, but his arms shot out, grasping onto you while the man behind you yanked a fistful of your hair, tugging your head backwards.

“Don’t you worry, Shelby,” he said, a slight accent lacing his low voice. “You will be,”

You tried to stamp your heels down on the attackers’ shins, you made to bite the hands closest to your face, to wriggle as much as you could. As you began to scream, a damp cloth was held over your nose and mouth, making your eyes roll back and your body slacken, allowing the two men to drag you to their vehicle, hidden by the shrubbery and blossoming trees and the loud caws of the birds.

***

Tommy was in full panic mode. He had Peaky Blinders scouring the whole of Birmingham, Sergeant Moss had managed to telephone the London police and have a telegram sent to every constabulary in the country to keep an eye out. Johnny Doggs had the Lee boys out, and Charlie was stopping every boat the passed through the cut.

Tommy kicked the table in the betting shop, sending papers and coins flying. “Where the fuck is she?” He roared, eyes flashing with some anger, but mostly fear.

“We’re doing everything we can, Thomas,” Polly said firmly, patting her nephews back and pushing a cup of tea into his hands. “It’s well sugared. You need the energy,”

“It’s not fucking enough!” He yelled, taking one sip of the tea before slamming the cup down, sloshing the table. “She could be anywhere and we’re sat here like idiots!”

Polly sighed, retreating to man the phone, waiting for someone, anyone to phone with knowledge of your whereabouts.

“It’ll be alright, brother,” John said. “Esme’s down with the Lees making sure none of them are sat twiddling their thumbs. Moss has every copper in Birmingham on the case. Even the London coppers are looking for a Shelby, and their almost all under Solomons and Sabini,”

Tommy was quiet for a moment before he looked between his brothers. “Solomons and Sabini...” he said slowly, processing the information before his face hardened.

“Solomons is a mad bastard,” Arthur said quietly.

“Right. Car, now. We’re going to London,”

***

The blind fold was removed, but you still couldn’t see much. One of your eyes was swollen shut, and the room you were in was plunged in almost complete darkness. Your hands were still tied, only now they (along with your ankles) were bound to a chair. You tried to shuffle the chair along, but it made a loud grating scraping noise, and caused a blinding pain to shoot through your nerves. Something was definitely broken.

“Shelby,”

The voices echoed around the room as you heard the men draw closer, their footsteps rapping sharply against the concrete ground. You strained your good eye, trying to make out their faces, but you could only make out vague face shapes, plunged in shadows.

“I told you, I don’t have any information!” You said urgently, preparing yourself for another punch or kick.

It didn’t come. Instead you felt the cold edge of a thin blade pressing against your swollen cheek. He dragged the blade slowly and you hissed as your cheek bloomed with stinging pain, feeling your hot blood trickle down your face and neck.

“We don’t want information,” the other man said lowly as you felt the tip of the knife press against your neck briefly. You held your breath, preparing for the worst, before the blade dropped. You let out a shaky breath of relief, which quickly turned into a groan of pain as a thick finger dragged along the fresh wound. “We don’t need one of Shelby’s whores for information,” you shut your eyes tightly, willing your tears not to fall. “We want to destroy Tommy Shelby,”

***

“Thomas! Thomas! Stop the fucking car now!”

The car squealed to a halt and Tommy almost tripped over his own feet in his haste. “This had better be good, Pol,” he growled, grabbing hold of the phone. “Speaking,”

“That you, Tommy?”

Tommy gritted his teeth. “Aye, Solomons. Make it quick. I’ve no time for business now,”

“Yeah, I know, right. Right fuckin’ fuss you’ve kicked up, yeah. Looking for that wife of yours, I heard. Well, Tommy, my coppers have been out and about , right, searchin’ high and fuckin’ low. Found nothin’ right,”

“Alfie,” tommy hissed. “I’m on my way down to London, now. If you’ve got no information, I don’t wanna hear any of your fuckin’ stories, alright?”

“Oi, you watch your tone, Tommy. I’m getting there. See now, Ollie’s missus’s got a friend whose friend is the wife of a fuckin’ wop, right. She says, right, that your wife, YN, had been on Sabini’s fuckin’ hit list from the very start. He’s got his coppers trying to dismiss this ever so mysterious disappearance, right. But my coppers, yeah, Tommy, you followin’?”

“I’m following,” tommy said through gritted teeth.

“Right, well my coppers have received a tip off from one of Sabini’s coppers that there’s some funny business going on in the old abandoned warehouse, you know the one, the one up in Cheltenham, what the anarchists set fire to,”

“You sure, Alfie?”

“Course I’m fuckin’ sure. Off you go, Tommy,”

***

How long you had been on the floor for, you had no idea. Your arms and legs were no longer bound- not that it made any difference. You couldn’t move without a fresh round of pain turning your stomach. Tears mixed with blood on your cheeks; you could barely keep your eyes open; you lay next to a pool of your own vomit due to the pain; your clothes were soaking with your own blood and urine; you were ready to die.

***

Gunshots. Three of them.

Three voices shouting, although you couldn’t distinguish what they were saying.

The door swung open, flooding the room with light. You made to lift your head up off the floor, but sobbed in agony.

“Fuckin’ hell!”

“YN, it’s alright, I’m here! They’re gone, I’ve got you,”

You felt the familiar warm hands on your body, the strong arms lifting you, the distinct smell. But you couldn’t open your eyes- you were simply too tired.

“Tommy...” you breathed, one hand bunched up in his coat.

“Shhh, I’m here, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you help, okay, my love. Don’t you worry one bit, okay?”

You nodded, trusting your eyes to shut, knowing that this time, tommy would be there to shake you awake, preventing you from giving into the darkness.

[sapphicknightaesthetic]

Prompt #2: The winds call me back to you

Ireland had proved to be more than Eivor had bargained for. She sailed home on the wind-tossed sea, wondering if the trade routes, outposts, and alliances she forged would prove to be worth it in the end, compared to their exorbitantly high cost. She remembered Barid’s eyes, soft but desperate, pleading with her to ensure  King Flann’s allegiance with his last breath, paired with an intensity of his love for his son. He had built a thriving city all so that Sichfrith could prosper...

“...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…”

She thought about her own legacy. Her intention had always been a life dedicated to fighting for honor, for the glory of her people, for some measure of peace where she no longer needed to pick up her axe to defend them at every turn. But is that what England had given her? She had spent much of her energy and immense skills at the whims of others with political aims and goals, not always aligning with her own. She had placed more than one puppet king on a throne, often needing to choose between the better of two evils. Was this honor? Was this a legacy worthy of entrance to Valhalla? 

Eivor felt exhaustion roll through her like the tide, filling every crevice. She felt unsure of her place in the world, and just needed the comfort of home. Of Randvi. That was her raison d'être, as Estrid would say. Her reason for being. If she fought for the betterment of her clan, if she made connections and alliances to ensure their safety, that was all that mattered. She shook the sad cobwebs from her mind, determined to have a genuine smile for her wife when she returned. She leaned against the firm wall of the longship, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Birna shook her shoulder. “Come on Sunbeam. Home time.”

Eivor’s eyes fluttered open, she blinked sleep back to its void. “Have we docked?”

“Not yet. We’re just around the bend.”

“Thanks for waking me, Birna.”

“I’m so glad to be rid of Ireland! Those Druids were something else, eh? Giving decent Pagans a bad name.”

“Mmmm.”

“Eivor, I don’t mean to pry. But you spent a lot of time with that red haired witch...what’s her name…”

“Ciara. I did. What’s your question, Birna?”

“I’m just wondering if you made any Druid magic of your own in that wet bog of a land?”

Eivor rolled her eyes. Birna knew full well she hadn’t, though this question seemed to pop up after every major journey they undertook. Eivor had tried to tell her multiple times that she would never be unfaithful to Randvi, that she could not bed anyone for the sake of it if her heart wasn’t in it. The concept had been lost on Birna, and so the questions had persisted. 

“You know I didn’t.”

“I’m just checking. You do have a type, Sunbeam. That red hair burns like fire.”

Eivor grinned ruefully, shook her head, and turned to look at their surroundings. They were just passing the trined point in the river that led to Grantebridge, the ruins of Duroliponte looming to the Southeast. One more bend and they’d be home. She wondered if Randvi would be there waiting; she had sent Sýnin ahead with a note. The evening was well on its way, Randvi might even be asleep. She pictured their bed, warm and soft, furs piled on top of them as they snuggled together, limbs entwined. More and more, this was what she wanted. The return home was always worth it, and was always something she looked forward to, but lately she no longer wanted to return, she only wanted the simple everyday fact of her and Randvi together, because she had never left in the first place.

She watched, wistfully, as the crew lowered the sails and started rowing, this part of the river too narrow to traverse safely. Her heart rate increased as the Raider’s hut roof became visible, growing closer with each stroke of the oars. She felt a swell of pride as more of her village emerged from the lowland fog. Her village . She had built this place from almost nothing, discarded hovels of canvas and sticks. Sigurd may have claimed it as theirs, but Eivor had been the one to turn it into something to be proud of, something worth protecting. She leapt to the back of the ship’s tail, standing on a ledge. “...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…” This was her Valhalla, and it would never be complete without the person at it’s centre, at its heart. 

Eivor realized then that while she was proud of Ravensthorpe, Ravensthorpe, much like her former idea of Valhalla, was only a place. Randvi was her true home. She’d go wherever Randvi was, without question. Their love, with all of its storied history of waiting, longing, and hiding, was her legacy. She saw copper hair, cloaked against the oncoming chill of the evening, waiting like a beacon between the posts of the village entrance.

The ship glided silently up to the dock, and Eivor immediately leapt off, running as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her. She grabbed Randvi, lifting her off the ground in a tight embrace, spinning her around. She inhaled Randvi’s scent, spice and fire blending with earth and ink and smoke. Her heart beat Randvi’s name in fast repetition, her hands holding onto her wife as tightly as she dared without hurting her.

“My love,” Randvi whispered, as she held fast to Eivor. “How I’ve missed you.” Her hands caressed the back of Eivor’s newly shaved head, luxuriating in the velvety feel. 

Eivor couldn’t speak, she did not want to break the moment with words, but slowly set Randvi down, quickly finding her mouth and communicating everything she couldn’t say with a long, slow kiss, paying attention to the feel of Randvi’s lips, the warmth of her mouth, the teasing nature of her teeth. 

Claps and pats of hands landed on her back and shoulders from the crew as they walked past the pair. Their hearts never failed to be happy for their Jarl, for the love that she had found and fought for. For all of her sacrifice, for the enormous work she had devoted to make their lives better, they gladdened at the sight of Eivor and Randvi together. They knew how hard her road had been, how much she had suffered, often silently, from such a young age. Her happiness was their happiness, and they showed her whenever they could. Birna let out a whistle. 

“You better get her to bed, Jarlskona.” Birna wrapped an arm around Petra, who had walked down to meet her wife when she saw the familiar Raven sails from her hut.

“Leave them be, love. I’d better get you to bed.” Petra wrapped an arm around Birna’s waist.

“You’ll hear no complaints from me, Petra. Good night, Sunbeam!”

Eivor and Randvi watched them leave, as Eivor sent them off with a wave. Randvi turned back around, seeing the edges of something in Eivor’s face. “What’s wrong, darling? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I have a few cuts and bruises, nothing to worry about, my heart.”

“Thank you for sending Sýnin. I have a bath prepared. And some roast boar, thanks to Petra.”

Eivor felt overcome at the thoughtful care Randvi showed her in all things. “Randvi...thank you.” Was all she could manage. 

Randvi smiled at her, her wife was always so ready to display gratitude, a custom she never tired of, but she furrowed her eyes, wondering what was troubling her usually contented drengr.

“Let’s get you home.”

 

Randvi and Eivor sat in deliciously scented hot water. The worry and tension Eivor had carried home with her evaporated into the steam drifting to the longhouse ceiling. A satisfied smile now constantly fixed on her face. 

“This was a great idea, possibly the best you’ve ever had. And that’s truly saying something.”

“I aim to please, my Jarl.” Randvi felt self-congratulatory at the obvious change in her love’s mood. Years of observing Eivor, of seeing her come home in different states of health and happiness, of finding different ways of tending to that glorious body and soul made Randvi an expert in the proper care and maintenance of her physically ferocious wife. But one truth prevailed among her experience: Eivor always recooperated faster with a bath. 

“Are you ready to talk about Ireland?”

Eivor exhaled. “I will do my best. It still feels...fresh.”

Randvi sat up in the bath, giving Eivor all of her attention.

“You know I went to Ireland to help my cousin, Barid. And I did help, although Barid fell in battle. His High King did not heed Barid’s warnings. We were able to beat the Druids back, but I have been wondering if his death was needless, no matter how good and glorious his end. He died a hero, and is no doubt in Valhalla, but had his words been listened to, he would still be the King of Dublin, and his son would still have his father.”

“It is not up to us to change fate, Eivor. It sounds like the Nornir gave Barid a good death. What else can we ask in this life?”

“The love of the most beautiful and intelligent of women, for a start, at the very least.”

Randvi rolled her eyes and laughed, pleasure and embarrassment mingled together. When she looked back at Eivor, sorrow still crept in the periphery. “Is that all that troubles you, Eivor?”

“The Druids of Ireland are much like us, trying to carve out a life for themselves, trying to hold onto their traditions and culture, though the Christians would willingly wipe them, and us, away if given the chance. There was an extremist faction, the Children of Danu, that were causing all the strife while other Druids were forced to live in fear and even secrecy. It made me wonder if we will ever truly pacify this land. The Christians make no room for anyone else. I…I had to kill a Druid priestess who I thought was my friend, all for a Christian King who would rule over all. Was that honorable? I feel...stained, Randvi. I wonder if the decisions I’ve made in my time here are hurting our people, rather than truly helping. She was misguided, angry, she caused a lot of pain in the land there. I think King Flann Sinna saw the error of his ways in his treatment of the Druids, and he will make amends - he said as much. But these Christians...they can be false as well as unyielding. I’m not sure how far he can be trusted.” 

Memories of Fulke and King Aelfred made her skin prick involuntarily. The Norse and Danes were often met with a great deal more than suspicion and hostility, labeled as barbarians and savages for their voracity in war. But there was something honest and forthright in them as a people; they hid nothing, they lived openly and celebrated the customs and cultures of all who chose to live among them. Sharing resources through a community was their way, regardless of the people that community comprised; yet this was not the way of the Christians. From what she had seen, they feared all outsiders. She was unsure if this was unique to Anglo-Saxon Christians or not, but from all she had experienced, she was not keen to go looking for other examples. 

Randvi found Eivor’s hand under the warm water, and stroked soothingly. Her love never lost sight of the broader view and what it meant for her people. It was one of the many things she adored and cherished about her. She took Eivor’s fingers and brought them to her lips, kissing them lightly. 

“These are large questions, my love. Too large to confront in one night. But I promise I will help you as much as I can in our time come in this land. You try to take care of so many, Eivor Varinsdottir. I fear the world is too big, even for your very broad shoulders.”

Eivor felt her heart flutter. After all these years, after all this time, being with Randvi made her feel like she was falling in love with her over and over again. She never stopped falling. 

“But maybe, just for tonight, you can let me take care of you?” Randvi leaned forward, kissing one cheek lightly, then the other cheek, her nose, her chin, across her forehead, until she found Eivor’s lips, nipping lightly, until Eivor pulled her forward and kissed her with earnest desire. She opened her body, as Randvi lay on top of her in the bath, relishing the closeness after too many months apart. 

Eivor leaned her head back slightly, looking into Randvi’s eyes, darkened to forest green between her desire and the dim candlelight around them.

“Barid said something to me, before the Valkyrie came to claim him. He told me that Valhalla need not be a place, that it can be a legacy.” Eivor held Randvi’s gaze, needing her to feel how much she meant what she was about to say. “I think perhaps for me, it is not so much a legacy, as it’s you, Randvi. You are my home, my Valhalla. After all of our time in England, all of the campaigns, the politicking, the alliances we have paid for with sweat and blood, we could walk away tomorrow and I would not care. The winds always call me back to you, wherever you are.” 

Randvi felt strangely vulnerable, though deeply moved. She felt her heart race to echo and return Eivor’s sentiment. If Eivor ever left Ravensthorpe, Randvi would follow without hesitation. She used the moment to lean down and kiss Eivor again, with unashamed love and lust and pride and longing and hope. Their lives together had not been easy, but it had been worth every moment they had paid. 

She felt Eivor’s hands slide down to her lower back, holding her closely. She felt a hot rush in her center, and decided it was time to leave the bath. 

