#alfie solomons x male!oc

[justrainandcoffee]

Against all odds (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) Part 11

Crossover Peaky Blinders - Hunger Games

Masterlist. Parts One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten

Summary: The pregnant girl is the favourite of the Capitol but Coriolanus Snow hates her. No matter what happened with her, the districts will raise against him. That's why a year later, he makes an announcement for the Quarter Quell: "...the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors." And Rose, hearing that, just wants to die.

Warnings: Angst. || One chapter left until the end of the first part.

Words: 3.3K

Rules were rules and if no one volunteered to take her place then, pregnant or not, the girl was part of the 74th games like all the rest of the selected kids.

That was the year of the 25 tributes. Or 24 plus one.

Contrary of what happened with the twins two years ago and the immense expectations around them, in the Capitol the opinions were divided.

On one side were those who demanded a new female tribute from district 8 and on the other side, were those who wanted to see what the pregnant girl was capable of. Ridiculous because the girl couldn’t run or move too fast.

Her name was Aurora Woods. Her mother was a teacher and her father worked in a textile factory. Her boyfriend, and father of the baby, was a boy a year older than her who worked with his uncle as a electrician. Absolutely no one of her family expected the horrible fate of Aurora.

“If we reaped another female tribute, again,” said Snow to one of his advisors, “then next year we’re going to have hundred of young ladies expecting babies because that could mean that they’re safe. And we don’t want that, do we?”

“No, we don’t, Mr. President. But do you think that people will be happy if the girl dies? The baby…”

“If that happens, we need to have a hovercraft prepared just for her with medics on it, ready to save the baby. If we are quick, we can make it. These days we need to check on her and the fetus to be sure that both are healthy. Right? Then we can return the baby to the family. As a treat.”

“People here could pay a fortune for that baby.”

“No this time, Lysander. Not this time. People in districts need to know that we are doing the right thing.”

“And if the girl survives?”

“Make sure she won’t, Lysander. The games have only one winner. Last thing we need is a symbol of hope. We already have that song…”

“I'll take care of that, then. Mr. Snow.”

“Be sure of that.”

-

Rose woke up that morning, screaming. Her dog, CPU, who was sleeping at her side looked at her with concern in her brown eyes.

Since her mother and youngest brother were killed, the nightmares were so frequently that she didn’t have a good night in a while. The only times she found a bit of peace were when Alfie went there once a month.

“I'm fine,” she said to the dog petting her head. But she was talking more to herself than to CPU. “Let’s have a breakfast, sweetie.”

After the last auction, when she paid for seven tributes, Lawrence accepted her idea of living in separate houses. He was still upset for that and he didn’t like CPU. And Rose under any

circumstances was going to leave her pet.

So he was living in their manor and Rose was in the house she bought next to the lake.

Something that didn’t change was that she was still working for Snow.

A part of her brain told her to act like nothing happened, Snow wanted to see with his own eyes  the damage he caused so the proud woman in her refused to show him that he, indeed, destroyed her soul. But a more reasonable side of her, accepted to show Snow how broken she was. If Snow saw her defeated then he would probably think that he won. And Rose needed urgently to divert Snow’s attention from her.

His cold eyes followed her figure across the room while Rose disposed the different suits in front of him, so he could choose his favourite. Her eyebags were noticeable and her hair looked like she just eft the bed, Which, in part, was true.

“Is everything okay, Mrs. Evert?”

“No. but maybe I just need to rest. But, unfortunately, it's something I can’t do right now. Life is unpleasant sometimes.”

“Certainly is.”

Snow knew that she knew that the one to blame for her family’s death it was him. And he also knew, that he discovered her true identity.

“I like the black  one, Mrs. Evert.”

“Great choice, Mr. President.”

Snow looked at her while she handled him the mentioned suit. “I have the one for the victory’s ceremony prepared as well. But…” Rose looked at the floor, “I want to resign.”

“That’s sad, my darling. Any reason behind your decision?”

“I just can’t keep doing this, Mr. President. It’s my decision to keep working only with district 9. I appreciate the opportunity but I'm sure there are plenty of my colleagues who can do a better job than me.”

“No, I don’t think so, Mrs. Evert. That’s why I called you first. Is this about money? I can pay you more, if you need.”

“No it’s not about money. It’s about me. I've been working a lot, I need to slow down a bit.”

“It’s your final decision, Mrs. Evert?” he asked and Rose nodded. “Okay, then. I'll talk with my assistant so she can send you a cheque for both of your last works plus an extra. If you later, change your mind, let me know.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Rose picked up her things and the suits that Snow didn’t choose and left the room. She was about to reach the door when Snow spoke again.

“May the odds be ever in your favour, Rose Coldwell.”

She freeze. Her name pronounced by his lips sent her chills through her spine. It’s not like she didn’t know by now that Snow discovered her real identity, it was the meaning behind it. For the last 18 years since she arrived to the capitol, she worked hard to be Rosebeth. Because that name provided her with the protection she needed to survive that place. Half of her life, she was two women living in one body. Her real self was safe behind Rosebeth and she was able to appear only when she was alone or with Alfie, or in recent times with other victors or Aberama Gold. But now, Rose was exposed in front of the person she wanted to hide the most.

Rose didn’t reply. She walked faster until she reached the car that was waiting for her. And it wasn’t until she could hide in her house that she allowed herself to cry. For her, for her mother and Louis, too. Alfie and Nina were on their way to the Capitol like every year, but for the first time Rose didn’t want to left the security of her house, not even for him. CPU crawled next to her and didn’t left her spot until much later when Rose finally left her bed and went to the kitchen to feed her pet.

.

The parade, the speech that Snow prepared for the occasion wasn’t very different from the previous ones. Snow was an expert in keep everything under control, including his nerves. He knew that the pregnant girl was a timebomb. Whatever the result was, the districts were going to see in her a symbol of hope. The pregnant girl that died. Or the pregnant girl who lived. It didn’t matter.

The 74th didn’t started yet and Snow was ready to announce the 75th hunger games. He knew exactly what to do.

Alfie was the one who told her two days later after their arrival to the Capitol about the stressful environment in the training centre. The mood of the mentors were altered at it was affecting the new tributes.

Everyone was watching Aurora sitting in the corner of the gymnasium. She was observing her future rivals training with weapons, fighting with the trainers or learning about survival skills. Alfie told Rose that Danny Owen, the male mentor of district 8, punched the male mentor from district 1. Rose knew about the mental instability of Danny Owen, also known as Danny Whizz-Bang. Everyone knew about it. The man won the games after Alfie and previous to Tommy Shelby and the friendship between the last who was well-known. But even when all of the mentors were affected by the Games, some cases were worse than the others and Danny was one of them. And probably the fact that a pregnant girl from his district, one that he needed to protect no matter what, didn’t help at all with his mental condition.

After that, the boy from district 1, fought with the boy from 7 accusing him to steal his knives, all while both mentors were still yelling at each other. Tommy grabbed Danny from his arm and both went out while Lucy stayed there with their tributes from 12. All of that could be funny if it wasn’t for the fact that 23 kids were about to die, probably one of them a pregnant girl, and that the adults there suffered from PTSD. So, no one there was laughing.

District 9 lost its tributes during the bloodbath and it wasn’t something unexpected. The careers as always took care of them. Same as they did with the ones of 10 and 7.

The careers were prepared to kill. They grew up thinking it was necessary. Even fun. They were always the favourites of the Capitol. But as the kids they still were, they weren't ready to kill a pregnant girl. And they didn't.

There was an implicit message, unconscious, because even the deadliest tributes didn't dare to touch Aurora. You just simply can't kill a pregnant woman.

So, the gamemakers killed them instead. The next week, every single one of them perished in hands of nature, gamesmakers or other strong tributes, like the boy from 11.

The boy from 2 named Cato was the last tribute alive apart from Aurora, in the dawn of the 10th day. But he was severely injured thanks to the moots. The arrogant tribute that everyone saw during the first days wasn't there anymore. Tenderly, Aurora approached him and sang to him while Cato was bleeding out.

When I was a little girl, my mama said to me "What's your favorite flower, darling? I'll get you the seed" I said "Dandelion, Dandelion," that one's so pretty.

She said, "Child, that one's not a flower, that one's just a weed"

Cato was looking at her with empty eyes, but crying, he was shaking violently so Aurora covered him with one the blankets that the sponsors sent to her. One of the many gifts she received.

"Then my fragile flower turned into a ball of grey

So I took a breath and made a wish and blew them all away."

Cato died before the song was over and the canon sounded when the girl finished to sing.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the victor from the 74th Hunger Games: Aurora Woods."

Although technically, the 74th Hunger Games had two victors. Something that never happened before.

.

That was the last night in the Capitol. But it felt different from the previous years. Rumours about Snow not being happy about Aurora's victory were too loud to ignore. And the new victor, probably unintentionally, said that she wanted to name her baby Desirée or Charles, depending if it was a girl or a boy, in honour of the twins from district 9, because their song about dandelions calmed the unborn baby inside her.

Tommy said to Alfie that Danny was worried about the girl. Danny was afraid of Snow pressuring the girl too much. And Aurora didn't know yet about the horrors that some victors had to live. Being the protégé of the 74th games wasn't free.

Rose had her head on Alfie's shoulder while he was caressing her hair.

"Do you think the girl is in trouble?"

"No more than us, luv," Alfie said "she's part of the flock now. Sadly, her baby too."

"Yes."

She look at Alfie trying to tell him that, with luck, that was going to be the last year of the games. And Aurora's baby, the Nelson's kid and all the children in Panem were going to be free. The first generation to know what freedom was about.

They couldn't talk there. Previous years maybe it was safer, but not anymore.

"Are you okay?" he asked instead.

"Let me cuddle with you and I'll be fine."

"Come here, sweetheart."

Both of them settled in bed and after giving the order, the bedroom turned out the lights. Rose heard his breathing and his quietness, told her that he was lost in his mind.

"I love you, Rosie," Alfie said after a moment.

"I love you more."

She woke up the next morning with one of Alfie's arms around her waist. Rose wasn't the best person on Earth, she knew that, but she also deserved love. Why not? Only she and her husband. Luckily, in one year, that would be true.

How wrong she was.

Things started to get weird when in December Snow suspended the auction. He didn't say anything apart from his not so sincere apologies. It could be hypocritical of Rose to say she wasn't pissed off, same as the rest, because that was the only chance she had to see Alfie.

That meant that for the next months she was alone. And so was he. And Rose had no way to tell him what was happening. Seven months of total incertitude.

The day stipulated for the announcement of the Quarter Quell, was a warm sunday despite it was cloudy.

Aberama and his son were in her house. The Golds where there to ultimate details. Everything was almost ready. In only days everything was about to explode like a bomb.

Only that the first bomb was dropped by Snow himself.

"What do you think it was going to be?" Bonnie asked.

"Probably all boys," guessed his father, "or all girls, as a punishment for Aurora, but I don't know."

The television show Snow, smiling at camera. In his hands he had an envelope, probably with the announcement.

