#Mr. and Mrs. Adelman | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whentommymetalfie · 2 years

Text

Home to you -chapter 20

-Liminal-

Prologue//1//2//3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: They arrive at Arrow House.

Warnings: aftermath of forced hospitalization, period typical attitudes towards mental illness, sickness, nightmares,

Wordcount: 3,8 K

The sun has just dipped fully below the horizon when they reach Arrow house. After the longest drive of Alfie’s fucking life. Adelman has kept close check on Tommy’s pulse and every passing second he becomes further convinced that it’s about to stop. It doesn’t. His heart keeps pattering away. As if there’s a frightened little bird in his chest, flapping i’s wings against his ribcage. But even as the little bird wings seem to grow tired, it keeps flapping away in there. The entire drive.

When they reach Arrow house this time, the doors are locked. Ishmael bangs his fist against it several times before looking over the shoulder at Alfie, who is carrying Tommy, raising his gun and nodding towards the lock.

“Want me to-”

But Adelman puts a hand on the gun and lowers it. “That may not be the best way to create a safe environment for Thomas.”

Ishmael is about to argue, but right then the door opens just a tiny bit. The face of an unfamiliar maid meets them. She furrows her brow and seems to very much regret the decision to open the door.

“Please, miss, this is urgent,” Adelman says and grabs the door. The maid looks at Tommy, eyes widening in horror. Covers her mouth with her hands before she turns back to the darkness of the house.

“Mrs. Shelby!” she calls and Adelman takes the opportunity to open the door fully and gently usher her to the side, allowing for Alfie to step inside. Ishmael holsters the gun and follows.

“I need a room with access to a bathroom,” Adelman tells the maid. “Clean, hot water, and a clean bed.”

The maid nods, eyes still on Tommy’s battered form.

“Is he..,” she begins, voice trailing off.

“He’s in critical condition, but alive. Which is why we need to move quickly,” Adelman says.

“Mrs. Shelby!” the maid calls out again, and finally, running steps approach them. Lizzie comes down the stairs, nightgown billowing behind her. Her eyes first find Alfie, and soon thereafter Tommy. The cool façade cracks the second they do. She runs the remaining distance. Alfie has to stop himself from pushing her away as she grasps Tommy’s face.

“Tommy, Tommy, oh no, no,” she whispers. Looks to Adelman and him for answers. “What’s happened to him?”

“That fucking asylum happened,” Alfie says and hoists Tommy up higher in his arms, settling his head on his shoulder. Lizzie’s hands drop to her sides.

“He needs a doctor,” she says.

“I brought one,” Alfie says and nods to Adelman. “Now if you’d find us a room-“

Lizzie shakes her head. “No, no, we have to take him to a hospital.”

“This happened because he was at a fucking hospital!”

Lizzie is about to argue, he can already tell, but Adelman steps between them, in both senses of the word, putting a hand on each of their shoulders.

“We do not have time to argue,” he says firmly. “I have agreed to treat him here. There’s no guarantee we’d make it to a hospital in time. So now you need to listen to me and do what you’re told, both of you.”

They both nod. Even if the looks the give each other are nothing short of hostile.

Then, finally, they’re escorted to a room. Not the master bedroom, as per Alfie’s specific request. Considering the things Tommy’s had to endure in that room already. Instead they’re taken to one of the presumably many of luxurious guest bedrooms with an adjacent bathroom, and a giant bed full of white crisp sheets. Now it’s covered with a blanket to keep the blood from staining it.

Adelman takes charge and Alfie finds himself listening, even if he’s forced to lay Tommy down on the bed. The loss of his slight weight in his arms feels like the loss of a limb. Lizzie stays too, and though he’d like to argue her presence there isn’t time to do much of anything except following Adelman’s orders. The maid goes to the bathroom to fill the tub, while Ishmael has been commandeered out of the room to stand guard. Against what Alfie isn’t sure, all he knows is that he doesn’t fully trust anyone in this fucking house.

When they open the coat to reveal Tommy’s torso, the protruding ribs, the bruises and nasty marks from the straitjacket, Lizzie’s hands begin shaking.

“Maybe you should wait outside, eh?” Alfie grunts as he carefully removes the coat and helps Adelman pull away the dirty trousers, revealing blue track marks all over his thighs, left behind by less than gentle hands with syringes presumably. Alfie tries to comfort himself with the image of Winson Green asylum burning.