“Shall we adjourn to our chambers, my Jarl?”

Eivor smirked, knowingly. “Indeed, my Jarlskona.” 

Randvi made her way out of the bath, as Eivor followed suit. Randvi spied some new blade slices over Eivor’s body, and some fresh bruises getting ready to bloom; she’d be sure to kiss them all later. She took Eivor’s hand and led them naked to their bed. Their bed . A place she was never tired of acknowledging. 

Eivor pulled Randvi to her, wrapping her in strong, solid muscle. “I missed you, Jarlskona.”

“And I you, my Jarl.” Randvi pressed her teeth against Eivor’s neck, nipping and sucking her way along the tender flesh under her chin. She heard Eivor’s breath catch, and a gasp after she released skin from her teeth. She moved a hand, cupping Eivor’s sex, feeling the wet traces of her want on her fingers. Eivor bowed her head resting it on Randvi’s shoulder, her breathing deepening with anticipation. This fierce drengr, terror of England and Ireland, great Jarl of a proud clan, was made vulnerable and soft with a single touch. It was a power Randvi knew only she wielded, and she never took it for granted. 

She brought Eivor to the bed, guiding her down. “What would you like, darling?” She purred in a way that drove Eivor wild.

“You. I just want you.”

“I am yours, Eivor.”

And the sound of those words, said by the only woman in the world she needed to hear them from, snapped Eivor out of the worry she brought home with her. As the sounds of their love-making filled the longhouse, Ravensthorpe sighed relief, and for tonight at least, everything was well in the world.

[blackberry-gingham]

Idk how you may feel about this au! But time travelingreader! is my fab. Could you do one in the teddy boy era. (I just imagine the resder predict or say some anachronism and the guys being ?. Socially speaking its so interesting. ) thnks :)

Lol, this IS an interesting trope! Also, a very difficult one to write, from my understanding haha. All in good fun I suppose, but still I want to try and make something worthwhile, so I hope this turns out alright for you all!

Sorry for the hiatus, but I think I'm coming back finally :D I hope you enjoy this snippet

---

A cool, fresh breeze washes over you, tickling your face. You sniff and rustle peacefully, as you sleep. Another one comes, this time stiff and cold.

You roll over, swatting at nothing as a small patch of grass blades stab your nose. Wait, grass?

Your eyes shoot open, and you sit up to attention, taking in your surroundings. It looks like you're in some type of park, but the foliage is far greener and push then anywhere you know of. As you look around, a thought comes to you.

You've only a foggy idea where you were before and no idea how you got here. In fact, where even is here?

Panic over takes you, and you whip out your phone for answers, only.... Huh, no signal. That can't be, you're in the middle of a town!

You shake your head out and decide to go talk to some people instead.

And that's when things really go down hill.

The street is filled with cars that look like they belong in a museum or auto show. Not only that, but they're all driving on the opposite side of the street, a-and those save streets are lined with little telephone booths, and-

This must be a dream, you tell yourself as you run up to a newspaper stand, yet another thing you've never seen before. In your frantic haste, you grab one and search for the date, only now realizing you've never actually read a newspaper before. You're hardly able to read "The Daily Mail" and June 13, 196-something, before...

"Oi, this ain't a lib'ry love! Pay up, or keep walking!"

You're so taken aback my the man's accent and mild threat, that all you can do is stutter and back away. Paper in hand, that is.

The man gets up off his stool menacingly, "Are you deaf? Do you want me to get the coppers on ye'? I'll-!"

"Oi, fuck off!", another male voice comes from behind and you go stiff as a rod as you back into a strong, leather clad chest. " 'ere's a quid for the paper ya bastard, keep the change"

You whip around to see a boy about your age. He's tall, with a long, sharp nose and bright, auburn hair as he looks down leads you away from the paper stand by the arm.

All you can do is let it happen. You're so bewildered by each new development that you can hardly keep up. Last you knew, you were in America 2021, now you're lost in England, around 60 years in the past.

"You must really love that old rag to be trying to pinch it, eh?", the boy gives a mirthless chuckle and turns around briefly to catch a glimpse of you. And for a split second, it hits you.

You know that profile anywhere.

"John?", you stop dead in your tracks, disbelief written all over your face. John whips around, aa your voice changes from shock, to imesuarble relief, "John Lennon?"

"Yeah.... How do yo-?"

You cut him off, doing everything within your power to keep from shedding tears as you bump into him with a hug, "You're alive!"

John freezes up and makes a face that, to anyone who knew him, would say that he was about to shove you off to start. And he would've too, except... "Alive? The fuck are you on about, 'course I am!", John chooses mercy and merely shakes himself free as you reel.

Now that some space is between you, he catches a good look at your shirt. "The Beatles", it says, in bold white lettering with a picture of Abbey Road on it.

"Ey!", John points, and then squints to make sure his eyes aren't playing tricks. When he's sure they aren't, he looks at you suspiciously, "What all this? That's my band's name!"

Uh oh.

It suddenly occurs to you that perhaps interacting with your idol's past self was not a good idea. "W-well yeah, I know! O-or wait, actually-!"

But John clearly isn't listening, instead it would appear he's thinking up a new name. Perhaps The Quarry Men isn't so bad?

Suddenly, the text on your shirt starts to flicker, and "The Beatles" starts to morph into something else... It only takes you a second to realize what's happening, and you snap into action.

"No no no!", You wave your hands in front him, "Don't do that! Look, it is your band! See, this is you, and Paul, and George, and-"

John squints again and leans in very close. In any other circumstance, you'd be quite excited indeed. It's hard to see anything on the beat up tee however, but... He'd recognize Paul's profile and Ringo's big old hooter anywhere.

He gaze shoots back up to you, and now it's his turn to be wordless and in disbelief, "How?", is about all he can manage.

Well... The truth can't hurt, right? "I-I don't know, alright? And you wouldn't believe me anyway..."

Suddenly, John seems extremely interested, "Well hey now, don't be like that! Are you um, are you a fortune teller?", he creeps a little closer, lowering his voice, "D-do you know if me and the lads make it in the end?"

You freeze a moment, "Make it...?"

"Well yeah, you know... Do we hit it big? We must if shite like that's going around!", he points excitedly to your shirt

You release the breath you'd been holding. Thankfully, it seems he's forgotten the little matter of you thinking he'd been dead. Well, only because... He is. And George....

Hopefully you won't have to touch that topic. Besides, right now you need to figure out how to get back to your time. Although...

Surely it wouldn't hurt to spend a little time with your idol

"Do you? Do you ever!", You light up, unable to mask your excitement, "You guys become the biggest band in the world!"

John's eyes go wide as saucers, and whether it's because he feels you have some credit, or because simply wants to believe, he seems to take you at your word. Suddenly, he grabs onto your wrist, "Come on then! We need to tell the lads!"

And with that, the two of you race on.

[collecting-stories]

Comfort - JJ Maybank

Request: hi!! i love your fanfic about obx and i was wondering if you could write something where the reader is struggling with her body image/self-confidence and the pogues don't know but JJ, her bf, somehow finds out and comforts her? i haven't been feeling very confident lately and i feel like this would help idk why. thank you <33 - @teaheeee

A/N: This was a tough one but here it is.

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

“I’ll be like five seconds.” JJ swore, running up the stairs to your room where he’d left his wallet.  

“JJ come on.” You groaned, falling back onto the couch. This was at least the fifth time he’d stalled the two of you from leaving the house. You were supposed to be meeting everyone at the beach and you hated being late.  

“Hold on!” He shouted. He had dropped his wallet under the bed earlier and almost left without it when the two of you were leaving. While you waited downstairs, he grabbed the wallet, pausing when he noticed the ripped picture on the floor. Shredded by hand into pieces was your school picture, the one you’d just gotten last week.  

JJ picked up the pieces, sifting through them for a moment until you called him again, reminding him that the task at hand was getting his wallet so you could get to the Wreck. He didn’t want to bring down the evening and he wasn’t sure what to say so he said nothing when he came down, only holding up his wallet to show you that he found it.

It was entirely possible that he was reading too much into things. That you had really just hated your senior portrait and thought it was awful. There was nothing wrong with that, school pictures were always cheesy. But ripping your picture to shreds wasn’t an isolated incident, not in his mind at least. You’d been avoiding any type of jean or tight all week. He was honestly surprised today to find you wearing a nice dress though he supposed that it was for everyone else’s benefit because you kept holding the hem like it was going to billow up.  

You were fine at lunch. It was JJ that caught Kiara’s attention, seemingly more distant than she remembered seeing him before, she leaned over at one point to ask if everything was okay at home.

“What do you mean?” He asked, gaze straying to you as you pushed at the food on your plate.  

“Are you okay? You seem really distracted.” She replied, keeping her voice down so no one else noticed.  

JJ shook his head, “fine.” He didn’t want to tell Kiara that he was worried about you. If you hadn’t said anything to her, and you clearly hadn’t because she seemed oblivious to your behavior, then he didn’t want to draw attention to you.  

It wasn’t any one thing. You couldn’t pinpoint the moment or the day, it wasn’t that you stepped on a scale and gained a few pounds. It wasn’t that your jeans felt a little too tight around the hips. Though now that you thought of it, you were feeling kind bloated lately. But it wasn’t just that. It was the sudden breakout of acne near your jawline and the way you felt like you just couldn’t quite ‘pull off’ the clothes you were wearing. It was the feeling of something being wrong but not being able to pinpoint it. That unsettling, unnerving feeling of looking in the mirror and knowing that it was all wrong. That you were all wrong. Your hair looked dull and lifeless, your skin was puffy and it didn’t glow the way the serum you bought said it would. You could name something from head to toe, there was list, sprawling inside your head of all the things that were wrong. Your posture, your nose, your waist, your legs, your eyes...everything had something wrong.

JJ waited until you were back at your house, sprawled out on the couch with you while you watched some rerun of a stupid show. Never good at confrontation that wasn’t with someone he didn’t like, JJ jumped right in, “Are you okay?”

It was a simple enough question. You could just say yes and he could be satistfied and everything could go back to normal. You could hope that you would eventually shake the awful feelings and be okay. Or you could tell him that you were just tired or just not feeling well or just whatever. It didn’t matter what you said, there were a million excuses and all you had to do was choose one.  

But that was easier said than done and you found yourself floundering for a moment, trying to think of the most believeable way to say that you were fine and he didn’t have to worry. He had enougn on his plate, he didn’t have to be bothered with you too.  

“Yeah.” You replied, voice a little shakier than you meant it to be and you grimaced slightly at your own voice.  

“Are you sure?”

If he was asking the question than it meant that he probably knew the answer.  

“Yeah, fine, good.” You nodded.  

“I saw you ripped up your picture.” He admitted.  

“I can explain-”

He nodded, “you know you’re awesome?” He asked, as if he was expecting some sort of response from you.  

“Sometimes,” you shrugged, “I don’t know...I just feel like...it’s not worth it. Like I just want to stay in bed and under my covers because then no one has to look at me.”

“Well I like looking at you so I can’t say I’m a fan of that idea,” JJ replied, smiling when bit your bottom lip, “although if the bed’s big enough than that’s fine, we can hide together.”  

“JJ,” you sat up more and so did he, “I’m being serious!”

“So am I,” JJ replied, “you think I’d hesitate to do anything you needed me too? You don’t have to believe me but that doesn’t mean I won’t remind you ever day how incredible you are.”

“You’re such a sap,” you tried to play off his words as if it didn’t make your heart race to hear him say those things to you.  

“Eh,” he shrugged, pulling you against him and kissing the side of your head, “worth it. Now, you wanna tell me what’s the matter, really?”

“I told you.”

“More than that.” He stressed.  

“I just feel gross I guess. I don’t know, it’s not any one thing it’s just like, every little thing that I see that I don’t like. It’s so easy to just...look at myself and see all the ways that I’m falling short. All the things I wish I could change about myself.”

“I don’t know how helpful it is to say it but, I wouldn’t change anything about you.” JJ admitted. “You’re my best friend, I mean...” he shrugged, almost as if he wasn’t entirely sure how to end that sentence. JJ wasn’t the best with words, he had always had trouble getting his thoughts. He could name every single thing that he loved about you, and the list was extensive, but saying the words felt like his throat was closing up on him.

It didn’t really matter though, you knew what he meant. The soft look and the kiss on your forehead that had you closing your eyes when his lips touched your skin. He wasn’t used to comforting, hadn’t ever had any example of it in his own life, but he was good at it. He was good at letting you know it would be alright. Even if he didn’t say it outright.  

-

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[kerwritesthings]

Orange Blossom At The Bottom Of A Shot Glass

Summary: Salty is followed by sour, which should always be followed by sweet. 

Word Count: almost 3.7k

Warning: little cursing, little sexual tension, a bunch of sweet and fluff

Author Notes: ::taps on mic:: Soooo it’s been a GOOD while. The muse has been a little bit of a fickle bitch. Or a lot of one, actually. Also didn’t help that the last piece I wrote totally went a hard boom splat - gee thanks tall idiot Canadian one for that :P

HOWEVER, the muse decided to let go with some of the hockey boys and me play with some words for J’s Winter Writing Challenge. I’m just one day off deadline, though I still want to fill the other 1-2 I was thinking of. Thank you J for pulling this all together, you’re a peach. 

This one, is the first attempt at writing Tyler, so please be kind to a girl. It was fun to play in this little part of my hockeysphere/hockeyblr. 

I’m also maybe possibly most likely making this into a verse/series. Cause y’all should know that’s how I roll. 

The prompt from the challenge was:  “Take another step and I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“From the cute one in the three piece purple suit at the end of the bar, said to get you another of whatever you’re drinking,” Misty says, sliding the half-sugar rimmed martini glass across the copper bar top. “Wouldn’t even entertain doing this if I didn’t know most of them.”

“Thanks Mis,” you smile, pushing your empty glass towards her.

You peek down slyly towards the right. A gaggle of tall, well dressed men circle the far end. You think some look familiar. Then you see who Misty meant when he turns towards the front of the bar and towards where you’re sitting. You know straightaway who he is, know the reputation, the rumblings. It’s hard not to, as big as Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex is, it’s not at the same time. It also helps that you’ve been a hockey fan since birth, paying attention to the boys in green since you moved to Dallas a handful of years ago.

“Misty are you fucking kidding me?” you snap when she wanders back towards you.

“Nope,” she grins like the cat who got the canary. “You should go over and say thank you. Promise you, you may think you know, but he’s a good guy. The lot of them are.”

You shake your head no, downing half your drink in one sip before wiping your finger against the glass to lick at some of the sanding sugar. Misty’s blood orange martinis are your favorite, and a weakness you cannot kick when she’s got the good stuff in stock.

“Give me a blank tabcard and a pen,” you ask. “How many of them are down there? Do a round of shots on my bill, but lemme think of what to send while I write this.”

Misty places one of her pens, a card and your Visa to the right of your cocktail. You carefully fold the card in half, tearing it in two. On one half you cleanly script out your name and cell number while on the second half, you write a cheeky little note:

If you can figure out what the shot is, Misty has something for you. Thanks for the martini, the second always hits better especially when you lick the sugar rim.

“Mis, do you know how to make a reckless slut?” you snicker, capping the pen.

“Red-headed slut, but with whiskey instead of Jaeger yeah?” she questions, looking underneath the bar for a bigger, clean cocktail shaker.

“Honey whiskey if you’ve got it,” you respond, polishing off the rest of your martini before gathering your things. “Then it’s just a touch lighter on the peach. If he can guess it right, then you give him the second half of the note.”

“You got it, I’ll see you,” she waves, off to the middle of the bar to find more ingredients.

You carefully glance down towards the opposite end, noticing the boys all wrapped up so you carefully slip out to make your exit, smiling and shaking your head.

“I’m absolutely insane,” you say out loud to yourself as you head towards your car.

“Segs, my girl left this for you and a round on her for the rest of the motley crew,” Misty explains, slipping him the first card before handing out the shot glasses.

“What she say?” Jamie nudges.

“Other than I missed her licking the rim of her glass?” he chides. “I need to guess what this is and then Misty has something for me, supposedly.”

“I do,” Misty replies, handing the rest of the shots out. “She picked a bit of a good one to leave for you too. Cheers boys, bellow if you need anything.”

He lifts the glass, sniffing it at first, not having any clue.

“J, Rads you guys have any idea?” Tyler asks, they both shake their head.

“Bottoms up,” Jamie adds before they all tip the shots back.

“Anybody?” Tyler pushes again, glasses clicking on the copper.

