#grow up indeed says polly

[greatwyrmgold]

Another "The Problem of Susan" post

As you may know:

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe was not a standalone book. There were seven books in the series, each with more Christian allegory than the last.

(Or maybe it's not allegory? Apparently C.S. Lewis has said that Aslan is literally Jesus, so maybe it's all literally just Christianity.)

The series stars the four Pevensie siblings who show up in most of the books—Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy. They're absent from The Silver Chair and The Magician's Nephew, but all appear together in the other five books, with one exception.

The last book, called The Last Battle, features Peter, Edmund, and Lucy, but not Susan. Not only does Susan not appear, she's mentioned exactly once:

"Sir," said Tirian, when he had greeted all these. "If I have read the chronicles aright, there should be another. Has not your Majesty two sisters? Where is Queen Susan?" "My sister Susan," answered Peter shortly and gravely, "is no longer a friend of Narnia." "Yes," said Eustace, "and whenever you've tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says 'What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.'" "Oh Susan!" said Jill, "she's interested in nothing now-a-days except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up." "Grown-up, indeed," said the Lady Polly. "I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can." "Well, don't let's talk about that now," said Peter. "Look! Here are lovely fruit trees. Let us taste them."

(Oh yeah, the kids were kinds and queens of Narnia for a few decades when they were kids. Don't think about it too much.)

The Problem of Susan gets even worse because right at the end of the book, Aslan reveals that the Pevensies, their parents, and other Earth-humans who went to Narnia (like the Eustace and Polly mentioned above) died right before coming to Narnia this last time. And now that the Book of Revelations is done, they will live forever in "the true Narnia," which is either an allegory for Revelation's New Jerusalem or literally heaven, I'm not sure which.

Susan is still not there.

So, the first part of the Problem of Susan is that a formerly major character—one that many young fans of the series felt attached to—who gets all but dropped from the finale. This is particularly egregious, since—this is a direct quote— "Everyone you had ever heard of (if you knew the history of those countries) seemed to be there" by the end. Every character from the entire series, from Mr. Tumnus the faun to that cab driver who became the first King of Narnia, it makes sense in context.

But not Susan.

And I guess that makes sense in context, too; she's not dead. But C.S. Lewis wrote the context. It was C.S. Lewis's decision to kill off the other Pevensies, and C.S. Lewis's decision to keep Susan out of this last adventure.

Christian Apologetics, for Kids!

I've seen three common responses to The Problem of Susan from overly-protective fans of the series.

The first is, perhaps unsurprisingly, just a remix of shit fundamentalist Christians say about Heaven and Hell. Just as agnostics will burn in the fires of hell for their ambiguous faith, so Susan will be barred from "the true Narnia" for being less allegorically(?) pious than her siblings.

Speaking as an ex-Christian, I could write a whole series of posts about why that's fucked-up and wrong. But I will instead remain on topic and recommend you read basically any atheist blog from the early '10s; that eternal damnation/salvation shit is low-hanging fruit for guys who want to make fun of fundies.

Second, you have people who see Susan as materialistic, caring so much about "nylons and lipstick and invitations." First off, nothing in the text suggests she was maliciously materialistic, or greedy, or anything else that would merit getting kicked out of Narnia. Second, the text just...does not support this reading. Susan's sin isn't greed, it's growing up too fast.

Third are the people who agree with the text; Susan "always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up." This has textual support, and not just from the one page in The Last Battle that mentions her. The problem is, of course, that this isn't a sin worthy of punishment either.

(Zeroth: Susan spent decades as a queen of Narnia, but since because the books want us to think that that wouldn't have any real impact on the kids, we will continue not thinking about it too much.)

With that out of the way: Wanting to be older than you are is fine, wanting to be younger than you are is fine, wanting to be the age you are is great. There is nothing inherently wrong with either wanting to be treated as a grown-up or seeking the joy of youth. It can lead to bad behavior, but none of that is described in the actual text of The Last Battle.

Susan is described as misremembering the fantastical adventures the Pevensies had as children, and wanting to be a young adult for as long as possible. Who. Cares.

It seems like C.S. Lewis puts an unreasonably high premium on the innocence of childhood. (This has what I consider to be unfortunate implications when combined with his advocacy of blind faith in The Silver Chair, but that's a topic for another ramble.) This is, I feel, ridiculous. It's fine to seek the joy of youth, but to treat losing that joy as some kind of mortal sin is absurd! Treating the loss of innocence as an inevitable tragedy is one thing; treating it as something worth punishing a kid for if they stumble into it too quickly is horrific.

(And it's really hard to not think about that time Susan was a literal monarch. Well, there were four of them, so I guess she was more of a tetrarch? Whatever.)

Anyways. The fourth response is to point to things C.S. Lewis said after publishing The Last Battle. And I'm going to discuss that.

Contrite-over-Susan Lewis

Unfortunately, I can't find the actual quotes by C.S. Lewis, not in the time I'm willing to spend researching a Tumblr post about a book that was old when my parents were young. But C.S. Lewis has acknowledged the problem of Susan.

The gist of what he said is that he's not happy that Susan's story is incomplete, but writing her redemption arc would put the story into a whole different genre, and that's no good.

My first problem is, of course, the idea that Susan needed to change to be worthy of Narnia. So what if she was always the most skeptical Pevensie? So what if she wanted to grow up? So what if she likes nylons and lipstick and invitations? If the Susan we see in the other books isn't worthy of the true Narnia, that's Lewis's problem, not Susan's.

The second is that C.S. Lewis never wrote that book. Lewis would say that it's out of step with the rest of the series, that the tone would be off, but so is The Last Battle to anyone not drowning in Armageddon-lust. And it's not like character arcs are foreign to the series, either. There are plenty of examples of kids from our Earth going to Narnia and having it change their worldview or attitude. They're mostly small subplots, but elevating a Susan character arc to a booklong undercurrent would not be that much of a divergence.

And even if Lewis committed himself to only writing seven books for numerological reasons—well, first off, he probably could have cut one of the other books. A Horse and his Boy is neat, but depicting the lives of ordinary Narnians during a dramatic time probably should have taken a back seat to a character arc you think is required for her to join the finale. Anyways, he could have written the Susan character arc as a subplot in Prince Caspian or Voyage of the Dawn Treader if he tried.

But he didn't try.

Conclusion

C.S. Lewis supposedly said that Susan was his favorite character, the one he saw the most of himself in. If true, that is not reflected in The Last Battle.

Lewis set some arbitrary conditions Susan would have to meet to join her siblings at the end—at the climax of the entire series, arguably the most important event in Narnian history since the world's creation. He then chose not to write anything that would let Susan meet those conditions, left her out of the last book, and left it ambiguous as to whether she'd ever see her siblings in paradise.

I don't think this would be quite so egregious if Susan was at least mentioned more. Again, Susan is never mentioned before Tirian asks where she is, nor after Peter decides to taste some fruit. She gets three and a half paragraphs where her brother and "friends" bitch about her, and that's that. They make fun of her for growing up and liking nylons and lipstick, then they decide to eat fruit, end of chapter, end of Susan.

It's like the characters don't give a shit about Susan. They're not angry, they're not disappointed, they're not confused. They state a few things about Susan when directly asked, then move on, like these are just facts about some fictional character and not the reasons they're estranged from a sibling or longtime friend. Heck, the younger Pevensies don't even bother to speak up! They don't care!

And if the characters don't care about the formerly important character—important both to the story and, more importantly, to them—why should I think the author did?

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Immortal Beloved - Chapter Thirteen.

It's back at last! Most people have probably moved on, but for those who haven't, here you go.

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,400

Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

The spring sun melted orange into the Warwickshire landscape, bathing the rain-sprinkled grass in a glitter of orange, John moving the horse he was aboard a little quicker into a gentle trot.  

“Pull back on the reins, slow him down,” he advised his daughter, seated atop Rufus, her beloved pony. “That’s it, pige. Don’t want him running off on ya again.”  

The spritely pony had taken it upon himself to set off at a canter a little earlier in their ride out over the grounds of Arrow House, John moving Bracken forward to catch up with her and bring the tiny steed to a stop. At least Katie had found it funny. Him? He’d had several heart attacks, thinking his little girl was about to be planted into the turf.  

t himself to be much of a riding, hunting, fishing type of country living man, but in the three months since the pony had been gifted to his little girl, it had been the only place she’d wanted to be of a weekend. John surprised himself by loving the change in routine, with only one lingering regret. His wife wasn’t by his side while he was enjoying his new-found country gentleman pursuits. Such was the way, though, being married to a vampire. 

“We have to hurry, daddy,” Katie enthused, the top of Arrow House coming into view upon the horizon. “Mommy will be awake soon.” Yes, in the three months since their marriage, the Bryn part had been dropped, his darling solely referred to as mommy now to his little girl. Their little girl. He wasn’t sure how Martha would take to it, should he be able to tell his late wife that the woman her daughter now called mommy was an undead creature of the night. He often thought she’d soften to see just how devoted to Katie Bryn was, though.  

“Mommy I did a canter!” The child called with joy, seeing her appear around the corner as they rode onto the stable block. “I weren’t supposed to, but I did!” 

One of the stable lads helped her down, another taking Bracken from John, Katie running into her Bryn’s open arms. “You are certainly turning into quite the horsewoman aren’t you, my little love?”  

“I’m going to be a jockey when I grow up!” 

John snorted immediately, pulling a cigar from his pocket. “You bloody ain’t.” 

Katie was resolute. “I am, daddy! I’m going to ride Rufus in the Grand National!” 

“You’d have to put him on springs to jump them fences, pige. They’re twice the size of you,” he commented, kissing his wife’s cheek as they walked around to the house.  

“Then the blacksmith can do it, next time he has his new shoes!” Her assertion had her parents laughing softly, Bryn taking her inside to get her fed and ready for bed, John standing on the doorstep for a few moments, enjoying the quiet.  

Sadly, it was a peace not to last.  

“John boy, I’ve called a family meeting. Arthur and Polly will be here within the hour,” Tommy spoke, John turning to view his elder brother, noticing the slightly wide-eyed look that was returned. “I’ve just had Dogs on the phone, and it wasn’t with good news.”  

John nodded, following him in, heading into Tommy’s office where they sat in wait for the other Shelby’s, Bryn joining them too once she’d gotten Katie tucked up in bed.  

“Well, it seems the peace we’ve enjoyed since New Year has come to an abrupt halt, courtesy of the Rasmussen family,” Tommy began, delivering the statement each person knew would be coming sooner or later. Indeed, it had been much, much too quiet on that front of late.  

“Johnny Dogs called me this afternoon, he and a few of the Lee’s are on their way here to make camp on my grounds. What’s left of the Lee’s, I should say. Over the last three nights, four Lee camps have been attacked, good men and innocent women shot while they slept, wagons burned out, and a message left with those who survived. Hand Brynhild over and you get to live, was what they were told by the Rasmussen force who brought the attack. That shan’t be happening, needless to say. Once they arrive, though, they’re gonna want some assurances, some resolve.” 

Arthur grunted, running a hand down his face. “Can’t be that fucking many of ‘em left by now. I say we take the fight up north and finish ‘em all off.”  

“It’s a good idea, Arthur,” Tommy began, lighting a cigarette, perhaps the fifteenth he’d smoked since Johnny’s call, “but unfortunately, they’ve managed to secure extra manpower, aka every single gypsy family not associated with us, all banded together in attempt to bring down who they perceive to be the greater threat. Bryn, Johnny fought your corner, and you’ve to be thankful for that, met with a couple of the lads and stated the only interest you have here is to continue your life quietly as an art dealer, wife and mother, that your existence posed them absolutely no threat. He just about got away from that meeting with his life intact.”  

Bryn closed her eyes, nodding deeply as it hit her in waves. Innocent people dying, all because of the prejudice she faced, all because of what she was, and not who she was. The anger and upset collided within, John of course picking up on it, his hand moving to stroke the back of her neck supportively. At her side, Polly reached to grasp her hand, and in that moment, she was truly, truly thankful.  

At least she had a family who loved her in all of this. 

“Ain’t your fault, bab,” John spoke, reaching for his pocket square so she could dab away her tears.  

Polly’s sentiments echoed. “He’s right, love. I won’t hear of anything different said, that you can be bloody sure of.”  

Bryn sighed, composing herself as she sat ramrod straight, her jaw tightening. “It is, though. It is my fault. I am the course of this battle, of this death now within the Lee family. Our strikes against them have been huge, and they should have been enough. There must be some solution here, we have to be better, fight harder, but I do not see a way. They are like a fucking swarm, ever multiplying!” 

“Then we up our numbers and fucking fight ‘em back twice as hard. That’s what we do, and we don’t fucking give up until every last one of ‘em is dead,” Polly vouched staunchly. 

“Here fucking here!” Arthur spoke, pouring himself a drink. 

Tommy’s eyes flitted between them, lifting his chin. “Whatever strike we plan, it has to be with the Lee’s co-operation, but something tells me we’re gonna have to work our arses off for that in light of this. Securing their alliance ain’t gonna be easy.” 

Oh, how he wasn’t wrong. When the eleven wagons finally arrived at close to 11pm that night, the remaining gypsies of the family all filed into Arrow House behind the brand-new head of the family. Lachlan Lee looked thunderous, a large dressing applied to his neck, a war wound from his brush with the Rasmussen’s concealed beneath. They were ushered into the drawing room, the tall gypsy nodding curtly at everyone present, his stare cold when his eyes took in the woman he guessed to be Brynhild Shelby.  

“Lads, now.” Without further word, the six men who had entered the room with him drew their guns, pointing them at right at their shadow walker target. “Get off your cold, dead arse and come with us. You are the sole fucking reason why we had to say goodbye to our family en masse. You started this, so now we’re fucking ending it by giving the Rasmussen’s what they want. If you don’t, you have seven silver bullet filled guns coming for ya. Get up. Now.” 

“Lachlan, put your guns down and let’s talk,” Tommy began, walking into the middle of the room, hands held wide. “Come on. Nothing good will come of this, now.”  

Both of his brother’s had drawn their own weapons despite being outnumbered, Bryn standing, resting a hand to John’s shoulder.  

“Darling, lower your gun.” 

He sniffed, unflinching. “Until they stop pointing them at you, I ain’t doing shit.” 

“Lads, lower your guns. That goes for my lads, too. Everyone take a breath, for the love of Christ!” Polly advised staunchly, her eyes swivelling between all the men. “Come on. You all know who my grandmother was. Our family alliance goes back fucking generations, let’s honour it better than this.”  

Lachlan paused, his thoughts ticking behind the stern stare of his coal-dark eyes, finally lowering his weapon. A gesture with his hand had his men all doing the same, guns stashed away within their belts once again.  

“Now everyone is calm,” Polly then spoke, her words dying in the air when within a blink, she saw Lachlan grabbed, Bryn holding him by the arm and throat, her rage pulsing thickly. “Shit, Bryn! No!”  

Unfortunately, the newest Mrs. Shelby was a little too irate to listen. 

“You have the fucking gall to walk into this home, the home of my brother and sister-in-law and accuse me of being the monster?” she spat, her grip tightening to the point where Lachlan could no longer struggle against it, his heart hammering with fear. “I am not the one who shot your family as they slept. I am not the one who set your wagons alight. I am merely the one who simply wishes to exist upon this earth as I have for centuries without being hunted and without any further death coming because of that simple desire.” 

Lachlan drew a hissed breath, glaring at her. “And I desire nothing but to keep what’s left of me fucking family safe, and if that means delivering you to them bound in silver, then by god, woman, you can fucking bet that’s what I’m gonna do!”  

The situation was spinning out of control with the kind of rapidity that had both families shouting from either side, Bryn being told to calm down, other members of the Lee’s urged to put their weapons down. The men did not pay those pleas any mind, though. Especially when the vampire they had arrived to take opened her mouth, her fangs bared.  

One man and one man alone had the bravery to stand his ground, though. The one who knew her best, the one who saw that his own ire now being matched in double by his wife was perhaps not the best way to bring the fracas to an end.  

“Brynhild!” John’s bark made her pause immediately, although the rattle of her growl persisted, Bryn eyeing him dangerously. “Don’t you bloody dare growl at me, woman. Put your fucking teeth away and let him go.”  

More growling persisted. 

“I ain’t fucking messing around here. Teeth away and put him down. Now. This ain’t the way we work through it, love. Come on. You’re better than this.” 

Polly winced, knowing that for all her bravery, she would never have the mettle to stand up to a thousand plus year old vampire. As for Bryn herself, a streak of unintelligible words left her lips, her frown deepening. 

“Oh no, bab,” John snorted, pointing his finger, “don’t you fucking cuss me in Norwegian and think I don’t know what it means.” She had been teaching him her native tongue, after all, John choosing to adopt it as he delivered his next statement. “Gjør som jeg sier. Nå.” 

Perhaps it was his overall sternness, the fact he’d been the only human ever to truly stand up to her, or the fact he’d told her to do as he said in her own language, but Bryn finally receded her fangs and let her captive go. In the end, she respected John too highly as her husband to let the wildness within her win, no matter how much his chiding of her had proved irritating. The truth was, he’d like nothing more than to let her savagery run wild after the way Lachlan had acted, but they couldn’t forget what had brought them there, the common enemy.  

“All of this fucking shit needs to stop, right fucking now!” Arthur barked, his eyes finding Bryn’s with a little nod. She smiled, silently answering his question of whether she was okay. “This, all this shit ‘ere, it’s exactly what that bunch of fucking northern cunts want, us at war with each other. We should be taking the war to them! Can’t none of you see that?” 

“All I can see if that you’ve betrayed your roots for that cold, dead bitch who just put her fucking hands on me!” Lachlan raged, beginning to pace. “Forgotten who you are, what you came from, the fucking lot of you’s!” 

“Just because we swapped the wagon for the brick and mortar, it don’t mean we’re not the same, still. We’ve never forgotten that. What we also can’t forget here, lads, is that once we had a pact with the shadow walkers. They took care of us until we sold ‘em out for profit, until the Rasmussen’s came and hunted them all down, eradicated them,” Polly spoke sternly, making John swell with pride. She’d once been the person he’d had to win over back when Bryn had first time into their lives, and now there she was, standing firm as one of her biggest supporters. 

Lachlan’s left eye narrowed, his mouth pinching through thinned lips. “I still don’t trust her kind, Polly.”  

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, I do. She’s a Shelby, she’s my niece now, for heaven’s fucking sakes! I trust her with my life, as should you. She isn’t the threat we have to face. It’s them who's after her we need to band together against, before there’s any more senseless deaths!” 

“And if we hand her over to Edward Rasmussen, it all ends. Best plan of action, if you ask me. Isn’t your fucking family being gunned down at they sleep, is it? Isn’t your family having the bejesus blown out of yer wagons, is it?”  

“Touch a single hair on her head, Lachlan,” John warned, his hand grasped firmly upon his wife’s shoulder, “and you ain’t gonna come out of it well, son. Fucking promise you that, I do.”  

Lachlan laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, so it’s a war with the Lee’s you’re looking for, eh, lad? Got not a grain of sense in that thick head of yours, no? Can’t have had much there to begin with, though, getting yourself wed to a fucking corpse.”  