Everything started as always but this time remembering people about the importance of the Quarter Quell.

“…On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminderthat even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

An anguish cry filled the house.

"NOOOO! NOOO! NOOOO! NOOO! SON OF THE BITCH!! HE CAN'T!! HE CAN'T!! HE PROMISED!! THEY CAN'T TOUCH THEM AGAIN! WHYYY!! NOOOO! NOOO!"

Aberama ran to hug his friend who was crying on the floor over her knees.

After those years of friendship he already knew the real relationship between the woman and Alfie Solomons from 9. Aberama didn't say anything, on the floor next to her, he just hugged her because he didn't know what to say. Rose was crying against his arm, while the Golds looked at each other.

That was Snow. Sadistic, psychopath. They knew about it, his men killed Aberama's wife in front of their little son, and god knew how many people and families he destroyed over the years.

"Rose," Aberama finally said, "Alfie needs you. Probably like never before. We're going to help you with this too. If the plan was to destroy this fucker, now we have one reason more to do it. A very solid one."

But Rose didn't hear because she wasn't in that part of Panem. Her mind and soul were with the person she loved the most. With Alfie, in district 9 where the things were much, much worse.

.

"…the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Alfie's mind went blank. For a second he believed the heard wrong. But it was true. He was about to return to the Arena only that this time the other tributes were his friends and Nina, who was like a sister.

Alfie stood up and with his blood boiling, he smashed a mirror with his fist, cutting himself. But he didn't care. Thought the window he saw Nina running away, but he left her alone.

Negative emotions weren't enough to explain his feelings right now. Alfie sat on his couch hide his head in his hands, grabbing his hair.

"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!" He didn't realise that the same anger was filling his eyes with tears.

"…the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Those words were repeating in loop in his head. The mug where he was drinking tea was nothing but little pieces on the floor, although he didn't know when he did that.

The idea of getting back to the Arena was a living nightmare. He wasn't an agile teenager anymore but that wasn't the problem. The real issue was so dark and horrible that he couldn't say it out loud. In survival mode, unconsciously, he made a list in his head about the people he could kill and those who couldn't kill never.

And Rose?

His Rosie and her infinite love for him. Those months without her were a torture, but know he understands why. Probably Snow was behind the fact that he couldn't see her. Alfie knew that he couldn't do anything to comfort her, first because he was thousands of miles away and then because no comfort was enough. For her, he needed to survive… again. He couldn't leave her, he just couldn't.

It was dark outside, when Nina opened the door of his house without knocking. Her disheveled hair and puffy eyes said it all. Alfie pat the side of the sofa where he was sitting and she accepted the invitation.

"Kid."

"We're screwed up, Alfie."

"We are."

"I can't... Alfie, I can't kill you! Why did he…? Why?!"

"Because we are nothing for him. Because he wants to punish the districts about the games last year. Because he's a motherfucker."

"We need to wait for the best, don't we?"

Alfie nodded. Maybe the rebels could help them. Maybe they were going to appear before hed be force to kill again. But Alfie wasn't sure.

That night Nina fell asleep in his couch and he let her. Alfie tucked her in and then went to his own bedroom but he couldn't sleep. It was amazing how much he needed Rose's company right now.

He couldn't leave Rose. Even if that meant to kill his friends.

In the Capitol, Rose was now alone. She ripped off the suits that were going to be for the new tributes and started again but this time knowing that one of them was for Alfie. Those costumes were going to be the most spectacular things she has ever done.

She found herself crying again. Alfie, her Alfie, after the horrors he lived was forced to do it once again.

While she was sewing, the tears in her eyes prevented her to keep doing it. So she left it and let her heart speak. Her sobs broke the silence of the house. First her mother and brother and now the person that changed her life. They were only 22 when they met, when they kissed for the first time during the 60th games, her first time working as stylist. They were 37 now. 15 years years later, they were still together. An unconventional couple, she was legally married to another man but it was Alfie who she called husband. And Snow now, wanted to kill him.

Rose swore to protect him. She did everything she could to prevent that other people could hurt him again. And for what? The only person against who Rose couldn't do anything, was the one who now signed his death sentence.

She couldn't stop thinking that she failed him. She swore to protect Alfie... and she failed.

FINAL

[onbrokenglass]

Hello there!

This blog is mainly for finding roleplays. I roleplay exclusively on Discord (I love making private servers) and am 21+, so minors please DNI. Style-wise I can adapt to my partner, though my favourite way to write is lit for those juicy, introspective moments. NSFW friendly, and I like all sorts of pairs from fxf, mxf, mxm, to any nb pairs. Platonic and found family are fun too!

My messages are always open for people interested in writing with me! I promise I don’t bite, even if some of my muses do.

Under the cut is a list of characters I’ll thread with (who I’d like to play is bolded, if both are bolded I can do either or), though it’s by no means exhaustive. Regardless of how old this post gets, you can message me at any time for those on this list.

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Ships (Canon)

Anakin Skywalker x Obi-Wan Kenobi

Atton Rand x Female Exile

Aviendha x Elayne Trakand

Beatrice x Battler Ushiromiya

Billy Loomis x Stu Macher

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin

Bruce Wayne x Selina Kyle

Carmy Berzatto x Sydney Adamu

Chloe Frazer x Nadine Ross

Dale Cooper x Harry Truman

Daniel Solace x Maura Franklin

Dick Grayson x Wally West

Dracula x Mina Harker

Elend Venture x Vin

Emma Larsimon x Marianne

Enid Sinclair x Wednesday Addams

Erik Lehnsherr x Charles Xavier

Ethan Winters x Karl Heisenberg

Harley Quinn x Poison Ivy

Harry du Bois x Kim Kitsuragi

James Delaney x Lorna Bow

Joe Goldberg x Forty Quinn

Joe Goldberg x Love Quinn

John Constantine x Bruce Wayne

John Constantine x Lucifer

Jon Kent x Damian Wayne (either aged up or still young, but if they’re young absolutely no NSFW)

Jonas Kahnwald x Martha Nielsen (any iterations)

Kaz Brekker x Inej Ghafa

Kaz Brekker x Jesper Fahey

Kyle Hyde x Brian Bradley

Kevin x Ilonka Pawluk

Laurent of Vere x Damen of Akielos

Leon Kennedy x Ada Wong

Leon Kennedy x Chris Redfield

Marius Josipovic x Julia Bowman

Marius Josipovic x Taylor Bowman

Mat Cauthon x Elayne Trakand

Mat Cauthon x Rand al’Thor

Mat Cauthon x Tuon Paendrag

Matt Murdock x Foggy Nelson

Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

Mike Ross x Harvey Specter

Moon Knight (all/any of them) x Layla El-Faouly

Moon Knight (all/any of them) x Peter Parker (adult Peter only)

Nate Fick x Brad Colbert

Nate Jacobs x  Maddy Perez

Nathan Prescott x Max Caulfield

Percy Jackson x Nico di Angelo

Phoenix Wright x Miles Edgeworth

Rob Ryan x Cassie Maddox (book verse)

Roman Godfrey x Peter Rumancek

Ronald Speirs x Carwood Lipton

Sherlock Holmes x John Watson

Stephen Holder x Sarah Linden

Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Thomas Shelby x Alfie Solomons

Tomas Ortega x Marcus Keane

Tyrell Wellick x Elliot Alderson

Wade Wilson x Peter Parker (adult Peter only)

Will Graham x Hannibal Lecter

Wolfgang Bogdanow x Kala Dandekar

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Ships (OC)

Alcina Dimetrescu x OC (female)

Atticus O’Sullivan x OC (any, supernatural or mythological)

Francis York Morgan x OC (any)

Holden Ford x OC (male, serial killer and/or detective)

John Constantine x OC (any)

Jonathan Reid x OC (any)

Peter Pan x OC (male, lost boy - no NSFW, though would feature dark themes as my Peter is inspired by the book The Child Thief. Would love platonic friends or enemies for this as well.)

Vanessa Ives x OC (any)

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Platonic

Carmy Berzatto & Richie Jerimovich

Dexter Morgan & Harrison Morgan

Five Hargreeves & Any Hargreeves Siblings

Hank Anderson & Connor

Jesse Pinkman & Walter White

Joel Miller & Ellie Williams

Kratos & Atreus

Moon Knight System (any against any)

Norman Bates & Dylan Massett

Peter Pan & Hook

[hazelnmae]

Masterlist

All Peaky Blinders, all the time.

Lies Travel Faster Part One (Completed Fic; Tommy x OC)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Lies Travel Faster Part Two (Multi-chapter WIP; Tommy x OC)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Out to Sea Again (Multi-chapter WIP; Tommy x Reader & Alfie x Reader)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Tommy Shelby One Shots/Imagines

His Hands Were Cold (Tommy x Reader)

Why Are You Crying (Tommy x Reader)

You Shouldn’t Have Said That (Tommy x Reader)

Don’t Do This to Me (Tommy x Reader)

Stay Away (Tommy x Reader)

Forget It (Tommy x Alfie)

Road to Recovery (Tommy x Alfie)

Fools Rush In (Tommy x Alfie)

Partnership (Tommy x Male Reader)

My Father’s Son (Tommy & Adult Son)

Margate (Tommy--S5 Spoilers)

Margate: Part Two (Tommy--S5 Spoilers)

Nothing Here is Stolen (Tommy--S5 Spoilers)

Other Characters One Shots/Imagines

Getting Used to the Pain (Arthur x Reader)

You Shouldn’t Have Said That (Arthur x Male Reader)

Smile (Arthur x Male Reader)

I Don’t Want to be Friends (Alfie x Reader)

I Shouldn’t Have Lied (Alfie x Reader)

She’s Delightful (Alfie x Reader)

The Trip (Alfie x Reader)

Delivery (Alfie x Reader)

I’ll Kill Anyone Who Looks at You (Alfie x Male Reader)

I Could Spend Forever with You (Luca x Male Reader)

You’re Trembling (Luca x Male Reader)

Aberama’s Gold (Aberama x Male Reader--S5 Spoilers)

Everyone Forgets about Me (Finn & Reader Friend)

Happy Birthday, Polly Gray (Polly x Aberama--S5 Spoilers)

Wednesday (Barney Thompson--S5 Spoilers)

[interstellargatorskinboots1812]

TAPPED INTO YOUR MIND & SOUL. Alfie Solomons x Shelby Sister OC *NEW FIC COMING SOON*

After so long reading amazing Peaky Blinders fanfics by some super talented Tumblr accounts, I decided to give my own a try. Hopefully you will like it and my constant googling of ‘synonym for_____’ won’t be in vain. Also, has anyone invented some kind of dog cone contraption you can put on you to stop you going down the rabbit hole of the internet when you’re supposed to be writing? Someone should definitely invent something. 