“I know,” a voice chimes in from the back, dropping the empty shot glass onto the bar.

“Come on then Dicky,” Tyler urges.

He looks at Tyler, trying to hold back a laugh but it doesn’t work.

“It’s a reckless slut,” he manages out between his laughter. “It’s something else dark in place of Jägermeister. Slightly fitting, eh?”

The group busts out in hoops, hollers and their own peals of laughter while Tyler shoves at the one closest to him, this time it’s Alex.

“Whiskey, honey whiskey actually, so nice one there Jason. Winner gets this,” Misty trills happily, wiggling a card in front of the group.

“Hey, wait a second,” Tyler snaps, trying to lean over to snatch the card from the bartender.

“That’s the rules she set,” she says, flicking the card over to his teammate. “Take it up with him, he got it right.”

“What’s it worth?” Jason grins, fist bumping with Misty before turning more towards Tyler.

“Not whatever you’re scheming in that brain of yours,” he takes a pull off his beer.

“I was just gonna say take care of dinner tonight, but if it’s not worth that,” Jason trails off.

“Damnit Dicky,” he sighs, hand flexing around the bottle.

“Let’s go boys, they’re ready for us,” Joe interjects from the outskirts of the group, nodding to the back dining room. “And we like it here so no bloodshed, ok?”

You’re just about to slip the key into your front door lock when your phone buzzes in quick repeated blips. You juggle everything in, snag a bottle of water from the fridge before plopping down on the couch to see what has your phone trilling.

So, Tyler didn’t win the challenge, I did and Misty followed the rules passing it to the winner! Hi, I’m Jason.

::selfie of Jason with the boys scattered about behind him at the bar::

I’m refusing for a bit to give him your number. Want to spare and maybe prepare you before I do. Plus, it’s fun to watch him squirm for a bit when it comes to shit like this.

The reckless slut shot was a nice touch, so I’m hopeful in assuming when you spotted us, him really, you kind of knew who was all down at that end of the bar. Probably have heard some things about his adventures and antics, cause who hasn’t.

I can tell you most of it is blown out of proportion, don’t get me wrong he has his fun, but he’s not an asshole.

Maybe we can all do lunch after practice? I’m happy to play buffer if you don’t want to deal with him solo. We’ll go somewhere solid and make him pick it up :)

You cannot help but smile when flipping through the messages, making sure to save both Jason’s number and ridiculous selfie to your contacts list. You fire off a quick thanks text to Misty before you settle in to figure out the best reply to Jason.

You’re a good teammate and a better friend. I would also make him squirm for a bit too, little shit deserves a bit of discomfort.

I appreciate that, Jason – thank you. I know better than to judge a book by its cover, but it’s hard when the Cliffs Notes versions are face up all over the place. Plus, a lady can never be too careful.

Want to try lunch next week, the three of us? I can’t remember what your upcoming game sitch is like, sorry. Maybe PS214? Something good that’s not too fussy, but chill. Plus, they should have enough options for whatever your nutritionist wants you boys to try to stick to or options to totally cheat out on.

I’ve got some flex in my schedule for lunches, my later afternoons get to be what’s stickier.

You know they were having a team dinner, so you don’t expect a response right away, so you pull yourself together to wash up and get to bed. You wake up to a flurry of more texts the next morning, plans for lunch Monday their practice and a video clip of the two of them, which was utterly ridiculous and adorable at the same time. It eased your tensions just a touch, but lunch would be the kicker.

“There’s my favorite foodie,” Phil the manager says, hugging you immediately. “I was so happy to see your name on the reservations. Is this a work thing or a pleasure thing?”

“Little of both, I’ve got two possibly three of Dallas’ favorite hockey team joining me which is why I asked about the back-corner alcove,” you explain. “But I also want to taste some of the new things you’ve been floating both at the bar and on the menu. Nothing formal yet, but I’m thinking of trying to pull together something around new happy hour approaches.”

“I think one of your lunch companions just walked in,” Phil responds, as you catch someone walking towards the two of you from the corner of your eye. “I know him and his wife, they’ve been in a few times. Hey Jason, nice to see you.”

“Hey Phil, wasn’t sure if you’d be here, good to see you. You’ve met one half of my lunch date already?” he shakes Phil’s hand before reaching for yours.

“She and I run in the same circles, mutual friends, some projects that have crossed paths,” Phil adds. “We’re waiting on one more, yes?”

His phone trills, “It’s Segs, he’s parking now and apologized for being late. He had to let the pups out because his dog sitter couldn’t get there early today.”

“I was early, force of habit, so no worries,” you reply. “He’s going to be pretty much on time in the grand scheme. Plus, I got some actual work done talking to Phil before you got here, so it’s all good.”

“Jason, you best not be trying to steal her from me already,” Tyler claps his shoulder before setting his eyes on you. “You’ve got someone waiting for you at home.”

You can’t help but half roll your eyes and half chuckle, “Nice to officially meet you, Tyler.”

He reaches out, his hand easily dwarfs yours, “You too, Clementine.”

“If you are all ready, we’ve got the table you asked for set,” Phil nods to the right, into the dining room.

“You were mentioning your work when I came in?” Tyler questions as you all sit down.

“I guess you could say I’m a lifestyle writer, mostly food and drink but I’ve dabbled in some travel,” you say. “I started out with my own blog back when I was in college trying to figure out what I wanted to do with life and it kind of got a following from there. I refuse to say influencer, cause no I’m not. Not my schtick. Actual writing pays the bills, not sponsored Instagram or blog posts. I refused to let my baby No Fork become something tainted like that, I think why it became so successful.”

“Wait, wait. You’re A Girl With No Fork? Seriously, my wife is obsessed with your insta page and the blog,” Jason exclaims. “She’s going to lose her ish that I’m having lunch with you.”

“Still blogging but keeping that a little more separate now a days. There’s more bylines with Infatuation, Food and Wine, a good deal with some the local papers. I may have a piece end up with Bon Appetite if this pitch I’m working on comes to fruition,” you explain, taking a sip of what Phil just placed in front of you. “Trying to keep a little of that anonymity left to keep Fork as respected as it is. Your wife and I need to brunch at some point then.”

Phil comes by to ask about any allergies or dietary restrictions, the rest is up to him and the chef, and you know you’re all in good hands.

“So, a pretty girl with a unique name,” Tyler leads. “Feels like there’s probably a good story there.”

“I was a surprisingly early baby, literally my Mom went into labor at 35 weeks and in an orange grove. That was her craving when she was pregnant with me, a ton of citrus. Hence the name,” you smile. “It’s rare I hear anyone other than her use my full name anymore. Even my pen name for my byline on pieces uses my initials. Friends mostly call me C or Em.”

“No Emmy?” Tyler questions.

You shake your head, cheeks flushing. You’ve never allowed that by anyone; not that anyone has ever tried that out for size. It always felt to too special to you, wanting to hold on to that for the right person.

“Let me see these puppies that made you late,” you divert.

“Once you get him started on the three stooges, you cannot go back,” Jason rolls his eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you smile, making grabby hands for his phone. “Come on I know you’ve got a ton of photos and videos on there.”

“They’re definitely a handful, and not so much puppies anymore. Though Gerry would fight me on that, he’s the baby,” Tyler grins wide before pulling up a video of three dogs running around like crazy in what looks to be his backyard pool.

Lunch was more of the same, good food, good conversation and a bunch of joking around. Smart play by Jason to recommend it this way, he’s as much of a sweetheart as his texts made him out to be and helps ease some of the worries you had about Tyler. And Tyler, you found yourself gravitating to him a lot more than you thought you would. You all didn’t realize it until the shift change was happening how long you actually spent in the back booth. As you’re saying goodbye, hugs are passed around between the group of you this time.

“We’re keeping you around by the way,” Tyler whispers in your ear. “Welcome to the crew.”

You fall into a quirky but easy friendship with Tyler and Jason after that, eventually Jamie too once the boys drag him to one of your tasting outings. It evolves quickly from random texting to grabbing meals and drinks, hanging out after games, even meeting Tyler at the dog park to finally meet his trio of crazy pups during one of your crazy timed breaks in your schedule that matched up before he needed to get into his pre-game routine.

Gerry is running amok hopping around with a German Sheppard while Cash just wants Tyler to throw a stick for him to fetch repeatedly. Marshall, however, has taken residence with his head in your lap.

“I know your younger brothers are insane,” you coo, rubbing the chocolate lab’s ear as he nuzzles into your thigh. “I’m sorry I have to leave you with them in a few.”

“So soon?” Tyler asks, tossing Cash’s favorite stick a little father. “You like just got here. He also just doesn’t cuddle like that with anyone. Feel special, so you shouldn’t leave him either.”

“Only a quick break today. Deadlines looming and a bourbon tasting that need to get done if I’m meeting you guys later after the game,” you explain, fingers digging into Marshall’s fur again.

“At some point you do need to come to a game,” he sasses as Cash comes barreling into his legs, Gerry not far behind. “I know you’re a hockey fan, you can’t hide that Em.”

“Perhaps maybe,” you tease, rolling your eyes sticking your tongue out at him. “Ok Marsh, I’m sorry buddy but I gotta go.”

Marshall just slides his head further into your lap, while now Cash head butts your free hand as Gerry crashes into your legs.

“I’m so sorry boys, we’ll have another playdate soon I promise,” you call to them as you pet all their heads.

“Where’s my goodbye pets and love?” he cheekily leans his head towards you.

“Oh Ty,” rolling your eyes as you get up.

You lean in as you were going to kiss his cheek, but you just tweak his nose and flip his snapback off, “See you tonight superstar.”

Misty is thankfully behind the bar again tonight at Oak and Cork, except this time you’re in the middle of the crazy group instead of the far end of the bar.

“You hitting that yet?” Alex grins wiggling his eyebrows and nodding to where you’re leaning against the bar talking to Misty while she makes your drink.

Tyler shoves his teammate, “Dude.”

“First off, don’t be crass. Em is in the damn room. And that’s a no by the way,” Jason rolls his eyes at Alex after handing off glasses to the two of them. “He most definitely wants to; I think that she does too. They just won’t actually talk about it.”

“She sent you reckless slut shots, I think you can talk to her about fucking,” Alex replies, taking a pull from his drink.

“Emmy. She’s not just some random girl to dick and dump, Rads. Fucks sake,” he sighs, hand threading through his hair as he looks over in your direction where you’re talking with Jamie, Joe and his wife.

“Emmy, eh? That speaks volumes. Just ask her already,” Jason interjects. “We’re all tired of your crank ass. I’m going to find my better half.”

“He’s right,” Alex taps his glass against Tyler’s. “Go to her. Ask her. Kiss her. Less cranky, more goals, more fucking.”

Tyler shakes his head, downing the rest of his drink in one go. He snags a bottle of beer from one of the buckets left out on the bar for the group before he looks for somewhere to take a breather. You catch him stalking off to the patio, amber glass clenched in his hand with his brows knitted together.

“He ok?” you ask Jamie, pointing towards the door where Tyler’s walking through.

“That’s not a good Tyler face,” he sighs. “I should…”

“No, stay. I’ll go check,” you interrupt, polishing off your martini to head outside.

“Hard to have congratulatory drinks when the first star of the game is hiding out on the patio,” you call out.

He shrugs, not turning around at first but you can see the tension across his shoulders even through his dress shirt. You take a couple steps out towards him.

“Hey, come on. Can’t be that bad. Right? Nothing’s wrong with the pups? Your family?” you tread carefully not knowing what could have happened between the dog park and that moment.

He turns around slowly, not looking up at first.

“Tyler, what’s going on?” your concern lacing through your voice clearly.

“I still think about that night here, you know?” he starts, placing his bottle on the railing next to him before leaning back against it. “I was intrigued, girl at a bar alone on a Friday night. Gorgeous one at that. She kind of saw right through me but dished it back unexpectedly and pretty well. Then, then that damn chaperoned lunch. Kind of just rolled from there.”

“Ty, what are you saying?” you need to make sure where he’s going with this.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, it’s exhilarating and unnerving,” he fights out, coming off the railing. “I still think about kissing you, wanting that, all the damn time.”

“Tyler,” you begin, trying to move closer.

“Take another step and I can’t be held responsible for my actions,” Tyler fights out, hands flexing at his side but looking you straight in the eye.

You can see the clench of his jaw clearly from there, the fire he’s holding back in his eyes. Your breath catches, your heart skips and your stomach flips.

“What if I’m ok with that?” you whisper, slipping an inch closer.

“I need you to be sure, Clementine,” he looks at you carefully, pupils flicking wider.

“Clementine? Really Tyler?” you try to tease to lighten the thick air around the two of you.

“Emmy,” he exhales deeply. “Don’t. Please, not tonight. Not now.”

You nod once he opens his eyes, stepping closer.

“Use your words, Emmy,” he murmurs, one hand grasping your hip while the other comes to cup your cheek, thumb trailing across your skin. “I need to hear you say it, babygirl.”

You’re distracted for a moment, having him that close. His words swirl around your head, your senses are slightly overwhelmed by him. His cologne lingers in your nose and makes your eyes flutter.

“You don’t need to placate me though, I’m a big boy,” he says softly. “Friends is better than nothing.”

“I wouldn’t,” you jump in carefully. “It’s why I waited, why I’m saying yes now to you Ty.”

Tyler pulls you forward and claims your mouth. His tongue wicked, swiping at yours. Your hands slip up behind his neck with fingers tangling in his hair at the nape. You lose sense of time, all you can do is sink further into the kiss, and into him, until you’re out of breath.

“You taste like those damn orange martinis you love. I like it,” he sighs, knuckle trailing against your cheek. “I’ve never felt possessive, but fuck. The thought of anyone else sipping your sugar after that makes me see red, Emmy.”

“Is that the ass backwards Tyler way of asking me out?” you tease, popping up on your toes to nip at his bottom lip.

He surges forward and knocks the breath out of you with another bruising kiss.

“Come to my game tomorrow, wear my jersey. Let me show you off properly, let me take you home after, breakfast with the dogs on the patio in the morning,” he asks, this time his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. “And the game after that and the next one after that, the next weeks and months ahead. Let me show you that I’m not that reckless slut you may think I am. You make me not want to be.”

You smile, nodding and pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb.

[rip-a-dip-dip-you-potato-chip]

"That one insane cousin" (wip)

sooo, for some context, I wanted to do a Kaijudo (rise of the dule masters) crossover. And in order to do that, I decided that my Kaijudo Oc Ren would be distantly related to Max on his mom's side. also Twitter. anyway, these are just various parts of the 5,999 words I forced my had was forced to typ that I think are nice or funny. you may call me out if you wish I have no shame.

Forge Ferrus spit out the coffee he had been drinking and started coughing like crazy, startling the other three people in the room.

“What’s the wrong Commander?!” Kat said standing up looking at her leader concerned. Once Forge got his coughing under control he looked over the document on his phone one more time before answering.

“Steel just sent me an Email” he wheezed

“Did something happen to Max?” Berto asked quickly, pulling up the radar and footage from all around Copper Canyon to see if their boy was in trouble.

“No, Max and Steel are fine. Or well Steel is. Max, I think Max is freaking out”

“Why would the kid be fracking out? Is he or is he not okay?” Jefferson asked, taking a sip of his own cup of joe.

“Remember that school project, Max was telling us about”

“The one with the DNA swab?”

“That one, they got back the results today and Steel sent me a copy. Turns out I have a niece”

It was Jefferson’s turn to do a spit take.

-

@MaxMcG to @SRGC_

HelpImBlueNow: umm hi this might seem weird but my biology class is doing this genetics project, and as I was looking through the results, you just so happened to be one of them. Again I know this sounds insane, especially since I spent the better part of my day more or less tracking you down only to find this twitter acc

HelpImBlueNow: But here's the proof!

HelpImBlueNow: {File of the genetic results}

HelpImBlueNow: you don’t get to answer right away! I know this might be confusing, like I straight up freaked out when I found out so take your time in making a decision just know that I would be so down for getting to know you.

[2:00]

SlitherininRed: holy shiisdahvkjsdbh

[2:05]

SlitherininRed: sorry my friend snatched my phone earlier today, just got it back.

[2:07]

SlitherininRed: uhh ok this is intense…

[2:20]

SlitherininRed: Okay so I talked it over with my friends and family and they said I should give you a shot since you seem legit

SlitherininRed: just like know I haven't had the best luck with bio fam, the last person I met that had blood relation to me gaslit me into having a panic attack

SlitherininRed: I really hope you aren't insane

[3:30]

HelpImBlueNow: oh my gosh I'm so sorry I had no idea that must have sucked :( Promise I'm not insane, we well at least that insane.