Even Tommy winced slightly at that one, John’s hand gripping Bryn as the eerie rattle of her growl began to faintly sound through the air. “Calm down. Don’t give him what he wants.” he discreetly whispered, hand moving to squeeze her thigh. He then turned to the gypsy. “We don’t want no fucking war with anybody but the Rasmussen family, but I won’t sit here while you threaten my wife. No. Don’t fucking matter what you think of her, we’ve gotta stick together on this.” 

A silence followed, Lachlan finally taking a seat, his eyes not leaving Bryn. Especially when she opened her mouth and began to speak. 

“Lachlan, please do tell me this. If you had not been so cruelly attacked by the Rasmussen’s, what would you know of me? Other than the fact that I am John’s wife?” 

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “That you’re a fucking shadow walker.” 

“Correct, I am. Now tell me when that piece of information last posed a threat to you or your family, from me personally?” 

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You never have.”  

A deliberately cloy smile tilted her rosy lips. “So why am I a threat now, hmm? Because they say so? Yes, the Rasmussen’s tell you that I alone am a threat, yet they are the ones to murder your family and promise more unless you hand me over to them. Seems you have gotten your wires crossed over whom it is you truly should be forming an alliance against.”  

He was just about to reply when the door was pushed open, little Katie appearing in her nightdress, teddy bear in her grasp. “Mommy, I heard shouting.”  

Bryn was out of her seat and softened in an instant. “My little love, all is well here. Come now, let me tell you another story and get you settled once more.” Lifting the child into her arms, she kissed her cheek, stroking her hair fondly as she left the room without further word.  

John nodded in her wake. “Yeah, really fucking dangerous, ain’t she?” A long silence followed, the men trying to reconcile the predatory beast they’d seen fly at Lachlan with the loving mother who had just taken her daughter from the room in her arms. “All sarcasm aside, yeah, my wife is deadly, but only when she has to be. When she’s forced to be. If only you fucking knew the half of it, what she’s had to endure over the centuries, ‘cos of the Rasmussen’s.”  

Tommy cleared his throat, scanning the room. Luckily, the tide seemed to be turning a little, the faces of the Lee’s a little less pinched with anger and resentment, more men taking seats as they visibly relaxed. “I think Brynhild articulated herself very well, gentleman. If she’s given you no cause for concern so far, then why ally with her enemy against her when they’re the ones who’ve harmed you? Makes no fucking sense.”  

“You would bloody say that. Biased, you are,” one of the older men mumbled, his eyes narrowing.  

Tommy inclined his head a little in his direction, his face remaining set. “Of course, I am. She’s family. As long as her surname is Shelby, she’ll be looked after.” 

“Too fucking right,” Arthur chimed, sinking his whiskey, giving John a nod he reciprocated.  

Lachlan took a deep breath through his nose, pushing to his feet once more. “So, how do you fellas propose we deal with these Rasmussen lads then, eh?” 

Ideas were bounced back and forth, tempers running hot, the Shelby’s being put in impossible positions by the Lee’s, Bryn overhearing it all from upstairs as she was joined by a friendly face. 

“Surely, with few of them left, couldn’t you just travel north and take them all out by yourself?” Grace put to her, her voice kind. “I mean, I’ve seen the speed you move at, Bryn. They literally would never see you coming.”  

The vampire closed her eyes, wincing slightly as she remembered back to her incarceration. The pain, her screams. The screams of her children. “I cannot, Grace. I do not know how many allies would be awaiting me. They keep themselves so well guarded, after all. For good reason, too. Me being that reason.”  

The other Mrs. Shelby sighed, placing a loving hand to her sister-in-law's wrist. “I wish to god there could be some simple way to end this all, I really do. I’d bloody understand if you were out there actively hunting them, picking them off one by one. You aren’t, though. You’ve only ever defended yourself against them coming for you.” 

Bryn appreciated Grace’s kindness, her hand covering hers. “Prejudice runs very deep with these people, and my desire to survive even deeper than that. This is why they shall never cease.” 

Deciding not to go back into the meeting, she kissed Grace’s cheek goodnight, instead going out into the cold night, wandering around to the stable block after visiting the kitchen, a stack of carrots in her grasp. 

“There you are, lovely girl,” she spoke to Tommy’s beloved coloured cob, a mare named River. “You are such a beautiful thing, yes you are.” The horse crunched through her treat, happy to have her black and white neck patted, Bryn comforted by her warmth and scent. She then moved down the line, feeding all of them in turn, Rufus delighting her with his impatience as he kicked his stable door. “Young man, you have better manners than this!” 

The pony whickered at her, craning his neck over the stable door, Bryn feeding him his treat and stroking his soft fur before she moved to the last horse, the large steed John had ridden earlier that evening. “Hello, Bracken. Oh, such a pretty face, yes! Here, you enjoy.”  

Her senses picked up on the arrival of another before he entered the stable block, Bryn leaning back into her husband’s embrace when he arrived with her. “Was there a resolve?” 

He sniffed, hands idly stroking her wait. “Tommy was on about some kind of meeting between the Rasmussen’s, us and the Lee’s, see if he could make Edward budge at all on it. Tried to tell ‘em that it wouldn’t work, but they ain’t about to bring a fight they’re fucking outnumbered in. He said it’d be best we move in here for a bit, like, keep the family together. The Lee’s are camping in the grounds for the forseeable an’ all. Said we’d go home tomorrow and pack some stuff, after I’d cleared it with you.” 

“I think Tommy is correct, that is a very good idea for us to remain here as a family,” she spoke, turning to kiss his cheek. “It means our little tot gets to spend time with her pony, and in lieu of her going to school, I can give her lessons, force my waking a little earlier to do so, or remain awake a little later.”  

In all of this, it was Katie whom her thoughts went to first, and John couldn’t help but be touched at that, what a good woman he’d married. “No matter what’s to come, bab, we’ll get it all sorted. We’ve got to, because I ain’t losing you to nobody.” 

Turning, she stroked his face, kissing him fondly. “Good, because I am going nowhere.” 

That evening, they decided to head back to Birmingham and pack, Bryn getting the bulk of it done while John slept, joining him in their bed just before dawn. While she was absconded to her vampiric rest, he kissed her head lovingly, stroking her dark curls before getting up and dressed, Small Heath bound. There, he met his brother’s, giving orders to the assembled members of the Blinders to be on the lookout for anything nefarious, that the enemy was very likely coming.  

“Unless they have the surname Shelby or Lee, that enemy could be anyone. I want vigilance and nothing less than, lads,” Tommy advised to the assembled group at the bookie's office. “Be on your guard constantly. The worst of this fight is yet to come.” 

Once they’d all filed out, Tommy strode to his office, John tailing after him. “Tom, what the fuck are we gonna do? From where I’m fucking standing, there’s only one solution, and I swear to god, right, I’ll fucking die meself before I hand over me wife to ‘em.” 

Lighting a cigarette, Tommy seated himself. “Do you trust me, John?” 

A puzzled frown creased his freckled forehead. “Fuckin’ ‘course, I do. Why?” 

“Then trust that I have a plan in motion. I can’t say no more than that, but trust me, right? All of this shall end. I’ll get us out of this.” Sitting back in his chair, the wood creaked, the azure of his eyes glinting through the plume of cigarette smoke. “Don’t ask me how. All I ask of you is that you trust me as your brother, and never let that trust waver. Do you understand me, John boy?” 

“I do, yeah,” he spoke, although the cryptic delivery of Tommy’s words somewhat irked him. 

“Good. Now, there’s a tonne of bookkeeping I want you to finish off here before we all return to Arrow House. Get it all done before you go and collect your wife. I’ll meet you back at the house later tonight.”  

With that, Tommy rose from his seat, pressing a hand into John’s shoulder as he passed him by, his eyes not meeting his. John was still baffled somewhat, but he trusted that if Tommy had a plan in hand, then it was a good one. One he needed not interfere with until he would likely be brought into the fold at some point.  

He did as he’d been tasked, returning to the betting shop floor and working away until gone 6pm before he made the drive back to Little Aston, his eyes rounding to see both the gate and the front door wide open upon arrival. Leaving his car parked awkwardly, he ran for the house, no disarray to be found.  

“Bryn?” No reply. He took the stairs two at a time, shouting his wife’s name over and over, checking the bedroom, the bathroom, every bloody room. Nothing. One noise did become audible, though, once he had gone back downstairs. Entering the kitchen, he found the source of the muffled shouts, a bound and gagged Albert lying on the floor, John seeing red. 

Pulling the gag from his mouth, he yanked the gun from his holster, his hand gripping the old man’s throat. “Where is she?” 

“I, I don’t know,” he stammered, John’s grip tightening. 

“Listen to me, you fucking snivelling old prick. Ancient family alliance or not, if you don’t fucking tell me right now, I swear to fuck, I will empty my gun in your fucking skull! Now tell me, where the fuck is my fucking wife?” he bellowed, rage coursing through him. “And you’d better fucking tell me where I can find those fucking Rasmussen bastards an’ all, because you let them in here, into our home, where she thought she was safe. Fucking stupid old prick, you know better than to let anyone who ain’t family in!” 

“It wasn’t the Rasmussen’s! Please, sir, please!” he wailed, falling apart right in front of his very eyes, John not caring an ounce.  

“Then who the fuck was it? You’ve got five seconds, mush, or I blow your brains all over the fucking tiles!”  

Albert snivelled, grimacing in pain as the tight fist clenched harder, yet the words he hissed were as unmistakable as they were unbelievable. “Your brother!” 

Nothing could have prepared John for hearing that.  

[its-all-or-nothing94]

The Singer - Part 5 // Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Liv gets a message from Tommy inviting her back to Birmingham. Of course, she is everything but amused about it and lets him know that...

Warnings: Language, physical violence, slight rape attempt

A/N: Here we go with chapter 5 - if you wanna be tagged, let me know :)

Mayfair, London, 1919

Liv is sitting in her flat in London when Ayla rushes in.

"Morning, Liv," she greets her, and Liv looks up from her tea. "I've got something for you," she says, waving an envelope in front of her face.

"What's this?" asks Liv, reaching for the envelope.

"A booking. From Birmingham. Very generous, if you ask me." Liv looks at Ayla questioningly. A booking from Birmingham? What could that be? She quickly opens the envelope and begins to read.

Dear Miss James,

We take the liberty of contacting you directly.

We would like to book you for a performance at the official ceremony for the licensing of our betting slip. Of course, we will generously compensate you for this performance. Please find the amount on the enclosed sheet.

Please also find the date, time and place on the enclosed sheet.

Hoping to hear from you.

Shelby Company Ltd. Thomas Shelby

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Liv mumbles to herself and takes the enclosed sheet.

The amount is indeed very generous, but anger spreads through Liv. How dare they! And how can her own brother be involved in this? Sure, she hasn't seen Will for a long time. He and Liv have been distant since the war, but still, she can hardly believe her eyes.

"Well what do you think?" asks Ayla, who has now also helped herself to a cup of tea.

"I think you should organise train tickets to Birmingham for us."

"Great! You'll take the booking request then?"

"No, I won't. But I will kick someone's fucking arse!"

Small Heath, Birmingham, 1919

The next day Liv gets off the train in Birmingham. Her anger has not subsided. If anything, it has grown. She calls a taxi for Ayla and herself, and then they are driven to Small Heath. Not straight to Watery Lane, of course, the taxi drivers don't dare, but close enough. Liv briefly looks at her watch. They must be at the Garrison. So she walks purposefully in the direction of the pub. On the street, she can hear people whispering.

"That's Olivia James." "Is that Liv? What's she doing here?"

Ayla tries convulsively to keep up with Liv. "Liv… Wait," she says out of breath as Liv stops outside the pub.

"I'm sorry for what you're about to witness," Liv says, then yanks open the doors. Behind the bar, Harry immediately looks up and his eyes grow wide.

"Miss James?" he asks in surprise, and then Liv spots Grace. She stares at them angrily. Grace tries to stop Liv just as she pulls open the doors to the small parlour.

"You can't go in there!" Liv, however, doesn't listen.

All eyes shoot to her. Arthur, John, Polly, Will and Tommy stare at her.

"Liv?" asks Will, confused, but Liv walks purposefully towards Tommy.

She punches him several times in the chest, pushing him backwards. He is not prepared for this, which is why he staggers backwards a step.

"Are you actually taking the piss out of me completely?!" she shouts angrily.

None of the other Shelbys intervene and Tommy, too, just lets her freak out. They all know better than to stand in the way of a raging Olivia James.

"What the fuck, huh?!" she exclaims, taking out the letter. "Fuck, I knew there was something different about you when I saw you Cheltenham, but this is really a new fucking low, even for you Tommy!" She shoves him again. "First, you tell me you don't care about me, and then something like this? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" yells Liv, looking Tommy in the eye with rage.

She crumples up the letter and throws it at Tommy. "I will now take the liberty of telling you directly. You are a fucking bastard Thomas Shelby!" Liv lashes out and slaps Tommy across the face.

There is silence all around. No one would normally dare to do something like that, but with Liv it surprises no one.

She snorts angrily before turning on her heel and storming out. She drags a completely confused and uncomfortable Ayla with her and then pushes the doors out of the garrison open.

Outside, Liv stops for a moment and then takes a deep breath. "What the hell was that?" asks Ayla, still confused, but Liv gives her no answer.

Just as she is about to light a smoke, she is grabbed by both arms and a bag is pulled over her head. Her cigarettes fall out of her mouth.

"Hey!" protests Liv, trying to free herself but her hands are held back.

"Easy, Miss James, or we'll kill your friend right here and now."

Meanwhile at the Garrison, Tommy's brothers, his aunt and Will look at him questioningly. "What have you done now?" asks Polly then, taking a drag from her smoke. Tommy looks at her and presses his eyebrows together.

"Honestly… I don't know," he says and John picks up the crumpled letter.

"What's this?" Tommy snatches it from John's hand, unknots the paper and reads the lines.

"Fuck," he curses, then runs out of Garrison.

"Liv?!" he shouts, looking around, but he can't spot Liv anywhere. Arthur, Will and John follow him.

"What the fuck is going on Tommy?" asks Arthur.

"Liv received a letter, with a booking request from Shelby Company Ltd," he says and the three others look at him in confusion. He spots the unlit smoke on the floor and picks it up.

"We certainly didn't send her that letter. So it must have been someone else," Tommy says.

"Fuck," Will now curses. "Campbell…"

Liv notices herself being tied to a chair as they finally pull the bag off her head. Next to her, she spots Ayla looking around with fear filled eyes. They have also tied her to a chair and gagged her. In front of her, Liv discovers two men looking at her.

Hateful, she looks at them and spits at their feet.

"Pretty cheeky, don't you think Fred?" one asks and the other nods before coming towards her. He grabs her by the chin and scrutinises her face.

"But no less pretty because of it." He lets go of Liv.

"Now then, my little songbird. Where are the weapons?" he asks and Liv frowns.

"What fucking weapons?" she asks, squeezing her eyes shut.

"The ones your friend is hiding."

"What friend?"

"Well, that Peaky devil. Thomas Shelby." Now Liv starts to laugh.

"Are you fucking stupid?" she asks. The man, however, doesn't seem to find this funny at all, because he slaps her face with the flat of his hand. Liv sees stars in front of her eyes for a moment. Ayla tries to scream, but Liv only hears her whimper.

"That's the end of being cheeky," he says sternly and leans down to Liv. "Where are the weapons?" he asks again.

"What fucking weapons? How the fuck am I supposed to know where Tommy hides his fucking weapons? We haven't been in contact for years!" The man looks at his accomplice and then back at Liv.

"Well then, let's find out if he still cares about you," he says and pulls out a knife.

Liv tries to hide her fear as best she can. The man takes Liv's hair and cuts out a strand. Then he presses it against Liv's cheek. When he takes it away again, Liv sees the blood on it. It seems her cheek split open when the man hit her. He smiles confidently before the two leave the room, leaving Liv and Ayla alone.

Gritting his teeth, Tommy looks at the strand of hair in front of him. Blood is on it. They have her. They have Liv. And they're using her against him.

"Fuck!" he exclaims, banging his fist on his desk. At that moment his aunt enters his office. Concerned, she looks at the strand of hair.

"You have to do something Tommy. And you have to do it now. If they hurt her… You'd never forgive yourself."

"Oh yeah, you think I don't fucking know that myself eh?!" he shouts angrily, glaring at his aunt.

"Just give them the guns and get Liv home," she says sternly and Tommy looks her in the eye.

"It's not fucking that easy Pol! No," he says, shaking his head. "I have to find her myself." With these words Tommy leaves the office. Shaking her head, Polly looks after her nephew.

Liv and Ayla have been sitting in the dark room for what feels like an eternity now. It is stuffy and damp and Liv suspects they must probably be somewhere near the docks. n an old warehouse. She feels her arms beginning to ache from the position and she puts her head back. Why on earth did she come back here? She knows the answer to that all too well, of course. Tommy fucking Shelby. He just still gets under her skin and after so many years. And he knows how to drive her up the wall.

When Liv almost falls asleep, she hears the door open and is immediately wide awake again. She looks ahead and an older man with a moustache and bowler hat approaches her. She squints her eyes and watches his every move. He approaches Liv and then stands about two metres in front of her, eyeing her.

"Miss James. It's an honour to meet you. I'm Inspector Campbell." Liv raises her head arrogantly.

"I wish I could say the same to you," Liv returns and Campbell's lips twitch. He walks up to her and scrutinises her face. He lifts a hand and briefly grabs the laceration she has on her cheek.

"Sorry about my men." Liv jerks her head away from him.

"Sure you are," she says sarcastically. "You're making a big mistake here Inspector. I have friends. Friends in high places," Liv then says with narrowed eyes.

Campbell clasps his hands behind his back. He pulls up a chair and sits down opposite her. "If you want to use that to refer to Mr Mosley, don't worry. I know from reasonable sources that you two haven't seen each other in a couple of months and besides, you're not the only one with friends, Miss James."

He puts on a smug smile. "It would be a lot easier for you and for me if you would cooperate with us Miss James. Then you won't get hurt and we can finally wrap things up here and Shelby will get the punishment he deserves."

"I don't fucking know where the weapons are! How many times do I have to say this? Tommy and I are not friends! Not for years!" Now Campbell smiles even wider.

"I know," he says and Liv looks him in the eye in surprise. "You're not here to tell me where the guns are either."

"Then why else?! Fuck! Your men…"

"I know, I know. They're not exactly the brightest candles on the cake, but they're useful."

"What do you want from me?", Liv then spits out.

"As I said before, I have very reliable sources Miss James. And they have informed me that you are still one of the most important things in Thomas Shelby's life."

"So you want me to be the decoy?" Campbell nods curtly.

"You're very clever, I'll give you that. Shelby will do everything he can to track you down. He'll also know by now that I'm behind your invitation and he'll try to make a deal."

"You want to trade me for the guns? You're really fucking dumber than you look. Tommy doesn't care about me anymore." Campbell's smile on his face doesn't go away.

"And I think you're wrong on that very point, Miss James." With those words, Campbell stands up and walks towards the door. "You watch her. She is not to be touched, do you understand?!" he says to his men and then walks out of the room.

Liv, still bound, stares at the floor in front of her. They have now also gagged her to keep her quiet. Again and again she hears Ayla whimpering beside her. Suddenly one of the two men stands up and comes towards Liv.

"What are you doing?" the other asks, but he ignores him.