“I will not be ordered around in my own house,” Lizzie snaps, but her eyes are wide with horror as she looks at the bruises.

“Then get a fucking hold of yourself.”

“Stop with this nonsense, or you may both leave,” Adelman says sharply. “We have other things to focus on than petty bickering.”

They share a long icy stare, which is only broken by a knock on the door.

A voice calls, “Mrs. Shelby, young Charlie is asking for you. I think he heard the car pull up and got worried. He’s terribly upset.”

Lizzie hesitates, looking between Tommy and the door.

“Go, I’ll stay with him, Mrs. Shelby,” the maid says, coming out of the bathroom with a towel folded over her arm. “Your son needs you.”

Lizzie allows her to gently usher her out of the room. Alfie can feel the muscles in his jaw relaxing.

“Alright. Let’s get him cleaned up,” Adelman says and nods towards the bathroom.

A while later, Tommy is bathed and dressed in one of Alfie’s clean shirts, retrieved from the luggage Ishmael has apparently deposited in the room without anyone noticing. It settles Alfie a little, tucking him into bed with clean clothes and a cool rag on his forehead and with the wounds on his leg properly tended to. He slumps into a chair next to the bed, feeling like he’s been hit by a sledge hammer. Working to combat the dehydration, Adelman gives Tommy several injections of saline solution before he’s done and can sit down as well.

“We’ve done what we can for now,” he says. “Now it’s a question of whether his body can fight off the infection or not.”

Alfie nods. Can’t look away from Tommy.

Tommy looks so fragile and damaged and it’s his fault. It’s impossible not to think about it now, when he can no longer distract himself with Adelman’s orders. He promised to protect him, and he couldn’t. Instead he let the worst thing possible happen to him.

He’s not sure how to forgive himself.

If he can forgive himself.

The door opens and Lizzie enters. Alfie only listens to her steps approaching the bed.

“He hasn’t woken up yet?”

“No,” Alfie says, still without looking up.

“Has he woken up at all since… since you found him?”

“No,” he repeats.

“He’s very sick,” Adelman reminds her softly. “And they’ve given him strong medication, far too high dose for his current weight. We’ll have to keep medicating him to wane him off it slowly. I’m somewhat versed in the treatments these places usually supply, so fortunately I have brought enough doses with me.”

He begins organizing supplies on the nights stand. A thermometer, a bowl of cold water and several clean rags, as well as small bottles of clear liquid.

“The first hours are critical,” he says. “Someone has to watch him at all times. If the fever breaks, his chances will greatly improve.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Lizzie asks.

Well, what does she fucking think, eh?

“We’ll take it one hour at a time,” Adelman says.

Lizzie fetches a chair stood by the window and sits opposite them both.

They sit there, the three of them, in complete silence, as darkness settles in the room. Alfie is so focused on watching the rise and fall of Tommy’s chest that the rest of the world seems to fade away. His face is relaxed in sleep, and if it weren’t for the red painted over his cheeks by the fever, he’d look peaceful. Alfie hopes he’s dreaming of something nice. Or perhaps it’s better if he’s not dreaming at all…

A knock on the door is the first thing that breaks the silence. The maid comes in.

“Mrs. Shelby, may I show mister Abrams to a guest room?”

Right. Alfie has completely forgotten about Ishmael.

“Of course,” Lizzie says. “Perhaps you could show mister Solomons and doctor-“

“Adelman,” the doctor offers.

Lizzie continues, “To a room each.”

Alfie crosses his arms. “Oh, fuck off.”

Lizzie’s eyebrow twitches but she says nothing.

“But you should get some rest, doctor,” Alfie tells Adelman. “I’ll look after him.”

Adelman considers it for a moment. Eyes Tommy. Puts a hand on his forehead. Checks his pulse again before taking the stethoscope away from his ears to hang it around his neck.

“I’ll just sleep for a few hours,” he decides and gets to his feet, showing his age for the first time by his unsteady gait towards the door. “Fetch me the second he shows any signs of discomfort, or if his fever rises. But I suspect the medication will keep him under for most of the night.”

The maid follows Adelman out the door, leaving just Alfie and Lizzie by Tommy’s bedside. Adelman’s absence and the lack of his watchful eye over them is palpable. Alfie keeps his focus on Tommy and tries to forget Lizzie is even there. Only that’s impossible, isn’t it? Because had she not been there, he would’ve taken Tommy’s hand. Would’ve stroked his hair. Now he does neither of those things. Even though it makes his bones itch.