[3:37]

SlithrininRed: oof ya it 100% did suck, still in therapy for it, no need 4u to be sorry tho not like u caused it.

SlitherininRed: and thank you for reassuring me you're not that crazy.

[3:45]

HelpImBlueNow: np lol, I’m Max btw Maxwell Mcgrath

[3:48]

SlitherininRed: Serenity Gardner, but I prefer to go by Ren lol

SlitherininRed: anyway I got work soon, wanna talk more later? I’m free around 7 pm.

[4:00]

HelpImBlueNow: Sure! I'm down 7’s good, just know my mom and uncle might join in.

[4:05]

SlitherininRed: That's fine, my folks might as well

SlitherininRed: anyway gtg, talk to you later ig

[4:08]

HelpImBlueNow: {thumbs up emoji}

[4:10]

-

SlitherininRed @SRGC_

“If anyone asked I was on the bench”

-

“Even when it’s in a city that has supervillains?” Max chimed in.

“Phff rather deal with supervillains than brush up on my French honestly.”

-

“How was your flight,” Molly asked as the three started to walk to the exit.

“Eh, it was alright the inflight movies were garbage though, I mean seriously there’s only so much Disney one human can take”

-

“I find the company that Miss Gardner keeps is quite interesting”

“Phff of course you’d say that”

“Yes I would, after all, it's not every day you see a young lady make a flamethrower out of a lighter and perfume”

“For the record, Lucy isn’t an arsonist, that idiot was trying to mug us and she just reacted faster than any of us anticipated. Besides, I blame Hector for giving us all lighters”

“So you say”

“Just shut up and drive David”

“Sure thing Ryan” with that the divider slid into place.

____

Anywho, I have an ult versions where Ren and Max ain't related and Ren's like 25 and a detective working for N-Tech but I'm not going to post that as it's mainly a crackfic(and I want to keep it for myself) but I do have two more one of which I have yet to write but the other one I have and it's about one of my two MaxSteel Oc's CeCe. but ill post about her another time.

[merakiaes]

Starting Fresh - Tommy Shelby

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Requested: By @harringtoncastle, @sxperncturalimpala67, @sflowervol6​ and 2 Anons.

Prompts: #1, #2, #12, #16 (with a twist), #33 and #39 from the angst-list. 

Warnings/notes: This is a combination of five requests, saw an opportunity to get several done and took the chance😂 I’m a bit writer’s block and haven’t written for Peaky Blinders in a while now so I might be a bit rusty. Give it some love, let me know what you think xx

Wordcount: 2607

Summary: Grace is dead but she’s still the only one Tommy sees, and you can’t stop pretending you don’t notice him crying for her anymore. 

“I hear him, Pol.” You whispered. “I hear him crying for her and I just… I can’t do it anymore.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat but it was to no use, the thickness returning just as quickly as Polly put a hand on your shoulder, the gesture being intended to comfort you but ending up doing the exact opposite.

The older woman took note of the way you flinched when she touched you, but left her hand right there, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “He’s blind.” She stated. “That boy wouldn’t know a good woman even if he got her handed to him on a silver platter.”

You sniffed into your handkerchief, shaking your head to yourself and staring into the table. “Grace was a good woman.” You whispered, a new set of tears springing up in your eyes.

“No.” She was quick to shoot you down, removing her hand from your shoulder and sinking into the chair next to you, taking your hands in hers and shaking them to get your attention.

Once your tearful eyes met hers, she gave you one of those tight-lipped, stern looks that could make any man tremble in their boots; but not you.

“She had him under her spell, but she wasn’t loyal.” She continued, shaking her head. “Not to him, not to our family. Not like you.”

She was right, you knew. No matter how convinced Tommy was that she was on his side, she would never be fully loyal to him or the rest of the Shelbys.

She would always be the daughter of a copper and she would always be privileged. She had lived a good life and had no idea what it was like to struggle to make ends meet in the slums, and would therefore never be able to fully support his fight against the law and his choice of living.

Like Polly said; not like you, who had been right there by their side since you were little.

You and Tommy were as close as peas in a pod growing up and you’d had something before he left for the war.

But when he returned, he wasn’t the same man that he had been before he left, taking distance from you for reasons unknown even though you still harbored feelings for him.

He got married to Grace, crushing your heart completely, and still… you remained at his beck and call, accepting his marriage proposal without a doubt in your mind when Grace had passed away, even though you obviously hadn’t been his first choice. 

But it was all catching up to you now, having to live in the same house as the man you loved more than anything and having to watch him mourn the woman he loved, who obviously wasn’t you with the way he had been more or less ignoring you except for the times he wanted you to do something.

You swallowed once more, having to shake your head and tear your eyes away from Polly’s to protect yourself from the hurtful truth, looking back into the table. “Where her loyalties laid doesn’t change the fact that he still loves her though, does it?” You whispered, and listened as she sighed.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

Silence fell over the two of you and before you got the chance to say anything else, the front door slammed open loudly, causing Polly to pull her hands back to her body and the both of you to whip your heads around to look toward the source of the disruption.

Your eyes instantly landed on Tommy, who had still to look at you as he busied himself with removing his cap and outer coat. 

Only when he was finished doing so and turned around to hang his coat around the back of a chair did he notice the two of you sitting there, his face instantly falling into one of concern at the sight of trails of dried tears going down your cheeks.

While you quickly turned your face away from him, Polly stood up from her seat, giving your hand one last squeeze. “I’ll be in the back.” She told you, and then she walked out of the kitchen to give you some privacy without another word.

Tommy wasted no time in walking up to you, his steps slow and eyes analyzing you like he did everything and everyone else. “What’s going on?” He asked, and you simply cleared your throat, fiddling with the handkerchief. 

“Nothing.”

“I can see you’re upset.” He replied without missing a beat, sinking down in the chair Polly had been sitting in just half a minute before and leaning forward, trying to catch your eye as you were avoiding his gaze to every cost.

“Why won’t you look at me, eh?” He questioned, and in the corner of your eye you could see him raising his eyebrows in a humorous manner, like he always did when he was trying to get you in a better mood.

When you still didn’t answer or look at him, he reached out for your hands, and only then did you turn your head in his direction, seeing that his face had now turned serious.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He tried again, and you sucked in a shaky breath, having to clench your hands as hard as you possibly could in order to not break out crying right then and there at the feeling of his warm skin against yours.

“Do you love me?” You asked, swallowing to wet your dry throat and your stomach twisting uncomfortably with a mixture of hope, of what you wanted him to say, and fear, of what he was most likely to.

His eyebrows shot up at the unexpected question, his face once again turning up in a small, amused smile. 

“We’re married.” He only pointed out, causing your chest to tighten with the growing anxiety.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You whispered, trying again. “Do you love me?”

He took a moment, searching your eyes, most likely trying to figure out where all of this was coming from. 

His face fell, telling you he probably figured it out, but he remained quiet about it, simply replying in a low tone: “Yes.”

You could see it in his eyes that he was telling the truth, but also that it wasn’t in the way you wanted, which instantly caused your heart to increase in speed behind your chest.

“But you’re not in love with me.” You acknowledged sadly, and the look on his face told you all you needed to know, your head shaking softly. “No, that’s what I thought…”

He averted his gaze from you and as he pulled his hand away from yours, you couldn’t hold the tears back any longer, the salty droplets toppling over the edge and rolling down your cheeks, the skin already stale, hot and itchy from the old tears.

“I hear you, Tommy.”  You managed to get out through the thickness of your throat, your voice cracking. “I hear you crying for her, calling out for her in your sleep and I’ve realized- I’ve realized that I’ll never be her, so I think it’s about time we stop pretending like it.”

You sniffled and he instantly straightened up in his seat, shaking his head. “I care for you, (Y/N).”

He went to reach out for your hand again but you pulled it away, moving it under the table and out of his reach. 

“I know you do, but I also know that you don’t care enough.” You answered. “Not like you do for her.”

His eyes closed, a frustrated sigh leaving his nose. “I just need a little more time.” He said, pulling his hand over his face.

“I’ve given you nothing but time. I’ve waited, and waited, and waited, and still… nothing. I’m starting to come to terms with the fact that we aren’t meant to be, and that maybe the man I’ve been waiting for all this time doesn’t even exist. We’re not kids anymore, Tommy.” You shook your head. “We’ve known each other since we were only teenagers and I want more than anything to say I’d rather have you in my life as a friend than not at all but I would be lying if I did. We’re well past that stage at this point and I wouldn’t be able to handle that.”

Hot tears were rolling freely down your cheeks and you were really struggling to keep yourself together, even more so when he leaned forward in his seat and reached a hand out for your face.

“Please, don’t cry.” He mumbled, using his thumb to attempt to wipe away your tears, but they just kept coming. “I know I’m a work in process but I am trying.”

Your breath shook at his touch, your tears now falling quicker than ever. “I know you are, but you don’t love me.” You whispered back. “You’re scared and vulnerable and I represent security and a crutch. But a crutch is something that you need, not something that you want. And I want to be with somebody who wants to be with me at all times, not just when they’re feeling afraid or lonely.”

You paused, raising your hand to his that was still pressed against your cheek, and looked sorrowfully into his eyes. “I- I don’t even know who you are anymore.” You whispered. “I just want the old Thomas back.”

He stared right back into your eyes for a moment, before he slowly pulled his hand away from you again, looking to the side.

“I’ll never be that me again.” He answered lowly after a moment of silence and if your hadn’t been heartbroken before, you sure were now that you got the fact verbally confirmed.

Still, you had expected it, so you sucked it up with another shaky breath, looking down into your lap where you were still anxiously fiddling with your handkerchief. “I know you won’t. And that’s why I’m choosing to walk away and spare us both from years of conflict and pain. I’m not going to sit by and watch you destroy yourself like this any longer.”

You sniffed, slowly pushing your chair back and standing up, putting the chair back to its rightful place before turning back around to look at him, where he was still sitting down and following your every move with his eyes.

You held on to your handkerchief with one of your hands and reached the other out for him, gently touching his cheek and watching as his face remained stoic.

But you only smiled, to your best ability with tears still rolling down your cheeks, stroking the cleanshaven skin.

“Find yourself, and then come back to me.” You whispered. “Okay?”

You didn’t get a response and you hadn’t expected to get one in the first place either, simply removing your hand from his face, giving him one last look, before turning on your heel without another word and heading out of the house to go to your mother’s place.

You grabbed your coat from the coathanger on the way out but didn’t stay to put it on, slipping your arms into the sleeves and pulling it up only when you got outside.

Wrapping your arms around yourself for comfort, you headed down the street with tears still rolling down your cheeks and not showing signs of stopping anytime soon.

Everything you wanted was for him to look at you like you looked at him, that he could search for you like you searched for him wherever you went. 

You wished that he would love you like you loved him but you knew he didn’t want you, not the way you wanted him, not the way he wanted her, and you knew he would never be yours. 

He had never really been, had he? Not really.

All you could do now, as you were walking away from him, was hope that someday, time would be right for the two of you and he would find you again.

And he did, sooner than you would’ve thought, when you woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of knocking on the front door of your mother’s house, finding Thomas standing out on the porch with water dripping off his clothes from the intense raining.

“You were the first one to show me what love could feel like.” He wasted no time in speaking the second you were revealed to him and you were standing in front of each other.

You could only wrap your arms around yourself to protect you from the chill and watch him with sad eyes, not knowing what to say. 

“Thomas…” You just about managed to utter his name softly, and he shook his head, eyebrows shooting up and one of those smiles of his rising to his lips.

“You’re right.” He told you. “You never will be Grace.”

Your heart tugged in your chest and you had to swallow in order to not start crying again, but you said nothing, letting him speak as you knew he wouldn’t have come there if he didn’t have a point.  

He took another step up the stairs, coming closer to you and reaching out for your hands. 

You flinched when he touched you but he kept going, so you let him hold your hands, despite your better judgment.

“But that doesn’t make you any less special.” He continued, not once looking away from your eyes. “If it were you who died, I know for a fact that you would hunt my dreams, too, because I love you. I should’ve told you so, but I just-”

“You just what?” You asked as he trailed off and he tensed his jaw, looking to the side for a brief moment before turning his head back to you.

“When you asked me if I was in love with you and I didn’t answer, I didn’t know if I was ready to let her go, because I knew I would be if I answered that question.” He answered, and you frowned, shaking your head.

“What are you saying?” You asked, your mind confused.

But your heart knew exactly what he was saying, racing and thumping in your chest with excitement, and you got your suspicions confirmed the second his face and eyes softened, and his smooth voice reached your ears.

“I’m saying that I’m in love with you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N). And I’m ready to start over if you are. I won’t force you to stay but I’m hoping you will.” 

One of his hands kept holding on to yours, while the other came up to brush a strand of your hair out of your face, that had fallen out of your bun.

When you left him the other day, you had made up your mind to not go back to him like you had so many times before, but one simple touch from him was enough to get the spinning wheels in your head to change direction.

You’d gotten a lot of time to think during the time you had been apart and you had come to the conclusion that at some point, you just had to let go of what you wished would have happened and live in and make the best of what was happening.

So you released a shaky breath, your eyelids fluttering as you blinked, and then you raised your hands to cradle his face like he was doing yours, watching as his eyes fell shut at the touch.

“You know I’d choose you over and over and over.” You whispered. “Without pause, without a doubt, in a heartbeat, I’d keep choosing you.”

His eyes came back open to look into yours, long and hard. And then he raised his other hand to your face, pulling you closer to him, and pressed his lips to yours gently. 

A kiss to symbolize a fresh start, just what both of you needed.

Tagged: @lucillethings​ @thelonewolfdies​@peakyhermione​ @fanficflaneuse​ @springsoulofengland​ @knrivera16​

(If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, send me a message, ask or leave a comment)

[underfell-crystal]

~~Dangerous Woman~~

Another oneshot starring an AU pairing of Harp and Copper, this time in the MafiaTale universe! @avtfol came up with the idea, and I've decided to put it into writing.

TW: Massive creep vibes, sexual harassment, shady mafia stuff

Goldie may have been the don of New York City's largest human mafia, but there was somebody else who could rival his power. His most favored member, who went by the nickname of 'the Lady Boss'.

Her mere presence commanded respect, and she radiated cold confidence. Nobody but her don knew her real name. As Goldie's closest confidant, she knew all the inner workings of the mafia. But, for being such a stoic woman, there was one thing that she couldn't hide, and that was the fact that she HATED being around Goldie. Being around him made her nose crinkle in disgust and her eyes narrow in contempt.

But it wasn't like she could tell him outright to fuck off when he got handsy, his hands sliding down her waist with a look full of lust.

He knew where her family lived. In fact, he'd even ordered a group of his men to always keep tabs on them just to keep her from leaving, effectively trapping her. She hated being trapped.

But she also loved her family. She would do anything for them. If that meant putting up with a pervy don, killing people, and dealing with constant, suffocating paranoia every day?

Fine. She'd do it.

------

"We're going to the gala tonight, angelbird. Eight p.m, sharp."

Bee didn't look up from the papers in front of her. "Mhm."

"I picked out a dress for you. You'd look absolutely breathtaking in it."

Ugh. She'd prefer not to show off ninety percent of her body, thank you very much. "I'll think about it."

"Please do, angelbird." The don turned and marched from the room, probably to spend four hours pampering himself and getting ready to meet with the other dons. Bee huffed and brushed a strand of her short, pitch black hair behind her ear, only for it to fall back into place a moment later. So much work to do...

.

.

.

As she thought, the black dress Goldie had picked out for her was far too risqué for her taste. Sure, she didn't mind showing off her body a bit, but she didn't need any more men leering at her tonight. Goldie was more than enough. So, she settled on something far better: a beautiful red, floor-length gown with a slit up the side of it and some gold jewelry with red gemstones to match.

Fixing her hair, she sat at her vanity, carefully applying eyeliner, lipstick, eyeshadow, and mascara. She rubbed her lips together and opened her mouth with a popping sound, the blood red a beautiful contrast to her icy blue eyes. Bee looked over her reflection critically before sitting back with a soft, pleased smile. She looked beautiful.

Satisfied with her appearance, she stood up and slipped into her red heels, gliding from her room and to the elevator. Outside the penthouse was a black car with a driver waiting for her. She sat down in the back, taking care to not catch her dress in the car door. As soon as she was situated, the car took off.

Hopefully this night would go without a hitch.

.

.

.

The hall where the gala was being held was already full of people when Bee's black car arrived. The car parked in front of the entrance, and a man outside opened the door for her, inclining his head to her as she stepped out, gracefully standing up. "Welcome to the gala, Madame."