"She's quite pretty, isn't she?" he asks as he stands in front of Liv and takes her chin in his hand. "I bet she's a good fuck. I heard she was Tommy Shelby's girl."

"Come on, leave her alone. Campbell told us not to touch her."

"Like he'd find out," the other says then, eyeing Liv's body.

"I'm just wondering what's hidden underneath." He reaches for her dress and begins to pull it up. Liv now begins to whimper as well. They can hit her all they want from her, but she definitely doesn't want to be touched where it doesn't belong.

"Don't do that Titus," the other now says again, slapping the latter's hand away.

"What's the matter Fred? Haven't you ever wondered what a superstar looks like under all those clothes?"

Again Titus reaches for Liv, but Fred tries to dissuade him again and they wrestle for a moment, sending Liv flying to the floor, chair and all. She feels her elbow hurt and probably bleeding, but she doesn't care because the fall has caused the cloth in front of her mouth to slip.

"You know what? Do whatever you want!", Fred then gives up and looks down at Liv before turning away. Titus grins and then leans down to Liv.

"Please," she pleads and a tear runs down her cheek.

"Shut up," he just says sternly and slaps her face again. Liv now tastes blood in her mouth, but she doesn't care, because she notices his hands on her dress again. She tries to escape from him somehow, but it is difficult when you are tied to a chair.

"Maybe I'll just knock you unconscious and you'll stop struggling. Well, what do you think of that?" he then asks and grabs her neck. He squeezes and immediately it cuts off Liv's air.

Her eyes grow wide and just as she thinks she is losing consciousness, she hears a gunshot. The grip on her neck loosens and then Titus falls backwards. She feels his wet blood on her face and then tears her eyes open, but her vision is blurred.

She can make out screaming and then another gunshot. Liv is still on the floor. She can just see some legs in front of her, but then she can't manage to stay awake.

When Tommy flings open the door and he, Arthur, John and Will rush into the room, he is almost breathless. The image that presents itself shocks him deeply. A man is bent over Liv, who is lying on the floor tied to a chair, and is choking her.

Tommy does not hesitate for long. He raises his gun and shoots the man in the head. No one touches Liv like that. No one. Next to Liv he sees another young woman, also tied to a chair, crying. While the others take care of the second man in the room, Tommy runs towards Liv.

He pulls the dead body away from her, but he quickly realises that Liv is no longer conscious. He quickly unties her and then takes her in his arms to examine her. She has a laceration on her cheek, a split lip and bruises are already forming where the bastard choked her. Anger rises in Tommy. How could he let this happen to her.

"Liv!" he then hears Will shout, kneeling on the floor next to Tommy.

"What's wrong with her? Is she still alive?" he asks quickly, checking her pulse. Relief rushes through him as he can feel it.

"We have to get her to Polly, Tommy!" he says then and Tommy looks Will in the eyes. They are the same eyes as Liv's, looking at him now with concern. Then he nods and lifts Liv up.

Arthur has meanwhile released Liv's escort, who throws herself gratefully around his neck, which seems to confuse Arthur slightly.

[cherryliqueurkinks]

i try to pray every night

Betty learns that her older half-brother is a pastor and is eager to learn more about him when she visits for the summer.

pairing: betty cooper/charles smith

READ ON AO3

Learning that she has an older half-brother should've been a shock to Betty, but after the way sophomore year has panned out, she doubts much could surprise her anymore. Finding out that Charles is not only alive, but that he lives just an hour away and as a pastor, of all things, had nearly made her laugh from the irony of it all. Her mother had done nothing but lecture Betty about virtues and purity, yet the son she'd born out of wedlock and given up to adoption is far more qualified to do so.

And unlike their mother, Charles never felt the need to preach to Betty about any of it, nor had he seemed disturbed to learn of Polly's own unwed, unplanned high school pregnancy.

After learning where they are, Charles has taken the drive to Riverdale to visit a few times over the last few months, and Betty feels comfortable enough to agree to spend her summer break with him. In fact, after all of the drama of sophomore year, she's eager to spend time away from Riverdale. She'll miss her friends, of course, but she's excited for the chance to get closer to her older brother.

She just never could have anticipated how close they would actually become.

-

"O-ohhh, oh god!"

Charles clicks his tongue in disapproval, tightening his grip on her hair and slowing the roll of his hips, drawing a wanton whimper from his baby sister as the pleasure begins to ebb once more. Her pussy clamps around the thickness of his cock, her clit throbbing, begging for friction, but she twists her fingers into the bed comforter rather than giving into the temptation of relief, knowing how disappointed her brother will be if she does so.

"We don't use that word in this house," Charles reminds, his voice easy and soothing and completely at odds with the harsh smack of his palm against her cunt.

"Ah!" she gasps, her breaths stuttering as he snaps his hips and sinks in deeper. "I... I'm sorry," she pants, her head lolling back, but he gathers her hair in his fist and forces her to face forward, to stare straight into their reflection on the mirror across the bed.

It's amazing that she feels the urge to blush at all considering all that she's witnessed in this mirror in the week and a half she's spent with her brother, yet the telltale pink flush spreads across her cheeks as she takes in her reflection: the sway of her breasts with Charles's every thrust, the glistening skin where her arousal has dripped down the inside of her thighs, the dazed and nearly drugged expression on her face as her brother dangles her on the precipice of her release.

Charles groans, giving another tug on her hair and bringing her back flush to his chest, his thrusts quickening as he cups one of her bouncing tits with his free hand.

"This body," he murmurs, his teeth nipping at the delicate skin of her neck. Betty's lips part on another stuttering whine, overwhelmed with sensation as the pressure begins to tighten at the base of her spine once more. "So sweet, so ripe for the taking," he says as his thrusts grow faster, his hips jutting up against hers almost erratically as his every muscle ripples and tightens. "An apple of temptation for the taking, indeed."

A few more thrusts and his chest rumbles with a deep groan, both of his hands falling to her hips, gripping her in place as his cock twitches and pulses with every spurt of his cum coating her walls. Betty shivers delicately, warmth rippling through her as she feels him emptying inside of her even as her own pleasure falls just shy of that peak. Everything feels heady and hazy, her clit aching, and she doesn't even realize she's reaching between her legs, desperate to fall over that edge, until Charles's hands clamp around her wrists.

She should be more embarrassed by the whimper that leaves her lips as he draws her hands back, but she can't help it. She'd spent her first week under his roof coming over and over and over again, until she nearly passed out at the end of every day from the force of the pleasure he'd wrung out of her.

But the last three days? She hasn't come once.

Charles has, of course, and he's brought her as close to the precipice as he possibly could without letting her reach that peak, often more than once a day. He ties her hands to the headboard each night, lest she be tempted in sleep to find relief, and she hasn't worn any underwear because he didn't want to risk the lace being enough friction to bring her relief.

He'd given her a reason as to why - an exercise in restraint of sorts, according to her brother - but Betty had been too swept up in the waves of her ruined orgasm to really comprehend any of it.

Just as she is now as he pulls out of her with a final groan, letting her fall limply to the bed, her pussy tingling and her hips squirming the way they always do when she's been freshly edged. She buries her cry of frustration as she presses her face into the comforter, yelping as she feels Charles's teeth sink into the swell of her ass.

"You're doing so well," he soothes, licking the indent of his teeth before nipping at her other cheek. "Just a few more hours until the ceremony and you'll know pure pleasure again." The flat of his tongue licks up the puffy, oversensitive folds of Betty's pussy, drawing a whine as he laps up the slick of her arousal and his cum as it drips out of her. "You are simply so divine, you even tempt me," he groans as he works his mouth over her once, twice, three times, nearly making her sob into the comforter from the sensation before he pulls away and kisses the back of her thigh. "My people will fall to their knees for even a single taste of such a lush fruit."

Betty looks over her shoulder at him, the light fixture above his head casting a ring of light around his head that she nearly squints against the glare of it. She bites her lower lip, though she knows what he'll say if she voices her hesitation. She'd only planned on staying for the summer, but meeting his church, joining his church, feels like a far bigger commitment than seems to Charles tell her.

"There's nothing to worry about," he'd say, stroking her body with his large, practiced hands until she's whining and dripping between her legs. "I want to share this with you. Everyone is so excited to finally meet my precious baby sister."

Before Betty can voice her worries once more, however, Charles is already climbing off of the bed and gathering her pliant body in his arms. "Come," he says, smiling down at her with nothing short of adoration, already distracting Betty from her hesitation, "let's get you fed. You'll certainly need the energy for tonight."

-

Betty has met a few members of Charles's church as they've come to his house for one reason or another, but she hadn't been prepared for the attention of such a large crowd as she steps through the doors.

She feels her entire body flush under the weight of their stares, a fact they can surely see for themselves considering she's in nothing but a sheer, white fabric of some sort that hardly qualifies as a dress considering it's simply draped over her shoulders and cinched together by a delicate golden chain of some sort. The fabric plunges deep in the front and leaves her sides entirely exposed, and even though Charles had called it a ceremonial gown, Betty feels horribly underdressed compared to the fine silks and tulle.

Well, other than Charles himself, whose wears nothing but a pair of white suit pants that look far more expensive than anything else in this room.

Charles gives a small smile to the crowd, polite and charming but filled with every bit of power and reverence his people place in him, as he sets his hand on the small of her back to guide her forward. Betty almost wants to close her eyes from all of the attention, but then she sees what awaits them at the end of the carpeted aisle and her breath hitches in her chest.

A platform adorned with dozens of flickering pillar candles, a grand altar draped in embroidered cloth, and behind it, a large X made of polished, gleaming wood.

"Our cross," Charles murmurs into her ear, and she can practically hear the smile on his lips, as if he knows her eyes have fixated on the delicate yet undeniable straps mounted to the wood. Restraints. "But you'll have the honor of being placed on it another night. Tonight, your ceremony will take place on our altar."

His words have barely left his mouth by the time they climb the few steps onto the platform, giving Betty little time to react at all as two men in white suits are lifting her onto the altar. She shivers as her bare ass hits the surface, cold even with the buffer of the cloth draped over it, and her breath hitches in her chest as her heart begins to thrum. And it's as if the entire room senses the shift in her body, swaying forward, drawn to her as the two attendants work spread her legs open wide and strap her ankles to either side of the altar.

The position forces her onto her back, the fabric of her dress sliding out of place to expose one of her tits, and then they lift it from her legs as if lifting a veil, completely exposing her pussy to the room, still wet from her edging and dripping with Charles's cum.

Murmurs break out across the room, but are quickly silenced as Charles pushes his pants down his hips and steps out of them, his cock already hard once more despite him coming down her throat no more than half an hour ago.

"My family," he greets, coming to stand beside Betty's head on the other side of the altar. "Tonight, we finally welcome my own blood. I have been sharing tales of my dear Elizabeth, but she is far sweeter than I ever could have imagined," he says, stroking his knuckles over the apple of her cheek as he peers down at her. "A gift sent from above, indeed."

Betty shivers delicately at his praise before she can think twice about her reaction, and another murmur ripples through the crowd, no doubt catching the way her pussy flutters in response.

"Tonight, she will be reborn as mine, as part of my soul and my gift to you, my beloved family, to be savored and enjoyed as all sweet fruit should be." Charles gestures to the two attendants opposite of the altar, and Betty startles as she feels two pairs of lips pressing against her thighs, nipping and suckling at her skin. Her eyes fly up to her brother, her breaths quickening, and Charles smiles down at her as he tilts her head back. "You can come as many times as you want, dear Elizabeth," he promises, and it isn't until his thighs are on either side of her head that the altar places her at the perfect height for his cock to slide into her mouth.

And when those two mouths between her legs finally join in the middle, one tongue swirling over her clit as the other thrusts into her cunt, Charles does exactly that, sliding his cock into her mouth as it parts on a gasp. Then he thrusts again, and again, and suddenly he's nestled deep in her throat, her plush lips flush with the base of his cock as he lets out something akin to a growl.

Betty's hands scramble across the altar, beginning to reach up as if to shove Charles out of her mouth, but the two attendants grab her wrists before she can and pin them in place. Lips wrap around her clit and suck as a tongue curls deep inside of her, and Betty chokes out a cry around Charles's cock as her orgasm bursts over her.

Betty's eyes fill with tears that roll down her cheek and drip onto the altar, but whether they're from the force of her orgasm or from the force of Charles's thrusts as he fucks her mouth, she can't quite tell. It's too much, it's too much, but no one relents even for a second, her body squirming as best as it can against the restraints as they feast on her cunt.

Her second orgasm is quicker and harder, squirting out of her spasming pussy as her clit throbs under the tongue that's licking at it. She's starting to feel lightheaded from the pleasure and the lack of oxygen, only furthered when Charles's hand is on her throat, holding her in place as his thrusts quicken until he's reaching his own orgasm and ripping his cock from her mouth with a long groan.

His hands come around his cock, pumping his cum in ropes across her breasts and her stomach and even her neck and chin, some of it no doubt dripping into her hair as he anoints her body with his seed.

Something shifts at Betty's hips, and suddenly the delicate chain holding her dress together is being unfastened, the cum-soaked fabric sliding off of her body almost entirely, but Betty barely has a chance to react to it because then there's a sharp pain at her nipple that has her crying out, and then it's at her other nipple, making her whine as she glances down her body to find the hardened peaks adorned with jeweled clamps.

But then her eyes shift down the length of her body, watching as the chain between the clamps is being pulled toward her cunt, and then the same sharp pain is on her clit as the third clamp is put in place. It's enough to make her come again, her pussy spasming around aching emptiness as her body writhes. Her wrists are free once more, leaving her to scratch and tug uselessly at the altar's cloth as she rides the waves of the overwhelming sensations.

Then there's a soft buzzing in the air, almost lost in the murmuring crowd and Betty keens as something small and smooth is being pressed against her cunt, sending delicious vibrations through her oversensitive folds as they twitch and flutter, as if unsure whether to clamp up against the overstimulation or seek it out.

She's coming again, her eyes rolling back as her nipples and clit throb almost in perfect sync under their clamps. She can feel her pussy dripping down her ass and dripping onto the floor, making the crowd stir in excitement as she comes and comes and comes.

A hand strokes her slick thigh as if in reassurance, making Betty's eyes flutter open to find her brother stepping between her legs, his hand holding the vibrator in place as he slips into her orgasming pussy. Her chest squeezes as she stares up at him, the chandelier on the ceiling casting a ring of light around his head, eerily similar to the way she'd looked up at him in his bed just hours before, looking every bit of the beloved, blessed leader his people believe him to be.

And after tonight, in their eyes, she's irrevocably become a piece of him. She'll belong to him like an extension of himself, as he'd told them, but she'll belong to all of them in turn.

To be enjoyed by all, he'd said.

Oh, god.

As if hearing her thoughts, Charles tuts softly, pressing the vibrator a little harder to her clamped clit.

"It still seems you have much to learn, baby sister," he murmurs only for her to hear, and then his thrust quickens and Betty keens out, her vision nearly whiting out with the force of the pleasure that floods through her.

-

She loses count of how many times she comes that night, strapped to that altar, loses sense of time and her sense of self as some of the pillar candles being to wink out, cloaking the room in more and more darkness, yet Charles continues to work every drop of pleasure out of her body. He makes her come for every orgasm he ruined over the last three days, and then makes her come even more, until all she seems to be able to do and see and feel is pleasure. By the end of the night, she's all too aware of Charles's body and how it feels on her and in her, recognizing his touch among all the others he lets touch her that night, recognizing his scent through the thick, sweet musk of sex filling the air.

Perhaps her brother truly is blessed, to have kept his sister awake through it all, just enough that she feels every single second of her orgasms long after anyone else would've passed out from sheer exhaustion. It's as if she's only conscious because he wills it to be, because the moment he presses his lips to her forehead in a reverent, startlingly chaste kiss, signaling to his people that the ceremony is over, Betty succumbs to sleep within seconds.

Reborn as his, indeed.

[thegentletm]

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓. why susan was no longer a seven friend of narnia | including book quotes for reference

“Sire,” said Tirian, when he had greeted all these. “If I have read the chronicle aright, there should be another. Has not your Majesty two sisters? Where is Queen Susan?” “My sister Susan,” answered Peter shortly and gravely, “is no longer a friend of Narnia.” “Yes,” said Eustace, “and whenever you’ve tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says ‘What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.’“ “Oh Susan!” said Jill. “She’s interested in nothing nowadays except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up.” “Grown-up, indeed,” said the Lady Polly. “I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she’ll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one’s life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can.”

Susan has a very misguided belief and distorted view towards what being a "grown-up" should be. Susan is very open about making fun of her siblings belief in Narnia and Aslan (which is very immature on her end), and spent a large portion of her time all consumed with chasing adulthood, particularly her early 20s. Susan is not only concerned about being grown-up, but admires the grown-up because it is grown-up, and blushes and balks at the suspicion of being childish. Susan treats adulthood as a way to gain approval from other adults, and is very childish still because of how she views what adulthood is to her on Earth. Susan has entirely, by this point in her life, lost her sense of imagination and faith, and her fear of childishness is what makes her childish still. This all fits in quite well with canon, but my portrayal of Susan, there's an awful lot more to it than that.

Though Susan was only 12 years old still on Earth after her first foray into Narnia, where she lived out an entire lifetime in the span of only mere minutes on Earth, when Susan came back through the Wardrobe portal, she lost everything. She lost her husband. She lost her children. She lost her sister-in-laws. She lost her nieces. She lost her nephews. She lost her dearest friends. If it hadn't of been for the Professor showing up and telling them they won't get back through to Narnia in the Wardrobe again, she would have spent the rest of her summer at his house clawing at the back of the Wardrobe.

For the first three months, Susan would spent much of her time praying and begging for Aslan to take her back, take her back to Narnia, to her home, to her family. Her husband and children. With each passing day, a deep longing and depression started to settle in. She missed them, and she missed who she had become. She had been an adult. A wife. A mother. An aunt. A queen. A leader. And now, she was back to being a 12-year-old schoolgirl, in the blink of an eye. She didn't think it was fair, and would never be consoled to what she had lost. She and her siblings couldn't talk of their time to anyone else - after all, who would believe them? Digory and Polly, but they would only marginally understand - they had only been in Narnia for a brief period, and never spent a lifetime in that wonderous world, building a life and a family. They had never lost what she had lost. It only felt like salt was being rubbed in the wounds seeing that her siblings handled their grief far easier than she did.

As time went on and she dawdled more in her grief, Susan began losing hope. Hope of Aslan, hope of God, hope of ever seeing her loved ones again. When the four were transported to Narnia the following year, she foolishly and briefly let her hopes get up, only for her hopes to be cruelly shattered to a million pieces when it became clear just how much time had passed in Narnia since they left. Briefly, and secretly, Susan would ask the few Narnians if they knew what had become of her family, but after hearing some squabble about what had actually happened - and the one story involving a horrific massacre, she had dropped the topic. It wasn't like knowing would heal the gaping hole in her heart, anyway.