SNEAK PEAK AT CHAPTER ONE (Let me know what you think):

She can feel her patience ebbing, like the whiskey reserves behind the bar. Arabella Shelby grinds her teeth and wills the antagonism feeding her veins, to dissipate. The room drowns in the heavy tones of men as they jeer and chat obnoxiously , each having to shout to be heard over the man behind them. Women screech and laugh uproariously trying desperately to gain some favourable attention from any of the rowdy males. Arabella looks down at her now empty brandy glass , she hates the atmosphere and finds the behaviour encircling her to be stifling. Flinching, she ducks away from the spittle flying from the faceless philanderer, trying and failing to impress her. He was a brave man to say the least, she thought. It was rare anyone dared but look at a Shelby sister. Mores the pity she muses, that each of her brothers are too overloaded with their own egos to notice and intervene with a swipe of their caps. The room stinks of tobacco, a thick and heavy film of smog seems to be connecting one body to another as it clings into the air around them. She should already be out of Birmingham, her bags have been packed since the early hours of this morning and the decision to cut out made long before that., Instead she stays in the newly refurbished Garrison, watching the vainglory antics of a family lacerated by their hunger for being high-handed.  

[mxpseudonym]

Too Many Questions

Pairing: Tommy x OC 

Reader Gender Expression: Male Reader (if you don’t mind straight up characterization)

Length: 4406 words (allegedly)

Warnings: None

A/N: Very self indulgent, it’s just an idea that came to mind. I’m writing a part two because this was getting too long for a tumblr post. Part II is sappy and possibly spicy, we’ll see. 

Edit: It was irking my soul that I split this piece into two parts so I combined them and now Part II doesn’t exist. 

Tommy’s Betrayal 

--

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Tommy's eyes snapped away from their leisurely journey tracing the lines on the man's face to his cool, unyielding brown eyes.  

"Do you keep thinking about her because she was your last chance at salvation?"

The question was sharp and unavoidable. It was inappropriate. It was not a question at all, but a statement disguised in the most palatable way possible. Most importantly, it was telling. Who knew Tommy Shelby better than Jack Brewer? Only Polly Shelby, probably.

If he were honest, Tommy didn't even know how it happened. Jack was young, only just approaching his late twenties, yet he was the puppet master of London Town. His utterly charming but never quite polite disposition only helped unnerve gangsters and politicians alike when he monitored them like chess pieces. Rumors overtook facts, leaving the miraculous path Jack took from being a banker's apprentice to untamed royalty a mystery of folklore proportions. To add to it, Jack's boyish, handsome features made him unassuming.

"Don't mind the priss. He's just bein' a nuisance in the corner," Alfie Solomons grumbled as he led Tommy into the office. The rum runner nodded his head towards the back of his office, revealing a clean-shaven 22-year-old in an expensive suit.

"You're grumpy today, Alfie. You still skipping breakfast?" Jack asked, an airy arrogance to his tone. He didn't look up from the folder he was reading from while Alfie barked a sassy rebuttal, but when Jack did, his eyes locked with Tommy's. Suddenly he was standing and approaching the businessmen with an outstretched hand. His manner was as relaxed as his firm yet comfortable handshake. "Thomas Shelby, how are you? I'm Jack Brewer."

"I'd say nice to meet you, but I don't know yet." Tommy watched Jack's eyes sparkle.

"This has already made my day."

"Do you mind? We have a meeting?" Tommy motioned to Alfie, not bothering with many pleasantries. Jack looked to Alfie, a playful smile on his face.

"Alfie?"

"The kid's my partner anyway. He's a puppeteer and a walking omen if you can believe it," Alfie, in his own way, vouched for the boy.

"Anyone could have predicted the war between the Jews and the Italians. You just have to think," Jack said with a shrug.

"What kind of partners are you?" Tommy asked as he unbuttoned his suit jacket. Jack's eyes flickered down to take in his figure for a moment, not minding for a second that Tommy caught the motion. He even looked him in the eye after.

"Alfie provides security for me, and I help him out with projects here and there. He can let you know which ones."

"Ah, there's a lot of trust between you then." Tommy nodded.

"Not really. We just understand each other. If I were to betray Alfie, I'd lose business, reputation, and all the dark rum I can swallow. If Alfie were to betray me, it would be in vain, and I'd make sure he wouldn't be able to leave more than a glimmer of false hope to his kin when he passes. Right, Alfie?" Jack looked back to Alfie, his smile still reposed and bright.

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard you. Now quit your yapping and get over here, Tommy." Alfie motioned to the chair in front of him. Before he could, a hand reached out and placed itself on Tommy's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. It would have been warm if Jack wasn't seemingly wicked at heart.

"Don't worry, Tommy, I won't interfere. I've got work to do back here."

That was a good four years ago, and now Tommy sat shirtless on a chair in Jack's posh, surprisingly well-used kitchen. Just a moment ago, Tommy was musing about how he felt robbed. It took showing up at half past midnight with a knife wound to see Jack with mused hair, wiry glasses, and a long-sleeved thermal pushed up to his elbows. Now, Tommy was looking at that same boy as if he'd lost his mind.

"You've got a lot of balls, Jack, and you're toeing a fine line. Why would you say that?" Though it was a threat, Tommy in no way thought Jack would be intimidated. Just as he suspected, the young man remained unfazed by his tone as he clumsily splashed iodine on a cotton square.

"You've always wanted more than any man could have. You loved and married an aristocrat who betrayed you because she wanted the clean version of you, and you wanted to be that clean version. I believe we'd call that a pacemaker of sorts, someone to keep you going in a certain direction. Doesn't really work that way when you're the type to risk anything to meet your goal. But it was a good try. Be brave now," Jack said, mumbling the last part as he leaned in and focused on Tommy's arm. It was only a flesh wound, a narrowly missed shanking from a rival gang's guerilla attack turned into a jagged slash on his left bicep.

"You're an insufferable bastard," Tommy said finally.

"And you suffer plenty. Is that why you like me?" Jack's eyes shifted to meet the icy blue ones for a moment, and gave Tommy a cheeky smirk.

"When did I say I liked you?"

Jack thought to the many times they'd spent together in offices, various properties they owned, hotel rooms, and the occasional Bently. He nodded and gave a knowing smile.

"You're right. I'm presumptuous."

Jack could have just about anything he wanted- a spontaneous parade that would block traffic or a shady election alike. But despite their murky history, it was no secret that his favorite carrot on a stick was Tommy Shelby.

Jack would be dead if the tables were turned, and Jack had done what Tommy did to him. An attempt at betrayal that was now years old but still fresh in Tommy's mind by the power of something akin to regret. But Jack was a different breed of man, one that Tommy yet didn't have a grasp on.

"If you hadn't tried to betray me, you wouldn't be the opportunist I thought you were. And that would have been disappointing," said Jack after revealing what he knew back then, which was everything.

He didn't ask Tommy for so much as an apology. Instead, he was here handling Tommy like he was made of glass. Tapping the iodine against thickened skin was almost too gentle. It was unnecessary. Still, Tommy sat quietly and took it because it was past 1 AM now, and he was tired, and he liked it. In the glow of the kitchen lights, Tommy let his shoulders relax and his mind wander.

He always figured he'd end up at Jack's actual apartment. Not a safe house or his third most frequented London flat, but his real home. Thinking back to when Jack first opened the door, Tommy wondered if he'd gotten one over on the man. Jack looked surprised for a moment before rolling his eyes, holding the back door open, and telling Tommy the entry cost was getting his wound dressed. It wasn't every day he could outsmart Jack. Tommy spent a considerable amount of time pinpointing the address he'd been quietly holding onto for the better part of a year. Using it now gave away some leverage, but it was worth it to see this side of Jack, calm with the haze of sleepiness inside an equally quiet house.

Were they opposites? He often felt a pang of dreadful isolation, even when his family was bickering around Arrow house's large dining table. But Jack seemed so content in his home alone, not a soul around. He'd even sent his small staff of three away on holiday for the week to avoid being asked if he wanted tea throughout the day because it drove him up a wall.

Would he like to be in a place like this, Tommy thought? Padding through the house barefoot, a warming drink in hand. The bigness that signified luxury traded in for the gift of holding a conversation with someone in the next room and smell what's cooking from his bed. And with Jack. That would be something.

"That's why you let your guard down, isn't it?" Jack brought Tommy's mind back to the present as he finally secured the bandage. He always did that. "You're not usually this careless. Were you thinking about absolution? Did you see her again?"

"You talk too much. And thinking you're always right's going to get you killed."

"No, it's not. Aren't I right anyway?"

"No."

Jack hummed, looking Tommy over for a moment. He leaned down, one hand grasping Tommy's wrist, letting his fingertips graze over the delicate skin. The other found its place on Tommy's thigh, only the smallest indention made from his fingertips.

Jack leaned into him, centimeters away from allowing their lips to brush. Instead, he inhaled softly. His nose grazed against Tommy's cheek, then his jaw, down his neck to his collarbone then up again. Tommy could feel his heart rate speed up. How could this youngin possibly get a rise out of him like this?

"You don't smell like opium anymore, Tommy. I'm proud of you," Jack spoke softly in his ear and let his thumb stroke the inside of Tommy's wrist. Those for words made Tommy's chest leap. "That means you aren't hallucinating her because you're high. And it seems like a little more than just residual love."

"You shouldn't talk about her that way. You of all people don't have the right."

A warning.

Jack pulled away far enough to see the glossy eyes of the man he let in. It was a strange feeling to be looked at with undeserved tenderness, Tommy thought. Moreso, it was unusual to be cared for.

Are you sure you vetted your new house staff properly?

Did you take precautions at your new factory?

That ciggy's not your lunch, is it?

Whether in meetings, in passing, or on purpose, there were always questions for Tommy. And when Jack felt Tommy exceeded his usual recklessness, he let him know.

And now, Jack was asking more questions. Prying. He tilted his head slightly. A warning from Tommy Shelby wasn't to be taken lightly, no matter who you were. Jack just happened to take the weight in stride.

"I shouldn't talk about Grace like what?" Jack asked.

"Like you know how she was in this world, and how she stays with me now. You don't know anything about it."

"Tommy, you know I'm thankful to her for taking care of you. I was at the wedding, wasn't I? No ill will. This isn't about her anyway; it's about you. Who else do you talk to about her? You just keep it in, don't you?"

"Gonna refer me to another head doctor? Don't waste your breath," Tommy scoffed.

"I'm going to refer you to the best psychiatrists I know as long as we both shall live. I'll make you sick of me."

"Too late."

"Well, I have nothing to lose then."

Jack straightened, reminding Tommy that he was being held only because he missed the feeling as Jack went to the liquor cabinet. He muttered something under his breath as he grabbed two glasses. That's right.

Jack was condescending, smug, even mean at times when it came to business. But when it came to Tommy, the one who sat shirtless in his kitchen with his shoulders relaxed and eyes carefully observing him, Jack had never spoken words too sharp at him. It was unnecessary, Tommy thought, because he could take it. But perhaps it was more of Jack not wanting to treat him in a way that Tommy had to brace himself to take.

"That'll help you sleep," Jack said, placing the drink in his hand. Tommy stood, gulping the small amount of brandy with ease.

"Where am I sleeping?"

"So, you want to stay?" Jack raised an eyebrow. "I can call you a cab."