The silence between them is heavy with unspoken thoughts on his part and questions on Lizzie’s, presumably. But neither of them open their mouth to turn the frosty stalemate to an actual war.

Instead they sit in that complete silence for God knows how long.

It’s Lizzie who finally breaks it.

“Thank you for bringing him home.”

“I didn’t,” Alfie says. “I brought him here, didn’t I? And believe me, if there had been any other options, I would’ve taken them.”

Lizzie clenches her jaw and demonstratively turns her attention back to Tommy.

The silence fills the room again as they remain there on their chairs, both staring at Tommy. Following his every breath. Around them the house seems deathly still and quiet. The only sound is a bird somewhere outside. But soon that grows quiet as well as night settles around them.

Alfie loses track of time, there in the chair, so it could be one hour as well as two when Tommy starts moving in the bed, whimpering under his breath. Alfie is the first to react, taking away the rag to put his hand on Tommy’s forehead

“Fuck, he’s burning up.”

Lizzie gets out of her seat.

“I’ll fetch the doctor.”

He doesn’t watch her go. Tommy whines quietly, squirming as if trying to get away from an unwanted touch. Alfie smooths his hair away from his forehead. Removes the rag and puts it into the cold water. He leans down and kisses his forehead before putting it back.

“I’m here.” He strokes his hair. “I’m right here sweetheart.”

Tommy keeps making noises, wordless little sounds as he screws his eyes shut.

Fuck it. Alfie moves to sit on edge of the bed, leaning down until his forehead rests against Tommy’s. Takes his hand and holds it to his chest.

“I’m here, love. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Tommy settles a little. Stops moving, at least.

Lizzie comes in with Adelman in tow. Alfie straightens up but remains on the edge of the bed. She gives him a look which he ignores. Adelman puts a thermometer in Tommy’s mouth. His forehead smooths out as the mercury rises.

“The fever hasn’t changed.”

“He seems awfully warm,” Lizzie says.

“Yes, it’s still high. But it’s not any higher than before. And it’s a good sign that he’s moving, even if he’s uncomfortable. A sign that the drug is wearing off. I’ll give him a low dose in the morning. Start weaning him off it, slowly.”

After once again checking Tommy’s pulse and breathing, Adelman takes out his pocket watch.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. But I think at least one of you should try and get some rest.”

Alfie demonstratively leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows at Lizzie. Lizzie sits down and returns the stare with icy indifference.

Adelman sighs.

“Alright. But again, don’t hesitate to wake me at any time during the night. And try to keep things civil.”

The by now familiar silence settles in the room, as the darkness outside slowly begins greying at the edges as the night wears on. Alfie can feel his eyelids drooping. His back his aching and his leg is just about killing him, but at least the pain is keeping him awake.

Lizzie’s voice makes him jerk upright in the chair.

“There’s a room across the hall you can sleep in.”

He just snorts at that, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“You can’t stay up all night,” she says. “You’ll do him no good if you’re fucking exhausted. I can look after him.”

Sounding an awful lot like Esther, isn’t she?

He needs to call her. She’ll be beside herself with worry.

He’ll call when Tommy is better.

Lizzie isn’t Esther. And so he doesn’t leave the chair. Neither does Lizzie.

Despite his intentions to stay awake, the silence and the slow passing of time finally wins out, and he dozes off there in the chair, falling into a restless sleep with dreams of dark corridors where he chases after Tommy’s screams but only finds darkness when he rounds a corner. But he wakes again at the sound of Tommy whining, and Lizzie’s softly spoken words.

“Shh, darling, it’s okay.”

Lizzie is leaning over him, stroking his hair. Her face has softened from the tight scowl she’s been wearing every time she looks at Alfie. Tommy moves away from the touch. He frowns and squeezes his eyes tightly together.

“Alfie,” he whimpers.

Lizzie pulls away her hand as if she’s burnt herself. She straightens up. Alfie brushes past her and seats himself on the edge of the bed. Cradles Tommy’s face between his hands.

“I’m here, Tommy, you’re safe.”

He doesn’t look at Lizzie. Only looks at Tommy. He strokes his hair, speaking softly to him as he does. Tommy doesn’t shy away from the touch, but keeps making hurt noises.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, love, I’m here. Right here.”