After Aslan informed her that she would not return to Narnia, her faith seemed to vanish entirely. Deep down, Susan knew - she never lost her hope and faith, but she would never let it seep to the surface again. She vowed to harden her heart, to push forward in life and do whatever she could to step away from the faith her siblings were filled with. She pushed towards becoming an adult, and surrounding herself with whatever could occupy her mind for even the briefest of time. Parties. Makeup. Clothes. Boys. Work. Friends. All of these became like drugs to Susan, and with each passing day she would push her family farther and farther away. Each party would bring about a night of dreams filled with the magnificent balls and events Susan hosted and attended in Narnia. The clothes would never be as grand or feel as right as the elegant clothing of Narnia. The sex would never bring her husband back to her, the only man who truly mattered to her.

On that fateful day of the railway accident, Susan very adamantly said no when Peter and Edmund showed up at her bedroom door, asking her to accompany them. They laid their reasons on the table - Narnia was in danger, she was desperately needed to help their beloved land. It wasn't just her hardened heart that made her refuse. Aslan's words echoed throughout her memory, as if they had just freshly been whispered in her hear. "Aslan told me I would never return to Narnia. You're wrong. You're wasting your time." It was the first time in years that Susan had mentioned the name Aslan. She since she had dared to even utter Narnia. The first time that she had treated it as real, and not just a game. It was, much to Susan's surprise, the start of Susan's journey to finding Narnia, faith, and hope again. Of redeeming herself, and being welcomed as one of the seven friends of Narnia again.

[e-louise-bates]

Petition to start referring to Susan Pevensie's arc as "The Tragedy of Susan" rather than "The Problem of Susan." Her arc is not defined by the "problem" of growing up; it is the tragedy of forgetting she is a queen.

In Prince Caspian, we see the seeds of this. "It's no good behaving like kids now that we are back in Narnia," Peter tells her when she is afraid of entering the treasure chamber in the ruins of Cair Paravel. "You're a Queen here." Aslan does not chide her for being too grown-up to believe in him; he lends her his breath for bravery so that she can stop listening to her fears. Susan's "problem" in this book is in fact that she behaves more like a child than a queen.

In many ways, Susan's arc parallels Prince Rilian's in The Silver Chair. He is the Lost Prince; she becomes the Lost Queen. He is enchanted to forget who he really is. The Green Lady twists his birthright so that he is going to conquer his own land and rule as a usurper--the land where he is meant to be the rightful ruler! He unconsciously trades his role as the true prince for a false kingship (similar to Edmund trading his birthright as a true king of Narnia for the Witch's false promise to make him a prince ... hey, you'd almost think this was a theme or something).

Susan likewise trades her identity as queen for a false substitute in England, exchanging the substance for the shadow. She is a child pretending to be a grown-up, not actually being grown-up. Lewis never says there's anything inherently wrong with "lipstick and nylons and invitations," but they are merely the outward trappings of society. What makes a person a king or queen comes from inside. When Rilian returns to Narnia, he is instantly recognized as a prince, despite his lack of a crown or any of the other formal trappings of royalty. He is recognized because he is no longer hidden by the armor of the Green Lady--and so he looks like himself. In fact, he not only looks like himself, he looks like his father. (Which is also how Lord Bern recognizes Caspian in the Lone Islands, despite Caspian not having any outward proof of his kingship--Caspian looks and sounds like his father. Shasta is recognized as a prince because of his resemblance to his brother--oh hey, we've got another theme going.)

Susan has put on the armor of the world, and in doing so has lost herself as queen. That is what makes her arc a tragedy. But! There is always, always hope. Rilian is rescued. Shasta is restored to his true identity as Prince Cor. Edmund is redeemed. Aslan breathes on Susan. Caspian's kingship restores right order to the Lone Islands. No one is ever irredeemably lost.

Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia.

Even when they themselves have forgotten who they truly are.

[narniadynasty]

don't talk about Bruno Susan, no! (why did I talk about Bruno Susan?) not a word about Bruno Susan I never should've brought up Bruno Susan!

"Sir," said Tirian, when he had greeted all these. "If I have read the chronicles aright, there should be another. Has not your Majesty two sisters? Where is Queen Susan?"

"My sister Susan," answered Peter shortly and gravely, "is no longer a friend of Narnia."

"Yes," said Eustace, "and whenever you've tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says 'What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.'"

"Oh Susan!" said Jill, "she's interested in nothing now-a-days except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up."

"Grown-up, indeed," said the Lady Polly. "I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can."

“Well, don’t let’s talk about that now,” said Peter.

[daisies-and-buttercups]

“Love and War / Chapter II″ - Luca Changretta x reader

Summary: Waking up to an empty bed and the words that Luca left for you, you soon realise that everything is going to go down today, and you’ll soon have to pick a side. 

A/N: I swear that this post took me at least three tries, tumblr kept deleting and/or messing up the formatting so I’m really hoping that this is worth it lol 💕

Words: 2.7k

Chapter I Chapter III

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The next morning you shifted in bed, stretching your arms in search of your lover’s body, but all you felt was the crumpling sheets, still warm from where his body was not too long ago. You groaned, sitting up and scanning the room, eyebrows scrunched into a tired look. If you had to guess what had happened the night before just by looking at your room you wouldn’t have had any clues. Your clothes were neatly folded by the chair and there was no other evidence that anything had indeed happened. No clothes abandoned on the floor, no man lying next to you. 

You walked down the stairs almost second guessing yourself, thinking over the night's events while you prepared a cup of coffee that you so desperately craved. Taking a big sip your eyes landed on the small table by the door, only usually adorned by a small plate for your keys and some letters that you hadn’t gotten around to opening yet, now decorated by a beautiful bouquet. You never had flowers around, the item useless and expensive, not something that you could afford with your paycheque, but just with their presence they lit the room up, their delicate perfume filling your lungs. You smiled and walked up to them, lifting the small card up to read it. A simple phrase full of adoration and love, with a few words in Italian, made you blush at the love you felt, but the final sentence made your heart drop. 

If today is kind with my soul, I shall meet you in your dreams tonight, mio amore.

His handwriting was smooth and elegant with each word, but the last sentence was slightly messy, revealing his feelings maybe more than he was used to. His fear. He didn’t think he’d make it back.

So today was the day. 

You scurried over to the phone, picking it up and calling the Shelbys, hoping that someone, anyone, would answer, but no one did. There was no point in leaving the house, you wouldn’t know where to find them and you had no way of knowing where Luca was either. There were many places where this showdown could happen, and even if you found it, what were you going to do? You couldn’t just waltz in hoping not to get shot. Still, the mix of emotions in your chest made you dizzy. Why didn’t he say anything? You dreaded the images that flashed before your eyes, first that of Tommy’s lifeless body, still clutching his gun, then that of Luca, tumbling as a bullet hit him square in the chest.  Tears fell as you pictured those scenarios, but knew that that was all they were. They weren’t real. But even knowing that, you couldn’t stop pacing around the room, counting the minutes and going over the events of the past few weeks.  You didn’t know how to feel about this whole ordeal. You never forgot how Tommy and his family welcomed you when you had been left with nothing, giving you a job, food, inviting you over for drinks and celebrations, but as much as you dreamed of it, you’d never be part of them. You fit in, but not fully. You weren’t part of their circle, but you were part of their “clean” life. Tommy made sure to to leave you out of the dirty deeds, even if you gathered what happened behind closed doors, and by doing so he shut you out of the only part of their life that would make you fully fit in with them. Then Luca arrived, and the calls, on the phone that Thomas brought just for you, since you couldn’t afford one in any other way, started becoming less frequent, with less news. No more talking about the business, no more working by their side, no more gossiping with Ada or Polly on Saturday evenings. You still got your salary, somehow left by your door with nothing else attached to it, not even a note, but that didn’t change the stark difference in your routine. You barely felt like family, or whatever you had ended up being, anymore. You felt even more left out now. So when Luca came around and actually listened to you, and talked to you, and shared his interests while asking about yours, you felt appreciated, loved. You had found somewhere where you fitted.  And now here you stood, weary of whose death you’d have to cry at the end of the day.

It took hours for the phone to ring with news, which made you jump into alertness, rushing over to answer. “Where is he?” You stayed quiet for a moment, fully expecting to hear Polly’s or Ada’s voice, not Tommy’s. He was alive, and clearly Polly had told him about your meeting with the Italian. “Where is-” “Where is he?” he raised his voice in unison to the loud sound you heard not far from him, probably his fist banging against the table.  So they still were both alive. You let a breath out that you were unaware you had been holding, gripping your clothes tightly, adrenaline running in your veins from the news.  He didn’t usually raise his voice, so his anger was evident, yet you weren’t sure if it was directed at you or at Luca. He clearly had gotten away, and the thought of that was enough to lift that weight off your chest. “I don’t know, Thomas.”  “You knew last night, though, didn’t you? When he was in your bed? Bet it felt good, eh, fucking the enemy?” You didn’t answer, your face blushing in shame and anger. He had no right to spy into your personal life. You knew that in his books you were on the wrong side of the war they were fighting, but his words were harsh, cutting through you without any of the warmth they once held. “Don’t defend a fucking wop. Tell me.” “I don’t know where he is. But this has to end, Thomas, this war you’re-” “Why don’t you tell that to your friend?” He pronounced the last word with sarcasm and hatred, but what hurt him was the betrayal he felt when you made it clear that you cared about him.  “I already did. I told him I support neither of your ways. Just stop, someone’s gonna get hurt.“ “And it would be a shame if you got caught in the crossfire.” he spat out, the silence ringing in your ears as if his threat were a slap. “Goodnight, Thomas.” You replied, slamming the phone down, not even sure if he was still there to hear you but not willing to argue anymore. You didn’t stop walking around the halls, hoping that someone else would tell you more about what actually went down, still in the dark, but no one did. 

That night you laid in bed, thinking over everything that had happened, or at least what you knew. The fairytale routine you had fallen in with Luca, the fancy restaurants, chivalrous words and tender kisses were taken away from you so soon after they started, leaving you desperate for what you had started growing so used to. Had it not been for the vendetta, he’d probably be here next to you right now, drawing circles on your shoulders with his fingertips, kissing you softly. But he wasn’t here, and all you knew was that he must’ve been alive somehow, since Tommy had no idea as to where he could’ve been.  Standing up you took a few steps towards the small balcony, desperate for some fresh air. There was barely enough space to stand on it so you leaned on the window frame, spotting someone moving away just as you glanced down towards the back street. Had you been in a less emotional state you’d have never chased after them, but right now all you wanted were answers.  You turned the corner, losing your balance as you slammed into someone, but their hands held you up, pulling you against them.  “You shouldn’t have come out here, principessa. You never know who might linger in the dark.” With your mouth agape you stood still for a moment, realising who was standing in front of you and finally wrapping your arms around him, colliding with his chest once more. He let out a low chuckle, melting into your embrace and holding you, feeling your heartbeat calm him down, a natural remedy that only you could provide. Your tears fell freely, wetting his coat while you shivered against him. “Well, lucky me then.” you joked, breathing in his scent, the notes of sandalwood surrounding you. “What happened?”  “Nothing. The police got in the way.” he shrugged lightly, his hands still around your waist, pulling you against him. “Thomas was looking for you. He called me.” he nodded, looking around the street for any signs of someone spying on them, but no one was around at this time, but he didn’t care either way. “I’m leaving for Camden Town. I won’t be back for a few days, so you won’t see me for a bit.” “And what are you going to do in Camden Town?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. He wouldn’t stop, and there was only one man in London that had a strong connection to Tommy, and not always a good one. You had never met Alfie Solomons, but you knew enough about him to know where this was going. “Not important. I came to get a goodbye kiss.” his eyes crinkled as he smiled, lifting your chin with his fingers and finding his mouth, kissing you with an initial softness, growing into a hunger that he couldn’t afford right now. He groaned, breaking the kiss, resting his forehead to yours. “What are you planning, Luca?”  “Goodnight, dear.”  “It’s not gonna end well.” “Goodnight, dear.” He repeated, kissing your forehead and lingering for a moment more, before urging you to walk back home, waiting until you were out of sight to slip away, walking towards the car that would take him to London. 

You spent days waiting for something, but there was nothing. No calls, no letters, no news.  You picked a few books off your bookshelf, books you had never had the time to read, and scanned the pages, not managing to focus on more than a few pages. It was that dark feeling in your chest that you couldn’t ignore, and the lack of news only made it worse, feeding your mind with the most horrible scenarios.  It felt like a blessing, if only for a short moment, when a call arrived shortly after dinner. You were resting your head on the sofa, singing along to some old songs while you stared at your hands, the concept of time slowly slipping away, when you received the news, making you sit up in disbelief. Polly had been brief, delivering the news and nothing more, leaving you clutching your telephone and staring into thin air for what felt like hours. She hadn’t said anything more, leaving you with the feelings that surrounded you. Sadness, rage, hopelessness… everything was bubbling in your chest, a feeling of guilt coating everything, making you feel like you were somehow at fault here, like you hadn’t prevented this.  You paced around for most of the night, only pausing your wondering when the realisation hit you again, big tears slipping past your eyes as you recalled the memories of the times shared, stopping your incessant actions at the faint knock at the door early in the morning. “I saw your light on.” he looked behind you, his lips twitching up for a short moment, only to fall back into a stoic look when he met your gaze, clearly seeing the tears that you tried to wipe away before opening the door, your eyes red with sadness and rage. “Tell me you didn’t.”  It was a whisper, one that made his heart break. It wasn’t just your expression, nor the redness under your eyes, but your moving away from the door, as if you feared him.  “Alfie Solomons-” he started, willing to offer an explanation for his deeds. “I don’t care about Alfie! I asked you to stop this after the vendetta happened!” you shouted, getting closer just to throw punches at his chest, yet no matter your anger you were nothing but gentle, barely making him flinch.  “He didn’t stop either.”  “Because he’s stubborn. He’s-” “I am too. He killed my men. Just ‘cause you were closer to Arthur doesn’t mean that the death of my men means nothing.” “I don’t want to be part of this anymore.” you announced, slipping from his grasp and moving away, putting as much distance between the two of you as you could. “You never were a part of this.”  “Maybe not, but with how things are going I’m going to end up as collateral damage.” “You know I’d never let anything happen to you. Even if you stood by him, I wouldn’t-” You turned and walked up the stairs, ignoring his words and grabbing your traveling bag from the wardrobe as he made his way up, scoffing but following you into the bedroom nonetherless.  You picked your clothes and folded them quickly, placing them in the bag and throwing a couple other belongings in.  “What are you doing?” He asked, sitting on your bed and stopping your movements by holding your hips, his touch delicate, in harsh contrast with his look. He always felt so… different around you. Delicate, careful, loving. Little things, like the way he remembered what wine you liked, or some of your little quirks, or the softness of his touches when he was near you. After the night where you both fell into your bed, he’d become more open with showing his affection, but before that he never really shied away from it either. His hand gently cradling the small of your back when guiding you into a restaurant, or the brush of his fingers against your cheek when a stray hair got away from behind your ear. “I’m ending it tomorrow.” He announced, avoiding your gaze. “What?” You turned to face him, not fully understanding his plan of attack. “I called a meeting with Thomas.”  “To apologise?” “To make a deal.” He corrected you. “But it might not work. So…” He took one of his rings off, holding your hand and placing it in your palm, closing it around it. “To remember me by. Or not. Maybe it’s better to forget me, after all.” He brought your hand to your lips, as if to seal a deal, smiling. “I won’t have to remember you. You’re not going.” Your hand on his arm was supposed to stop him, or slow him down at least, but he just smiled at you as you would with a child that doesn’t fully understand the state the world is in.  “I have to finish what I started.” “Luca, don’t.” you tried to give it back, but he shook his head, moving away from you and down the stairs. “Arthur didn’t deserve it.”  “He’s the one that pulled the trigger.”  You didn’t speak, not knowing what to add. You knew he was referring to the death of his father, but what Arthur had done was almost out of mercy. Tommy wouldn’t have stopped, so he intervened. There were many mistakes he had made in his life, but dying because of an act of mercy wasn’t what he deserved.  “Ti amo, bedda mia.” And with a final look he left, not waiting for an answer, exhaling when the door closed behind him. He saw the way you looked at him, the tears that escaped your eyes, feeling betrayed by his actions, but he did what he had to do.  “Luca, we’re not finished talking.” Your words had no effect on the man, just like you knew they wouldn’t, but you couldn’t stop yourself from speaking them. It wasn’t only grief that was holding you back now, but fear. For a moment you saw the man just as he had been painted since the beginning: a gangster, a killer, nothing more but a heartless man. You fell back against the wall, clinging on to the ring he had gifted you, the only thing that felt certain right now. You watched as he stepped out, closing the door behind him ever so gently, to avoid making noise, and wondered what hid behind those eyes. How much could you risk for him?

He could feel you looking at him as he made his way out, knowing just how disappointed you were, but he wouldn’t back down. He knew what was going to go down tomorrow, what he’d say, how he'd move, and he’d do anything to have you by his side. 

After all, all is fair in love and war. 

[write-like-wright]

It's Criminal that no one has asked for any Apollo smut he's so cute I love him- can I request him and a fem Reader? Maybe they're first time or smthn-

Pairing: Apollo Justice x female reader

Warnings: smut, dry humping, first time together but no loss of virginity

Wordcount: 580

"Are you sure?" Apollo gasps, pulling away from your heated kiss, "We don't have to do this now." A giggle escapes your lips, the hand under his red hoodie continuing its trail over his fit torso. "More than sure, dear. I'm fine," you tease, echoing his beloved catchphrase. A smirk spreads over Apollo's sweet face, turning into a giggle when your fingers trail over that ticklish spot on his side. "Fine," he says, pulling the hoodie off in a quick motion, followed by the white t-shirt he has under, "Your turn."

You grin, sitting up straight to slip your top off, watching his eyes hungrily roam over the curve of your breasts. "Can I?" Apollo whispers when you reach for the clasp behind your back and you nod, letting him draw closer to work on the stubborn hook. He struggles for a moment, a curse or two slipping under his breath only to be replaced by a gasp once the fabric slips off your body. The look he gives you is unlike anything you've seen from him, a needy fire burning beneath his eyelids as he inches closer to plant kisses over the newly exposed flesh. Somehow, you end up on top of him, firmly straddling his hips while his soft lips kiss and nip and suck your neck, collarbone, the swell of your breasts, your nipples - anything he can reach. Apollo is ravenous, not breaking contact even for a moment.

It feels good, so good, and your hips reflexively grind against his crotch, his growing erection pressed against the seam of his blue jeans. The friction of the rough material against your soft cotton panties is so delicious and you gasp, one arm wrapping itself around Apollo's broad shoulders while the other one lifts your skirt out of the way. Apollo seems content as is, his mouth tirelessly working on your torso, muffled groans vibrating against your skin as you grind on the crotch of his jeans, his clothed erection hardening further under your touch.

Soon, you find yourself chasing your release, your damp slit leaving a small wet trail on Apollo's jeans. You'd intended to pull his cock out and sink on it at first, but this feels so deliciously good and naughty, rutting like a pair of confused teenagers, his clever mouth suckling on your sensitive buds while his hands gently guide your movements. "Polly, I'm so close," you whine, your forehead pressed against his. Apollo says nothing but one of his hands slips between your legs, moving the soaked fabric of your ruined panties out of the way, leaving your exposed folds to move against him. The feeling is so much more intense that way, the seam of his jeans rubbing directly against your clit and you whimper, imagining the wet spot you must be leaving on his crotch.