"Come off it, it's unbecoming to not host a guest in a house like this," Tommy motioned around him. The phrasing made Jack's cheeks warm. Unbecoming, like some sort of debutante being scolded.

"Is the most becoming thing to do offering you my bed?" Jack leaned in close once again, giving Tommy his big eyes full of faux innocence. When he wasn't in his high-end suits or talking quite frankly, Jack had to capacity to look adorable.

"Aren't you being presumptuous?" Tommy asked. Of all the things he could have said, Tommy didn't expect that to be the one that made Jack reel back like he'd been hit. The young man moved to lean against the wall and pointed to the stairs.

"I have several guest rooms. I don't know if the beds are turned down or what that even means, but they're there."  

It was late, Tommy remembered, and Jack wasn't energized enough to keep the banter going on. Not like this. Jack took a sip of his drink and waited for Tommy. He was always waiting for Tommy.

"Is your bed turned down?" Tommy asked.

"I just told you I don't know what that means," Jack said, setting down his glass then stretching. He let his arms rest above his head. The motion revealed a toned stomach and just how low on the hips Jack's cotton bottoms actually hung.

"So you'll have to come to check for yourself, old man."

At nearly 2 AM, the only thing either of them had the energy to do was sleep. Any other revelations about Jack would have to wait until morning, and Tommy wasn't disappointed.

As he moved Jack's head from his chest and arm from around his waist, Tommy found that Jack was dead to the world when asleep. He was also prepared no matter what, evident by the new toothbrush and folded note sitting in an empty glass on the bathroom counter. The message read, 'Tommy, suit in closet, red hanger.' Did Jack know he'd wake up before him? Tommy scoffed but dressed anyway.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" Jack said through a yawn as he stumbled into the dining room at noon, where Tommy was sitting with a book and a coffee cup.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"It's fine. Taking all that smoke in your lungs is probably going to kill you," Jack said, motioning to the cigarette that was still smoking in the small ashtray on the table while he passed through to the kitchen.

"Taking its time, isn't it?"

"Don't say that. You're the only one making this fun."

"What?"

"This whole race to the top we've got going on in this city. Or the world, I guess."

"You don't have a legacy you want to leave behind when you grow old," Tommy asked. A moment later, Jack was standing in front of him with two water glasses and no willingness to accept no as an answer when he encouraged Tommy to drink.

"I'm not growing old. Someone'll get wise and kill me off before that."

Jack was as confident about this as everything else he said. He was more cynical than Tommy thought. He thought back to the one time he asked the man about the war and if he fought. Jack's answer always intrigued Tommy. Jack averted his gaze, and before quickly changing the subject, he said, "Just a bit." Whatever happened, Tommy figured it changed him.

Jack sat and made no mention of how the table's head was always his place, but Tommy could have it for now. He pulled a pastry from a dish sitting in the middle of the table and placed it in his mouth to free his hands. One picked up the paper that had clearly been read through, and one shamelessly commandeered Tommy's coffee cup. A bite of the buttery crust washed down by the coffee that made him grimace gave Jack the energy to try and read the paper. Tommy watched as the young man shuffled the pages, becoming more disgruntled by the minute.

"Why did you do this?" He asked Tommy, exasperated as he tried to find which loose insert continued the front-page story. Once he gathered it, he folded it together correctly and took a large bite of his pastry, only to be interrupted. Tommy tried to smother his growing smile and laugh to no avail. "What?"

"You're a brat."

Jack's eyes widened. He blinked for a moment, both because he never expected Tommy of all people to call him that and because he'd never seen the gangster laugh so heartily before. His mouth still full, Jack asked to clarify,

"A brat?"

"Through and through. Fussy from the moment you woke up," Tommy chuckled again. Heat crept up Jack's neck and face, but he let himself huff in amusement.

"I'm just particular."

It was a surprisingly eventful news week- horse races fixed to perfection and hollow speeches from political figures made to the public. And yet Jack found himself more interested in the unchanging man before him. He rested his chin in his palm and took Tommy in.

It was true that he hadn't expected Tommy to show up on his doorstep. But, if Tommy hadn't found his address by now, he would have been disappointed. Showing up like he did, however... Well, Jack had wanted to invite him on his own accord.

The whole thing with the Changrettas and ultimately Solomons was finally over, and Tommy could come back to him in London. They'd planned to meet on Tuesday, something about golf. Yet here, Tommy was instead, being somewhat of a nuisance. He hadn't asked if he could smoke in the house and didn't ask where the coffee was before he made. Not to mention, he handled his grouchiness with a bite of his own. A smile reached Jack's eyes and radiated through his body- this was an excellent second choice. It was like Tommy belonged there.

Almost.

"Try not to look so enamored; it's off-putting," Tommy spoke, not looking up from his book on... political influence? Something happened...

Jack reached out and placed a hand on Tommy's neck. His fingers moved up to feel the texture of his ridiculous hair cut, finally earning a glance. Jack could only imagine what Tommy would look like if he actually grew it out. The newspaper was an afterthought as Jack leaned over from his chair and pressed his lips against Tommy's. Soft, chapped, and chaste, but just what he needed all the same.

"Do I put you off?"

"All the time."

"Why are you wearing this?" Jack's hand moved to the collar of Tommy's shirt. Well, the shirt he got Tommy. The suit itself was expensive; a Belgian tailor with magic hands met Jack's requirements from the light gray color to the silver cufflinks.

"Didn't you tell me to?"

"Mm, I did. But if you're staying, then I'm just going to get you out of it."

"So straightforward."

"Says the man whose means of seduction involve alcohol, white lies about petrol, and some variation of 'let's fuck.'"

"Didn't say it was a bad thing."

"I'm making more coffee."

Jack had only placed his (formerly Tommy's) mug on the counter when the well-dressed man caged him in from behind.

"Are you not going to keep your promise?"

By nature, Jack was fearless in a way that surprised Tommy. If one believes death to be an inevitable luxury, there isn't a situation that could faze them much. In Jack's mind, either the consequence was easy, i.e., death, or it was difficult but something he'd get over at some point. Either outcome led the young man to do precisely what he wanted always.

The first time they kissed, they stood in Jack's office. Tommy was leaned against his desk, and Jack wasn't shy about leaning into him. Now in Jack's kitchen, he held that same energy. Turning in Tommy's arms, Jack wasted no time pressing their lips together again, with the older man meeting him halfway.

Tommy wasn't exactly sure how Jack managed. His kisses were dangerous- straightforward yet teasing, intense yet languid. It was helped only by the fact that they fit well together. Hands cupped a young man's face as a bold pajama-clad thigh moved between legs to press against the front of trousers. Thoughts of money were pushed aside as an expensive waistcoat was clenched between eager fingers, now a simple tool with a single-use: making them closer.

Even when he was dangerously close to light-headed, Jack considered this a worthy moment to push himself. The short breaths passed between kisses would have to suffice for now. For all Tommy called Jack bold, the young man couldn't help but let out a chuckle at how expertly dominant Tommy could be. A hand pressed to the small of his back, moving Jack and his eager thigh that brushed against Tommy's trousers closer while kissing down his neck.

"Enough," Jack breathed. Tommy looked up, unsure what he meant until Jack pushed their lips against each other again and let his hands rest on Tommy's belt. "Do you want a bed or a couch? Because I could have you right now, and I will if we go further."

The couch was closer.

Tommy's ability to concentrate was dwindling with each undone button. Open-mouthed kisses landed on every inch of available skin, making it a battle of moving fast enough to continue and not getting overwhelmed by so much contact after being touch starved. Maybe that was Jack's strategy. Sharp pain sinking into his shoulder made Tommy wince. It was a reminder that he'd been gone for a while. It was illogical and unnecessary to aim for exclusivity in whatever they called their relationship. Surprisingly, that's what made it all the more desperate.

"If I have a craving for Tommy Shelby, it doesn't matter who's around."

Jack ran a tongue over the indents of his canines and dragged it up his neck to stop and bite Tommy's earlobe.

"Hurry up," he breathed his command.

xx

"Did something happen?"

"When?"

"I don't know." Jack shrugged and tapped his cheek. Irritatingly patient, he was. They were in front of the fireplace in the den now, a fur blanket draped over them both as they laid in their underwear.  Early afternoon sun poured through the windows, illuminating the swirling smoke that left Tommy's lips.

"Then why ask?"

"Because I could know, but I always like to give you a chance to tell me voluntarily. It makes me feel less like you'd be lying to me every day if you could," Jack said, always casual, before stealing Tommy's cigarette. "Go ahead."

It wasn't that Tommy was interested in lying to the man all the time. In this instance, it was more that this was a problem Tommy got himself into and had to get himself out of. A problem that Jack had no doubt predicted like he predicted everything. Tommy thought back to his business with the Russians. Jack's first time in the Shelby Company Ltd. offices and Tommy's first time seeing the young man's face drop happened concurrently.

"Tommy," Jack almost sang his name, which only added to the tension. Tommy was a child about to be scolded for doing something he shouldn't have. "Am I too boring for you, Tommy? You had to go to the Russians?"

"A pest, always. Not boring though," Tommy said as he cleared his throat. He went to light his cigarette, giving it more concentration than required. Looking up, Tommy almost paused at the expression in Jack's eyes. There was no smile, genuine or otherwise, only the man he'd heard the haunting rumors about. What was the look he was getting? Annoyance? Disbelief? Frustration?

Instead of speaking on whatever it was, Jack placed a hand over his mouth and looked away. He swore under his breath and mumbled a few words before looking back. Maybe Jack should have told Tommy he was stupid and that the plan wasn't worth it. Doing something like this would be the nail in the coffin for any hopes of an utterly above-board business. But Jack, for once, chose his battle.

"That Tatiana Petrovna knows everything about you. The details of you being a widow, your brand of tobacco, the way you like to sin," Jack said instead. "And don't leave any weapons around. She's crazy."

Jack was good at being one step ahead or quickly recognizing when he wasn't and course correcting. But, though Tommy knew Jack wasn't a stranger to killing a man point-blank, there was still a grit that he was missing. Too eloquent and methodical to handle the Italians from New York. So he told Jack everything and how he was victorious using his Romani prowess. Jack wasn't the only strong one.

"Ah, so you're here because Polly threatened to lock you out of the safes again if you didn't take a holiday," Jack mused. That was his real question from earlier. Why the hell are you still here?

"Something like that." Tommy nodded.

"What are you going to do when you start shaking again? And hearing things?" Jack asked, offering the cigarette to its original owner.

"I'll deal with it if it happens, and it might. Nothing gin can't fix," Tommy said. He reached for the cigarette, only for it to be snatched away and tossed into the flames.

"That was a test. You failed." Jack rolled to his side, propping himself up on his forearm.

"I'm not sick, hm? I've shut the door on the war. I'm not Arthur. I can manage." Tommy could feel himself warming with anger, no, defensiveness at the idea that everything he did was to be questioned.

"I'm not letting you run around here like a dog catching rabies."

"You don't have a say in as much as you think you do," Tommy reminded him. Jack smiled in response, his eyes lightening up. He shifted his fingers then brought them to Tommy's temple in the shape of a gun.