Nestling into his touch, Tommy quiets down. The foreign sensation of a smile twitches at the Alfie’s lips.

“I should sleep for a few hours,” Lizzie says. “Let me know if something changes.”

Her steps disappear and he’s finally alone with Tommy.

Alfie lays down beside him and holds the small body close to his, careful not to jostle his leg. It’s like the return of a missing limb. He cradles his head against his chest, palm stroking gently over his overheated skin.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Everything will be alright.”

Tommy settles, his breathing evening out as he buries his nose in his chest.

…

Alfie doesn’t realise he’s fallen asleep until there’s a knock on the door and he opens his eyes to find sharp sunrays piercing in between the gaps of the curtains. He just manages to get out of bed before it opens and the maid from the previous night enters, carrying a tray.

“My guess was you’d prefer to have your breakfast here, sir.”

If she notes his disheveled appearance she doesn’t show it, setting the tray down onto the small table by the window and pulling away the curtains just a bit, lighting the room. Alfie doesn’t even manage to scrape together enough brains to thank her before she’s out again.

He moves the table to stand by the bed, along with the breakfast tray. Observant maid, this. No bacon. He only discovers how hungry he is when he starts eating. Hasn’t had time for it, right, feelings of hunger.

He’s nearly eaten all of it when, without knocking, Lizzie enters, along with doctor Adelman. She can’t have slept much, and she’s wearing the same tight expression he’s grown used to. But it softens when she looks at Tommy.

“He hasn’t woken up?”

Alfie shakes his head and swallows the last bit of toast down with a gulp of tea.

“No.”

“Well, it’s good that he sleeps,” Adelman says. “It’s the best way of healing.”

Adelman examines Tommy. Checks his pulse, his breathing, his temperature. The bandages are clean. He still has a fever. Nothing’s changed during the night. Which Alfie knows, doesn’t he, because he’s been here. And he knows he should feel relieved that nothing is worse, but he’s only frustrated that nothing is better. Adelman fills a syringe with a clear liquid from a tiny bottle.

“Do we have to give him more?” Lizzie asks.

“Yes, unfortunately. It’s not safe to simply quit this kind of medication. I’ll lower the dose over the next couple of days.”

Alfie digs his nails into his palm when he sees the track marks again. Tommy doesn’t react as the needle punctures the skin. Adelman tucks him back under the blankets.

“There. I’ll give him another dose tonight,” he says. “And I’ll be back to check on him soon.”

As Adelman leaves, Lizzie takes a seat by Tommy’s bedside.

“Don’t you have some maids to order around?” Alfie asks. “Drinks to be drinking? Or whatever it is ladies of your stature do all day.”

“He’s my husband. I have every right to be here. Unlike you.”

The anger that’s been simmering under his skin boils up, if only enough to barely spill over.

“Think I gained that right when I got him out of that fucking asylum,” he says. “Or when I sat by the kitchen table for hours on end when I wouldn’t eat. Or stayed awake with him at night when his ghosts wouldn’t let him sleep-“ he stops himself, already having said more than he should.

“I would’ve done the same if you hadn’t kept him from me,” Lizzie says.

“You didn’t, when you had the chance.”

“I’d advice against voicing any opinions on how I should’ve handled my husband’s illness, Solomons,” she hisses. “Considering you know fucking nothing”

Alfie bites back his next reply, because he’s no doubt going to say something that’ll turn the quiet hostility into an outright war. This doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter. All that matters is Tommy, anything that distracts from him is just noise. And the second he’s well enough Alfie is getting him the fuck out of here.

Lizzie shifts her sharp gaze from him back to Tommy. And Alfie does the same.

…

All day they walk around each other like animals in a cage, him and Lizzie. Both unwilling to leave Tommy’s side. At the same time unable to both be there together. Alfie leaves only to use the bathroom at one point, and to wash up and change into the spare clothing he thankfully had the foresight to bring. Not that he gives a fuck but he wants to keep everything clean for Tommy’s sake. Lizzie disappears for meals, but is never gone for long, much to his annoyance. They say only the most necessary things, lest they both start saying things that’ll shatter the fragile peace. Or, peace might be overstating things. It’s rather a cease fire. A stalemate.

When afternoon rolls around, they’re once again both seated by Tommy’s bedside when there’s a knock on the door.