Your orgasm is slow and satisfying - not the kind that knocks the breath out of your lungs, but the kind that makes you feel warm on the inside, a loving smile tugging on your lips as you look down at Apollo's hooded eyes. There is indeed a massive dark spot on his pants and the sight makes you giggle. "That was wonderful," you purr, leaning down to kiss him, "Thank you. Now, about this," you whisper, shaky hands pulling his erection free. After a few experimental tugs, you position it against your entrance. "Ready?" You ask and Apollo nods eagerly, leaving you to sink around his length.

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 8 of ?)

gif by @thesoldiersminute can i send you a cake or something cause fuCk!!!!!!!!!!! he's beautiful

a/n: to everyone still reading this fic, my sweet angels, ily!! this fic is so near and dear to my heart and @stxdyblr-2k has just done such an amazing job with it i can't even thank her enough. as per the last part, this one is also mostly her, just me editing but i hope you guys love it as much as i did!!! don't worry, there's gonna be a lot more :) and i apologize for being not as active, i'm gonna try to get a couple of requests up that i'm really excited about this week tysm for being patient with me <3

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five six seven | my masterlist

prompt: ada has some talking to do, and you're not about to deny her.

warnings: fluff, semi-angst, tommy being the cocky mf he is (let's be real, it's only acceptable cause he's so damn fine), john being cute and in love and jesus i am head over heels

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03, @operation-spot

You had planned to go to Ada's after work, but she obviously had other ideas. She didn't even bother walking in and asking to speak to you; instead, choosing to bang on the window closest to your desk and yelling at you to "fucking hurry up!" Your boss opened the door for you expectantly, not offering you any protection; he was firmly in the Shelby's ever growing pocket and as long as he could go home to his children, his sickly wife and their six bed in the country, with a full time nurse and nanny, he had no interest in crossing Thomas.

"Ada, I was coming to see you after work, I swear."

"I know. I was going to let you but..." She trailed off. "We need to talk. I don't know what the fuck is going on with you. John said he'd seen you last night and you asked after me."

John had indeed seen you last night. It was strange waking up with him, used to leaving almost immediately after he was finished with you. Your small bed could barely comfortably fit you both, having to intertwine your limbs with John's to not fall off the edge. You had awoken to John pressing a kiss to your forehead before lazily trailing his fingers between your legs, waiting for you to open your eyes before settling between your thighs, tongue swirling around your clit, making you cum before sunrise.

"Do we have to do this in the street?" You practically begged, the shouting having attracted onlookers.

"I wanted to talk to you before anyone else in the family gets to you because I need you to be honest."

"Ada-"

"No, I'm doing you a favour here, so you fucking listen. Right now, between you and I, no bullshit. No tactics. No white lies. You have to tell me exactly what we're dealing with." She looked frantic, scared for some reason.

You nodded, walking her down the side street, careful not to link arms with her. You knew she was doing you a favour; this wasn't about forgiveness or friendship, much more was at stake here.

"To what extent was Thomas involved?"

That took you off guard. Ada read the confusion on your face and sighed impatiently, her subtle plea for you to keep up.

Shit. You remembered your conversation with John, how she thought this was her brother's way of pushing her out of the company.

"Don't spare my feelings. What did my brother say to you?"

"He said it was in our mutual interest that you didn't find out. He didn't care who John slept with but cared who you trusted so I had to trust him. He said there was no point in upsetting you over one of John's conquests who he'd tire of in a month."

"That all?"

"Pretty much, I didn't know Arthur knew. He never talked to me about it, did laugh at Thomas' digs now that I think on it-"

"Did you know Isaiah and Michael knew?"

"I thought they were aware but no one ever talked to me about it."

"Of course they wouldn't." She hissed, frustration causing a nerve on her neck to jump.

Ada and you had spoken for years about the rampant misogyny of her brothers and any men you two came into contact with. Although you were both far more reserved than you used to be as rebellious and adventurous thirteen year olds, you'd both grew increasingly angry at how you were treated. She'd long written off her brothers as womanisers, who saw women as purely sexual and entertaining, objectifying them. You both long despised how they dehumanised women. She was amazed that Thomas had attempted to settle down and managed a somewhat loving marriage, but resented him for his carelessness and need for power which inevitably killed his wife.

"Ada, I just want to say..." You licked your lip nervously, unsure of how to continue.

"You need to talk, Y/N. No bollocks."

"Before last night, he'd never been to mine or called. I always went to him."

The muscle in her jaw tensed.

"You slept with him last night then?" You met her question with silence and she rolled her eyes. "The second he said he saw you I knew you had, he wanted to tell me that he was going to continue seeing you and that he hoped I'd be able to accept it one day."

"We never intended to hurt you. It was meant to be fun at first, but now..." You cut yourself off with a sigh, unable to admit you'd fallen for her brother.

"Isn't fun for me. It's fucking embarrassing." She paused, lighting a cigarette, nervous to offer you one, conflicted within herself. She raised her eyebrow, prompting you to continue, the mannerism so similar to her brother’s.

"It should never have happened. I am never going to be able to fix this, I'm so fucking ashamed for doing this to you, Ada."

She sulked, silently drinking in your words.

"Obviously it's not going to be the same, yeah? I'm really fucking upset. I'm so fucked off with you but Poll's really worried about a coup. She thinks you're being used as blackmail against John to keep him on side with Tommy while he expands."

"Makes sense."

"You're part of a much bigger game, you know?"

You nodded. "Yeah, and I knew I would lose from the start. Fucking tragic, Ada."

"My brothers keep pushing, keep growing the business. They keep chasing this prize but I don't think it even exists."

"If it does, it isn't worth it if this shit is the cost. I didn't mean to play into his hands."

"You couldn't have known." She said with a shrug, " 'Siah thinks John loves you."

"He told me last night." Several times, this morning also. You would never tire of hearing him moan those words into your neck or being yelled from your front door as he left for the office.

"You love him, don't you?" She said bluntly, a statement more than a question, your face suddenly hot with embarrassment.

Everything you'd suppressed for months, everything that you'd hidden, every time you lied smiling, every knowing glance from a stranger, every degrading comment from under Thomas' breath.

"I do, an awful lot."

She pauses, relighting her cigarette, "The worst thing about the entire situation is it could've been fine if someone told me. I wouldn't have loved it, obviously, but-" Ada sighed, rubbing her temple with her free fingers.

"I thought you'd hate me."

"How could I? I'd be more angry that you'd drop your standards for my brother. Seriously? Him? Mate…."

"Come off it, I've always thought he was charming. He's funny, smart-"

"Don't gush over my brother, it's grim. I'm just so fucked off you all lied to me." She peered at you through her cigarette smoke. "If you love him and he loves you..." she pressed her lips together as she tensed her jaw, "I could get over it. If it'd make you both happy. But that's going to take a long time. A long time."

"Ada-"

"Look I have meetings and shit to sort, I have to run." She interjected, checking her wristwatch, adjusting the cap which sat atop her trendy short haircut. You caught her arm before she could turn away.

"Thank you. For understanding."

She shrugged you off, "I don't get it, I'd never do that to you. But you also don't get to choose who you're attracted to. I'm really hurt, but I do love you and John a lot. He mentioned that after last night you helped him, got him cleaned up. I have to believe that you both do love each other. So I have to believe that this is a good idea for you both and not stand in your way."

"I love you, Ada. Can we hang out soon, just us two?"

She shook her head. "I need some time, I'll be in touch, yeah?"

You nod, stretching out your pinky finger. She sighed and linked it with hers, as you'd done since you were children, a silent signal to each other after a fight that you still had the other's back.

"Right, I've got to get back to this meeting, Tom is getting done by Polly for nearly getting John killed. I need to be there in case one of the lads needs patching up."

"Your aunt has a nasty left hook, I'll give her that."

"She'll be pleased you think so, she wanted Tommy to slice you to bits for crossing me."

"Fuck’s sake, thanks for the warning, I'll keep my head down. Good luck with the meeting."

Ada nodded and you watched her walk away, a Blinder suddenly appearing by her side seemingly from nowhere. This city was crawling with them. They clambered into Ada's car as you watched the car disappear into the distance before walking back to work. Thankfully, with your head still attached to your shoulders.

*******

Ada arrived at Thomas' estate, following the swell of shouting voices to his exquisite library. It was eye roll worthy and typical Tommy to choose the location of his post-fuckup debrief to be where he had the best view of the gardens, river and rolling hills. She could bet he'd sit in a corner and stare at the view, zoning out their aunt's lecture.

An armed blinder she vaguely recognised opened the door. Thomas was making a statement today with the armed guards, she noted. Her brothers really were fucked up. Arthur was an alcoholic killer who couldn't understand that Thomas would betray them all eventually, Finn was letting the tokyo and the razor chasers that circled him distract him from keeping the family together, John was apparently in love with her best friend, and finally, Thomas nearly got Arthur and John murdered last night with his foolishness. At this point only herself and Polly were holding everyone together, keeping everything silently moving along.

The door opened, and she was the last to arrive, Polly glaring as she murmured an apology, standing next to Finn. His eyes were bloodshot, grey-purple smudges under his eyes, he'd obviously had a heavy night. The last thing the poor lad needed was Polly's shrill yelling and the blinding sun streaming through the large immaculately crafted windows, which he'd tried to block with the brim of his cap. John caught her eye, acknowledging his sister with a nod, which she returned with a small tight smile.

Ada couldn't bear to think about the reasoning behind her brother's smug interjections in between Polly's rant to Thomas who was listening wordlessly, smoking.

Y/N and John? It didn't make sense. They had a similar sense of humour, sure, but she was far too intelligent for him. He also had a swarm of children, while Y/N preferred a wild night out only staggering home at daybreak.

It made far more sense for Y/N to end up with Michael, or if it had to be a brother, Finn. They were younger, so had less responsibilities and commitments so they could keep up with her. But John? Of course she knew he was believed to be the Casanova of her brothers, he was kind, he was an excellent father, yet he could never keep anyone around long, usually John was chasing someone new after a month or so. That's why the revelation that John had been involved with her best friend for almost half a year had taken her completely by surprise. Maybe that was why she was open to them being together. That had to be it. This relationship was completely out of character for John; she needed to believe that he was serious about his feelings towards Y/N and wasn't going to fuck her over. Because if he did, John would be a dead man.

"I don't know why you're all bleating at me. Yeah, I overlooked some details in the planning of last night's meeting-"

"Such as warning us that they were really fucked off because you'd helped bomb their warehouse." John pointed out.

"What do you want me to do? Apologise? Grow up, John." Tommy snapped back.

"They had loaded guns against their heads, they deserve an apology." Ada interjected, John giving her an appreciative flash of smile. She did love her big brother. Despite the fact that she'd pretty much only been yelling at him for the past month, John never dismissed her feelings and only apologised. It was confusing to admit to herself, but when Isaiah told her that he was confident John loved Y/N, she felt a wave of relief. At least he cared about her; it was the bare minimum but the Shelbys were notorious for not even meeting the bare minimum for acceptable social interactions.

"They didn't fuckin’ get shot." Thomas stated, his voice matter of fact and condescending.

"Do you ever hear yourself speak?" Polly spit back at him. "They didn't get shot this time. But it was too fucking close."

"It won't happen again, Polly." Tommy sighed. "What else can I say? Sorry lads, take the weekend off?"

"It's a good start." Arthur countered, "You're also paying for the extension on my house and my wedding."

"Fuck’s sake Arthur I was joking. But fine. Sure."

"You can't buy your family off." Polly scoffed at him.

"Think of it as compensation, a settlement." Thomas coolly corrected his aunt. "What do you want, John? A fucking farm?"

John hesitates while Finn whispered suggestions to him, Ada meeting his stare, John raising a brow to her in question. She sighed and nodded her approval.

"You can pay off my mortgage Tom, give me the kids' birthdays off-"

"So you'd never come into work then?" Finn cut in, Ada elbowing him in the ribs. She usually enjoyed Finn's remarks but she knew where John was heading; she could barely breathe.

"Tom, you're also to leave Y/N completely alone. If you have a problem with her, you come to me about it." He said firmly.

Arthur and Tommy traded knowing looks, obviously more aware of the ins and outs of his relationship than Ada was.

"Also if you're paying for Arthur's wedding I want the equivalent in cash." He adds.

Tommy shrugged. "Whatever. As long as we can move past last night and focus on today's order of business."

John nodded, satisfied. He knew Tom wouldn't care, but just saying out loud that he was involved with Y/N and having his family aware was a relief. He hadn't realised until he finally admitted how stressful keeping his relationship a secret was. Now, he could stop worrying about Tommy interfering.

Polly rolled her eyes, lecturing the brothers on their lack of moral backbone to allow themselves to be bought off, but dismissed them. She caught Ada's arm in hers on their way out, pulling her far from earshot.

"So Y/N and John are together now?" She asked, her face firm and scowling.

"Polls, I talked with her, she's aware of what she's done. She apologised and meant it. What more can I ask for?"

"Her not to have fucked him in the first place."

"She said that. Look, Polls, they're happy right? John seems happy-"

"He always is when he gets a leg over."

"You know she looked after him last night? Fixed him up after the meeting."

"Meeting? It was a fucking set up." Polly hissed but her face had softened. "She cleaned him up?"

"Antiseptic, bandages and all."

Polly looked subtly impressed, although she'd never admit it. "He went to hers? Not yours?"

"He wanted to talk to her." Ada shrugs, "I saw her this morning and-"

"What do you mean? You bumped into her?"

"I went to her work." Ada admitted, her aunt shooting her an exasperated glare.

"Why do I bother? Nobody listens to me."

"I had to talk to her, I'm glad I did. She reckons she loves him, he told her last night that he loves her, so..."

"We are talking about John? Our John?"

"I know Polls, I'm as amazed as you."

Her aunt huffed, unimpressed. "Are you okay with it though?"

"I guess, I just want them to be happy. I've told them to give me time with it."

"She was a good friend growing up, but people change, sometimes for the better, often for the worse."

"Poll, it's Y/N; she's my best friend. At the end of the day, we'd do anything for each other."

"Sweet Ada, you're going to be so miserable if you keep letting people walk all over you." Polly said wisely, kissing her goodbye affectionately. "I hope you're right. If she makes you cry again I'll kill her myself."

"Thanks, Polls."

She knew her aunt wasn't joking.

[raymondebidochonlifechoices]

To summarise:

Archie decides to take a break from saving The Town Formerly Known As Riverdale to go save the honour of the American Army. Robin Givens directs this white man’s heroic journey probably as a quid pro quo for being allowed to direct the Pussycats episode.

Stop! In the name of love Jason! Penelope puts a stop to Cheryl and Kevin’s singing, thus immediately and completely redeeming herself from any and all wrongdoing ever. Jason’s ears stop bleeding and so are mine. Unfortunately, she doesn’t push for full monastic silence.

Wonky Timeline Alert #1: Jughead is now 7 days sober. This means that the AA meeting at RHS from 4x14 happened 1 to 6 days ago. Or did it?

Alice once again has only a vague idea about what her children (in this case Betty) are doing. Consistency.

Betty, dressed as Polly, is searching for serial killers down the Lonely Highway. She hasn’t been successful, which comes as no surprise, since -in the words of Tucker the Trucker in 4x14- there have been stories about some crazy rogue FBI agent looking for her sister.

Wonky Spacetime Alert #2: Jughead goes to the Cooper Jones Smith house but Betty can’t come to the door because she’s out, working at the Lonely Highway wearing the same faux leopard coat that we can see hanging behind Alice.

“Let it go! Move on!” says Eric. “Like Hell!” replies Archie, whose whole raison d’être in Riverdale is never letting go.

Principal Weatherbee has finally acknowledged that he will never be able to provide basic education at RHS. He puts the English lit teacher on leave and focuses on football/cheerleading/drama/auto shop courses. Is this a comment on privatized education or a coincidence? Only time will tell.

Wonky Time Alert #3: Jughead has missed weeks(!) of work.

Chadwick sics the SEC to Veronica. If only the She Wolf of Wall Street hadn’t told him her plans over their last skype call ...

We don’t learn about Reggie’s big ideas but we do learn about Reggie’s big dick energy. Nana Rose isn’t the only gal he’s been sweet talking to! He also had a thing with Hermosa.

Kevin, having finally found an audience, conspires with Cheryl to overthrow Penelope’s leadership in her own cult. I didn’t catch the details because I was distracted by Cheryl not wearing any red item of clothing.

Uncle Frank tells Archie that he’s carrying a heavy weight, so now we all get to share the burden of another war flash back … Thanks a lot, uncle Frank.

Hiram -I’m-not-a-16-year-old-nerd- Lodge has hidden his palladium in the little SoDale town model he has in his office. Where he keeps the figurines remains a mystery.

Veronica will sell the palladium in an auction after she smelts it down into something “new and unrecognizable”, i.e. Spanish doubloons. I guess palladium Spanish doubloons are both  new and unrecognizable …

Did someone say “forgery”? Cheryl makes an appearance at La petite bijoutière.

Sober Jughead doesn’t think of checking his computer for a copy of his book: it must be the addiction withdrawal syndrome messing with his cognitive functions. Or aftereffects from the rabies.

He retrieves Cora’s manuscript from his bachelor pad (aka the Bunker). He needs half a bottle of whiskey to go through it.

Kevin had a magician period growing up. This explains so much.

Cheryl performs a series of faux miracles, including turning water into maple syrup and having her hands manifest the stigmata of the holly wounds of Jason. The last one is indeed a miracle, considering Jason was shot in the head.

Wonky Time Alert #4: The Voicemail™ took place half a decade ago. But also 2 years ago?

This also means that TBK has been active for half a decade. Because living through a pandemic is not enough.

Scratch out the auto shop course at RHS: Betty is on the Highway 24/7.

Bughead finally have a talk. They admit they’re both addicts. Not to kinky sex, like they were in high school but to alcohol and serial killers. Adult stories. Yikes.

Jughead doesn’t go through with plagiarism. Hurray! Samm, however, after having waited for either 5 or 2 years for Jughead’s second book, finally drops him as a client.

Veronica successfully (and legally!) beats Chadwick at his own game. This is a new and unexpected storyline for Veronica. I need time to process.

Archie hears from Jughead that you can be put on administrative leave if you don’t show up for work, so he hastens to make the rounds of all the soldiers’ families and go testify in one day.

Archie’s testimony is conveniently not shown, probably to cover up for the fact that he has no tangible evidence. Peak Riverdale writing. The Army Tribunal members, who have never met Archie before, probably could not take more of his monologuing about saving Riverdale, so they convicted general Taylor. I guess he shouldn’t have sent Archie back there.

It turns out that Tabitha might also have an addiction: taking care of seemingly lost causes. She makes Jughead promise he’ll go to his AA meetings and then puts her best bra on to go hitch hiking with Betty at the Lonely Highway.

Alice has been really down during the whole episode. She has probably received her credit card bill. Those cooking lessons Toffee took at L’Ecole Ritz Escoffier in Paris weren’t cheap …

One down. Three more opportunities to get depressed.  

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Never Again || Thomas Shelby x reader

credits to @saralou23​ for the gif

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested/summary: “can I request a fic where the reader is found unconscious or faints in the shop or something and tommy freaks out? I just find protective tommy so ❤️💓💟!! Thank you, your writing is absolutely INCREDIBLE” (Thank you so much honeybun, you’re making me blush, pls, forgive me for being late ❤️)

Warnings: swearing, bossy Tommy, basically Tommy freaking out and being overprotective, me always loving him with all of my mangled soul

Author’s notes:

I hope you are okay darlings, I love you, please stay safe ♡

I’m so sorry for being this late, I have no excuses, forgive me. Also the end sucks, but I’m struggling with my writing lately, so, sorry again.