"Thank you." Polite and simple. That's all she needed. She swept from the bottom of the staircase up to the main hall, keeping her eyes straight forward. She could see Goldie at the other end of the hall, talking to the other dons, including several monsters she hadn't seen before. One of them was a skeleton with a strange collar that was glowing green around his neck.

Ugh. Fantastic. More people Goldie got to parade her around to. She kept a pleasant smile on her face as she walked up to them, sliding her arm through Goldie's. She could feel his smirk widen. "Hello my darling."

She hummed in response, tilting her head against his shoulder. If she said anything, she'd probably start cursing him out. Goldie turned his attention back to the others. "This is my beautiful angelbird. The brains behind the operation, if you will."

His hand slid down her lower back. This greasy bastard.... She felt her eye twitch, though her smile remained pleasant. She glanced up and saw the skeleton looking at her oddly. She quickly averted her gaze, pretending to be shy. Please, God, just let this be over with quickly...

.

.

.

Three hours later, and Bee was done. She had abandoned Goldie as quickly as possible after his little stunt in front of the other dons. She was currently hiding from the other slightly-less-powerful mafia members in an attempt to not socialize. She just wanted to have a few drinks, then go home, wash all her makeup off, and go to sleep. She raised her half empty glass of wine to her lips again, her gaze flicking around the large hall.

She heard footsteps approaching from the side and glanced out of the corner of her eye. Oh. It was the skeleton with the glowing collar. He leaned against the wall next to her, silent for a moment. "You looked quite angry."

Ah. So he noticed. Her voice didn't change. "Sorry? You must be mistaken."

He chuckled, swirling his own wine glass. "Nah. Could see it in yer eyes, doll. You hate that guy... Goldie, was it?"

She didn't say anything, just took another sip of her wine. "If you want something from me, say it and leave."

"Quick to cut to the chase, eh? Sure. I wanna help you."

Bee turned her head to look at him. "I beg your pardon?"

The skeleton stared back. "He's the don. Even if you do most of the work, he's still the head honcho. Which means you gotta do what he says."

"Mentioned that fact, did he?"

"Oh yeah. Got some real creep vibes from him, too. Sayin' some nasty things about you."

Bee's grip on the wine glass tightened. Of course he would go behind her back and make disgusting jokes about her body. How very like Goldie. She could feel the glass in her hand starting to crack when the skeleton spoke again. "Like I said. I wanna help. I can help."

"Thanks for the offer, but I've been doing this for a VERY long time. I know what I'm doing."

"You hate it, though. You hate HIM, specifically."

He nodded at the blond still talking and laughing with the other dons. Bee sent Goldie a cold glare over the top of her wine glass. "... Fine. What's your offer?"

"Some of my guys are already working on being accepted as new members of pretty boy's mafia. I want you to try and convince him to let 'em in so they can get to tearing his empire down from the inside. In return, I'll help ya get away from Goldie."

He must've seen the look on her face, because he hastened to speak again. "I know ya've got things keepin' you from leaving. Rest assured, whatever you need, I can help."

Bee looked him in the eye sockets. "How do I know you won't snitch to Goldie as soon as I walk away."

He chuckled. "Aww, don't trust me, doll?"

"Absolutely not."

He barked out a laugh. "Clever lady. Alright. I'll give you my word, I will not say anything to him."

"Your word won't mean anything to me if I'm being beaten into a bloody pulp."

"Can see why yer the brains of the operation... Alright, here."

He took a ring off one of his phalanges and offered it to her. "Keep this until you know I'm not gonna rat ya out."

It was a 'don ring'. A physical representation of his status. She examined it, then slipped it on. As long as nobody looked too closely at her new ring for the rest of the night, she would be fine. "This will do."

"Sure. Hey, I wantcha to meet the guys who are gonna be 'joinin' yer mafia. Tonight. Now, if ya got nothin better to do."

"... Fine. Let's go. I never caught your name, by the way."

"Ya can call me Res, doll. What about you, you got a name?"

"You may call me Vee."

"Vee, huh. Welp, alright. Let's go."

He strode off with purpose, back toward the entrance of the gala. Bee followed him, not caring whether Goldie saw her leave or not. She didn't have a responsibility to be here anymore. She and Res got into a black car rather similar to her own, and the driver briefly glanced at her before taking off.

While they were traveling, Res gave her the rundown of who would be attempting to join Goldie's mafia. Several dog monsters, a flame monster, and another skeleton: Copper, Res' brother. After Res finished with explaining who was trying to get in, it was Bee's turn to explain the 'process' of getting into Goldie's mafia.

It... wasn't a pretty one. Dangerous, too.

Res furrowed his nonexistant brows. "And you're SURE they'll be fine?"

"Of course. Entry is brutal, but everyone going in has lived. And once they're in, there's practically no other security measures. You're part of the 'family' now. You can make your way up through the ranks, but it sure as Hell ain't easy."

"How'd you do it?"

"I've been stuck with Goldie for over a decade. I'm competent at what I do. But as much as I hate to admit it, Goldie favors me, so I get special treatment."

Res nodded slowly. "So... Jus' try and stay on his good side?"

"Yeah, basically."

"Thank you, Vee."

"Yeah. Sure."

Another fifteen minutes, and they had arrived at a large manor. Res got out and opened the door for Bee, and she stepped out, goosebumps crawling up her arms as her bare skin met the cold air. Res motioned for her to follow him, ascending the stairs up to the entrance. He strode inside, waving off his guards to let Bee pass. Inside, he called for his brother as Bee looked around. It was rather nice. Expensive looking, too, but that came with the benefits of being the head of a mafia.

A minute later, someone very tall appeared at the top of the second floor railing, looking down at Bee and Res for a moment before turning and walking down the stairs.

Wow. Okay. He was VERY tall. He easily dwarfed her, standing at.... eight feet, at the bare minimum. He looked down at her, mismatched eye sockets crinkling slightly. "Well ain't you a pretty lil thing."

Great. Another Goldie. She smiled sweetly at him. "This 'pretty lil thing' is your ticket into the biggest human mafia in the city, so keep your comments to yourself."

He blinked at her, then turned and looked at Res with a raised bone-brow. Res cleared his 'throat'. "Copper, this is Vee. Vee, this is Copper. I apologize for his lack of manners."

"Hm. Show me the others."

Res led Bee away from Copper, who watched her leave, an intrigued expression on his face. She had barely spoken to him, but he could already tell.

She was one very dangerous woman.

[jengajives]

Lots of feelings about how my fave siblings would have felt about Maedhros’s fun trip on Thangorodrim. Also Best Cousins as well

“Wake up, Your Majesty.”

Maedhros didn’t move until the sharp toe of an iron boot jabbed his side. Then he grumbled and rolled over, but would not rise.

“Your Highness,” sang the serpent’s voice from somewhere above him. “Your feast awaits, oh King.”

A clatter. The tray of whatever food he was gifted with for the day hitting the damp stone floor. Maedhros still did not move.

“No appetite, hm? Your Majesty just isn’t himself this morning. Usually you’re so excited for your meals.”

A high, hot laugh. Maedhros got the idea Sauron was putting his boot in the food. A lovely image.

“You can tell your master,” he said flatly, without cracking an eye or rolling over, “that if He wants me mocked and ridiculed, He’d better come down here and do it Himself. I give little weight to the word of lesser servants.”

“Lesser?” Sauron repeated. Heat leached into his voice; Maedhros could feel it rising from the coward’s skin even before the fire-bright hands reached down to grab him, burning another set of hand prints into his shoulders with fat, red welts.

“I will show you lesser, pup,” Sauron seethed, “Are the failure son of failure fathers, and I am Flame itself!”

“You,” Maedhros said though his voice quivered with exhaustion, “are just a slinking dog afraid to leave his master’s heels. More likely to roll over than to stand up and fight.”

The pain of heat grew red and wild, like touching molten metal. Sauron’s fingertips dug in and Maedhros found himself locked in a fiery scarlet gaze.

“We shall see who rolls over for whom,” Sauron snarled, and dragged Maedhros unresisting from the cell.

“Look at you!”

Sauron’s eyes glowed in the dim light, gleaming with smug victory. His hands, so rarely idle, twitched by his side until he had to grab Maedhros by the hair and yank his head up so he could get a good look at his face.

The small myriad of new cuts went from cheekbone to cheekbone. Jaw to jaw. It was nothing, of course, compared to the pain against his spine he was convinced would never leave.

It had been hours and still it hurt sharp and blazing hot as ever.

It seemed like Sauron was trying to burn letters into his very skin, though he worked too gradually for Maedhros to make out the script.

Sauron laughed and gave him a sharp slap.

“The High King of the Noldor, eh? I don’t see it. All I can see is a houseless and pathetic murderer getting what he deserves.”

Maedhros spit at him, splattering his face with blood. Immediately the flame in Sauron’s eyes went white hot.

“Why, you little-“

“Mairon.”

Sauron paused, one hand drawn back and glowing like molten metal, as his master appeared looming like a mountain in the doorway.

“That’s enough. Leave him.”

His eye twitched but slowly he straightened and obeyed, with a courteous bow.

“Of course, Master.”

He shot Maedhros a spiteful glare as he stalked from the room, still wiping blood and spit away with a sleeve.

The sound of Morgoth’s approach was like a rumbling in the earth, but Maedhros had learned to ignore it. He let his head hang limp, cheek pressed to the cold stone, breathing steadily, trying to convince his scrambled mind it was safe to rest, even if only for an instant.

He hadn’t yet fully mastered the terror when Morgoth reached him and lifted his head by the hair.

No rest. No rest was fine. He didn’t need to rest.

“I’m afraid I have bad news for you, Nelyo,” said Morgoth with mock pity, his expression twisted into a deep frown. “I’ve just gotten message back from your dear brothers.”

Something cold that probably had been hope once rose into Maedhros’s throat, and he didn’t have the energy to keep it from showing. Cruel amusement flashed behind Morgoth’s heavy eyes.

“Unfortunately, it seems they’ve abandoned you to torment and pain for the rest of eternity.” The sympathy dripping from his voice tasted like poison; it was difficult not to choke on it. “Isn’t that just awful? Your own family... not even willing to save their sweet Nelyo. Their King. How horribly tragic.”

Any attempt to think through the news logically failed, so the only thought going through Maedhros’s head was the certainty that it was a lie. Maglor and Celegorm wouldn’t abandon him to this, surely. Fingon wouldn’t... Fingon...

No. Fingon wasn’t here. He wasn’t coming, he couldn’t be, and even if he was, why would he want anything other than pain for the sons of Fëanor? After what they had done... after what Maedhros had done to him. No, there was no rescue. No freedom. The Oath bound his brothers never to give up the pursuit of their enemy, not even for his sake.

“Get on with it,” Maedhros growled, raising his gaze to meet Morgoth’s. “I’ll be avenged. You’ll be paid for the lives of my grandfather, and my father, and... and me. Go ahead and do it.”

A pause, and then Morgoth laughed wild and cold.

“Oh, sweet boy. You think I want you dead? You think I want to kill you? No, no...” He leaned closer, his breath a whisper of ice and stone. “I want you to watch your brothers die. I want you to see exactly how fruitless all your labors have been. You, my dear Nelyo, are not going anywhere.”

Maglor was so distracted looking out over the mountains that he didn’t notice he was no longer alone until he got a hand clapped on his shoulder.

“Brother.”

He almost jumped as he flipped around, but managed to restrain himself.

“Celegorm!”

“Your hair is getting long,” Celegorm said, with a weak smile on his face as he rustle his fingers through the growing curls. Trying not to look as sad as he was. “It looks nice. Going to braid it again soon?”

“Oh. Yes, I think so.” Maglor did not have the energy to attempt a smile. Didn’t have the will.

“Good.” Celegorm patted him on the shoulder again. “Good. A king should have braids, yeah?”

Maglor was nodding along until he processed the words.

“K-King?”

“Yes.” Celegorm straightened up, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. He had the same cool, collected expression that most of them wore nowadays. “You are next in line, Maglor.”

“Next in...” he trailed off, glancing east again to the mountains. “Wait, no, Celegorm, Maedhros is-“

“Maedhros is gone.” He would not meet Maglor’s shocked gaze. “It’s time we start accepting that. Our people need a king, and you-“

“No!” Maglor stepped back. “He is alive! Maedhros is our king, and he’s alive, and we aren’t going to abandon him like that!”

“I’m just saying we should think about it,” Celegorm said. “That’s all.”

“No.” Maglor looked at his brother in horror. “That’s awful, Celegorm, I’m not leaving him like that!”

“I’m sorry.” Celegorm backed up, hand raised. “But he’s gone. There’s nothing we can do. I’m sorry.”

He turned and left the room, and Maglor put his face in his hands and wept.

The air was bitter cold up here. Bitter cold and reeking of smoke.

Maedhros tried so hard not to feel the pain anymore. Tried to close his eyes and drift to sleep but he couldn’t. The pain was too constant.

If his hand could have come off, it would have by now. It hurt. It hurt so bad.

The stone was razor sharp and tore at his back like knives. The wind bit into his flesh. And the manacle sliced his wrist and sent a constant stream of blood down his arm.

It hurt too bad to find escape in sleep.

It hurt too bad to think.

When the clear sound of horns rang across the hills and echoed through the peaks, Maedhros almost thought his mind had wandered entirely out of reality.

But then he saw the blue banners of Fingolfin in the valley below, and the horns rang out deafening and clear, and it was so loud it shook him to his core.

Fingolfin.

Fingolfin was here.

He was here, waving his banners, banging on the gates of Angband under the light of the silver newborn moon.

Strength flowed immediately through Maedhros and he squirmed, pulling himself up by the chain around his wrist. The white gleam of armor and jewels glittered like a living river of hope.

“Uncle!”

He twisted, trying to get enough air to his lungs to scream.

“Uncle!”

He didn’t know how Fingolfin had gotten here but he was here. He had come.

“Fingon! Uncle! Aredhel!”

His voice rang across the rocks loud and clear. Surely loud enough to be heard. Surely.

Surely. Please.

Please.

Night and sat blurred into one honey-slow and unsteady pulse, so slow. So slow and he had hung here longer than he could comprehend.

His back was sliced to ribbons by the stone face behind, and the cuts around his wrist were never properly allowed to heal and had turned his entire site dull copper with dry blood. It rained every once in a while and rinsed him clean, but mostly he was suspended there in his own blood and sweat and filth without escape.

No escape.

Never any way out.

Never.

The sound of strings on the wind couldn’t be real because no one would ever crawl up here for his sake, for any sake, let alone play. Let alone sing. Sing a beautiful song in Quenya that Maglor had written about the white streets of Tirion like some ghost of long-lost peace.

His body shook with shivers and fever and he closed his eyes and raised his nose to the wind.

Humming along brought momentarily peace, so Maedhros parted his dry, cracked lips and took up the tune slow and gentle. His voice was in no shape for singing, but he managed it, and it made him feel at home, so he tried anyway.

Abruptly the song stopped. The music died. He lowered his head and returned to the cold and the torment.

“Maedhros?” called a voice, and over a face of rock far below poked the dark head of Fingon.

Fingon.

Fingon was here for him.

He’d come.

Tears steamed hot down his cheeks, the only water he had left.

Fingon crawled onto the flat granite shelf and got to his feet, a vision in gleaming blue with a harp at his side. He stood for a moment studying the rock and the sheer face between himself and his cousin, then he cupped his hands over his mouth and called again.

“Maedhros, I can’t reach you!”

Even from this distance, Maedhros could see the silver bow slung across Fingon’s back.

He croaked words and just had to hope they reached all the way down.

“Just shoot.”

Blood ran down his bicep and dripped through the hollow of his spine.

“Fingon. Please. Just shoot me.”

He closed his eyes and missed if Fingon replied, because his arm ached so horribly he couldn’t even think.

It seemed to him a long time before he opened his eyes again and saw Fingon sat on the stone with his face in his hands and the bow resting next to him. He was crying. Maedhros could see his shoulders shaking from here.

Eventually he stood, picked up the bow and turned around to face the precipice.

Maedhros saw his lips moving, but he couldn’t hear the words. All he could see was the gleam of the bow as he drew it.

He closed his eyes again.

Awaiting the momentary pain that would herald his release.

It did not come.

He heard the wind of a hurricane, felt it push against his face and smack him back to the rock, and the roar of beating wings, and then hands on his shoulders holding him, warm, and firm, and present.

“It’s alright!” Fingon spoke through tears, a desperate smile on his face. “I’m here. I’m here, Maedhros. I’m going to take you home!”