“Mummy?” a child’s voice says as it opens, and a little boy peaks in. Then Alfie hears a familiar bark and a just as familiar, four legged figure rushes into the room. Cyril skids to a halt in front of Alfie and jumps, tail wagging.

“Cyril, good to see you!” he says and scratches Cyril behind the ears as the dog sets his heavy paws on his lap.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Shelby,” the maid shows up in the doorway and takes the boy by the hand. “I told him-“

“It’s alright, Frances.” Lizzie shoots up and hurries forward, ushering Charlie from the room. “Come here, love, let’s go find your sister. We can read something-” her voice is cut off when the door closes.

Cyril stays, tail wagging. Then he seems to notice Tommy in the bed and Alfie takes a firmer hold on his collar just to be safe. He pats his side.

“You have to be gentle with him, alright?”

Cyril stops pulling and Alfie lets go of his collar. The dog lays his head on the bed and looks at Tommy. Glances up at Alfie as if to say that he’s a fucking idiot: Cyril is a very intelligent creature, he knows when he needs to be gentle.

“Yeah, this is Tommy, innit. You know him, right?” Alfie scratches his ear. “He’s resting. Some bad people hurt him. But we’ll look after him, won’t we?”

Cyril huffs, which Alfie knows means yes, of course.

Cyril remains there by the bed until Lizzie returns. Then he lumbers out of the room. Lizzie pats his head as he passes.

“I don’t think he saw anything. Charlie,” she says as she sits down.

“Haven’t told him his dad is back, then?”

She shakes her head. “I will. When he’s awake. I don’t want him seeing him like this. Tommy wouldn’t want that.”

“No,” Alfie agrees. “He wouldn’t.”

Lizzie nods.

And they’re right back to their silent vigil.

…

When yet another evening falls, Lizzie gets out of her chair.

“I’ll have a bed brought in here for you,” she says. And with that, she leaves the room.

A bed does arrive, carried in by Ishmael and two maids and put at the farthest corner of the room. Alfie lets them. Not like he’s going to sleep in it anyway. And he remains by Tommy’s bedside until Adelman has done his last check in for the night, and the house has settled around them. Lizzie doesn’t return.

Then he climbs into bed to hold Tommy. It settles the itch in his bones. But he can’t sleep, even though his eyes sting with exhaustion and his entire body feels heavy enough to sink through the mattress. He reaches down into the suitcase and digs until he finds a book. He turns on the lamp on the nightstand and the room fills with warm light.

“How about we read something, love? We still have a few chapters left. But we might as well start over.” Alfie begins reading quietly, running his fingers through Tommy’s hair in between the turning of pages.

#tommy x alfie #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #peaky blinders fanfic #breathe again verse #home to you

34 notes · View notes

downtonabbeyrevisited · 3 years

Text

Season Two Episode Four

A 1918 timestamp ushers us into one of Downton’s more slow moving episodes where three parts painful banality has been mixed with one part life-or-death peril.

Providing more interesting political and cultural conflict than WW1 (at least at Downton) is Isobel’s ongoing grating at Cora’s very soul. Cora has had the temerity to ensure that the staff don’t collapse on their feet and has done something with the linen that I can’t quite fathom which, of course, Isobel takes as a slight upon her medical knowledge. Isobel makes the fatal error of calling Cora’s bluff threatening to ‘seek some other place’ if she is not appreciated at Downton. Major Clarkson also takes sides with Cora and Isobel now has no choice but to throw herself and her messiah complex upon the Red Cross in Northern France. I am sure they will be thrilled.

With Isobel’s departure, Moseley and Mrs Bird find themselves at a loss having deep cleaned the house and moaned about their employer’s eating habits. Turns out that one thing they forgot to do was deploy any semblance of a security system as a random man with a drama school limp wanders into the house looking for food. In a manner that would make the current Conservative front bench recoil with horror, Mrs Bird starts up a soup kitchen out of her own (presumably rather small) pocket. In her latest attempt to not do her job, Mrs Patmore drags Daisy out for some fresh air and in the process uncovers this particular bit of well meaning but financially unsustainable charity. Mrs Patmore scales up the operation, creating a “special storage area” to squirrel away surplus from the army’s stock, which O’Brien conveniently overhears (but to be honest, it’s not that much of a coincidence. I imagine most of the kitchen heard it considering that Mrs Patmore practically yelled it). In an effort to try and inject a bit of actual drama into this episode, O’Brien reports this to Mrs Hughes but (un)fortunately, Mrs Hughes could not care less. But after watching the world’s most appalling secret handover of goods in the village, O’Brien rallies and this time is successful in bringing Cora to the nefariously compassionate Bird-Patmore coalition. To absolutely everyone’s surprise (viewers included) Cora orders food to be taken from the house stock rather than army and with all the over-confidence of a consultant sets about re-arranging tables and streamlining the workflow.