I love protective Thomas so much, he’s an ass, but he’s a softie, and I’m gonna lose my mind some day.

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham’s gelid air hit your sensitive skin with no mercy as soon as your red mary-janes crossed the doorway of the Garrison, only to disgracefully sink into the greyish muddy loam in which the whole of Small Heath seemed to be covered.

Your fingers felt like rigid appendages burdening your already wearied arms, while you tried your best to wrap them around your coat’s edges, in a disperate effort to keep that warm tissue on your bulging clavicles left exposed by the woollen dress you were wearing. No matter how many heavy clothes you decided to put on, that implacable cold still succeeded in making you feel constantly out of forces, debilitated to the core; it had always been that way, since you were nothing more than a little girl obliged to spend one every two months confined in your bedroom, afflicted by incredibly high fever and sometimes even bronchitis.

Truth was that your body had never got used to England’s humid weather, yet, even though you poor healt had previously put you in danger, for your sake, thanks to the enormous progresses made by medicine in the past fifteen years, it was now easy to fight against the ruthless chill of those endless winters. Plus, since the earliest days of your attendence, your wardrobe had been perpetually refreshed with high-quality pieces perfectly in step with the times, for your fiancée had been literally covering you in furs and duvets of all kinds, concerned as he was that you could’ve eventually caught another bad fever, whose deathly consequences he had already experienced on his own thick skin. And for no reason in the world he would’ve even risked to lose you too.

So, as everybody could’ve easily predicted, Thomas was perennially paying attention to your wellbeing: the most famous specialists from inside and outside the United Kingdom had come directly to your country house; if one thing could be taken for granted, it was that your medications would always be settled on your side cabinet, together with a glass of fresh water, every day and every night; and, come hell or high water, he would accompany you during your routine visits to the hospital, even when it meant leaving all of his business without any prior warning.

Needless to say, you were perfectly able to do those things on your own -pheraps except for getting a crowd of world renowned doctors in your living room- and you sure as hell had tried to persuade him that there was no need at all for being so preoccupied all the time; still, he was Tommy Shelby, he simply couldn’t help it. 

The concern for his loved ones’ lives kept stealing his sleep, even on those nights when there was no trace of imminent dangers on the horizon, it kept excoriating the insides of his drained brains, to the point that, more than once, you’d had to sleep alone in your immense king-size bed or reach for him in his study, curling up on one of his uncomfortable armchairs, ready to appease his fears as best you could. In short, for as much as you needed him to relax, you were still able to understand his protective behavior, against which, as a matter of fact, no one could do much; thus you at least tried not to give him more reasons to be worried by paying some extra attention to all those small things you could solve without Tommy even knowing about it. Regularly taking your iron tablets, for example. Nonetheless, it had now been already a week since the Peaky Blinders had started a brand new business involving in effect every metalworking factory in and around Birmingham, and the whole family, you and Tom included, had been so turbulently tied up with work to let every other thought and need slither on the back burner. As a direct consequence, your doctor’s latest prescription was unfortunately left lying on the bottom of your drawer, that being the fourth day in a row you’d spent without taking those pills, and, even though everything appeared to be going well until then, that one Thursday morning your period eventually came and stroke the fatal blow, having you feel so faint and aching that, all of a sudden, the few metres separating your side of the street from the betting shop seemed to implausibly dilate right under your blurred vision, a vexing sense of nausea assaulting your empty stomach led you to lean against a lamppost, your skin still crawling beneath all those heavy tissues.  Dizziness and lethargy almost took over your sore mind, before you shook your head with an abrupt move in a bid to dispel those unpleasent sensations; clients would’ve arrived in less than a hour, Esme had taken John’s kids on a brief fieldtrip, Michael was already in his office, the boys were making their usual rounds of the mills, Finn and Isaiah were dealing with a couple folks in need back at the Garrison and Polly was nowhere in sight, which made you the only available blinder for the opening and, with Friday’s race approaching, there was no way the box-office could remain shut. Hence, more determined than ever, you chocked down the knot forming in your throat due to queasiness and just forced youself to put one foot in front of the other onto the dusty road, until you reached the shop door, not without the risk of tripping over multiple times in the process. Your frozen fingers clutched to the small side-wall now carring all of your weight, whilst your lungs tried to let in as much air as possible. And it worked, each plodding breath seemed to fight your sickness, also your heartbeat was gradually slowing down, thus you shut your eyelids and continued to inhale deeply for a full minute, before your trembilng hand managed to finally turn the key in the lock, giving you free access to the place. 

However, the small click produced by the latch closing again did not live to reach your ears, for they were already brimful of ominous hisses, in a scant moment a bulk of hypnotic grey worms prevented you from seeing anything else, they relentlessly squirmed in front of your dilated pupils, that repulsing view sending brutal shooks straight to your clenched stomach, again. And, before you even had a chance to realize what was going on, your brain completely blacked out.

                                                    ~ ~ ~

Words would not be sufficient to describe the fright taking over Arthur’s features the second your inert silhouette entered his line of sight. Just returned from their daily patrol, he had indeed noticed a small crowd waiting outside the office, cursing and fussing because of the lacked opening, and that alone had been weird enough for him to punch and kick his way up to the entrance, profanities spilling from his mustached mouth every time somebody’s elbow digged into his ribcage, inducing him to hit back so to stand his ground, only to eventually find himself powerless in front of that ghastly scene. It took him a while to recover from the shock, yet the eldest Shelby eventually regained control of his limbs and moved towards your shape with a single step.

“Polly! Pol, come here, for God’s sake!” Those hoarse yells filled the room, reverberating through the brickwalls, so loud that they could’ve been heard from the other side of the city, Arthur fell on his knees right beside you, gently placing a hand under your nape in order to lift your head. Blind panic streaming in his veins kept him for thinking clearly, he didn’t know what to do, thus he simply shook you from your shoulders, hoping in vain to see your eyes fly back open, but your neck just bent backwards.

“Where the hell is that bloody woman when I need her?!” he grunted those words in between his teeth while tigthening his grip on you, then his chest raised in a sharp move: “Jesus Christ, Polly!” He shouted once more, this time conveying all of his breath and blood towards his larynx, his abrasive voice shriveled and insisted on the last letters of his aunt’s name, until swift strides frantically hit the creaking steps, announcing Polly’s arrive. Her eyes struggled to remain open, her left palm was pressed against her forehead in a silly attempt to soothe the tremendous headache resulted from the previous night’s booze, she didn’t even have the time to put proper clothing on, since her mad niece was apparentely going berserk. “You, son of a bastard-” cursed words died underneath her tongue when she understood what was going on, soon her feet took on a life of their own, as they picked up their peace, leading her next to your body now held in Arthur’s arms.

“She’s freezing, Pol, she’s a fucking chunk of ice!” Hiccoughs shattered his worried cries, he almost whined, shifting his gaze from yours to Polly’s face over and over again, she, on the other hand, used the whole lenght of her right arm to clear in one smooth motion the closest desk. “Quick, lay her here” The deafening noise produced by those items colliding with the pavement barely grazed her hears, whilst she nodded to herself in the effort to impose some order on her obfuscated head, searching for a prompt solution that was late in coming, to the point that Finn beat it to the draw and stormed in, pointing a loaded gun to each corner of the room with fear in his cerulean irises. “What the hell’s going on?” That hysterical question echoed through the place, even though the young boy was finding it hard to get his breath, due to the crazy run he had made to reach the shop immediately after hearing that insane screaming. Nonetheless, in the space of an instant, he saw you as well and fell utterly silent, violent dismay caught him off guard, his wide eyes hesitated on your motionless figure; all of a sudden he didn’t know what to think, nor he could get the thought of your death out of his brains.

“My God, she’s as pale as death” Finn let his mind talk through that throttled murmur, regretting it right away, for silty goosebumps crawled on his skin under the pungent pressure of his brother’s instantaneous lethal glare. “Don’t talk shit, kid! Just fucking go and get Tom!”

The redhead didn’t waste any time, he somehow managed to recollect his guts and steadily disappeared behind the door previously left open. While struggling for air and internally searching for the right words to say in front of Thomas, Finn covered the whole distance between the office and the Garrison. Labored gasps coming out of his slightly parted lips in louder groans as he slammed the heavy pub’s doors open, using only his strongest shoulder; both Harry and Isaiah watched him run towards the back room where Tommy was going through the books, they did not dare spill a word and, after all, the boy didn’t even look in their direction, such was his concentration. Still, once he reached the place, all of a sudden his tongue felt dry, his well-organised speech faded away.

“Finn?! What’s wrong?” Tom’s icy eyes were now staring at him through his round glasses, the paper he’d been reading was instantly dropped, although his tone remained steady. “Y-you need to come, now! She... she’s-” A frown formed upon Tommy’s marble face at his little brother’s furious rambling, something wasn’t right, that was crystal clear, yet he wasn’t able to keep up with those hasty and stuttered sentences, so he approached him, putting both his hands on Finn’s shoulders in order to give him a little shove and maybe get some decent information. “Breathe, kid, and tell me what’s going on” That deep, adamant tone somehow sounded scarier than usual roaring inside the boy’s head, hence anxiety definitively won him over, gaining complete control of his mouth too. “It’s Y/n! I don’t fucking know, Tom, s-she looks dead!” All at once, time and space seemed to collapse around him, one single second dilated, covering the space of a whole lifetime beyond his vacant blue irises now fixed on an undetermined spot of the white wall behind Finn’s back.   A gruesome, yet familiar sensation raided his petrified body, it felt like having a beast’s fangs gnawing his throat off, lacerating his flesh to the bone, he could sense every little laceration, his chest being plundered, till even his sable heart was eradicated and then mauled. A strangled wheeze barely lived through his plump lips, that being the only sound he uttered, then his black pupils shrinked and immediately twitched, nailing his sibiling’s gaze. Without receiving an order from his brain, his fists violently gripped Finn’s jacket at the height of his biceps, bringing him a span away from his gnashed teeth with a sharp pull. “Where?” He snarled liked a rabid dog, striking, if possible, geater terror in the young man who struggled to spit an almost inaudible “The shop”, before being shoved against the doorframe as Tommy dodged him and rushed out.

                                                     ~ ~ ~

Polly held the bottle of her almond parfume she’d just put under your nostrils as if her life depended on it, Arthur’s rough palm, instead, began to pat your pasty cheek. “C’mon, love, wake up! Don’t play games, c’mon!” The dorsum of that same hand now poking the left side of your face, and then going back to the other, at incredible speed. You started to feel your face again when his nudges grew in intensity, until he was practically slapping you; soon a tremendous metallic taste invaded your mouth, or rather, you finally sensed it, whilst your eyelids battled against gravity to get back up. Arthur noticed it, he detected that brief flinch and it felt like being pampered with a fresh breeze after days of unsustainable heat. “Oh, fuck, I think I’m having a stroke” His tone held extreme urgency as he grasped for air, tugging with two fingers at his shirt collar; sure, he was great at knocking people off, maybe the best, yet, unfortunately, after that he’d never tried to bring somenody back with the living.

Blinding light rended your shrouded eyes, everything appeared blurred to the point that you couldn’t distinguish Polly’s features, although she was right beside you; nor your hearing was working, since the loud thud produced by the wooden door hitting the brickwall, and then your name barked by your fiancée’s coarse voice, sounded muffled to your ears. With a superhuman effort you succeeded in tilting your face towards the entrance, you recognized the navy-blue suit Thomas had chosen to wear earlier in the moring, still those nebulous images reached your brains with extreme delay, it was like watching vague movie scenes stream in slow motion. Your eyelids blinked as if a plumbeous burden was anchored to them, each flutter seemed to last a full minute, so that you perceived Tom coming to you in multiple shattered motions, while he kept calling you. The moment Tommy furiously jostled against Arthur, in order to take his place by the desk, you gradually went back to see and hear clearly, now being able to seize pure dread sailing those mesmerizing ocean eyes. “Thank goodness, y/n” His big palms envelopped both your cheeks, slightly squeezing them as he lift your neck, revealing all of his hidden delicacy that you, and you only, were able to bring out. “Y/n, love, talk to me” That order came out like a prayer, his voice betraying him once too often, his fingers shaking with worry, while one of his hands held your chin and the other went to caress your locks. Those loving strokes brushed against your skin, slowly infusing a little warmth into your gelid body, he touched you with the unbearable fear of watching you pass away in between his arms, having him struggle to breathe properly. “Do you hear me?” a single, salty drop fell from his long eyelashes and poured your lower lip, you heard his voice crack, distorting, until it became nothing more than a faint whine: “Please, love, talk to me” When his forehead pressed against yours, he finally gave in to the tears that had been held back with drastic ostination, shutting his eyes for a few instants he allowed brutal sobs to trounce his already aching chest. However, that moment of raw weakness was soon restrained, so that you returned to stare into his blue irises. Then, a small grin crossed your pale mouth and, even though your throat felt like gasoline on fire, preventing you from pronouncing a single syllable, you managed to guide your tiny hand to cup his sharp cheekbone. A burning kiss was pressed on its dorsum, before Tommy completely leant into your touch, giving you a look halfway between relief and disperation, he covered your hand with his own, holding it tight. “You’re okay, you’re safe” Those soft murmurs escaped his lips, probably aimed to placate the axphyziating terror still intoxicating his veins. Indeed, as hard as it was to conceive for everybody in that room, although you were the one just recovering from a sudden collapse, Tommy was now the one trembling like a fallen leaf, his arms rested on each side of your shape, sustaining his weight, as he barely stood on his own two feet. Slowly, you regained the necessary strenght to lift your bust, leading him to flutter in your direction, promptly enlacing his forearms around your waist in order to support your movements. “Hold onto me, darling, take it slow” His raspy voice was still unsteady and full of concern, he was holding his breath out of fear, gazing at you with wide eyes and tightening the grip on your hips as if to make sure that you wouldn’t vanish in his palms. You, on the other hand, gave him a rassuring smile, caressing his face mutliple times and placing a brief kiss on his mouth. “I’m fine, Tommy, I’m here with you” you eventually spoke close to his ear so to keep that conversation between the two of you “Let go, my love, I’m here” Your lips accidentally brushed against his forehead once he listened to you and abandoned himself to your tender embrace, gradually drowning into your soft chest while his arms clung on to your figure, his fingertips almost piercing the thick material of your dress as your cheek covered his head, totally annihilating the distance. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. Never again”.

tag list: @spidey-pal​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @stassaurus​​, @peachlle​, @livvtheangel​, @myjbphase​, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest​, @vxxn128​, @keithseabrook27​, @spaghettirogers​​, @writingstudent​​, @hp-hogwartsexpress , @eggingamazinglove​, @geeksareunique​, @cailoleaf​, @simonsbluee​ , @hereforsmutandfluff​, @starxtt​, @jenepleurepasbaby​, @staygold-bebold​, @marvelschriss​, @captivatedbycillianmurphy​

[thomaslightwood]

The Weight of Love

THOMASTAIR WEEK - Day 2 (16th July): Thomas Appreciation Day (hosted by @youngreckless!)

I managed to put myself together to write this, hope you enjoy it 🤧

Words: 1 773

•

When Thomas was a little boy he hated runes.

He hated seeing the anxious faces of his parents when the Silent brothers put the Voyanceon rune on his hand. 

He hated how he had memorized the Nourishment rune and still did it on himself.

He hated how the Iratze runes were put on him over and over again when he had a bad ill episode.

He hated runes.

But he loved musical notes.

In a way they were so similar to the Shadowhunter runes but it didn't cost anyone worries.

The first time he wrote a song - full written song - he didn't want to show it to anyone. It wasn't something that was meant for anyone's eyes.

“Tommy!”

Thomas sighed. He loved his sisters. He loved his parents. But sometimes their love was a weight that was crushing him.

“I'm coming!” he shouted in response. He hid his notebook with stories and songs under his bed, carefully putting a few things over it. Then he ran over to the living room where his sisters were.

“Yes?”

Eugenia was furiously pricking with a needle the tapestry she was making. Or trying to make. Barbara was doing the same as her's but she used the needle much calmer. She looked at Thomas.

“Come here with us,” she smiled. “The dinner is soon.”

Thomas sat on the couch next to Eugenia without saying a word. He knew why his sister had asked him to come. So they can watch after him. Like he was a glass that could be broken by the wind.

“Barbs,” Eugenia said, her face a little red. “Please come help me with this or I swear to Raziel, I'll rip it off.”

Barbara left her tapestry on the table and stood up from the chair she was sitting on, coming to the couch. Thomas moved at the end of it, making space for her.

“Here,” Barbara gently took Eugenia's needle. “You must be careful with the threads…”

While Barbara was explaining to Eugenia, Thomas was staring at the wall without blinking. He wanted to be alone. To write a new song. To train. He didn't want his sisters to babysit him.

Barbara laughed. Her laugh was soft, quiet, warming up something in your chest.

“It's alright, Nia. It's hard.” She stood up again. “I'll bring some of my materials. Wait a second.” Then she left the room, heading towards her bedroom.

“Damn it,” Eugenia said, angrily throwing her work at the table. “Stupid, useless thing.”

She hid her face with her hands and took a few breaths. Thomas, unsure what he could do to comfort his sister, approached her. He slowly hugged her, wrapping his short hands around her. 

She looked at him. Her eyes were wet. But as she blinked a few times the tears disappeared. Eugenia hated people seeing her cry.

She hugged Thomas across his shoulders, almost crushing him in a hug.

After a few seconds he murmured, “You're stopping my oxygen.”

A devilish smile broke on her face.

“This is not my problem. I'm a big sister, I have duties of annoying my little brother.”

Thomas giggled and tried to fight her off. They ended up falling on the couch, laughing. 

Barbara was standing on the door, smiling, while she watched them.

•

The day his parents decided he was ready to go to the Academy, Thomas had conflicted feelings. On one side this meant he wasn’t looked at like a fragile little boy. On the other hand - he had to deal with people. He was worried he wouldn't find friends. Or he would do something stupid and everyone would laugh at him.

The night before his first day at the Academy Thomas couldn’t sleep.

But in the end everything turned out fine. Even better than he expected to. He had a whole group of friends. While there, he missed the solitude he once had. He missed being alone with his own thoughts. But he liked being here. To talk with so many people who weren't his family.

There was one thing he couldn’t escape. That worry on everyone’s faces. He agreed to go to the Academy because he wanted to go away from his overprotective sisters and worrying parents. But sometimes he could see the same worry on his friends’ faces. Maybe it was all in his head. But he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that since they once knew him as a sickly boy, they forever would see him as a sickly boy.

The only one who didn’t have this worry on his face was Alastair Carstairs.

•

Thomas was aware he was becoming ridiculous. But he wasn’t sure he could stop.

He didn’t want to be Alastair's puppy that follows him everywhere. Matthew hated him. James was bullied by him. Alastair was nasty to everyone. But still. 

Thomas couldn’t explain it but there was something in Alastair Carstairs that was… extraordinary.