"Go to a doctor, or I'll kill you myself. Bang."

He made a shooting motion then pulled his hand away, blowing imaginary smoke from his fingers. Tommy wondered if Jack ever made jokes. No matter his tone of voice, he always said what he meant and meant what he said. There was no getting out of this.

"What, are you my father now?

"Would you like that?"

"Christ,"

"Not quite him, either."

--

Tommy Tag: @soleil-dor;  @amysteryspot​; @captivatedbycillianmurphy

Peaky Blinders Tag List: @lilymurphy03

[knives-out20]

Meeting Of The Minds

I saw this TikTok trend where it was like "how would your OC react to themselves before trauma?" So I felt like writing it since none of my OC'S are drawn, they're written. Just scroll around to the OC's you guys know.

These will all be MAIN OC'S (but not ALL my main OC's), no side characters like The Buddies+Ramon+MJ, Grimm+Cececlio, any IB OC that isn't Joshua, etc. I will also only do the OC's I have at least written one oneshot/chapter draft for, not any of the ones whose works I haven't started.

Enjoy!

Warnings: The trauma my OC's suffered includes physical abuse, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, rape, death of a loved one/of loved ones, human experimentation, attempted murder, religious trauma, undiagnosed mental illnesses/disorders,

OC's included: Bobby Brightside, Captain Riley Blackwell, Karmel Rosenstein, Lieutenant Joshua Margolis, Maxwell Shelby, Cleophus Elton, Ambrósio Fargas, Robin Fifer, Lord Camilo Van Hellsing,

Robert Duncan Brightside aka Bobby Brightside

Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)

Bobby looked down at the child in front of him. The child's hair was shorter, his brown eyes wide and unknowing. Bobby cracked a smile, eyeing the bandage on the kid's chin. "Hey, kid."

Younger Bobby, who still went by Robert, looked back up at him. He's probably four years old, if not then on the verge of turning four. "Hi, mister." Robert answered, He was wearing blue shorts and a blue shirt with a police car on it; Bobby's favourite shirt at the time.

Bobby crouched down to get closer to Robert's height. He slowly reached his hand over to cup Robert's cheek, gulping. "You didn't flinch."

"No...Why would I? You're just tryna touch me." Robert giggled.

Bobby smiled sadly, eyebrows furrowed. "Yea...I'm not gonna do anything t'ya." He agreed. "If anyone touches you in a way that's not soft like this...It's not because of anything you did." He said. "It'll never be your fault."

Robert tilted his head, confused.

Bobby sighed, and decided to change the topic. "Got any friends?"

"Uh-huh!" Robert nodded, excited. "My best friend's name is Monte, have you heard of him?"

Bobby glanced up at the sky, licking his lips. "The name rings a bell, it's unique, Listen- hold onto Monte. Play nice with him, nicer than when you first met him, okay?" He told. "You'll need him in your life. For...a lot of times, 'n' a lot of reasons. Be his best friend like he is yours, okay? And you'll be buddies forever!"

"Okay!" Robert giggled. "I like Monte, a lot."

Bobby looked down at the cop car on Robert's shirt. "Nice shirt." He forced out the compliment, knowing he didn't mean it. Bobby remembers the day he burned that shirt, and got rid of his old police car toys.

"Thanks, mister, my dad got it for me. He said cops are really cool and we should like them!" Robert explained.

"Mhm." Bobby nodded. "Another thing- don't let anyone tell you what to do, say, or think. You are your own person, you like what you like, got it?"

"Yes sir!" Robert nodded.

Bobby didn't really know what else to say.

"Y'know...You kinda look like me!" Robert grinned at what he thought was a funny coincidence. "But- But older, and cooler."

Bobby chuckled, "yea, I guess I do." He shrugged.

"Are you married?" Robert pointed at Bobby's wedding ring.

Bobby smiled down at it. "Yea. Someday, you will be. Trust me."

"Really? To who?"

Bobby gulped thickly, sniffling and tilting his head up. "The...The best person in the whole world." He answered. "The funniest, nicest person you'll ever meet. You won't believe they're real, but they are, kid. They're what makes you, well, you. Just wait a while, you don't meet hi- uh, them, for a while." Bobby smiled, closing his eyes.

Robert gasped, "wow! I get that lucky, huh?" He squealed, jumping up and down.

"Yea, but don't tell anyone." Bobby playfully shushed him, looking back down at Robert and winking. He pat Robert's hair, not really knowing what else to say. Bobby got down on both knees, and outstretched his arms for a hug; Robert wasted no time in accepting the invitation, and hugging him. "You're gonna go far, kid."

Riley Blackwell

Pirates Of The Caribbean (2003-2017)

Riley looked down in front of him.

A young Riley stared back up at him with piercing blue eyes. No older than five years old, maybe six. "You- You look like me."

"What a coincidence, lad, because you look like me."

Little Riley smiled a bit when he noticed older Riley's defining features; a long coat, his many rings, his sword and his dagger poking out from under his coat. "You look like a pirate!"

Riley exhaled slowly through his nose. "I am a pirate, mate. Through and through."

"I've always wanted to become a bloody pirate, and I- I- I know I'll be one, one day." The younger of the two gushed, clapping his hands excitedly. "My older cousin Oscar told me I'd make a super pirate, too."

Riley glanced at his claddagh ring, frowning.

"Are you okay, sir-?" Riley asked his older self, head tilted a bit to the side.

Hasn't Riley heard that before. He balled his left hand into a fist, nodding silently. Riley looked back over at his younger self, and realized something. He, talking to an unknowing younger-him, has the power to tell younger-him to do anything and everything he wants.

Riley can tell this younger-him to give up any plans of a pirate life if he wanted to. If he did, he'd never have his dad try to hang him, and thus never run away and meet Jack and go through everything Jack's made him go through (including the deep depression he fell into after Jack got taken to Davy Jones' Locker). All the pain and anger that was added onto Riley's life after he became a pirate, he could avoid with a few little wise words down to the younger-him he's staring down at. What would a non-pirate life even look like for Riley? Bound to his wealth forever, stuck in Ireland, maybe taking up being a blacksmith like Oscar?

Would he rather that over the never-ending ups and downs of sailing the seas, getting in sword fights, all the added traumatic experiences? All the floods of emotions over the years? Leave Jack be? Could he be able to avoid his pirate paranoia, all the excess anger, intrusive thoughts, maybe everything he thinks is wrong with him?

Whatever it could be, that's up for him to change his fate.

Riley scratched his jaw. "You wanna be a pirate, eh, lad?" He tested the waters, trying to think through what he was going to say. "You dream about it, even?"

"Uh-huh, more than anything! I'd be bloody amazing!" Riley pumped his little fist in the air, looking determined.

"Well, let me bloody tell you something, lad..." Riley got down on one knee, eyebrows raised in an expectant way, to show that he wanted the child to listen. He reached out hesitantly, as if expecting the younger-him to flinch away.

Little Riley stood still.

Riley took a deep breath, putting his hand on little Riley's shoulder.

"Are you gonna say anything, sir-?"

Riley scoffed, "yea, just..." His gaze darted around the ground. Riley knew what he had to do. He locked eyes with the kid that was ready to listen to whatever wise words he had to offer.

Little Riley put his small hand over Riley's, not to take it off his shoulder but just to comfort him, or something along those lines.

"Follow that dream, mate." Riley tore his gaze from his wedding ring to the ground, knowing that this decision was made more for his own good than it was for Jack's sake. He's saying this because a pirate is what Riley is, what he always has been and always will be. "Become a pirate. It's what you are."

"My father tells me I'm a Blackwell." Riley frowned up at, well, himself.

"You won't be one forever, trust me." Riley nodded, pulling his hand away and standing up. "Even if it feels like you will, you bloody won't. Understood?"

Riley squinted up at himself, pointing up at the scar around his neck. "What happened to your neck?"

Riley instinctively unfolded the collar of his black coat, in attempt to hide it. He pursed his lips, pinching the collar between his fingers. "...Don't worry about it. The important thing is, lad, I survived it. I'm a survivor, and this is proof." Riley replied.

"You must be really strong!"

"Yea, that's what my beloved tells me." Riley chuckled dryly. "Strong, a survivor, dashingly handsome- which in turn makes you handsome, seeing as we bear a resemblance to one another."

Riley grinned.

"I just wish I could take it off, or get rid of it...Avoid what made this happen to me." Riley traced his finger along the scar. "But it happened, and it's important that it happened. A lot of things happen for a reason, funnily enough." He ran a hand through his hair in thought. "Enough about that- become a pirate, follow that dream. And...And hang around Oscar more often, okay? As much as you can."

Riley nodded obediently.

"Talk to him more often, learn more from him. Appreciate him more." Riley listed off, playing with his claddagh ring. "Very few people are like he is in the outside world. Nice, and funny, and filled with any human decency. When they come by- and they will come by- grab them and never let go."

Riley was confused, but didn't ask questions. He just wondered if he'll have time to go visit Oscar before his bedtime.

Riley looked down at his younger self, and all he could think of was one thing: naïve. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, teeth clenched.

"Sir?"

"What now?" Riley opened his eyes back up. His blue eyes were more dull, and tired. A mysterious history behind them, and much less hope than this younger Riley had. Almost dead inside, almost.

"Thank you for talking to me. Nobody really ever talks to me except for Oscar, and if Oscar doesn't talk to me then it's the people who work in my house. Think i'll make a lot of friends as a pirate?"

"'Friends.'" Riley mocked. "No matter what other pirates you meet, only one of them will matter. Only one of them will be your best friend, maybe more. He's all you need, everyone else you'll meet will never be as important as him."

Riley nodded, eating the words up.

"You'll enjoy being a pirate nonetheless, though. It gets hard at times, sometimes maybe you'll regret it, you'll want to go back, you'll want so many other bloody f- uh, things. But in the end, you'll stay where you are. You'll stay who you are- a pirate. And it'll be the best thing that's ever happened to you."

Riley beamed, clearly excited. He reached a hand up, holding up his pinkie finger.

Riley crossed his pinkie around younger-Riley's pinkie, like the pinkie promises he used to do with Oscar, and frequently does with Jack.

Satisfied, little Riley pulled his hand away, the claddagh ring feeling cool against his skin in a weirdly comforting way.

Riley pat younger-him's cheek, pulling his hand away quickly to refrain from going in to hug him. He put his hands into the pockets of his coat, staring straight ahead.

Karmel Jordell Rosenstein aka Karmel Rosenstein

X-Men Alternate Timeline (2011-2019)

Karmel fixed his tie, one of the ones that belonged to his dad.

"My father has a tie like that."

"Does he?" Karamel arched a brow, trailing his fingers down his suspenders. "He has a nice taste in ties, then."

"I think they look weird." Younger Karmel admitted, tapping the band-aid on his nose. "I'd never wear them."

Karmel fought back a grin. "What ties do you wear, then?"