Maedhros did not answer. It hurt. It hurt and it wasn’t like Fingon would be able to get rid of it.

He could feel him tugging at the chains. Trying to pry the manacle off the rock. Trying everything.

“Fingon,” Maedhros breathed. “Fingon, please. You can’t get me out of here. There’s no way out. Just... if you could just... please...” He looked meaningfully at the sword his cousin wore at his hip. “Just end it. Please. I can’t...”

“No, no. Stop that, I’m not leaving you. You’re going to be fine!”

“I’m sorry.” He wanted to cry but his body wouldn’t manage it. “Fingon. I’m sorry. I-I never meant to leave you b-behind.”

“Just hush. Keep your strength.”

“I’m sorry...”

Another tug at the manacle. It wouldn’t budge.

Finally, Maedhros heard the scrape of a sword being drawn, and a silver flash of sunlight blinded him.

Yes. Yes, at last. At last.

“Hold still. It’ll only hurt for a second, cousin, I promise. Just- Just don’t move!”

The dull pain in his wrist turned sharp and he let out a scream that echoed endlessly across the peaks.

So sharp. So cold.

Turned him to ice.

Froze him all up.

He didn’t even notice Fingon holding him, wrapping him in a cloak, forcing warmth back into his body. Binding his hand tight and clean.

His hand his hand his fingers were twitching and he could still feel the manacles.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed quietly into Fingon’s chest, and for the first time in too long he received an affectionate touch.

He closed his eyes and went at last to sleep.

[outerbankslut]

Empty... JJ Maybank

Summary • Soulmates were everywhere in the world and you just wanted to find your own.

Warnings • Mentions of wanting to commit suicide (essentially an allusion to it once). Underage drinking and insinuation of alcohol addiction. Mentions of abuse (from JJ). Literally wrote this in two hours today so it’s probably badly written. Swearing as well like once.

Word Count • 1.6k (Imagine)

Masterlist

(GIF by @toesure)

    A WHISPY BREEZE settled over the area as you took a swig of the vodka bottle in your hand. The beach was practically empty considering it was the late hours of the night and the sun had fallen from its place in the sky leading to the peak of the moon. Whenever you needed a break from life, school or just people you can’t to the beach. It was your safe space of safe haven if you will.

You could purge your anxieties there just by screaming out into the void of the ocean with the lapping of the waves and roaring of the wind covering any evidence that you were making a sound. You could drink your sorrows away and no one would stop you. You felt like if you wanted to you could just walk into the ocean and never return. Become one with the waves.

Maybe you would feel something, anything other than emptiness. It wasn’t like that for most people. Because most people meet their soulmates before they’re 12. Those were the lucky ones.

You were the unlucky one. 18 and not one sign that anyone was out there. Not one small burst of emotion ever. When you meet your soulmate for the first time all the emotions they feel you feel. Sometimes it could be hard to decipher but you would know. To be empathetically linked to someone was the worst and the best things at the same time. Of course you didn’t know personally though. You just knew you wanted that feeling, of knowing someone was there and feeling something for once. You were the black sheep in the family having an unknown future of who you would be with.

Your parents had found each other when they were 10. The closely tied bond you hold with your soulmate comes with you through childhood into your teen years and evolves into whatever. Could end up a romantic relationship later in life or just stay a simple friendship. It could all get really confusing sometimes. But most ended up dating their soulmate even feeling pressured to do so despite not wanting to which you were glad you didn’t have to go through really.

Of course you can reject your soulmate but that comes with a lot of mental anguish even if they’re not a good person. It’ll still hurt, like the worst pain imaginable on both ends.

And yet here you were still alone in the world, your family didn’t even speak to you these days. You didn’t have any friends really apart from the girls you worked with at a small diner. Most people didn’t want to be associated with you, thinking great shame of people who didn’t have a soulmate yet. Which was stupid but it was how the world was. Especially for someone of high status in figure 8. You were lucky your parents hadn’t kicked you out yet.

But the beach was a place where you could wash away those thoughts with the the stinging of the vodka down your throat and the warm feeling erupting in the pit of your stomach. At least that made you feel something. Just a small something.

You breathed out a long sigh, just that warmth that you felt from the addictive liquid was more than enough for you. But at the same time you craved the feeling of a close connection. You wanted to feel what someone else felt. No matter the feelings you just wanted to stop feeling so empty, so absent from your own life.

    JJ MAYBANK SAT a ways off in his own little area of the beach in front of a small tree that sat embedded right next to the beginning of the sandy beach. His body was scaled in small bruises from jabs and punches. The boy suddenly felt a small feeling of contentment erupt. A second ago he felt like shit. He had no clue where the feeling came from and an idea came into his head suddenly but he shook it off.

He looked around just to check but didn’t see anyone immediately so brushed it off. It was dumb of him to think that. He would probably never get close to finding his soulmate. That’s what his dad had always told him. And being that his dad lost his mum even though they were soulmates made him almost lose hope in all of it.

He rested his arms on his knees which were bought up closely to his chest holding himself tightly together and close. It was almost a defence mechanism holding himself close and making sure no one else got close enough to witness him falling apart slowly after every hit he took and insult he attempted to shake off but he always took it to heart. It was hard not to when you value your parents opinions so much.

He did have his friends to confide in but at the same time they didn’t understand how he was feeling. He felt so alone and isolated. Yet they were free with their soulmates—John B with Sarah Cameron, Kiara with Pope—and then there was him. The lone wolf. They couldn’t relate to feeling like a fuckup all the time for more reasons than one. To be a failure at something that seemed so simple, finding his own soulmate. He was looked upon as abnormal in this world and he was sick of it, sick of what he couldn’t control defining him.

Then JJ felt the feeling he got for a second fizzle out. It was just empty. There was no feeling to fill what was there. JJ frowned, it was like someone was flicking a switch on and off on his emotions. Then it returned the same feeling and then boy swivelled around on the sand again landing his eyes on a figure in the distance as he squinted.

Your figure. You were alone sitting in the sand like he was much further down the long stretch of beach with what looked like a bottle in your hand. Then you got up and walked down to the water so your feet being covered in a cool sensation as you stood there and felt so calm.

And just like a switch JJ felt calm. He felt all his worries fall away for a split second. He felt utterly euphoric sitting and watching on curiously.

JJ felt drawn to you. His body was telling him to move. Screaming in fact. Every muscle wanted to go up to you, to hug you. But there was a part of him that counteracted that. A small reservation rooted so deep he didn’t think he could shake it. He wanted to go over. He wanted to help make you feel whole, so that he could feel whole too. Maybe you’re would help each other, after all aren’t soulmates meant for that. JJ felt a spark of guilt and regret as he thought about his different options. Make someone else’s life either better or worse and same goes for his own life if he went over. Or he walks away and forgets this ever happened. Forget that he may have just found his soulmate.

While the boy debated in his head what to do you felt foreign feelings bubbles up in your stomach. You felt guilty and regretful. But for what? And then you caught sight of the figure on the beach too. He was almost just a small dot to you but you could make out that he was wearing a jumper and a red cap. He looked deep in thought. Was he it?

JJ had weighed up his options. He’d thought about it but he still felt hesitation every time he moved to walk over to you. And he understood it. He didn’t want to be rejected. He didn’t want deal with being abandoned again. He couldn’t take it one more time. It was easier to block everyone out than risk anyone getting close. JJ looked tough but really he was fragile. One more thing could break him. One more person leaving him and all hope he had would be out of the window. And if you weren’t his soulmate, though by now he could almost completely tell, he would be crushed. He couldn’t give himself false hope again. Like every time he thought his dad was proud of him it made JJ happy and then the next minute he’d be telling the boy what a disappointment he was. It was enough for JJs self worth to drop through the floor. JJ wasn’t worth it. And it wasn’t worth him the pain he’d feel at the end of it all. He sent a lingering glance in your direction and he’d made his decision. And then suddenly JJ wasn’t frozen after all.

You watched from afar as he turned your way before he stood up. Maybe this was it. Maybe you’d finally found them. You almost felt a spur of happiness at the thought. An emotion not very often experienced. And JJ felt it too, making it harder for him to walk off the beach in the opposite direction to you as the giddy feeling dissipated into the ocean air. That was the hardest part, leaving. JJ was doing to you just as people in his life had done to him. Maybe he shouldn’t be walking back home right now instead of walking down that beach towards you but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let someone care about him like that.

When the emptiness returned you realised it wasn’t going to happen. None of that meant anything. You would never find them. There was no one out there for you. You just weren’t meant for a soulmate.

Note • I wrote this cause I was in my sad feels and wanted something angsty. I also I just realised I write no dialogue but eh. Honestly I don’t even know what I fuckin wrote lmao <33

Join My Tag List Here • @starlightstarkey @rafecameron @starksweasleymain @jjsredhat @scandalousfemale @sguymon21 @bricksatanakinswindow @futuretaxcheat @wannabeslut @ad-infinitums @outrebanx @pit-zuh @pankowrudeth @jiaraendgame @outerbanksbro @copper-boom @alternativehp @brie-gr3y

[rhywhitefang]

Blank Rune + Inner Shadow characters ranked by how much you can trust them to babysit your children

Mary Poppins is seething in envy:

- Avery; Hugger of children and literal angel. There’s no better option. No, you cannot change my mind. Your children will come back, happy, safe, and goth. They will form an unbreakable bond devils bargain of friendship

- Jademis: Smart, responsible, and nice. What better qualities for someone to take care of your kids? Not only is she capable, she actually cares about doing her job AND she will probably help your kids with their math homework also.

- Coal: Obviously an amazing choice. Not only does he have common sense and makes responsible choices, they are also fun! I can also see Coal really liking kids which makes him great for this.

- Caravel: On her own? God tier, no question. She takes her job incredibly seriously, gets attached to the kids immediately, and will defend them with her life. She will give them great food but also be responsible and also the kids will love her. Her taste in men is not her fault!

- Kester: He is literally a dad. The only reason why he’s ranked lowest in this tier is for slight overprotective tendencies, but you know what? That’s also a good thing. He would also LOVE tormenting your little ones with his dad jokes :)

- Idokras: This is a really protective person who is really enthusiastic and will do anything to keep them safe. Fun, but also strict enough to discipline them without being too harsh. The kids will have a great time!

Great tier:

- Acorn: Nice, smart, and full of great advice. Has kind of a hands-off approach which is why he’s not in the first tier, but overall a very solid choice.

- Fatima: Why is Fatima so low, you ask? She is across both stories the character with the most solid moral compass.She is responsible. She cares about their safety and wants them to be not traumatised. Perfect! But on her own, she is a bit awkward and “no fun” around kids. However!! If Oxyll joins her the pair of them instantly move up to God tier. 

- Astrid: Astrid is amazing! I don’t even have anything negative to say that put her down, she’s all around great! No complaints! Just not so extraordinary as to put her any higher, but if you chose her as your babysitter, your kids will have fun and learn some wilderness skills.

- Soleya: Probably already makes mad cash babysitting. Smart, responsible, snarky. Shame she’s not the biggest fan of children.

- Sora: Sora is a literal angel. An actual disney princess. A precious flower who is soft and nice and will take good care of your children. She can be a bit of a pushover though!

- Rhy: Canonically a great babysitter. Fun, good with children, and just all around a charmer. Maybe not the great role model, but I’ll doubt you’ll have any complaints about him. 

Decent enough:

- Oxyll: Also dad energy, but lesser efficiency than Kester. He’s more oblivious, and way less of a grip on the kids. He’s fine, but definitely not the best. Again, though, if you combine his powers with Fatima, they become god tier together. 

- Skipio: Decent enough, responsible, and will do his damnest to keep your little ruffians out of trouble. He’s gonna be strict with them, too - which is also his downside. Your kids won’t want them back.

- Tave: He’s doing his best! He’s trying! Who knows, maybe he can work himself up the tier list. For now he’s getting an E for effort. 

- Kain: A good boy! He’ll try to look out for them, but also, he’s very stupid, so emphasis on “try”

- Pan: I don’t think he’s really a “kids” kinda guy, and probably won’t know what to do with them. Still, he’ll try his best to keep them alive. 

- Agnes: Honestly, considering the fact that she’s like, what? 14? This is hella impressive. A responsible girl! I’m very proud of her!

- June: Your kids will love her! She’ll let them ride on her motorcycle, stay up past 2 am, and let them eat as many cookies as they want!

Meh Tier

- Lyn Amara: Completely uninterested in your brats. I guess if you paid her, she’d pay attention though. 

- Ash: Can be bribed into doing a good job, and depending on the kid might also grow attached enough to do it out of their own volution, but they might also not bother.

- Blake: He just wants to sit in his barrel, bro.

- Anianno: His honor demands him that he protects him from threats and he’ll definitely run head first at any large animal that tries to attack them. 

- Tilly: Stimulate your childrens creativity! Teach them valuable life lessons! Repeat after me: Murder is okay :)

- Laure: I mean, she *might* sacrifice them to her death cult but I feel like she’d be responsible about it, yaknow?

- Wren: That’s a bit too much responsibility for our anxious little bean. They will try their best though!

You Might as well have left them alone

- Allen: This is the same as leaving them alone.

- Swift: Will probably get distracted & overhwlemed. 

- Copper: Anxious chihuaha. Will cry. 

- Jakob: Oh boy... probably not the greatest idea. I mean, he’ll try his best, but I can’t see this going too well. Maybe they can write sad poetry together?

- Finn: He does nothing for them and might accidentally... drop them.

- Elvin: He’s a baby but at least not actively completely irresponsible, and has some physical capabilities? He’s really dumb tho.

- Phillip: He will ditch them half way through the night to go fight and/or make out with his boyfriend

- Prion: Too busy staring at himself in the mirror.

- Lexa: Herself a baby and also has no concept of fear or danger. Don’t.

- Kyra: Might steal their arms... but eh, too small. 

- Barnacle: Looking at his intentions and general vibe, it’s great! He is a soft cuddly sweetheart, who I can totally see liking children. He’s also a mess and a disaster and a huge pushover. Also, what do kids eat again? Here have some uhhhhhh...... leaves from outside?

Just.... Bad:

- Delta: Do you want your kids babysat by a cat?

- Liam: I mean... look at the job he did with June. He kept her alive and fed, I guess. So, congrats on achieving the bare minimum, but he’s definitely not getting any awards here. And theres you know, him being an evil shithead.

- Midas: As irresponsible as they get and also kind of a shithead. There’s a chance he might use your child as a football. 

- Mikash: He is baby, dont give him this kind of responsibility!

- Arna + Firmin: The irresponsible children squad. Why would you let them babysit your irresponsible children??

- Dareios: Canonical child hater and overall horrible person. The only reason he’s not in the shit tier is that if you payed him, your children will survive. He will treat them horribly though.

KEEP THEM AWAY FROM THE BABIES

- Artemisia: Well she might kill the kids, but unlike the rest of the people in this tier, here your kids might have a chance of survival ‘cause Misi is not that interested in them and might ignore them and do something else instead.

- Rubin: trash garbage man who will misuse your kids as “squires” for his fucked up murder tournaments

- “Ethan”: Almost the absolutel worst option. He is a terrible influence. We remind the reader that when Caravel asked him to get something to eat for the kids, he brought chips and alcohol. Awful role model, and thats not even getting into the fact that he literally murdered the two children in his care. Might not even keep your kids alive if you pay him!

- Esca: No :(

[eugene-not-flynn]

Bouclier

Summary: When Rapunzel and Eugene are both kidnapped, Eugene will do whatever he can to try to protect Rapunzel.Including making himself a larger, more insufferable target of their aggression. Mostly a Eugene angst/hurt/comfort whump fic. 

Word count: 6798

Warnings: kidnapping/hostage situation, blood, injury, descriptions of pain, heavily implied that pain is also inflicted on rapunzel but it’s “off camera” and to a lesser extent, protective!Eugene, protective!Rapunzel, Varian makes an appearance and other TTS character are mentioned, angst/hurt/comfort elements, threats, cursing, weapons, stabbing, some tears, happy/hopeful ending. 

A/N: This is like, five to six times longer than I thought it would be when I started. Woops. It’s also a bit darker than I was originally intending. Please, please heed warnings. I feel like I owe Eugene an apology after this, lowkey. Edited by yours truly so all mistakes are mine. 

Read on AO3

...

The fist that connects with the side of Eugene’s jaw makes the room spin for a moment. His mouth floods with the taste of warm copper. He spits the mouthful of blood at the thug’s feet, flexing his grip against the rope bindings that keep him strapped to the chair. The move is met with a throaty growl and a fist in his hair, yanking his head back.