Sometimes Thomas would spot Alastair looking at him when he thought no one was watching. He was turning away quickly and called him “pipsqueak” or “half pint”. Thomas’ heart was starting to beat very fast when this happened. Like a small song was trapped in his heart and Alastair’s closnesses was making it louder.

Shortly after James, Matthew and Christopher were expelled, he found himself in an old room in the Academy. It was all dust and dirt that made his lungs ache. But he stayed because there was an old piano in it.

It made him smile. He took out his notebook with songs and sat in front of it. He was happy to touch it, to feel its coldness and steadiness. It was refreshing. 

Eventually he decided to examine the rest of the room. It was stuffed with books and old furniture. 

“Pipsqueak?” 

Thomas jumped. He turned and saw Alastair next to the piano. 

“What are you doing here, pixie?”

“Um” Thomas said. “Just looking around.”

Alastair’s gaze slowly moved to the piano. Thomas’ heart stopped. His notebook was there. Alastair was going to see his notebook.

“T-That’s nothing-”

But Alastair was already reaching for the book. He grabbed it from the stand. Thomas started to tremble. He hurried towards the other boy.

“Please, this is just-”

“Wait a second, tea cup,” without much effort he avoided Thomas’ attempts to take his notebook back. He was scanning the pages and then glanced at Thomas. Looked back at the page.

“That's not bad, pipsqueak,” then he gave him back the notebook, turned around and before leaving the room stopped. Turned to him. “You should let me play this sometime,” Alastair said and left the room.

Thomas' heart was beating fast. He was still trembling but for other reasons. His face was hot.

He glanced at the song Alastair had looked at. It was his first song. Did he really like it? Did he really want to play it?

Thomas hugged his notebooks, smiling, because he imagined how Alastair was playing his song.

But this never happened.

•

“You damn Shadowhooligans,” Polly murmured. “Don't have demons to hunt or something?” she sounded annoyed but said this with a smile. 

The four boys, giggling, headed towards their room where James managed to make their exclusive place in the Devil's Tavern.

Thomas was happy. He felt alive. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so reckless, so independent from his family. A time when he could just be.

As he looked at James and Matthew he thought how lucky they are. To find themselves parabatai. They were so different, not just by appearance. James was more quiet natured, more into stories and books. Matthew was loud, bohemian and liked being around people. Yet they somehow made it work.

Sometimes Thomas dreamed of having the same bond with somebody. The only one he could think of was Christopher. He was his brother in every way except blood. But he knew they weren't like this. Christopher would be kind of Shadowhunter Thomas wasn't and vica versa. And he couldn't imagine being with someone like Matthew - he loved him with his whole heart - but Thomas would prefer somebody more like James or himself.

Probably the parabatai-hood wasn't for him after all.

•

“I believe you'll like it there, son,” Gideon said to Thomas. “It helped me a great deal when I was your age.”

Thomas was packing clothes. He soon would turn eighteen and he was going to his travel year. He was scared. And anxious. But so excited at the same time. He looked forward to it for months.

“I hope so,” he said while putting a few shirts in his pack. “I will have a great opportunity to practice my Spanish.” 

Gideon smiled. “Indeed.”

He watched Thomas pack for a few minutes with a warm smile.

“Tom,” he said quietly. Thomas turned to him. Gideon hesitated. “I came to realize that all the attention and care the family took for you were necessary but… that they may have been a burden for you.”

Thomas looked at the floor. Gideon put a hand on his shoulder.

“You never said so, I know. This is what you do. But I have noticed it. When you're annoyed at the overprotectiveness of your sisters, at your mum and I when we put some restrictions on what to do, especially when you were younger.” 

Thomas looked at his father. His face was kind, gentle.

“It's alright. When I was your age I did similar things. I was silent for… some things. You know the story of your grandfather. But going to Spain had a really good influence on me. It helped me grow outside my father's control. I hope it can do the same for you. I strongly believe when you have the chance to be on your own and far away from all the people that overwhelm you with their care, you'll do great.”

Thomas' eyes were wet. He blinked a few times, trying to chase the tears away. 

“I… I don't want to be away from you.”

Gideon hugged him and gently squeezed him. Thomas buried his face in his father's chest.

“I know,” he said. “I also know that this can be scary and equally exciting. Just want to let you know… it's alright to feel this. All of this. Has always been and always will be. When you return you'll be changed. And our family, we'll be here, waiting for you.”

Thomas hugged his father too. It was alright. Everything was going to be alright. 

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice a little muffled.

Gideon kissed the top of his hair. “I love you too.”

[ashdumpsterpile]

Ohmygod YES Susan Pevensie is awesome please talk to me about Susan i want to know everything you have to say

Literally THANK YOU for asking me this bc Susan Pevensie is a character I never get asked about and I have So Many Opinions.

I'm going to start by saying that Susan used to be my least favorite character in the series. This goes for the books and the movies. Some of it was for personal reasons--she reminds me of a couple of annoying ppl I know irl--but it was also bc I watched Prince Caspian which shoehorned her into a relationship with Caspian which I hated.

HOWEVER. I ended up rethinking this position after interacting with Susan fans and realizing that there are so many wonderful things to love about her!

(putting under the cut bc this got long)

Things Ash Loves About Susan Pevensie

Aight I'm not going to do a formal analysis yet on her, but instead rant about some of the unrelated things I adore about Susan Pevensie.

Susan the Archer

Look we all love archery here. I don't have anything more to say.

Okay, I actually do have more to say. I love the fact that Susan is a complete badass with the bow. You get the general impression that she's one of the royals in charge of public relations, traditions, foreign policy, etc. and yet she's the most competent archer in the series. One of the few things I liked about the movies is how they didn't downplay this. They actually let her be a badass and show off her skills.

Also the part where she kicks Trumpkin's ass was awesome.

Susan the Gentle

Susan being the most passive Pevensie was something I definitely underappreciated as a teenager. I think my non-ability to see past "I'm not like other girls" narrative and the combination of Susan being described as the most traditionally feminine woman in the Narnia series is what initially turned me off from her.

HOWEVER, now it's one of my favorite attributes! I love that Susan is a badass and the most beautiful woman in Narnia. She has hair down to her feet, every man and woman in the kingdom want to fuck her, and she's still a fucking badass who will not hesitate to kick your ass.

Susan the Sister

Most of my thoughts of Susan as an older sister mostly stem from my own personal headcanons, but she is an awesome sister to her siblings. She's Peter's voice of reason, Edmund's sass partner, and Lucy's big sister.

Susan the Mom-Friend

She is a literal mother-figure for Corin.

"[...] the most beautiful lady he had ever seen rose from her place and threw her arms round him and kissed him, saying: "Oh Corin, Corin, how could you? And thou and I such close friends ever since thy mother died. [...]"

-The Horse and His Boy, 33-34

Most everything I have to say about this ventures into headcanon territory, but I love the idea of Susan basically adopting Corin after his mom dies. The way she trusts Cor--who she thinks is Corin in this chapter--is really sweet and I wish we could've seen more of that relationship.

Susan the Flawed

Something I notice from the fandom is a lot of people who hate Susan tend to because of her flaws. On the other hand, most Susan stans like to wave away these flaws and blame C.S. Lewis for being misogynistic or Aslan for being a "cruel god" and ignore the fact that she is a deeply flawed person.

Susan gets something of a "reverse redemption arc" in The Chronicles of Narnia. This makes her not only a fascinating foil to Edmund--as both are analytical, logical people--but an interesting character by herself.

She starts out in TWW as very skeptical of Narnia and it's whole deal and also very condescending to Lucy throughout. She ultimately does admit that Lucy was right and does get on board with the whole prophecy at the same time Peter does, and ends the book being crowned "the Gentle Queen."

In The Horse and His Boy, she has a very interesting dynamic with Edmund and in even more interesting relationship with Rabadash. They don't even interact on-page with each other, but it's highly implied that she was interested in him when he was a guest in Narnia. His behavior obviously changed when she visited him in Tashbaan, but you have to wonder what their dynamic was like before for her to travel all the way to his home when relations between the countries were strained at best.

Prince Caspian is where the cracks start showing through. Susan has lived an entire life as an adult in Narnia, gets thrown back to England with her siblings, and is yet again in Narnia as a child. This book is what really emphasizes her one fatal flaw: convenience.

(Put a pin in that thought, I'll get back to it.)

Susan denies once again that Lucy saw something that the rest of them can't seen. She continues this narrative until every other sibling finally acknowledges Lucy in the right and only then does she apologize.

The last mention of Susan is in The Last Battle, where all of her flaws rise up against her in the worst way possible. I have a lot of controversial opinions on this that I'm going to address later, but I just want to say that Susan's reverse-redemption arc is something I actually like about her.

(There is also evidence that Susan does get a full redemption arc, just as Edmund and Eustace did, but C.S. Lewis was pretty much done with The Chronicles of Narnia at the point and instead encouraged fans to write their own version of how that went down.)

Okay, back to convenience being Susan's fatal flaw. So the one thing that comes up time and time again in the series is that Susan is very focused on material comforts. I believe it's implied that she's vain, and it's canonical that her own personal comfort spurs her to make decisions.

"[...] I really believed it was him — he, I mean — yesterday. When he warned us not to go down to the fir wood. And I really believed it was him tonight, when you woke us up. I mean, deep down inside. Or I could have, if I'd let myself. But I just wanted to get out of the woods and — and — oh, I don't know [...]"

Prince Caspian, 81

Prince Caspian has the strongest examples of Susan doing this, but certainly there's evidence elsewhere. There are a lot of fans who are distressed by this, claiming that Aslan and the others are too hard on her and shouldn't judge.

Honestly, I like that she's written with this flaw. Not only is it very relatable--(my own personal comfort and convenience is something I highly prioritize too)--but it humanizes a character who otherwise is ridiculously op and basically the Helen of Troy of the series. It may sound like I'm using this as an excuse to rant, but I really wouldn't have her any other way.

Susan As Portrayed by Anna Popplewell

Movie!Susan is a fucking delight.

She's sarcastic and badass and awesome and I could spend hours heaping praise on Anna's acting and her portrayal of Susan, but I can already tell that this post is going to be long so, I'll just stop here.

(10/10 want to be stabbed by her tho.)

Personal Headcanons

Let's talk about my fanon thoughts. I have many.

Susan is Aro

There's canonical evidence for this! Susan is a character who is heavily pursued by suitors everywhere, and even lets herself be courted by many of them, but chooses not to settle down. Even when she gets back to England and is described as only having interest in parties and material things, boys aren't mentioned.

I like to think that in The Horse in His Boy Susan was interested in Rabadash at first because he was a brilliant conversationalist. Nothing she says about him implies romantic interest, before and after she realizes the truth of his intentions.

Susan and Edmund Were Best Friends

This might be my love for The Horse and His Boy showing itself, but I think Susan and Edmund were thrown into circumstances where they interacted the most with each other.

Edmund is the ruler in charge of politics. Susan is the ruler in charge of Cair Paravel's public image. I imagine they spent time as ambassadors to other countries and planning royal functions.

They're also the most level-headed and logical out of their siblings, so they probably found a lot in common.

Susan Fancast

I literally just said I loved Anna's potrayal of Susan's (and I love what they gave us of older Susan too in LWW!), but I read the books in 2008 and my parents didn't let me see the movies bc I was like...nine years old and they thought it would be too scary.

So I had to headcanon my own interpretations.

Queen Susan the Gentle:

For some reason Merlin wasn't too scary for me to watch and I fell in love with Katie McGrath in like. Two episodes so. (On an unrelated note, I also fancast Bradley James as Peter at the time.)

Anyway, fanon Susan is basically Morgana Pendragon pre-evil arc. Sassy as hell, hot as fuck, and can kick your ass.

Unpopular Opinions

Yeah, feel free to skip this part if having controversial fandom opinions is a deal breaker for you.

The Problem With Susan Isn't Actually A Problem

I'm about to start so much discourse in the Narnia fandom, but C.S. Lewis's choices with her in The Last Battle weren't misogynistic. Bear in mind, I'm not saying that all of his writing choices in the series were A++ or excusing away certain racist/sexiest bits, but it's honestly baffling to me that people are so up in arms over Susan's exclusion in the final book.

So the part that everyone loses their shit over is as follows:

"My sister Susan," answered Peter shortly and gravely, "is no longer a friend of Narnia."

"Yes," said Eustace, "and whenever you've tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says 'What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.'"

"Oh Susan!" said Jill, "she's interested in nothing now-a-days except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up."

"Grown-up, indeed," said the Lady Polly. "I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can."

The Last Battle, 83-84

There's a lot to unpack here and I first want to say that everyone's opinion on this part, no matter how different than mine, is valid. I'm going to be quoting some other ppl's opinions on here and by no means am I bashing them. I just want to address my feelings on the matter and the best way to do that is to cite the thoughts of ppl who have opposing ideas.

Here are some arguments on Tumblr I've heard regarding "The Problem of Susan":

"How about we talk about what might have happened if Narnia hadn't deserted Susan? [...] What if we didn't tell Susan she had to go grow up in her own world and then shame and punish her for doing just that? She was told to walk away and she went. She did not try to stay a child all her life, wishing for something she had been told she couldn't have again."

"Narnia is filled with metaphors (often not very subtle ones) that are supposed to teach us how to be, and the most glaring one for any young girl to absorb is that it's okay to be a girl like Lucy, unthreatening and cheerful and valiant and faithful, but to be a girl like Susan gets you punished - in fact, you aren't just punished, you're destroyed."

"why do we call it ‘the problem’ where’s the problem about a young woman dealing with her trauma and choosing her own path, actively making the choice to keep living and to stay and to carve a life out in England when her siblings couldn’t? what is the problem about susan forgetting to somehow cope with what she’s experienced? why is it ‘the problem of susan’ that she recontextualised her faith?"

And then there's JK Rowling who said this:

There comes a point where Susan, who was the older girl, is lost to Narnia because she becomes interested in lipstick. She's become irreligious basically because she found sex. I have a big problem with that.

It's weird how I'm still finding new ways to hate JKR in the year 2021. Again, there is absolutely zero implication that Susan had sex when she came back to England. ZERO. Did she actually read the books? IDK. If someone shares this opinion pls reply with actual canonical evidence.

Back on topic, I'm a firm believer of death of the author and interpreting art via your own experiences. Which is why I'm also going to share my own interpretation by saying y'all are wrong.

Susan Pevensie was not abandoned by Narnia. She was not barred from Narnia because she is traditionally feminine or because she "owned her sexuality" (another opinion I didn't have time to condense down for this post) or because she recontextualized her faith or even because she deserved to be punished.

I also fail to see how Susan recontexualized her faith, as the entire point of it all is that she has none. Bringing this back to Susan's fatal flaw (personal convenience/material comforts), her prioritizing herself over her own faith is the reason she is "no longer a friend of Narnia." Not...whatever fanon y'all are imposing on her character.

Susan is not being punished for liking lipstick and looking pretty. Susan's not even being punished. Y'all read Neil Gaiman's The Problem of Susan and forgot it wasn't canon.

There are many reasons Susan is not in Aslan's Country (one of them being that she's not actually dead yet), but the main one has to do with this:

"[...] But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.”

Voyage of the Dawn Treader, 215-216

Yeah, okay that's why Susan is no longer a friend of Narnia. The implication when the Pevensies are told that they can no longer enter Narnia is that they are to find Aslan in other places. Susan doesn't do this, instead choosing to focus her life on material things. It isn't the lipstick, it's that she only wants the lipstick.

Susan Had Sex In The Books

Oh and not in the context y'all are thinking. (Again, there are no implications that Susan was barred from Narnia for having sex or that she had sex when she came back to England.)

So there's actual canonical evidence that Susan and Rabadash had a sexual relationship. Sort of.

"What think you? We have been in this city fully three weeks. Have you yet settled in your mind whether you will marry this dark-faced lover of yours, this Prince Rabadash, or no?"

-The Horse and His Boy, 35

Edmund calls Rabadash her lover. Not her suitor. I don't know if the word had a different meaning in 1954, but it feels like C.S. Lewis is saying that they're fucking. I'm not really happy with the idea of Susan sleeping with an abuser, but really proud of her for Getting Some as a woman born in a time period where having premarital sex was a big no-no.

This also invalidates the weird opinion going on that Susan was barred from Narnia because she had sex.

Suspian Is The Worst

I haven't really talked about Movie!Susan much, but as long as we're talking unpopular opinions, it's worth noting that I hate Suspian. Some of it is the "Susan is Aro" headcanon screaming inside of me, but it's also the fact that it's written poorly, does nothing interesting for either character and generally comes across as awkward.

I feel like they were trying to make Prince Caspian sexy and relevant to teens. It came across as super heteronormative and unnecessary.

It also gets really really weird bc the next movie then gives Caspian and Edmund mad chemistry and we're all just like........ok.

Final Thoughts

Susan may not be my favorite character in the series, but she's grown on me over the years. I have many issues with fanon interpretations of her--which definately fueled some of my disdain for her initally--and I don't identify as a Susan Apologist.

I do however adore Susan and have many headcanons for her not mentioned here. I love reading fanfic, writing fanfic and meta, and generally having conversations about her and would love to talk more about it.

I welcome criticism (CONSTRUCTIVE) and conversation on all of my opinions and observations. Please drop into my inbox. <3

[rubysunnday]

Cousin Mine

Y/N had only meant to go outside for a bit of fresh air and a cigarette. 

There were so many people inside the house and it was beginning to get overwhelming - not to mention the fact people get coming up to her and offering her their sympathies. 

She’d never particularly liked Grace. But, somehow, the woman had become a maternal figure in her life despite only really being in it a few years.

Her death had rocked Y/N and she still didn’t quite know what was happening. 

Opening the Grace Shelby institute - the actual title was a lot longer and more tedious but Y/N couldn’t be bothered to remember it in its entirety - was meant to help with that loss and to cope with it and to move on.

Y/N sighed, exhaling a large cloud of smoke as she dropped her cigarette onto the gravel and squished it out with her heel. She turned to step back inside when someone shoved past her, evidently in a hurry.

“Oi!” Y/N yelled, turning to watch them run towards a car. “Watch where you’re fucking going.”

The person slowed down and Y/N could now see they were holding a squirming child in their arms.

The child turned their head and Y/N felt her stomach drop as Charlie looked back at her, his eyes watering with tears.

“What the fuck are you doing with my nephew?” Y/N demanded, marching forwards towards the person, hand reaching for the gun she had in her coat pocket.

Two men suddenly grabbed her arms from behind, pulling her backwards harshly. Y/N stumbled, her shoes slipping on the gravel of the driveway and she tried to fight them off. She went to scream but one of them put a piece of cloth over her mouth and nose. 

Y/N tried not to breathe in whatever was on it but her lungs burnt for air and eventually she did, her knees buckling underneath her as whatever drug was on the cloth took hold and knocked her out.

Tommy sighed as the women finally left him, moving off to go interrogate someone else. He looked around and frowned slightly as he saw no sign of his son in the room.

He looked around again, glancing over at where John’s children were playing.

Still no Charlie.

“Where’s Charles, Ada?” Tommy asked, approaching his sister.

Ada frowned, looking up at him from the man she’d been talking to. “I gave him to you.”