"I don't wear ties that much. I'm a teenager, I gotta wear teenage things. But I need ties because we do fancy things a lot." Younger Karmel rubbed the back of his neck. "If I do, it- it's blue or black. Red ones are ugly, and patterned ones are what my father wears." He explained. "...You look better than he does, though."

"Thank you...How close are you to your dad?"

"Pretty close. Him and my mother aren't mean to me, which is good, they're not supposed to be. My mother makes really good challah, and my father taught me how to ride horses 'n' stuff."

"Important traits." Karmel smirked. "Hey, you should, uh...Get your mom to teach you how to make challah like her. Could come in handy, maybe."

"It's just bread." Young Karmel hummed, "maybe, though. Then I won't need to overwork the house servants."

"That's the spirit. You could even grab someone with those skills."

"What? Like a girl?"

Karmel held back a laugh, "yea."

Karmel eyed the older-him that he didn't know was him. "I like your jacket, where'd you get it from?"

"Ah, thanks, but..." Karmel sucked his teeth, tugging his leather jacket. "I can't remember where I got it from, actually. Sorry."

"No worries, mister."

"How old are you, kid?"

"I'm thirteen, I turned thirteen recently."

Karmel both discovered his powers and lost his parents at 13, so he knew how much this younger-him was in for. "Thirteens a tough year."

"So I've been told."

"You'll get through, though, like I did. Weird things happen at thirteen, but just wait for adulthood." Karmel whistled lowly.

"What're you? Occupation-wise?"

"A librarian...ish. I don't need to, though. I got stacks, y'know?" Karmel rubbed his thumb against his pointer and middle finger to gesture at the fact that Karmel still has the Rosenstein money.

"What's so hard about being a librarian?"

"Nothing, it's just...Adulthood. I won't give you the nitty-gritty details, but, uh, taxes 'n' stuff." Karmel's lips formed a line. "What do you wanna be, kid?"

Little Karmel hummed in thought. "Dunno. I wanna open a winery...Rosenstein Winery, or something like that. I'll be a goddamn tycoon!"

Karmel smiled slightly; he forgot all about that old dream of opening up a winery or distillery of the sort. At least he grew up into a gin-drinking alcoholic. "Earns hard cash, eh?"

"My family's rich, I wouldn't need it either way."

Karmel nodded along. "Speaking of gals..."

"Yea?"

"Y'like blondes?" Karmel asked.

"Huh?"

"Blondes won't do you any good, lemme tell you that. Steer..." Karmel cleared his throat. "Steer clear of 'em when you can."

"O...Kay." The younger Karmel slowly nodded. "Any other hair colours I should be wary about?"

"Uh....blue-haired boys are your friends."

"Blue hair? People can have blue hair? You're kidding me."

"Apparently, man. Once in a lifetime stuff, if you get someone with blue hair, keep him." Karmel ran a hand through his hair, chuckling softly. "Blond boys are okay, though."

"You only saying that 'cause we're kinda blond?"

"Maybe." Karmel teased.

"...I'll allow it." The two shared a laugh.

Karmel indulged in the sound of his younger laugh, knowing that that could be one of the last times he'd laugh for years to come. He stopped laughing himself, to take it in.

Joshua Solomon Tobias Margolis aka Joshua Margolis

Inglourious Basterds (2009)

Joshua looked down at himself. "Hey, there."

"Hi!" Younger him greeted, at 16 years old. His hair was lighter and there was no part dangling over the side of his forehead. Joshua's fathers friend was to lay his musty hands on Joshua only one year later, and obviously he had time before he got into military life with Aldo.

"Where're your parents?"

"Talking to my- my- my fathers friend, right now."

"D-Do- Do you like this friend?"

"I- I- I want to, but, um..." Little Joshua grumbled in an uncomfortable manner. "I don't- I don't know, I just can't bring myself to. My bo- uh, my- my best friend, Aldo, said I don't need to force myself to like him."

"Really? My, uh, my boyfriend would agree with him." Joshua smiled down at his younger self, who broke out into a comfortable grin. "If- If someone makes you uncomfortable, or if they're mean, and there's no point in trying to change them, you don't need to, uh, like 'em. It's really that easy, y'know?"

"Yea, but..."

"Yea, I- I know." Joshua nodded. "You'll outgrow that feeling one- one day, trust me. One thing you'll soon understand, and that I'll tell you now so you get a head start, is that, uh...If anyone ever is mean to you, kid, or- or doesn't show you human decency, it isn't your fault. It will never be your fault. They- They- They have the ability to treat you like how you deserve to be treated-"

"Which is?"

"With kindness, and respect. Like a person." Joshua firmly answered. "Nothing inappropriate that could ever happen to you would ever be your fault, got it? You'll never kick-start anything, you'll know this to be true."

"Why are you telling me all this, sir?"

Joshua inhaled sharply. "Dunno...F-Felt like, uh, felt like kids need to be told this more often. I know I- I'd wanted to have, um, heard it when I was around your age." He stammered out, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your little friend, Aldo...He treating you well?"

"Um, boyfriend, actually." The younger Joshua corrected him. "And- And yea, he is. He's so charming!"

"I can only imagine." Joshua nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"He lets me read poetry to him, even the ones I've written- I'll become a poet one day, you know."

"You'll make a, uhm, a fine poet, I imagine."

"Thank you, truly." Joshua paused. "I really do adore Aldo, I- I do. It'd be so lonely without him, sitting in my orchard by myself, uhh, reading by myself...He's quite fun, he- he really is."

"That's good, it's good you have a protective figure like- like that in, uh, in your life. Almost everyone deserves someone there with them, like that. Keep him around."

Maxwell David Shelby aka Maxwell 'Max' Shelby

Peaky Blinders (2013-present)

Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows.

A younger Maxwell looked back at him, hair shorter and eyes wider. This was definitely him sometime before Finn was born. Maxwell's face was rounder, he was obviously shorter and also not a Peaky Blinder yet. He was yet to go through the highs and lows of being a Peaky Blinder, the ups and downs of a difficult romance with Alfie Solomons.

Maxwell squeezed his eyes shut, picturing Alfie in his head with the blind, blue eye and the weird scarring around it. He opened his eyes back up, taking a deep breath. "How are you?"

Maxie shrugged. "Well, I suppose. Mum and dad said we're getting a new sibling soon, so I'm super excited!"

"New siblings are quite exciting, I agree."

"Tommy and Arthur want it to be a boy...Well, everyone except Ada wants it to be a boy."

Maxwell laughed. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen-ish."

"Ah, yes. Exciting time in a man's life."

"You think I'm a man?"

"Would you rather be referred to as a boy?"

Maxie thought for a moment. "...You're right." He nodded. "Even still, I'm not allowed in the Peaky Blinders yet." Maxie frowned.

"Wait for a few more years, mate. You're still fifteen." Maxwell reminded himself. "Don't rush yourself to grow up."

"But when I grow up, I can get myself out there, and meet cute-...cute girls."

"Cute boys."

"I-" Maxie paused, a weight lifting off his shoulders. "...Yea. Cute boys. Do you-?"

Maxwell nodded.

"Have you-?"

"Yes." Maxwell nodded again. "Probably everything you're thinking of, yes."

"Same boy, or-?" Maxie squinted.

"I'm not a male prostitute, mate" Maxwell laughed. "Yes, all the same man. I haven't seen him in a while, but...I'm convinced to get back into contact with him soon." He told.

"What's he like?"

"He's..." Maxwell exhaled by blowing out through his mouth. "He's funny. He's real funny, in a naturally-goofy manner, but sometimes he's funny in situations where I can's laugh in. He's stressful, too, because of some of the things he does. But I can't help but..." He shrugged.

"I understand. It's a lot, right?" Maxie asked.

Maxwell nodded.

"Everything's always a lot." Maxie hummed. "It's always going to be a lot."

"Sometimes it'll be less."

"Either way, I hope I meet a boy who makes it...um...Less, I suppose?" Maxie suggested.

Maxwell inhaled sharply. "Yea, I hope so too." He half-smiled. "What else do you hope for?"

"I hope I find time to read more books..." Maxie pondered. "I hope my family still loves me when they find out I don't like girls."

"Oh, they will." Maxwell nodded. "Some people probably won't, but your family will and that's what matters."

Maxie held a wide smile on his lips, hope in his eyes. "Really? You think so?"

"I know so. Your family definitely loves you very much, a lot of them mean well...It'll just be hard to see it sometimes. Trust me, mate." Maxwell advised.

Maxie nodded, "I suppose so...And you're extremely sure?"

Maxwell counted the rings on his fingers. "Positively."

Cleophus 'Cleo' Elton

Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber Of Fleet Street (2007)

Cleophus sat down cross-legged in front of 4-year-old Cleo, the 4-year-old he was before Sweeney- previously Benjamin- got wrongly taken away to jail in Australia. The child he was before his father got arrested, and way before his mother died. Just the child he was.

"Are you me?" The kid asked. "You look like me."

"Would- Would you be mad if I was?" Cleophus smiled sheepishly.

Cleo tilted his head. "...No, if you're me I'm glad you don't look ugly."

Cleophus laughed a bit. "Charmed, I am, really. How old are you- we?"

"I'm four, how old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Wow!" Cleo's jaw dropped. "I'm almost a whole adult!"

"Yea, almost, sure. Yes." Cleophus' lips twitched. "Technically, I am an adult. Don't let the 'teen' throw you off, don't let it."

Cleo nodded simply. "Am I married?"

Cleophus scoffed. "Slow down, mate. I'm nineteen. I would drink if I could, I'm not- I'm not out here proposing to every pretty person I see, no I'm not."

"How's mum and dad?"

Cleophus' face drooped. "...Mum's happy, I'd like to think. Dad..." He shrugged. "It's up to you."

Cleo decided to not ask questions. "Are you happy?"

Cleophus' head swayed from side to side. "I'm handsome, I can sing, I have money to my- my name...What more could I really need, what could I need?"

"I dunno," Cleo shrugged. "How's Lucy? And her parents?"

"Lucy's happy, most definitely happy with a friend of mine. Her mother...She..." Cleophus scratched at his neck, then tensed the muscles in his hand to stop. "I wouldn't ask about that just yet."

"You're not answering a lot of questions, sir."

"I'd rather you wait to find out the answers, I do," Cleophus sent him an apologetic look. "You still have Mr. Barker, though. And all his- his fantastical little stories that he tells you. You're safe with him."

"That's weird..." Cleo furrowed his eyebrows.

Cleophus shrugged. "Things get weird, they do. But ultimately, you'll be fine, you really will. What matters is I'll be okay in the end, meaning you will, too."

"I will?"

"Yes." Cleophus nodded. "I can't answer everything to you right now, and- and I'm sorry, I am. But...But I mean well by not telling you. You can trust yourself, can't you?"

Cleo hesitated. "Okay!" He nodded, giggling.

Cleophus sighed in relief. He smiled softly at younger-him, hoping his words would hold meaning. Cleophus outstretched his arms, Cleo understanding immediately and hugging him. He hugged- well, himself- a smile still on his face, but it just got wider.

Ambrósio 'Ambrose' Fargas

The Ninth Gate (1999)

Ambrósio buttoned up his red shirt, looking down at teenage him.