Feeling much less charitable than Mrs Bird, Moseley heads to the Abbey and attempts to make himself indispensable and reach the dizzying heights of ‘Valet to the Earl of Grantham’. But not long after the peels of laughter that such a notion invites have died down, Bates returns and takes Mr Molesley’s shoehorn which one can’t help but think is emblematic of something. The return of Mr Bates is, naturally, a painfully protracted process that involves key protagonists not talking to each other, Thomas smoking on a wall, and the obligatory invocation of Kamal Pamuk. Robert invites Bates back to help him through the ‘veil of shadow’ and as such I was intrigued to learn that he is a World of Warcraft devotee. Bates reappearance downstairs also allows for the return of two other key Downton Abbey tropes: Anna and (John)Bates having a heart to heart under the cover of darkness, and Thomas and O’Brien’s irrational loathing/scapegoating of Britain’s most infuriatingly lovelorn character (outside of Thomas Thorne) to resume with aplomb.

Less happy to be within the confines of the Abbey is Edith who continues to signal that all of this is really a bit beneath her (certain elements quite literally). Ever the teacher’s pet, Mr Molesley reports the sighting of an Officer by the maid’s staircase to Mrs Hughes who hears that there have been lots of rumours on the timeline tonight and comes out to say that she does not live in a sack. Unfortunately, Major Bryant does not live in one but definitely frequents one and, as such, it is of course Ethel is dismissed. As she rapidly packs all her belongings, Anna pleas to Mrs Hughes on her behalf confirming that she is indeed the friend we all want but probably don’t deserve. But Mrs Hughes can’t get rid of her that easily as Edith (and passenger) skulk back to liven up the end of the episode with news of an oncoming baby *Eastenders drums intensify*.

Talking of undeserving relationships, Sybil and Branson receive more air-time than usual, providing the latter the opportunity to demonstrate that at times he really can be a muppet. And a slightly malevolent one at that. Sybil is firmly under the cosh this week with Violet making thinly veiled references to inappropriate alliances and Mary asking probing questions whilst she tries to get on with her job. Mary thinks that she has spotted her sister and Branson having some kind of romantic exchange but in reality, all that she has seen from afar is Branson telling Sybil that she is in love with him which when you think about it, is all kinds of awful and hardly the basis for a healthy relationship. After a long walk through the grounds where I am half expecting Branson to appear on a horse Willoughby-style, Sybil eventually caves and confesses to Mary that she doesn’t know if she likes Branson despite his eminently creepy voice over. Sybil then relays her sororal confidence and rather than taking this as an opportunity to ingratiate himself, Branson for whatever reason attempts to coerce Sybil into a relationship but not before he belittles her job. Sybil looks rightfully outraged as some equally emotionally manipulative strings wail in the background in an attempt to try and make us think that anything that has just happened was evenly slightly dreamy.

Threaded through this glacially paced episode has been the looming threat of a both a concert and the death of Matthew and (to a much lesser extent because that is how class works) William. In an effort to break the monotony of walking around the exact same bit of French trench (see previous re-caps for further details), William and Matthew take to wandering across some largely unadulterated land and into the path of some nonchalant Germans. Daisy’s lack of (presumably fawning) letters from William starts off a chain of enquiry which confirms that the War Office has declared Matthew and William missing enabling Mary to once again deploy her signature move: weeping into her gloves. But only one hand this time because she needs to keep a bit of composure for the show must go on! Apparently. Following some abysmal piano playing (I grew up in an appallingly musical household and we all had to endure the torture of other people at the early stages of learning an instrument. It was of course blissful when we got good but, heck, I was thrown straight back to the horror of it all with that ‘accompaniment’ and had an odd sort of stress response which I won’t describe here), Mary and Edith do a rendition of If You Were the Only Girl (In the World) as everyone looks on stony-faced before participating in the millenia’s most morose sing-a-long. With a very good sense of drama, Matthew and (to a much lesser extent) William make their return. Matthew takes his place at Mary’s side and joins in the signing to what is now presumably quite a bewildered audience. Ah, Downton.