“Don’t touch him!” Rapunzel demands, giving a sharp jerk against her own restraints. Eugene feels his own chair—back to back with Rapunzel’s—rattle a bit from the force.

The cell they’d been kept in for the past couple of days is relatively small, and smells of the mildew that clings to the damp stone around them. Eugene and Rapunzel had been kidnapped in the middle of the night during what was supposed to be a romantic vacation to the northern part of the kingdom. So much for that.

“Barely felt it,” Eugene quips, quirking an eyebrow at his most recent assailant. “But I get it. Wouldn’t want to risk breaking nail, y’know.”

The other man towers over Eugene, with short cropped hair and a scent that reeks of rotting vegetables. He gives a sharp jerk at Eugene’s hair, and it’s only by sheer willpower that Eugene doesn’t grimace at the sharp pain. The other man snarls. “I’d watch your mouth, pretty boy.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty.” Eugene meets his eyes, his glare not matching his overly cheery tone. “I’m flattered. Truly.”

That earns him the sharp blade of a war axe suddenly under his chin. “You’re a right pain in my ass, Flynn Rider.”

“Yeah, well. Get in line.”

The edge of the axe presses a bit more insistently at his throat. Eugene knows that if he breathes too deeply, it will break skin. The other man bares yellowing teeth. “You’re lucky that boss has you under strict no-kill orders or I’d have half a mind to take your head clean off.”

“Oh, I feel lucky,” Eugene replies dryly. “More time for us to spend together. And who would want to miss out on that? Not me, that’s for sure—”

“Boss said nothing about roughing you up, though. So I’d think very carefully about the next words that leave your mouth.”

Rapunzel’s voice sends a jolt of panic through him. “Eugene—”

“Oh, you had to go and ruin the moment with a threat,” Eugene interrupts quickly. He’s hoping that the sudden fear stays off his face. “And it was such a lovely moment, too.”

The thug moves so fast that Eugene doesn’t even have time to brace for it. A flash of movement, blinding pain across his temple that whips his head to the side, and then the sight of a bloodied axe hilt in the other man’s hand. Eugene tries to blink the stars from his vision, unsure if he’s imagining the laugh from the other man or if it’s just the ringing in his ears.

Rapunzel yells something—strained and angry and desperate—but Eugene can barely hear her. His vision is still swimming and for a moment, Eugene thinks he might be about to pass out again. He’s distantly aware that his assailant says something sharply in response to her, stepping out of Eugene’s spotty vision.

A fresh wave of panic squeezes like a steel band around Eugene’s chest. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—when the door opens.

“Oi!” A different voice barks from the doorway. “Boss wants to see us.”

Not a new voice, Eugene realizes as the ringing has started to ease. He recognizes the voice from yesterday. The demand is met with a groan of annoyance, but the man follows obediently out the door, sparing a dark glare that Eugene returns with equal contempt before the door slams shut. Eugene waits for the footsteps to recede before he lets his face twist into a grimace of pain against the throbbing in his head.

Still, he keeps his tone as light as he can manage, his stomach twisting a bit with concern. “You okay, Sunshine?”

Rapunzel doesn’t answer right away. Eugene wishes—for not the first time—that he could see her face. He hears Rapunzel sigh.

“I should be asking you that.”

“Me? I’m right as rain.”

“Eugene.”

“Okay,” he relents slightly. “So maybe old Moldy-Breath gave me a bit of a headache. But it’s all good.” As long as they didn’t hurt you, Eugene adds silently.

“It’s not all good. Nothing about it is good,” Rapunzel snaps. “I… Eugene, you keep antagonizing them, and… and I…” her voice chokes off. Eugene swallows as she takes a breath. He can’t apologize. Not when he knows he plans to keep doing it. Rapunzel clears her throat. “We need a plan. Any ideas?”

“An escape plan?” Eugene asks. Because his plan to protect Rapunzel did not yet involve escape but did involve keeping attention on himself whenever one or more of their captors were in the room. Rapunzel had described it as ‘antagonizing them’, but Eugene liked to think of it as using everything in his arsenal to keep her safe. Including his smart mouth.

Eugene continues. “Can’t say I do. My hands are—heh—tied. Literally.” He flexes against the rope again.

“Pascal went to get Max during the ambush,” Rapunzel continues softly, as if thinking out loud. “But I don’t know how they’re going to find us.”

“If I know one thing, it’s that your parents will move heaven and earth to find you,” Eugene says, hoping that the sentiment is reassuring.

Rapunzel hums in response, and Eugene thinks that maybe—just maybe—he hears the faintest trace of a smile in the sound.

“I don’t want to just wait around hoping you’re right,” she replies, that familiar edge of determination sparking in her voice. “There’s got to be some way out.”

Eugene’s eyes flit around the part of the room that he can see. A single wooden door directly ahead of him is the only way in or out, as far as he can tell. The stone walls, floor, and ceiling doesn’t offer much in the way of hope for escape. From the squares of light on the far wall, Eugene knows there’s a window on the wall behind him. But gauging from the size of those patches of light, there isn’t a prayer that either one of them can escape through it. Pascal would’ve been able to fit, but not a human person.

“That door is our only ticket out of here,” Eugene says quietly. “Unless you see something I don’t.”

“I don’t—”

Rapunzel cuts off at the jingle of keys outside the door. The lock clicks. The door creaks open.

“Welcome back!” Eugene says brightly, his gaze quickly sweeping over the gruff man that steps into the room. He’s large—several inches taller than Eugene even if he’d been standing—but it’s the bloodthirsty look in his sharp blue eyes that makes Eugene swallow. Eugene remembers him from two days ago, and just how hard he could hit.

Then Eugene catches sight of the key attached loosely at his belt, and a plan starts to form.

“You know,” Eugene adds conversationally, “I was starting to get a little lonely.”

“I think you’ll find that you want to be quiet, Rider.” The voice is a low, rumbling sound that reminds Eugene vaguely of thunder.

“Ah, quiet is not something I’ve ever been particularly good at.” Eugene sees the clench in the man’s jaw. Push, push, push. “Just like you’ve never been particularly good at throwing a punch. We all have our strengths.”

The flash in his eyes is all the warning Eugene has before the fist connects solidly in Eugene’s gut, forcing the air from his lungs. He chokes off with a wheeze, coughing as he gasps in a breath. The corner of the other man’s lips curls up in a satisfied smirk.

“Eugene!” Rapunzel cries out.

Push more, Eugene tells himself as he catches his breath. He flashes a smile up at the other man, and there’s a vindictive sort of satisfaction as Eugene sees his brow furrow in confusion.

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not all that impressed,” Eugene quips, “given that it’s hardly a fair fight. Tied up like this, I’m really just a glorified punching bag. Anyone could land a half-way decent punch.”

The other man flashes teeth in a snarl, and Eugene knows that he’s on the right track.

“Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you!”

“Eh, no points for originality there either.” Eugene shrugs. “I’m just saying, you’re only proving something if it’s a fair fight. Otherwise, it seems a little like you’re overcompensating.”

“Eugene, please,” Rapunzel begs, something sharp in her tone. Eugene pretends it doesn’t send a twist of guilt through his gut.

The guilt is replaced quickly as Eugene realizes that the first part of his plan has worked. The other man growls, pointing a dagger under his chin—which makes Eugene very nearly roll his eyes because didn’t they have some other trick in their book?—but then he starts untying Eugene’s hands. Eugene doesn’t make any sudden moves, the cool steel of the knife grazing his chin.

“You want a fair fight?” the other man growls. In one lightning flash motion, the dagger is sheathed and a fist connects with Eugene’s jaw hard enough to knock him out of the chair. Eugene tumbles ungracefully to the floor. He wipes at the blood of his now-split lip, the sting of copper fresh on his tongue.

“You know, I admire a man who doesn’t pull his punches.” Eugene pushes himself to his feet, the room still spinning a bit.

“Who says I wasn’t pulling that punch?” the other man challenges with a grin.

Eugene swings a punch of his own, intentionally a bit wide. Eugene knows that he cannot win this fight anyway—the man is much bigger, and Eugene isn’t sure he could seriously take him fisticuffs on a good day let alone in his current condition—but he has to get the man to underestimate him first. That is, if he’s going to let Eugene get up close and personal.

Eugene’s right hook is blocked easily and retaliated with a fist to his stomach that drops him to one knee.

“Wait--!” Rapunzel says, straining to look over her shoulder.

Eugene doesn’t. He charges his full weight towards him, and the man braces for it. Eugene manages to send him stumbling back a step, but only one, and Eugene is promptly shoved back and against the wall. A large, meaty hand closes around his throat just enough to make it hard to breathe.

“Is that all you got, Rider?” the man growls. “You’re downright pathetic.”

Eugene sees his opening. He swings—wide and weak—with his left hand towards the man’s face while his right hand drops to the other man’s hip where he keeps the key. His blow is easy to see coming, but it’s also the perfect misdirection. As the other man blocks the blow with his free hand—the one not slowly crushing Eugene’s windpipe—Eugene uses his right hand to deftly slip the key from the belt loop and slips it into his sleeve to conceal it from view.

“So maybe I’m a little out of practice,” Eugene wheezes. Then he drives his own knee up into the other man’s gut. It’s not much in the way of blows, but it’s enough to get him to let go of his throat. Eugene gasps, his legs almost giving out from under him.

He’s barely stood up straight before something smashes into the left side of his ribcage and sends him sprawling. Eugene can’t help the sharp cry that breaks from his throat as he’s sent sprawling. A swift kick to his ribs forces the rest of the air from his lungs and Eugene thinks hazily that he felt something give way.

He curses under his breath, struggling up onto his hands and knees to drag air into his lungs.

“Cursing in front of royalty, Rider?” the other man sneers, his voice from somewhere above him.

Eugene opens his eyes, realizing that the blow had sent him sprawling to the other side of the room. He can see Rapunzel now. Her horror-stricken eyes meet his, but she looks unharmed and Eugene figures that’s something. In fact, her face is the best thing he’s seen in days. His heart flutters a little. Help her get out at all costs.

Eugene stumbles towards her a step, closing his left hand over her right. “Forgive me,” he says, and a part of him means it, even though he’s not really apologizing for the cursing. He lets the key in his sleeve slip down his palm and into hers. Rapunzel’s eyes grow wider in understanding and surprise, her fingers folding deftly over the object as Eugene turns away from her.

Eugene prepares himself to charge back at the man when the door opens again and three other thugs charge in. One of them looks to be a bit cleaner than the others—dark hair, a well-trimmed goatee, and sharp eyes—and his gaze zeroes in on Eugene the moment he steps through the door.

“What’s this?” he demands, but his voice is icy cold. “Subdue him.”

Eugene opens his mouth to respond, but suddenly two of the men in the room rush him and he’s slammed against the wall, pinned in place. Eugene coughs as the sharp pain in his ribs flare at the collision against the stone. Eugene struggles against their grip, but it’s useless.

“I was showing Rider that he’s not as great as he thinks he is,” the man he’d been fighting with previously growls.

The man with the goatee rolls his eyes. “Childish,” he chides, but his gaze doesn’t waver from Eugene. “Though from the looks of it, you were more than winning that fight.”

“I think I got a few licks in—” Eugene cuts off when one of the men’s grip on him tightens.

“Hm.” The goatee man’s gaze lingers a moment longer before it flickers to Rapunzel and narrows in interest. Eugene feels his blood run cold.

“I’d be happy to try three on one,” Eugene says suddenly, desperate to drag the attention back to him.

“Oh, there’s no need for that, Flynn. Can I call you Flynn?”

“Well, actually—”

“Take her,” the man cuts Eugene off with a wave of his hand, addressing the other man—roughly the size of Atilla, Eugene thinks idly. The man crosses to Rapunzel, and Eugene feels his chest clench with sudden panic as he realizes what’s about to happen.

“No!” he demands, wrenching his shoulders from the other men’s grip so suddenly and so fiercely that he slips from their grasp for a moment. He lurches towards her, but hands are on him and pulling him back in less than second.

“Eugene—” Rapunzel starts to say, her wide green eyes meeting his before she’s met with a cloth gag around her mouth, cutting off the rest of her words. The man then unties her wrists, and Eugene’s heart is already thundering in his chest but it gives a small jump when he moves to the hand that has the key. Rapunzel already has slipped it down her own sleeve, apparently, and Eugene counts it as a small mercy.

The second her hands and feet are free, Rapunzel strikes out, her eyes flaring with indignation. The man’s head barely moves from the blow to his jaw, and Rapunzel tries to shove him back but he is at least twice her weight and the move barely budges him.

“Rapunzel!”

She’s grabbed around her arms and lifted by the man and Eugene thrashes but he can’t get free. Rapunzel’s fighting as best she can as she’s carried to the door, but she’s exhausted and dehydrated and woefully outmatched. She yells something behind the gag that sounds like his name before the door slams shut.

“No!” Eugene wonders if his voice sounds as ragged as he thinks it does. “You can’t take her!”

“I think you’ll find, Flynn Rider,” the man with the goatee says, infuriatingly calm, “that we can do whatever we wish.”

He gives a curt nod. Eugene doesn’t even see the blow coming before the world goes black.

…

Eugene blinks his eyes open. “Rapunzel?” he asks blearily, before he remembers what had happened.

He jolts to awareness with a start as the memories flood back to him. It’s then that he realizes that he’s not even sitting in a chair. He’s still restrained, but it’s by shackles rather than rope. His eyes follow the short chains to where they’re anchored to the wall. He thinks he’s probably in the same cell as before, but the chairs in the middle of the room have been discarded. It’s empty.

Empty. No Rapunzel. There’s an odd, caving kind of feeling in Eugene’s chest.

He sighs and swallows. He got her the key to the door. Since the man only had one key, Eugene figures there’s probably a decent chance that all the cells open with the same key. So wherever they took her, she probably still had a chance to escape. If she’s still alive, something hisses in Eugene’s mind.

Eugene shakes his head quickly. Of course she’s still alive. Rapunzel is the most resilient person he knows, and besides. They’d been taken as leverage against the Crown. Eugene hadn’t been dealing with the shady side of business in the kingdom for long before he’d learned that dead leverage was no leverage at all. And Rapunzel was certainly a bigger bargaining chip than himself. So if he was still alive, then Rapunzel was still alive.

The rationalization does very little to assuage the leaden weight in his stomach.

How many days had they been here? Eugene was beginning to lose track. Four? Seven? Three? Something like that. When Rapunzel was here, he’d been able to focus his attention on her. Protecting her in the ways he was able whenever they weren’t alone and trying to make her smile when they were. Keep her spirits high. Although Eugene knows that really, if he’s being honest, Rapunzel had been doing more to keep his spirits high than the other way around.

Now she’s gone. Eugene is alone with his thoughts, and a grim part of him realizes that he doesn’t want that to be true. Not knowing what was happening to Rapunzel was far, far worse than weathering a few punches and the recurring knife-to-his-throat.

Why did they separate them? Eugene doesn’t know. He’s not sure he’ll like the answer, if he ever finds out.

He sighs, letting his head rest gingerly against the stone wall behind him. He watches the sunlight filter through the tiny window above him, dust and dirt particles floating in the streak of light that streams into the room. His eyes drift closed and he thinks about trying to go back to sleep.

He’s nearly asleep, actually, when the sound of the door opening pulls him from consciousness. He stays still, keeps his eyes closed, and tracks the sound of footsteps moving into the room. Two sets, as far as Eugene can tell.

“We know you’re awake,” one of them says. Eugene recognizes the voice. Goatee, he thinks. His blood turns hot with anger.

Eugene quirks an eyebrow and doesn’t open his eyes yet. “Well I am now. I was trying to catch some beauty sleep. A face this pretty doesn’t happen without some effort, you know.” He cracks an eye open.

Goatee—as Eugene had taken to calling him—is standing above him. The other man is someone Eugene doesn’t recognize, about his size if a little bit taller, but he stays back by the door. Goatee sneers down, flashing white teeth in the dark.

“You’ll find, Mr. Rider, that I am not as easily goaded into displays of aggression as my employees.”

A sharp retort—you employ them? What kind of benefits do you offer?—is on the tip of his tongue, but Eugene doesn’t let it slip. His lack of a filter before was to protect Rapunzel. Now? Well, now there wasn’t much reason for him to say anything. Eugene resolutely keeps his mouth shut, glaring up at his captor.

Goatee arcs an eyebrow. “No smart remark this time? Hm. I’ll admit, I’m disappointed.”