"Are you me?" Younger Ambrósio asked, with a baby-face and a single caramel streak in his quiff hair. He was more frequently called Chico at this time.

"You think?" Ambrósio asked sarcastically.

Chico rolled his eyes. "At least I'm still hot."

"You get hotter."

"With what?"

"With age, I don't know." Ambrósio shrugged.

"You still like the music I like?"

"Even more-so, it's part of all you got goin' for you right now."

"Why, what happened?"

"Hey, man, woah." Ambrósio raised his hands, gesturing for Chico to calm down. "Slow your roll, Chico. I'm not giving you all the goddamn deets. You gotta let things happen, you gotta let them affect you 'n' change you, because at the end of the day? You're still kicking. Your music is still kicking, your career is still kicking, you still look good, feel good, you're all fuckin' good."

"What about my family?" Chico kissed his teeth. "I gotta make sure they're good, too. Mãe, Pai, and Avô."

"What'd'you mean the family?" Ambrósio furrowed his eyebrows. "They still fucking love you, no matter what happens to them or you." He grit his teeth, looking away. "They'll be okay as long as you'll be okay, wherever you are and whoever you're with."

"What, like a guy?"

"...Would you accept a white guy?"

"A white guy?!" Chico repeated, then cackling. "What type of white man in the entire world would I bend over backwards for?"

"A really hot one, obviously. He's funny, and a bit mysterious...You'll meet him through Avô. He's a bit weird-lookin' due to a couple physical defining features, but oh, meu deus, hottest man you'll ever meet. Amazing kisser, and he's nice as hell, too, genuinely. Does stuff he ain't gotta do."

"...Are you making this all up-?"

"No, no!" Ambrósio waved his hands. "He's a hundred percent real, trust me, man. Trust yourself. You'll be safe with him, which may seem weird at first, but you'll be safe nonetheless. And- And chill, and actually kinda happy, and at a specific sort of peace that no song could ever even begin to bring you."

Chicho scratched his chin, thinking. "And you're not pulling my leg?"

"I couldn't."

"I'll be happy? Really? Seriously?" Chico asked. "No matter what happens to me?"

"Take it from me...you-? Us?" Ambrósio groaned. "You know what i fuckin' mean."

Chico nodded along.

"And you're sure you can't tell me?"

"I can't tell you shit, what's the matter with you?" Ambrósio playfully rolled his eyes. "How's the family, anyway? I- I live away from 'em, now."

"That kinda sucks." Chico sniffed. "They're fine, Mãe and Pai are both just as happy as you remember. I haven't seen Avô in a bit, but he's doing fine with his books."

Ambrósio smiled to himself. "You still have Santiago?"

"What, the stuffed lion?"

"Yea."

Chico failed at fighting back a smile. "Yea, why, do I get rid of him soon?"

"Not get rid of him, you just...take him off your bed, but you still keep him in your room. That's your best friend, dude. Asides from Carmen, but y'know. No one else could listen to your weird little theories about the true meanings of songs you listen to." Ambrósio rubbed his hands together. "With or without him- but specifically with- you'll be fine. You'll be okay, Ambrose."

Chico nodded.

Robin Fifer

Into The Woods (2014)

Robin ran a hand through his hair, watching the 17-year-old-himself in front of him.

"Are you...?"

"Yes, I am. Upset?"

"No, I don't mind my hair growing...It actually looks quite nice."

"That was the intended outcome." Robin smiled, standing up straight.

"And we grow a bit...what's the scar from?"

Robin pat the scar that went down over his eye. "A bird. Wanna guess what type?"

"There's many types of birds in the world. You allowing me- or yourself- to guess would mean it's one I'm extremely familiar with, yes-?"

Robin nodded, "precisely."

"Is it-...No."

"Yes, it is."

"A robin, truly?"

"Honestly. It stopped hurting very quickly, so do not be afraid."

"I would hope they'd be more kinder towards things with their namesake." The younger Robin giggled.

"Yes, well," adult Robin shrugged. "They aren't sentient enough to know your name...Our name?" He reminded himself.

"You're right about that." Robin agreed. "Do we still go on walks in the future?"

"More-so than I used to." Robin grinned. "Quite grounding, as always. I somehow enjoy it more." He chuckled in a confused manner. "You'll find out why once you're at my point."

"Do I still play the pipe?"

"Never leave home without it." Robin pulled aside his robe, showing the pipe attached to his belt.

"It hasn't changed at all!"

"Almost like magic, right?" Robin dropped his hand. "I'd never let anything happen to this pipe, just like you."

"Of course, it's important to me, especially what it helped me do."

"Yes, precisely."

"How are my parents? Are they still around?" Robin asked, seeing as his parents were yet to die.

"They're peaceful. How are the bakers?"

"Are they still around?"

"Telling you anything spoils the future. How are the bakers?"

"Just like you remember them." Robin furrowed his eyebrows.

"They haven't changed." The older Robin shook his head knowingly. "You become closer to them in the future, and the cute blacksmith." He winked.

Robin blushed lightly. "How close-?"

"Close enough to work under him...Not- Not like that-!" Robin quickly corrected himself. "I could earn money working with him, plus the money I make pipe-playing. It'll be quite stable after a while, I imagine."

"And I even gain a comfortable-looking cloak-rope of some sort..." Robin inspected.

Robin tossed the hood over his head. "With a hood."

"With a hood, wow!" Robin looked up in awe. "So what you're saying is, all in all...I'll be just fine?" He inquired.

"As fine as one can be."

Camilo Kenard Van Hellsing aka Camilo Van Hellsing

Resident Evil 8: Village (2021)

Camilo looked down at himself. "How old are you?"

A tanned boy with shorter dreads and bigger eyes gazed back up at him. "I'm five."

I was five, Camilo thought, only five. "Growing boy, eh?" He crouched down to 5-year-old himself, commonly nicknamed 'Cammie.' "I suppose you'd need to be, to protect a sister."

"Amancia!" Cammie called out. "My younger sister's name is Amancia." He beamed proudly.

Camilo sighed softly, patting the tricorn hat on his head. "Take good care of her, alright?" He instructed. "That goes without saying, but I feel it needed saying."

"I'm the best big brother ever, sir." Cammie told, "I love Amancia, she's so tiny and funny! I gotta watch over her like mum says to."

Camilo smiled slightly. "Good boy." He nodded. "And look after your parents?"

"They look after me, sir, they're my parents."

Camilo gulped. "Yes, but they're your family. You need to take care of your family, or else it's not a bloody family, now, is it?"

Cammie blinked slowly, then nodded along.

"You take care of everyone you love. You love your sister."

"Yea!" Cammie cheered.

"You love your parents?"

"Mhm!"

"Then you take care of them, and anyone else you'll meet that you love. You make sure they know you love them." Camilo advised to his younger self, seeing as his younger self had no idea what was coming.

"Sir, yes sir!"

Camilo giggled to himself. "Your family treating you nicely, mate?" He hummed when his younger self nodded. Camilo could barely remember what life was like before, and he clung to what he could. "Good, good..." He trailed off, thinking of what else to say. "Nothing wrong with you, is there?"

Cammi shrugged, going quiet.

"Ah, don't give me that." Camilo looked away. "Nothing's wrong with you, lad. Nothing ever will be, no matter what anyone tells you." He told. "Trust me on that."

"Trust a pirate?"

"Not a real one, not yet at least." Camilo took his hat off, placing it over his heart. "Trust me, half-pirate's honor."

Cammie hummed in thought. "...Okay!" He nodded.

"Lovely." Camilo put his hat back on, shaking his head a bit to adjust his dreads. He sniffed. "You'll probably be able to sail the seas one day, too, if you'd like."

"Wow, I'd love to!"

"There we go," Camilo outstretched his arms in a presenting manner. "The world's your oyster."

"What the heck does that mean?"

Camilo blinked slowly. "...Never mind, then." He shook his head. "It means you can basically do whatever you want, or something of the like- so I've been told. Whatever you please, as long as it's okay with you and doesn't bring you any harm or land you in any trouble. Savvy?"

Cammie nodded in understanding. "I hope I'll be as cool as you, one day."

Younger me thinks I'm cool. Camilo's face absolutely lit up. "Such a charming young lad, eh?" He rhetorically asked. "You won't even need to try. You'll be cool when you're older."

"Thank you, mister!"

Camilo glanced at the rings on his fingers. He sighed, smile faltering. "Nothings wrong with you, kid. Nothing ever will be, and nothing ever has." Camilo reminded him. "Remember that."

[flysafepapi]

Peace

“Take him in the room there, I’ll just be a minute.”

Just one night out where nothing happened, that’s all he asks for. He’s supposed to be at ringside, watching Bonnie win the fight they’d been training together for, not up here, picking his husband up off the floor, blood slicking his hands. He’d known that something was going to go wrong, as soon as Tommy had told him who Bonnie would be fighting, but he’d thought that Alfie would’ve had more sense after the last time Vincent had visited him, knife to his throat, warning him of what would come if he made a move against any of them. The fact that it’s Arthur, well, he’s going to kill everyone involved, and he’ll do it with a smile on his face.

“Alright, love?”

“Hurts.”

He presses a towel against the gouges in Arthur’s neck, and hums, nodding.

“Yeah, I imagine it would. I’ve got some work to do, I’ll see you later.”

“Be careful.”

Vincent grins at him.

“I’ll be fine. It’s them that should be worried.”

The man waiting for him in the next room screams so sweetly when Vincent takes one of his fingers, slowly sawing through the muscle and bone like he’s got all the time in the world. There’s no attempt to get information out of him, that’s not what this is about. This is retribution, of daring to touch Arthur, and he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy it. It still never manages to surprise him, exactly how much blood the human body can handle. The man thrashes and screams, when Vincent starts working on his other hand, the rest of his fingers littering the ground, and he can practically feel Finn and Isiah cringing as he works. By the time he’s done, there’s not much left to the man, just a limp body with pieces missing; his fingers, a few teeth, an eye, his tongue.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

He’s covered in blood, slick red coating his hands and his arms, but he still drags both of them into a hug, ignoring the way they groan at the blood that’s smeared over them now, and tells them that they haven’t seen anything yet. You’ve got the devil inside you, Vincent, his mother whispers into his ear, and he nods to himself. He’s going to burn Luca Changretta’s empire to the ground, and when the time comes, he’s going to make him wish he’d never stepped foot off the boat into London. Finn looks at him, frowning, and for a second he looks like the little boy that Vincent remembers meeting that night he’d finally got back from France.

“I always wondered what you’d do if anything happened to Arthur.”

“I’d do this for any of you, Finn. You’re my family, and the only thing that’s waiting for anyone that hurts my family is what you saw in that room.”

It takes everything in him not to just kill Changretta where he stands, but he holds himself back, stands beside Finn and keeps his mouth shut, acting like he’s just there for a little added protection, like they’ve planned. He’ll get his chance soon enough. There’s a certain satisfaction in seeing the change in a man’s face after they realise they’ve been beaten, and he watches it happen when Luca realises that the men behind him are never going to help him. In a matter of minutes, with just a few simple sentences, everything collapses around him, and then Tommy nods back at Vincent, and it’s his turn.