Tommy shook his head slightly, staring at his sister. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

Tommy tried not to let panic overwhelm just yet. He walked over to John and Arthur, trying to ignore his heartbeat increasing. “Boys. Have you seen Charlie?”

“I don’t know, he’s playing isn’t he?” John asked, his eyes narrowing slightly at his brothers panicked state.

Tommy turned around and walked up to Polly. “Pol, where’s Charles?” He asked, pulling her away from whatever conversation she was having with Esme and the mayor.

Polly looked at him blankly, her eyes widening a fraction in concern. Tommy turned and moved on to Lizzie.

“Lizzie. Where is Charlie?” Tommy demanded, looking at her and Linda.

“I don’t know,” Lizzie replied, shaking her head, frowning.

Tommy was beginning to panic. 

His son was missing.

He turned around and walked back to his brothers, pointing at them and listing off locations to go and search as he himself began to panic even more.

“Tommy,” Ada called, running up to them. “Somebody said they saw a nurse take him through the back door.”

“What nurse?” Arthur asked, grabbing Ada’s arm.

“I don’t know,” Ada replied, pushing him towards the door. “Go.”

Arthur ran out the door and began searching the staircase by the backdoor, running up it and then back down it.

“Arthur,” Ada called, running up to him and grabbing the banister.

“What?” Arthur asked, running past her, back down the stairs.

“Somebody said they saw a woman and a kid getting into a car,” Ada, said, following him. “They also said there looked like a girl was with them.”

Arthur paused, halfway down the stairs, and looked back up at Ada, frowning. “What girl?”

“I don't...” Ada trailed off, her eyes widening as she realised.

“Y/N,” Arthur muttered, his own panic growing even more. “Fuck.”

Tommy looked around as John emerged outside the house. “John?”

Arthur then appeared, looking very flustered and even more panicked than before. “John, call Moss. Tell him to block the junctions. Go!”

John nodded at Arthur and turned around, running back into the house.

“Arthur, where is he?” Tommy asked, looking up at his brother as he walked up to him. Arthur put a hand on the back of Tommy’s neck, the other on his cheek. “Arthur, tell me.”

“Someone took him,” Arthur said as gently as he could. Tommy shoved him off but Arthur grabbed him, forcing him to look at him. “Listen to me,” he said, putting a hand on Tommy’s head as his brother buried his head against him, “they put him in a car and drove south. Tom, listen...”

Tommy looked up at him, wondering what else Arthur could possibly say to make his day worse. “What?”

“They took Y/N too,” Arthur said slowly, eyeing his brother carefully incase he needed to catch him. “She was outside when they took Charlie and tried to stop them but got caught in it, apparently.”

Tommy was panicking even more. He couldn’t breathe. “What?”

He fell against his brother and Arthur held him against his chest, keeping him upright as he put a hand on the back of his head, cradling him.

“We’ll find her, Tommy,” Arthur said, trying to reassure himself too. “We’ll find them both.”

Y/N had no idea how long she’d been out for. 

Nor did she have any idea as to where she even was. 

It looked like the back room of a church. It smelt like a church. 

The cross hanging on the wall opposite her confirmed the fact it was, indeed, a church.

Charlie had gurgled happily upon seeing his aunt awake and had made grabby hands at her. Y/N, swallowing down her own fear, had smiled at her nephew and picked him up, holding him against her.

He was now fast asleep in her lap, and she was gently stroking her nephews hair. Her right hand was tied to the radiator behind her, the rope tight enough around her wrist that it was beginning to hurt. 

When she’d woken up, the Reverend had walked in and she’d given the him what for and had ended up being slapped.

Her face was still burning and she knew that there was a significant bruise forming on her right cheek and that her lip was cut - she’d been tasting the metallic tang of blood ever since. 

Charlie was confused as to what was happening, but seeing his aunt had made him content enough. 

Y/N sighed, leaning her head back against the radiator. She bite her lip, hard, as she tried not to cry in front of her nephew.

She hated this.

She hated Tommy.

She hated everyone.

But she was so, so desperate for someone to come rescue her.

Y/N knew that, if Charlie hadn’t been here, she would be raising hell, right now, and breaking down windows and doors and fighting to escape. But she couldn’t risk anything happening to Charlie as a result of her actions.

So, she sat. 

And waited.

And waited.

The sun appeared and then disappeared and then appeared. Y/N watched it through the window, mentally counting the minutes, the hours.

She fell asleep at one point and woke up with a start when Charlie had poked her face to wake her up.

The sun was disappearing once again when the door to the back room was unlocked and pulled open.

Y/N sat up, unconsciously tightening her grip on Charlie as the Reverend walked in holding a tray.

“Good evening,” he said, smiling.

Y/N tried not to show how afraid she was as he walked up to her and crouched down, putting the tray on the floor in front of her. 

“Hi, little one,” he said as Charlie raised his head and looked at him. He held out a sliver spoon to him. “Want a shiny spoon?”

“Leave him the fuck alone,” Y/N warned, holding Charlie close to her as she glared up at the man. 

The Reverend tutted as he turned to look at Y/N. “Such language from a young woman is inappropriate,” he said, shaking his head. “I wish I could’ve taught you better.”

“You’re a fucking creep,” Y/N snapped, still glaring. 

The sound of the slap he delivered bounced off the white-washed walls. Y/N gasped as her head was forcibly turned to the side. The Reverend leant forward and grabbed her chin, holding it tightly.

“Listen here you bitch,” he hissed. “I won’t harm the child, but if you don’t start to learn to respect me, I will hurt you.”

He let go of her and turned back to Charlie who was gurgling happy, completely oblivious, at the spoon his hand. 

Y/N’s head turned to look at the open door as she heard footsteps approach it. The Reverend frowned slightly as he, too, heard them and stood up, walking to the door and standing just outside it.

“What do you think you’re doing, boy?” The Reverend asked who ever was out there.

Y/N couldn’t see what was going and could only, really, hear the Reverend.

“Please don't,” he said, sounding panicked. “Please don’t shoot. Please don’t shoot. Please don’t.”

Y/N heard someone grunt and the sound of fighting. Hoping it was rescue and not someone else who’d come to kidnap her, she reached forward for the bowl in front of her. 

She smashed it on the wall behind her, soup and shards of ceramic going everywhere.

Charlie began to whimper as Y/N swore loudly, a shard of the bowl cutting her left hand as she picked it up.

“I know, Charlie, I know,” she muttered as she began cutting the rope. The blood was dripping down her arm and onto her dress which had long since been ruined, but she kept going.

“Do you know who you’re fucking messing with?” The Reverend yelled and Y/N could hear another man grunting.

Y/N’s efforts increased as she heard the sound of someone choking. She growled, pulling on the rope as she tried to pull it free from the radiator. 

“No!”

Y/N froze as the rope finally snapped and her hand fell limply to the floor in to a pool of blood.

Michael was out there. 

Michael was out there.

“Go call Finn,” Michael said to whoever else was out there with him.

Y/N didn’t hear anything else as she forced herself to stand up, almost falling over as her legs protested. 

She could hear the Reverend choking for air and recognised the sound of a dying man as he gurgled on, what she presumed was his own blood. She grasped the wall behind her and pushed herself up, stumbling over to the open door.

Charlie had crawled over to the door and was throwing random pencils around, cooing happily at Michael.

Y/N could see the outline of the Reverend, dead on the floor, and spotted the edge of her cousin as he sat against the wall next to the door.

She quietly walked up to the door and slid down the wall, facing Charlie. She could hear Michael’s shaking breath and reached out her right hand around the door frame.

Michael looked to his left and saw his cousin’s hand reaching out for his. He lowered his blood soaked one and clenched hers tightly, ignoring the way they both shook.

Y/N leant her head against the wall and sighed softly, holding Michael’s hand tightly as she watched Charlie, oblivious to what had happened, playing happily on the floor.

After a minute, Y/N crawled around to the other side of the wall and sat next to Michael, stretching her legs out in front of her.

She didn’t say anything about the blood dripping down his face, or the fact the Reverend had been killed by his own rosary. 

Michael hadn’t said anything about what had happened to him at the hands of the now dead man, but Y/N didn’t have to have a vivid imagination to picture it.

She hoped the man was rotting in hell.

Y/N looked up at Michael, who was staring straight ahead, eyes wide, and dropped her head on to his shoulder.

Michael glanced down at her. He hesitated for a moment but then lowered his head to rest on top of hers.

There were still lights on inside the office as they walked inside. Y/N followed behind Michael, forcing herself to keep walking even though she was aching with every step. 

Her cousin was holding Charlie in his arms and almost as soon as he stepped through the front door, Polly and Ada ran out and took him from him, both crying in relief at Charlie being safe and in one piece. 

Y/N came to a stop next to her cousin and took his hand in hers, trying not to lean on him too much as she swayed slightly. 

She had blood on her dress, the red staining the fabric that had once been light blue.

Polly turned and looked at her son and niece, her eyes catching the dried blood on Michael’s face, the ruined skin on Y/N’s right hand, the dried blood on her dress and the bruise on her cheeks.

Y/N tried not to flinch as Polly put a hand to her cheek, her thumb gently tracing over the bruises and her cut lip. She looked at her aunt, unable to form a sentence as she dropped her hand and turned to look at her son.

Michael stared straight ahead as his mother embraced him gingerly.

Polly stepped back, watching as Michael turned around, Y/N following him silently as they both left. She watched them both with a sad face, seeing how defeated and broken they both looked.

Michael stopped outside the office front door and let go of Y/N’s hand, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him. He silently tilted her chin up, eyes scanning her bruised and bloodied face as she looked up at him.

Y/N reached up and wiped away a speck of blood from her cousins eyebrow and blinked against the tears forming in her eyes. One escaped and trickled down her face, dripping off her chin. 

Without a word, Michael brought Y/N against him and held her tightly, hand coming to rest on the back of her head.

Y/N relaxed into her cousins grip and closed her eyes. She put her hands under his jacket and around his waist, burying her hands in the bunched up fabric of his shirt and breathing in the smell of his cologne.

Neither one of them would ever say what they did that night.

[zodiyack]

Curiosity Killed The Cat

Requested by Anon: I know we do happy Elizabeth Shelby but, could you imagine teen Elizabeth figuring out that Bonnie was never her real dad? And it was a dead beat bastard? I’m feeling kinda angsty????

Pairing: Bonnie Gold x Female!Shelby!Reader, Mentioned Male!Character x Female!Shelby!Reader, Bonnie & Reader + Elizabeth Shelby (platonic)

Warnings: Angst, swearing, mention of teen pregnancy

Words: 1,898

Summary: (See Request)

Note: I like- I had an idea, altered it a little halfway through, and then went with it. I hope you like it, anon!

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @simonsbluee, @fandom-puff, @marquelapage, @stuckysslag​, @psychkunox​, @darling-i-read-it​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​, @i-love-superhero​

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist | Elizabeth L. Shelby Masterlist

She had never meant to invade another’s privacy in her life...but one little detail pulled the small bit of string sticking from the yarn ball, unraveling into one big mess. That was how she’d ended up in the situation never meant to happen. But it did.

It was a slow morning, Bonnie out to help with the Peaky Blinders and Y/n helping Ada and Polly with the boys. Elizabeth had a free day from her schooling and her ever growing mind was still as inquisitive as it was when she were just a babe.

The study, in which her parents did most of their work, was not off limits to her, just a place where she hadn’t been as often. Because of that, she decided she’d spend her time taking care of her boredom by snooping around.

All was going pleasantly until she found a letter, hidden in the bottom drawer of her mother’s wooden desk. Elizabeth frowned to herself, knowing better than to stick her nose into things that were not hers to know of, and began to move the items in the drawer to return the letter to its original place. However, the glimpse she caught of her name, or what looked like her name, sprawled in messy handwriting, caught her like a fish on a hook and reeled her in.

The word had been seen slightly between the folded end and the middle. She wasn’t completely sure it had been her name, so she debated leaving it alone and moving on with her day or giving into the pull of the hook of intrigue.

Biting her lip, she looked around. Then she breathed slowly and carefully unfolded the paper.

When Bonnie and Y/n returned to their home, they had expected a few things. Perhaps the house would be spotless and Elizabeth would act as if it were nothing, or the house would be a mess and she would have a boy over- that idea caused Bonnie to almost crash the car. Thinking of many things they’d find, Elizabeth with her arms crossed, a paper in her hand and a conflicted look upon her face was not one of them.

It was like they were the teens caught out and about in the middle of night by returning after curfew and she was the angry parent. Her expression caused her parents to stop in place and give her a questioning look. Ellie unfolded her arms and held up the paper. Right at that moment, Y/n’s heart stopped and dropped into her stomach. She squeezed Bonnie’s hand tightly.

“Who wrote this?” The two exchanged a knowing glance. “Mother. Who wrote this?”

Y/n hesitated getting the answer out of her mouth. The letter was something she hadn’t thought about, something she yearned to forget. “Your father.”

“My father? But I thought he was my father.” Elizabeth gestured to Bonnie, who sighed and moved to take a seat opposite to Elizabeth. “Have a seat, mum, I think we have something to talk about.”

“Indeed we do, Elizabeth.” Bonnie avoided his daughter’s- step-daughter’s eyes as he spoke, staring at his hands.

Y/n did as her daughter requested, more so demanded, and sat beside Bonnie. She too held a sheepish manner.

“Please, tell me, why am I just now learning of my father? Why not when I was a little girl? Why is he not a part of my life?”

The final question led Bonnie to surge upward from his seat, finally making eye contact with a now startled Elizabeth. “That man will have nothing to do with you if I have any say in this whatsoever!” His face was as red as a tomato, but calmed a few shades as Y/n put a soft hand on his arm.

“You don’t have a say in it. This is between my mother and I.” She looked at him apologetically, “You will always be my dad, but I want to know my real father.”

“He’s right...ya know? I never really wanted you around him...but-” Was it worth it? Ruining his image before Elizabeth had the chance to even meet him? He lived right there in Birmingham, she could meet him and see for herself, but, as Y/n thought more about it, he was a cruel man, one who neglected to even care for his child or his lover who was carrying said child.

“But what? Is he dead or something?”

“No, but-”

“But nothing!” Moments prior, Bonnie had scared Elizabeth with an outburst of his own, but it was the adults this time who nearly fell out of their chairs in surprise. “Either let me meet him or leave me to find him on my own.” She whipped around, her shoes clacking against the floors as she paced quickly to her room, leaving her parents to discuss her ultimatum.

Each meal went by with an awkward tension hanging over the three, the room filled with silence if you didn’t count the scraping of spoons against bowls or forks against plates. The simple sound only worsened the strained feeling in the air.

No answer came to Elizabeth, so she took matters into her own hands, following out her second offer and sought to find the man who gave her life. Each day she’d ask the name of which had been signed on the letter, going as far as to put his name in the newsprint. As a Shelby, she didn’t have to pay a single thing to have the people put anything in the news, but the goodness of her heart got the best of her and the people themselves. They offered to call the place she had been staying when they had a lead, but sadly, no calls had been made.

But one day, while she sat with the same hopefulness by the telephone with a cup of coffee in hand, the ringing filled her ears and a smile struck her face instantaneously. She almost dropped the coffee onto the carpeted hotel flooring as she jumped to set it down and grab the phone. “Hello?!” Her voice beaned with joy.

“Miss! There’s a call from the newsprint office,” the woman from the front desk said, voice ringing with a sense of rush, “they’re on hold- they say it’s urgent!”

The smile on Elizabeth’s face widened, “Please, put them on the line!”

“Miss Shelby, we have him!”

He waited for her in the lobby of the hotel, confusion obvious on his features. Elizabeth slowly walked down the stairs and the second her eyes met his, she felt sure that it was him. “Father!” She grinned and raced to him. Ellie threw her arms around him the second she reached him.

A small feeling of uncertainty picked at Elizabeth when he didn’t hug her back right away. She noticed his hesitation almost instantly but brushed it off when he finally wrapped his arms around her small frame. “You must be...”

“Elizabeth. Elizabeth Luludja Shelby.” She paused, furrowing her brows a little when he scoffed at her middle name, but continued nevertheless. “I’m um...your daughter.”

“Did your mother tell you about me?”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, sucking in a breath bitterly. “No.”

“Oh...It’s fine with me. Never liked the whore that much anyways.”

Another pang of guilt struck Elizabeth, but again, she ignored it. “Yeah...” She laughed nervously, the unsure feeling growing deeper, twisting into a big sign that told her in capital letters to RUN. But she didn’t.

The two spent the day together, bonding and discussing what he would’ve done with her had he been given the opportunity to be her father. Of course, he never wasted the chance to call Y/n slurs and ghastly words. All seemed fine, Ellie wondered why on earth her parents thought he was a bad man, until he did yet another thing to make Elizabeth’s fight or flight mode prepare itself despite her not exactly wanting to.

He offered to hold her bag whilst she used the toiletries, then when he handed it back, took her to a shop. There, when paying, she found that a large amount of funds she’d been saving up since childhood had been missing. She bit the inside of her mouth and shook her head. But still, she refused to give up on him just yet.

They walked the streets, making small talk as they went by. “You got a lover yet?”

“Not quite. Mother said I should be sure before giving my heart to someone.”

“Yeah, well, your mother got herself knocked up before she was even of age so. Best think about who you’re getting advice from, Eirene.” He butchered her name off the bat, but she’d ignored that too, only correcting him each time- just not this one. “Date and fuck whoever you want, don’t let that bitch boss you around.”

He leaned closer to her, allowing her to smell the alcohol under his breath, the tobacco and surely, without a doubt, plenty of drugs. She cringed, scrunching her face and looking away from him in hope to get fresh air, but something about that smell stuck with her. What had he used her money on? Did his breath smell like that before? Was he intoxicated at the hotel?

“Listen, I think it’s best I get going...” She tried to pull away from him, but he caught a grip on her arm, tighter than he should’ve.

“No. You’re staying with me and that’s final. Come on Eliza, lets go meet my friends. You ever try snow before?”

That was the final time the red lights flashed. In what felt like a split second slowed dramatically, Elizabeth socked her father in the nose, hearing a cracking sound before he let go of her arm and she stumbled backwards a little.

“You bitch!” His grumble was muffled from behind his hand. He covered his nose and mouth, blood on his hand from either places but Ellie didn’t know which. “Why the fuck would you do that?!”

She was ready to apologize, but for once, it felt good to do something un-ladylike. “I seldom act as barbarous as that, but I know one thing. I feel not guilt for my actions, but justice. You call my mother horrid names that she would never be defined by, you can’t even stay clean for a visit with your own daughter nor keep your thieving hands out of anything that is not your own! Let alone remember my name!”

“And?!”

“And-” She hesitated, but rolled her eyes and let it out. “And fuck you. I believe there is good in everyone, but you have shown me otherwise. I thought mother and...and my father were wrong, that my birth father was a good man, but the day started with joy and ended in disappointment. I’m ashamed to even be from your blood. May you rot in the deepest depths of hell, you dishonorable bastard.”

Gasps came the people around them, making Elizabeth look around and glare at the bystanders, “Fuck off before the Peaky Blinders have you all...”

She turned to the man, still on the ground clutching his face, and thought about how she’d spent just a little less than a month searching for him; news traveled fast in Birmingham. “In fact, you’re lucky all you got was me. Because, if you have any brain whatsoever, you’ll leave Birmingham before you get the Peaky Blinders too.”