Romantic declaration of the moment

Violet raises reasonable concerns about Richard Carlisle but Mary is more interested in expanding her real estate portfolio and agrees to throw her lot in with a fiscal agreement disguised as a marriage. Upon his ‘miraculous’ return, Matthew gives the union his blessing on the condition that Richard remains deserving. Not that he ever really was. But the sentiment is what matters here and what is more loving* than putting another’s presumed happiness before your own.

*there are actually a lot of other more loving things but in the interest of formatting, we’re going to sweep those under a very large rug for now.

Expressive eyebrow of the week

Rather than training as a nurse or being actually pretty useful in a convalescent home, Mary’s contribution to the war effort is being amicable with Edith. Violet declares that she has now “seen everything” as the spirit of Mrs Adelman moves on.

Wait, what?

“I wish we had a man” Presented without comment

“If I am not appreciated here, I will seek some other place” Yes. PLEASE.

“What must he do to persuade you he is in love with Lavinia? Open his chest and carve her name on his heart” No, Mary. Matthew merely needs to carve her name with a compass on his forehead to prove that…

undefined

youtube

“I hate the word ‘missing’. It leaves so much room for optimism.” Robert is a bit emotionally weird isn’t he?

“We haven't kissed or anything. I don't think we've shaken hands. I'm not even sure if I like him like that. He says I do, but I'm still not sure.” And lo, another red flag is raised. But because Branson is Downton’s version of a Bolshevik, both Mary and Sybil view this not as a warning about the boy’s behaviour but rather a symbol of his political leanings and such signals are duly ignored.

“He always seems a romantic figure to me” Daisy Robinson writes fanfic. Pass it on.

“Sometimes in war, one can make friendships that aren't quite…appropriate. And can be awkward, you know, later on. I mean, we've all done it.” Once again, Violet, tell us more!

Bates says that he has returned to “Downton at war” which sounds like a lucrative exhibition name if I ever did hear one.

Despite Mary’s most valiant efforts, no musical performance had ever gone out to such an impassive audience until Rosalind came along

undefined

youtube

Matthew of course is used to a much better quality sing-, sorry, song-a-long

undefined

youtube

#Downton #downton abbey #downton rewatch #Mary Crawley #Matthew Crawley #thomas barrow #thomas branson #mrs o'brien #Mrs Patmore #daisy mason #william mason #Cora Crawley #Lady Grantham #lord grantham #john bates #Joseph Molseley #anna bates #Youtube

69 notes · View notes

sorry-i-ship-drarry · 3 years

Text

42. Little things

Prompt used- giving piggy back ride | FLUFF | DOMESTIC | Draco finally asks Harry to move in with him |

" I don't know why do I have to do this " Harry groaned as he kneeled down to let Draco up on his back

" because you lost a bet. You said I couldn't eat 30 pancakes within an hour and I proved you wrong. Now the consequences may or May not have been different but since you lost a bet and you'd do anything I tell you for a week, give me a piggy back ride now "

" I hate you " Harry rolled his eyes, getting hold of Draco as he leaned up on his back

" aw, I love you too honey. Besides today's the last day, so you're going to be off the hook " Draco gave him a witty smile before hooking his arms around Harry's neck and resting his head into his neck, kissing the spot softly.

" well I absolutely had no idea that you had a stomach as that of hagrid " Harry said out of breath as he started climbing up the stairs, as a part of the lost bet

" shut up " he playfully swatted Harry's hand before clinging more closely to harry.

" you have the bags right ?" Harry asked.

" is it bad I levicorpused it ?" Draco asked innocently

" I live in a Muggle building Draco, will you at least try to be subtle about it "

" I am subtle. It's not my problem that you love living in a place where you have to fix your cupboards once every week "

" so it's screw's are a little weak. I got them changed last week " Harry Replied as he Bounced Draco up a little

" well anyways, they still keep falling off. I don't like making breakfast for you when it keeps falling on me almost half the time " Draco sighed into his neck

" Draco, honey, I love you but you have never cooked breakfast for me "

" hey, my lunch is my breakfast "

" and I can surely see that "

" you promised you'd love my body no matter what " Draco rolled his eyes

" I promised to love you, not your unhealthy eating habits " Harry groaned as he started fetching for his keys in his pockets.

" hello Mrs. Adelman " Harry suddenly said as he greeted his neighbour.