He’d thought for a long time, in the days when he’d been hidden away with Arthur, on how he’d kill Changretta when the time came. Something fast, like a bullet to the head, or something slower? In the end, he decides that it’s going to be more satisfying to turn the tables on him. Feeling the taller man struggle against him, trying to pull away the wire that digs into his neck, is a strange sort of exhilaration. It’ll never work, the thin coil is razor sharp and far too strong to be broken, but he appreciates the amusement of watching Changretta try, and hearing the grunts as his struggles gradually get less and less effective. Not that Vincent was planning on letting him go, but it’s fun when he tries to get free.

Arthur touches him on the shoulder, startling him, and he drops the wire from his aching hands. They’ll scar, he realises, when he looks down at them, seeing the thin gouges dug into his palms from how hard he’d been holding it. Just a few more to add to the collection he’s already got.

“It’s done. We’re free, it’s over, you can stop.”

He looks across at the group of people waiting, his family, and nods to himself. All of a sudden, it feels like the fight rushes out of him, and he’s tired, down to his bones. Don’t get him wrong, this sort of thing is all he’s been good at, what keeps him alive in a strange, contradictory way, but he’s ready for some peace and quiet. Arthur checks his hands, fussing over the cuts, and wraps his hands in bandages that he’d apparently brought with him. Smart man, his husband. Vincent doesn’t realise his hands are shaking until Arthur looks at him and grabs both of them, holding them between his.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, hey?”

They go back to the farm, for a few weeks only, Arthur promises. Billy and Rosie charge off happily from the car when they get back, going right to the kennels where the dogs are waiting, laughing as they go. It’s what he always imagined, all those years ago, but it doesn’t feel like restrictive like the last time. They’re going back to Small Heath in two weeks, he recites to himself, when the feeling of boredom gets too strong, and throws himself into looking after the kids, teasing Arthur when he grumbles about his crops not growing like they’re supposed to. It’s the peace that they’ve all needed for years, and there’s no one left for him to fight, no one left to kill to keep his family safe.

Until he catches up to Alfie Solomons, that is.

tagging: @the-makingsofgreatness, @mia-grace21912

Masterlist

[flysafepapi]

People tend to overlook the fact that Vincent is just as dangerous as the company he keeps, not seeing the threat in front of them because it's wrapped in coloured sweaters and worn coats. He won't touch a gun anymore, not after the war, he'll give them that, but guns have never been how he does things. He's not much for fighting, either, anymore, but he'll do it if the situation calls for it, and he knows he's good at it. His appearance would suggest otherwise.

After the war, it'd taken a long time to settle the feeling beneath his skin that it was all a dream, and he'd wake up in that place, bleeding out into the mud again. He deserves to be comfortable, after all that, and if the colourful sweaters that Ada picks out for him make him breathe a little easier, then he has no problem wearing them even if they make people dismiss him as unimportant. Sticking to the shadows, going unnoticed, that's always been more his style. But occasionally, someone will make a mistake, forget that he's there, and think that they've gotten away with whatever insane scheme they've thought of.

Something about the meeting doesn't feel right. Since the moment they walked into the room, there's been something screaming from the back of his mind, that they're walking into something they might not come back from. He almost stops Arthur and tells him they need to leave, but to do that would be to give it away that he knows, and that could make it much worse. Desperate people were unpredictable. Instead, he sits next to Arthur and keeps his mouth shut, watches everyone in the room carefully.

They've never met in person before now, but Vincent has heard enough from his brother in law to know that Alfie Solomons is, apparently, a smart man. Just apparently not smart enough. There's something dirty going on, he knows it, can feel it like anticipation in the air. It's the same gut instinct that makes him quickly pitch to the right, as the sound of Solomons saying "Tommy Shelby" echoes through the room, dodging away from the hand that had been reaching for his shoulder. Silver gleams in the light, a razor, and though he tries he's not quick enough to grab the hand holding it before it connects with his face.

It's not too deep, but bothersome enough. Easy to ignore, when he's got his would-be killer in his hands, and Vincent hits him. He hits him in the face, feels the bone shattering under his fist, and then hits him again, and again, until there's blood dripping from his hands and there's no way the failed assassin will be getting up again. For a moment, he feels a little unsteady, shaky, but he pushes it back and rushes over towards Arthur. It feels like he's moving through mud, and then he can't go any further because a set of strong arms lock around him, holding him back. They resist the struggling, only crushing him tighter and tighter, slowly cutting off his air.

"No! He didn't do anything, don't! Let me go!"

He watches, unable to do anything, as the police flood into the room and drag Arthur away. When was the last time he ever felt so powerless? He's not sure. Maybe never. By the time the arms holding him let him go, the police and Arthur are long gone, too far away for him to reach now. During the war, he'd seen a lot of things, things no person should ever have to see. The memory of Arthur being dragged away from him in handcuffs haunts him far more than anything else ever could. A smart man, Tommy had said. Alfie Solomons is a smart man, don't underestimate him. It occurs to Vincent then, looking down at the blood on his hands, that he wasn't the one that underestimated somebody they shouldn't have.

"Alright? Gonna need to clean that up, aren't you? Hey, Ollie, get him a towel."

"I'm going to kill you."

Maybe, in any other situation, Solomons would be intimidating. He's certainly got the presence for it, the obvious strength, the rumours that he's half mad. Vincent is sure he tries to be, when Solomons goes still, staring him right in the eyes. It feels a little bit like two dogs vying for dominance; whoever looks away first loses. Vincent has never been the sort of person to be intimidating by anything, but he certainly isn't going to be, now. Not with Arthur's yells echoing in his ears, and the bodies of his friends slumped over in their chairs.

"What'd you say?"

"I said I'm going to kill you."

"Oh, you are, eh? And how, right, are you going to do that?"

Vincent is under no illusions that he could take the considerably larger man in a fair fight. But fair fighting went out the window when this whole fucking night started, and he's not above using underhanded methods.

"I don't know. But I will, for what you've done to my family. So keep an eye out, mister Solomons, look over your shoulder every once in a while. It might not be now, it might not even be any time soon. But one day, you're going to look back, and I'm going to be there. And I'll be the last thing you ever see."

[flysafepapi]

razor

More of the Arthur and Vincent series.

Warnings: None, unless talk of revenge is something that bothers you.

Just like they tend to overlook Vincent, people seem to forget pretty quickly that he's not the harmless person he appears to be. It's his height, probably, and the disarming appearance, he figures. Who would look at the man that barely cracks 5'4, with the multicoloured knitted sweaters and think 'That's a killer'? From past experience, very few people. He can't be dangerous, look at him, he's harmless. Couldn't hurt a fly. That's why he spends so much time with those Peaky Blinders, isn't it, hiding behind the protection the name brings.

He likes to be a man of his word. If the promise is something that he can make happen, well then he'll do whatever he can to ensure that he fulfils his end of the bargain. Promises aren't something he makes lightly, so when he makes them, it's almost always a guarantee that it'll happen, regardless of how long it takes. It might be because he prides himself on being reliable, and available. If they need him, he's always going to find a way to be there. Even if it almost kills him.

While he was in the hospital, he'd had plenty of time on his hands, and more than enough time to think about his next move. He goes through a million and one plans, ranging from the plausible to the ridiculous just to amuse himself, but in the end he settles on the simplest way. What good is dramatics, when it's much more effective to just get the job done? No, there's no need for theatrics. He's just going to return the favour. He's a simple man, big displays of anything is unnecessary, in his opinion.

Once he's gotten away from everyone without anyone suspecting anything, which is the most difficult part, it's actually startlingly easy to slip into the building between the guard patrols. Apparently they've gotten too complacent, too used to not having to worry about an attack. Then again, maybe they've been instructed to look out for groups, and Vincent is alone. Whatever the reason is, he gets inside with minimal effort, which is handy because he's still not fully healed, yet. The shot to the leg has been giving him trouble, and while he's sure that climbing in through a window is possible, he'd rather not.

"I did warn you."

The silver shines in the light, just like that night, only now it's in his hands instead of coming for his throat. Well, it shines until he presses it into Solomons neck, the sharp edge dangerously close to the vein that runs down his neck. Solomons sits up straighter, and slowly puts his pen down.

"I told you, one day, I was going to be here. If you've asked around, then you know that when I say something, I mean it."

"Full of surprises, aren't you? Here to kill me, then? You've gotten much closer than anyone else ever has, I'm surprised."

It's tempting, so tempting, to just jerk his hand and let the other man to bleed out on the desk, to watch as he chokes on his own blood, but he doesn't.

"I thought about it. Right now, it would be easy. But you know what? You're not worth it. I'm better than that, even if it wouldn't be any worry to me. Instead, I'm going to leave, and you're going to let me. And you won't do anything to my family ever again."

He doesn't hear the laugh as much as he feels it, rumbling through the razor and up his arm. The reaction isn't what he expected, but he knows the result will be the same either way. There's a lot of time to think, when you're confined to a bed for weeks, and he's thought out his actions carefully.

"I am? You break into my office, right, hold a razor to my throat, and I'm just going to let you walk away? I've killed men for less, what makes you think I won't break your neck as soon as you take that razor away?"

Vincent leans down, keeping his hand steady on the handle of the straight razor, and speaks right into Solomons' ear.

"Because you're not a stupid man, mister Solomons. Like you said, I broke into your office, and here I am, holding a razor to your throat. Imagine what I could do if I had better weapons, like the bomb on a timer ready to bring this whole building down if I don't turn it off in five minutes. Or maybe I'd come back with something else. You'd never see me coming, just like you never saw this."

"Hmm."

"So I want you to remember this moment. The time I could have slit your throat and been back in my bed before anyone found you. The fact that you continue to breathe is because of my decency, nothing else. If you do anything to my family, I will be back. I'll slip in unnoticed, just like I did today, and next time I won't be so nice."

He's got Solomons, and he's well aware of it. Right now, he'll be wondering how he could have overlooked Vincent, like so many often do. Somewhere, a mistake has been made, he'll be realising, how is it that everyone had dismissed him as a threat when he just might be the biggest one of them all.

"Do we have an agreement, or am I leaving here with a ruined shirt?"

"We've got an agreement," Solomons says, and he doesn't sound happy about it. He's angry, it's almost palpable, but he's telling the truth. Vincent knows that no one will be following him, not with the threat of the building being blown sky-high in three minutes and counting.

"You'd risk me going back on it, just to protect your family?"

"There's no limit to what I'd do to protect them, mister Solomons. Not many people find that out until it's too late."

He pulls the razor back, but doesn't fold it away.

"Before I go, there's one more thing I have to do."

With a quick movement, he flicks the razor down and out, cutting through the cotton of Solomons shirt and into his collarbone, not so deep that it would be a fatal cut, but deep enough that there's always going to be a scar, as a reminder.

"I couldn't let you get away with nothing. Billy was a good friend."