Eugene thinks about demanding to know what they did with Rapunzel. But he has a feeling that he wouldn’t get an answer, and certainly not one he could trust. Besides, he knows he’s really not in any position to be demanding much of anything.

“The silent treatment?” Goatee continues after a moment’s pause when Eugene still says nothing. “Pity. Though I think you’ll come to realize that we have ways of making you talk.” With sharp movements, Goatee drops to one knee and presses a hand against Eugene’s ribs. It sends a flash of heat and pain tearing through his side and a strangled gasp escapes him before he can think to stifle it. He curls around himself and Goatee lets him, pulling his hand away. He stays crouched, close to eye-level with him now.

Eugene can feels his cold, calculating stare on him as he manages to catch his breath. “What do you want to know?” Eugene growls, keeping one arm wrapped protectively around his ribs. “You haven’t even asked anything yet.”

“I want to know everything, Flynn Rider. Corona’s weaknesses, its strengths, troop movements, battle strategies. I want it all.”

“I thought you wanted us for ransom,” Eugene shoots back through a grimace.

“I wanted the princess for ransom,” Goatee corrects. “I wanted the Captain of the Guard for information.”

“You won’t get it,” Eugene grits out as he tries to sit up a bit more. “Not from me.”

“We’ll see about that.” He pulls something out of his belt and Eugene sees the flash of steel in the limited sunlight. “Do you know what this is, Flynn?”

Eugene gives him a dry look. His ribcage is still burning, but it’s starting to settle back into that familiar throb. “If you’re going to threaten me with a knife, I’m afraid your employees have beaten you to it. Several times, in fact. Do you all take the same training course?”

“It’s a stiletto dagger,” Goatee continues as if he hadn’t heard Eugene at all. “When used with finesse, it can inflict tremendous pain. And well. I train all of my men on it very well.” He leans in then, grinning wickedly.

A chill runs down Eugene’s spine but he does his best to keep it off his face. “I’ve kind of already done the whole ‘being stabbed’ thing, as much as I hate to burst your bubble.”

“Ah, but has your princess?”

Eugene’s stomach rolls and he opens his mouth to say something when he’s cut off by a sound. A scream, and even though it’s distant, Eugene’s head spins with its familiarity. Rapunzel. His blood turns to ice. His vision goes red.

Eugene lunges towards Goatee but he’s already backed out of reach and the chains rattle sharply as they yank Eugene back to the wall. Goatee studies Eugene, his expression not changing from the detached, almost intrigued expression on his face.

“Let her go!”

“Hm,” Goatee hums, unphased. “Fascinating. We’ll be in touch.”

“No--!” But they’ve left the room, letting the door slam closed and Eugene swears that Rapunzel’s scream is still echoing in the space around him.

…

Eugene jolts awake to the sound of crashing and shouting somewhere off in the distance on the other side of the door. The cell around him is dark, and it takes a moment for Eugene’s eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Dim sunlight had still been filtering through the tiny window above him when he’d fallen asleep, so he guesses that it’s some time in the middle of the night.

Eugene can’t make out the voices that are shouting, and doesn’t dare venture a guess as to what the commotion is all about. He couldn’t make use of the chaos even if he wanted to, he thinks, glancing down at the iron shackles around his wrists. He tugs on it experimentally, but the tight manacles are cutting sharply into his skin that is already rubbed raw from his struggle against them earlier. In his blind desperation to get to Rapunzel, after hearing…

Eugene does his best to straighten up, wincing at the jolt of pain from his ribs. Definitely broken, he thinks. He’d dealt with broken ribs enough to know them when he felt them.

He thinks of Rapunzel. He tries to picture her face rather than the echo of her scream from earlier in the day that still reverberates in his mind. Of the soft look in her green eyes every time she said his name. Rapunzel has the key to the door. Eugene fears asking for too much, but he hopes fervently that she’s able to take advantage of whatever chaos is ensuing on the other side of the door to escape.

His cell door bangs open suddenly and Eugene jumps.

It’s the man wit the goatee. But there’s something off about him that keeps Eugene from saying his usual sarcastic greeting. He looks… almost crazed. His piercing blue eyes are wild, his hair disheveled, and bares his teeth in a vicious snarl. Something uneasy rolls through Eugene’s stomach and despite the fact that he has nowhere to go, Eugene shifts further back into the wall as if he can somehow get away from him.

He knows it’s useless. But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone look so… unhinged, and instinct is screaming at Eugene to put as much distance as he can between himself and the other man.

“What’s—” Eugene tries to ask, but he’s cut off with a boot connecting solidly with his stomach.

“Shut up!” the man snaps as Eugene curls instinctively around himself, coughing. Eugene’s barely aware that his shackles are being unlocked as he catches his breath. Before he can think, Eugene feels the man yank him to his feet, an arm wrapped around his shoulders in a surprisingly strong grip and the point of a blade digging dangerously under his chin.

“Walk.” The one word is growled low in his ear, accompanied with a clumsy shove forward that does nothing to diminish the man’s grip on Eugene.

“Okay, okay,” Eugene says, doing his best to sound placating. Eugene walks through the door and immediately realizes Goatee’s problem.

The hall between the cells is in chaos.

Metal shrieks against metal as swords and axes clash. Eugene sees the sun-shaped crest of Corona and the familiar red-and-gold guard uniforms caught in combat with the leather-armored captors. The familiar voices of his fellow guard members clash in their shouts. And in the middle of it all—staggering to a stop at the dead-run she’d been in towards Eugene’s cell—stands Rapunzel. Despite knowing that he is still very much in danger, a part of Eugene goes a little weak with relief.

“You!” the man snarls from behind Eugene. “How’d you escape?”

Eugene’s eyes flit over Rapunzel again and again, a part of him afraid that she was going to disappear into smoke if he looked away. She seemed… okay. At least, mostly okay as far as Eugene could tell. Her dress was torn and bloodied at the sleeve, there was a split along her brow that was bleeding still—a fresh wound, then—and she was pale. But she stands tall, her short brown hair falling across her forehead, her face streaked with dirt and sweat. Beautiful, Eugene thinks without an ounce of irony.

Her green eyes flash, furious. “Let him go, Fenaril.” Fenaril? Eugene thinks, wondering how Rapunzel had learned Goatee’s name. Then again, she’d always been cleverer than Eugene.

“Ha!” Fanaril barks a laugh. “You think you’re in a position to demand things of me, princess? Think again!”

“Rapunzel—” Eugene tries, but there’s a jerk on the grip across his shoulders.

“And you,” Fenaril hisses to him, “should shut up for once in your worthless life.”

“I’m not going to tell you again,” Rapunzel warns in a low, dangerous voice. “Let him go.” She takes a step closer.

Fenaril matches her, taking a step back and dragging Eugene with him to maintain the distance between them. “Ah, ah, ah. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Rapunzel, it’s okay,” Eugene grits out. “Just go.”

Her eyes flash from Fenaril’s eyes to Eugene’s own. She looks angry. Angrier than Eugene can ever remember seeing her. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Then it seems,” Fenaril cuts in impatiently, “that we’re at a bit of an impasse.”

“Fenaril, don’t make this worse for yourself.” Rapunzel holds her hands out to him, palms up. “Let Eugene go and we can—” she takes another step forward, and Fenaril snarls at her.

“I would not do that if I were you,” he repeats.

“Fenaril—” she takes another step.

The stiletto dagger leaves Eugene’s throat but he doesn’t even have time to take in a deep breath before he feels the blade sink into his shoulder. The strangled, pain noise that breaks from his throat doesn’t sound fully human, even to his own ears. His vision goes white. He thinks he hears Rapunzel yell something, but he can’t make it out.

Eugene is shaking—he can tell, even despite his best attempts to stop it—and he knows that Fenaril’s grip on him is the only thing that keeps him from dropping to his knees. Then the sharp end of the blade is back to his throat.

“Do you want to try that again, princess?”

Eugene thinks, through the weird shock-white haze of heat and pain tearing through his shoulder—that he should open his eyes. Or say something. But he doesn’t, because his thoughts are little more than strings of curse words and a vague but desperate wish that Rapunzel didn’t have to see him get stabbed… again.

“Eugene.” Rapunzel’s voice doesn’t break, but Eugene can hear the way it almost does, and that’s enough to force himself to open his eyes.

He tries his best to offer Rapunzel a smile. Something to reassure her. There’s a desperation in her eyes that reminds Eugene vaguely of that one night in the tower, holding his hand to her hair fruitlessly, singing the Healing Incantation through her tears—

“Hey, sunshine,” he manages, and it’s a silly thing to say right then but it’s the only thing that comes to mind.

It occurs then to Eugene that he could die. For the second time in his life, Eugene finds himself thinking that if Rapunzel’s face is the last thing he ever sees, it’s not such a bad way to go.

“Now, Varian!” Rapunzel shouts.

Eugene barely has time to process what she’s yelled when there’s a loud pop and a hissing sound and suddenly Eugene is pressed against something soft and squishy. The arm across his chest holding him in place is immediately encased in a blue, gelatinous substance. The hand to his neck holding the knife is covered as well. Eugene shuts his eyes and tenses, waiting to the sting of the knife against his neck.

It doesn’t come.

A moment passes, and Eugene is aware of two voices talking to him—both of them familiar and he thinks one of them might be Rapunzel but his mind is spinning and he can’t keep up with it. Hands are grabbing at him, helping him extract from the vice-like grip that Fenaril had on him after they’ve pulled the dagger away from his throat. And Eugene thinks he should thank them, or say something, but his mind is swimming in a weird haze and his vision is tunneling.

“Varian, can you—”

“Rapunzel, he’s gonna—!"

Eugene doesn’t hear the end of the statement before the world spins and goes dark.

…

“Varian,” Eugene says, two days later, as he watches the royal engineer trip over the edge of Eugene’s bed in his rush to give him the medicine he’d forgotten.

“What?” Varian glances up from the cup in his hands, his dark hair falling into his eyes despite the way his goggles were attempting to keep most of it out of his face.

Eugene offers him a small, reassuring smile. “Relax. It’s just painkillers, kid.” He takes the cup from the alchemist’s hands as Varian nods absently. Eugene downs it quickly, grimacing at the unpleasant taste. Once emptied, Eugene sets the cup on the table beside him.

Varian sighs a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “How’re the bandages?”

Eugene glances down, surprised by the question. The bandages around his ribs had been changed a few hours ago. “They’re fine.”

“And your shoulder?”

“I’m okay, Varian,” Eugene assures him.

The alchemist had been one of a few people that had been hovering the past few days, ever since they got back to the kingdom. Rapunzel had barely left his side, and the only reason she wasn’t in the room presently was because she’d been requested to give a State of the Kingdom address to assure the people of Corona that she and Eugene were recovering well and the culprits involved in the kidnapping had been detained. Lance did his best to stop by every day, though Eugene was in an out of consciousness for most of those first 36 hours so his memories of Lance were hazy at best.

Between the three of them and the members of the guard that would stop by to check in or give him a status report of the state of things—which Eugene was pretty sure was just a reason for some of them to stop by rather than their actual intention—Eugene hadn’t been left alone since before the siege of Fenaril’s place. And even when Rapunzel had been present and Eugene had been awake, which wasn’t often, they were almost never alone together. Which meant that it had been hard for Eugene to gauge, really, if Rapunzel was as okay as she had been pretending to be.

“Hey, Varian?” The alchemist looks up at him. Eugene hesitates, then sighs. “How’s Rapunzel been?”

Varian averts his gaze. “She’s… worried about you,” he says softly. “She doesn’t talk much about what happened, but I heard her tell Lance that you took the worst of it.”

Something in Eugene relaxes a bit at that, but not by much. “Is she getting sleep?”

Varian sighs a little. “I think so, but I don’t think it’s very much. I make sure she tries, though.”

Eugene nods, offering a faint half-smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s not much.”

“It’s plenty,” Eugene assures, frowning at the young genius. It’s not like Varian could be expected to force Rapunzel to sleep, and Eugene knew there were plenty of reasons why she may be… struggling with that. Eugene was well aware that his own sleeping was more a result of drowsiness brought on by medicine and exhaustion rather than indicative of how well he’s actually able to sleep.

He has a feeling he has his own sleepless nights yet ahead of him. He’d had a few following that night at the tower with Gothel, after all.

Varian shakes his head slightly in response to Eugene. “But—”

“Varian,” Eugene insists, “I don’t know how I would’ve gotten out of there alive if it weren’t for you. You did plenty.”

“I’ve… never seen you like that, Eugene,” Varian says, so quietly that Eugene almost doesn’t hear him. When he finally meets Eugene’s gaze, there’s something haunted in his blue eyes that catches Eugene off guard. “That… that beaten up? It had to have hurt. A lot.”

Eugene tosses him a smile and it feels a little brittle but Varian seems to relax a bit at it. “Nothing I can’t handle, kid. Here,” he adds, desperate to change the subject. “Help me stand up.”

Varian’s eyes widen. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Eugene waves the concern off. “I just wanna stretch my legs for a bit. I’m not trying to run a marathon. We’re Team Awesome, aren’t we?” He sits up a bit more at the mountain of pillows, taking a breath before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

Varian scrambles towards him, apparently realizing that Eugene was going to try to walk with or without help, and wraps Eugene’s non-injured arm around his shoulders. Varian had grown taller in recent months, and though he’s still shorter than Eugene, it’s only by a few inches. Eugene stands and lets Varian shoulder some of his weight. He is, admittedly, a bit surprised that his legs seem to hold. Even if maybe they tremble just a little from the exertion.

“What are you two doing?” asks a familiar voice from the doorway.

Standing in the threshold of Eugene’s bedroom stands Rapunzel. The gash in her eyebrow has been closed with stitches. She’s not quite as pale as she’d been during the standoff with Fenaril, though Eugene can see the dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes. His stomach twists with concern, but there’s an almost amused lilt to her voice that makes his face break out into a smile.

“Sunshine!” Eugene goes to take a step towards her, and very nearly collapses as his already shaky legs give out on him. Varian yelps, staggering a bit in his effort to keep Eugene from crumpling to the floor.

Rapunzel crosses quickly to them, taking Varian’s place as the alchemist helps transfer the weight over to her. They both help Eugene sit on the edge of the bed.

“I told him it was a bad idea,” Varian explains, “but he said he wanted to ‘stretch his legs’.”

With Rapunzel this close—closer than she’s been in days—smelling faintly of paint and lavender soap, all Eugene really wants to do right now is to pull her closer. Bury his face into her neck and not let go. Just breathe her in. Card his fingers through her hair. Prove to himself that she is really here. Really okay. Really safe.

Eugene’s hands shake a little with the thought and he curls his free one against his thigh. Rapunzel seems to sense, or feel, the way he’s trembling because she looks at him with her brows pinched together in concern.

Eugene’s answering smile is flimsy at best. “Wasn’t Varian’s fault.”

The look of concern doesn’t waver. Rapunzel seems hesitant to let her gaze waver from his but she lets her green eyes flicker to Varian for a moment, her lips pursing. “Varian, could… you give us a minute? Maybe check on Pascal for me? He’s been pretty exhausted the past few days.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course. I should get this stuff to the kitchen to be cleaned, too,” he says, gathering the cup and plate that sits on the table and quickly exiting out of the room. He closes the door behind him.

“Rapunzel—”

“Eugene—”

They both stop, their mouths snapping shut nearly in unison. Eugene’s eyes start to sting and he thinks that now, now, is an extraordinarily odd time for his resolve to buckle. The edges of his vision blur and Eugene stares at the gold clasp of her dress at her neckline because he knows that if he meets her eyes, he might fall apart.

“Eugene,” Rapunzel whispers, and he feels a hand cup his jaw. Eugene squeezes his eyes shut, leaning into the unbearably gentle touch.

“Rapunzel, can… can I…” Eugene askingly tugs her closer and Rapunzel gravitates towards him without hesitation.

Eugene wraps his good arm around her waist and holds on tight, burying his face into the crook of her neck. She’s safe. She’s safe. She’s safe. Rapunzel is holding him just as tightly, just as close, though mindful of his injuries. Eugene can feel his hair getting damp and feels the jerk in Rapunzel’s shoulders with an aborted sob and he just squeezes all the tighter.

At some point, he knows, they’ll need to talk about it. Rapunzel’s scream will echo in his nightmares for weeks, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever work up the courage to ask what they did to elicit it from her. Rapunzel will struggle to sleep at all. They’ll gravitate closer to one another in the days, weeks, that follow. But they’ll get through it together. One step at a time. Like they do with everything else.

For now, Eugene just holds on to her as tight as he can.