" hello, dear. You too Draco. Still keeping him on the bet ?" She asked humourously as he locked her door

" a man's got to do what he got to do " draco shrugged.

With a soft laugh, Mrs. Adelman left them alone

" can't believe she likes you more " Harry said as he kicked open the door.

" well If you'd talk baking with her, I'm sure she'd love you too " Draco replied as he jumped off his back and placed the bags on the kitchen table.

" but I suck at it "

" because you never tried it you idiot "

" you're forgetting, I did try, remember that day before Ron's birthday, I tried to bake a cake for him and it resulted in a disaster " Harry's Voice echoed as he looked into the fridge, fetching some cold water bottles.

" and I wonder who do you love more" Draco humoured as he caught the bottle Harry threw at him

" that's not even a question" Harry said as he walked by Draco into the living room.

" hey, you're staying at my place tonight, isn't it?" Draco asked

Harry threw his head back a little in forgotten promise " I'm so sorry, I can't. I have a bunch of office stuff lined up to complete. I still have that unpacking to do from our trip, Then there's laundry and I stayed at your place for three days just a day before yesterday and the cleaning charm Only works so good "

" but you said you would " Draco raised his shoulder for emphasis

" I know I did love, but I have to complete my work. Here's a thing, why don't you stay over ?"

" you think you're the only one with work huh? I have to read like 20 articles to finish up my study on the potion and write a letter to the ministry and - there's just work "Draco replied as he pushed back a small part of his hair behind his ear

" well then, I guess it's clear. We'll stay at our own places today " Harry waved his hand in a small motion with a shrug

" but I like it when you're over at my place " Draco whined

" I know, I do too babe but you understand the work right " Harry gave him a small smile before he pressed a chaste kiss over his forehead.

Draco hummed in approval, wrapping his arms Around Harry for a moment before letting go.

" I'll see you tomorrow then ?" Harry asked

" mhm, yeah " Draco forced a little smile, kissing harry then letting go of his boyfriend.

Draco was about to walk out of his flat when a strange idea struck his head " unless .."

" unless you help me with my things ?"

" what- no!! I love you but you do your shit in your own "

" you're no fun " Harry rolled his eyes

" i am fun and you know it " Draco glared at him.

" anyways that's besides the point. What if you work at my place ?" Draco suggested

" but then I'd have to do back and forth if I needed something " Harry frowned

" yes,but what if you had all your things there ? And you could even unpack there ?" Draco suggested raising his eyebrows expectedly.

" but then I'd have to back and fourth every morning and then all my things would be there and it would only increase my work " Harry scrunched his face in visible confusion

Draco widened his eyes at the dumbness of the man he chose to love " yes but if all your things would be there ,you wouldn't had to back and forth ?"

" but then-"

" oh for fucks sake, Harry I'm asking you to move on with me you daft idiot "

" but why-"

" you know what, nevermind I asked-"

" I'm only playing with you " Harry laughed pulling Draco closer to him and cupping his face to kiss him " of course I'd move in with you. About time you asked me to "

" well I don't understand why do I have to be the one to take the bigger steps ?" Draco rolled his eyes, his face still squished betweens Harry's hands.

" because my beloved, I take the smaller steps. Like doing your shopping, your Grocery shopping, your clothing shopping with you, reminding you of your letters, reminding you to wish people and you like being the bigger responsible one in this relationship " Harry grinned, admiring his Beautiful of a boyfriend

" well that is true " Draco nodded approvingly " so you will ?"

" of course Draco. I'd love to move in with you and wreck your place and now you can't unmove me " Harry pointed a finger at him in a playful threat

" should've thought of that before " Draco whispered under his breath before smiling at his boyfriend knowing despite everything he loved Harry wholeheartedly till the end of the world.

" now off you go, I'll meet you tomorrow. I've got shit to do " Harry pushed Draco a Little more towards the door.

" wow, I am so excited to move in with you" Draco sarcastically said as he leaned down to kiss Harry over his cheeks.

" I am too, now go and create space for me to move in "

" I can't wait " Draco smiled and then Harry finally pushed him out of the door

" I love you " Harry said

" love you too " and finally Harry shut the door, smiling to himself, excited for the new step in his relationship.

This is a very plain fluff but I hope you liked it

Requests open

Day 41- quidditch Field victories | Day 43 - sitting on other's lap

45 notes · View notes