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writers-hes · 9 months

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The Blind Man

You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn’t realize that war could change you both. (angst, depictions of abuse, poverty, prostitution, canon-typical themes, death, war, time jumps, depictions of mental illness, abusive marriage)

They finally meet.

PART 1 / PART 2

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BIRMINGHAM, 1919

There was nothing discreet with how you dressed. You were in all black, a black veil shielding you from the onlookers. Simon sent some money to Johnny’s wife, Beth, for a proper wake. His house was filled with white flowers and proper food. It’s the least he could do, that’s what he said. You were sitting beside the widow, trying to console her.

“Johnny used to talk about you alot,” she weeped. “‘That’s my girl! That’s my daughter and she’ll go places!’ That’s what he always said. He told me how you grew up in the brothel and how you were always willing to listen to his lessons in arithmetic.” Her eyes were red from crying and all you could do was console her. “Thank you for taking care of him…for taking care of us,”

“It’s nothing, Beth,” you assured her. “He let me into his bunker when my mum died,” you recalled. “He protected me from…from…as much as he could, you know?”

God. Just how many people could you lose in this fucking lifetime? First, your father but you’ve never really weeped for him. You never knew him. Second, your mum. She took care of you with how little she had. Third, Tommy. You never heard back if he was alive or not. Your protector. Fourth, Big Johnny. He’s always been the male figure that you considered as your father. Who’s next?

“I’m grateful for him,” you managed to choke out. You asked your security guards to go somewhere else, maybe a few feet or metres from the house. You wanted privacy. “I’m just so regretful to never have seen him and now he’s gone…”

Johnny died because of a rumble with some of the newer gangs in Small Heath. Some young lads mugged him on the way home and killed him. They threw his body by the docks where they thought no one would ever see him.

Your body suddenly fills with rage. Was this the work of the Blinders? Fuck. Why would they fucking do that? Beth excuses herself from you and you nodded. Picking on the rings on your fingers, you didn’t notice who sat beside you.

“Seems like we only see each other at weddings and funerals,” You gasped, looking at the source of the familiar voice. How could you ever forget? She told you what you needed to do to survive.

“Polly,” you gasped, extending your shaky hands towards her. “How have you been?”

“I’m good,” she replied. “Who would’ve thought, huh?” she asked. She lets you clutch her hand for support. “Where’s Simon?”

“He has business in Camden Town,” you replied. “He allowed me to go but there’s security around us right now. We can’t really talk, Poll—he’s going to, he’s going to—“

“I’ve handled it,” she said. “You can talk to me as freely as you would like, okay?” You nodded.

“I’m sorry for…for leaving,” you whispered. Your voice wavers and you feel the wetness in your eyes. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Darling…”

“He threatened to kill Tommy, Arthur, and John if I didn’t obey,” you confessed. “During the…the war,” You shut your eyes to hide from Polly. Her heart aches. You’ve always been reluctant to show your emotions but you are visibly hiding now. Cowering from the fear of rejection and of humiliation from Polly Gray. “He said that-that he knew people who could finish the job.”

“Don’t hide,” she coos. Your obedience was not in vain but she’d never tell you that. She didn’t want Tommy to act impulsively and she didn’t want you to lose what you already have. “How are you? You don’t need permission from a man, you know,”

“I know,” you nod. “You always told me but…Simon is all I have now. He trusts me and I don’t want to break that trust that I’ve worked so hard on. You told me to take advantage of everything and I am,”

“What have you been doing?”

“I have trusts, bonds, and investments to my name now. Simon couldn’t take them away from me. All sealed with a document that my lawyers reviewed,” you told her. Once a prostitute, always a prostitute.

“Johnny and I taught you well then,” she nods in approval. “That’s good. We miss you,”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Where’s Ada? I’ve to thank her for the house,”

“If anything, she has you to thank. She’s been going there a lot since you left. She said she feels more at peace there,” Polly replied. “When are you leaving?”

“After the burial,” you replied. “I have to leave and go to uh, Italy with Simon,”

“For what?”

“Some…business thing.” you replied.

“He’s showing you the world?” she asked, gesturing to your clothes. You knew it. It was too much for a funeral.

“Yeah. It’s too much isn’t it? I can-I can change into something else but, he likes these clothes,” you told her. “But can I—“

“No, you look good,” she says, stopping you from your worries. “You look like who you’re supposed to be,”

You look like who you’re supposed to be. If it was any other person, you’d be offended; but this was Polly. She always told you that you didn’t belong in Small Heath. “You’re too pure to belong here forever.” She’d always say. It’s funny, you felt like you never belonged in Simon’s world no matter how hard he tried to put you in it.

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask about Tommy and his brothers. How could you? You were too scared to know the answer. If Polly didn’t mention it, it’s probably for the best.

“I do wish you’d visit us more but I know your circumstances,” she said. “I received the letter from Simon along with a cheque of a few thousand pounds,”

“Did you encash it?” you asked.

“No,” she replied. Somehow, that gave you comfort. She couldn’t be bought. “I did it because I was so worried about what could happen to you. It didn’t have any details. It just said that he’d appreciate it if we cease all contact. He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

“No,” you shook your head. Not yet. “As unimaginable as it all is, he has never. I truly believe that he loves me, Pol. He tells me every day. He heeds everything that I say or do and has never had a mistress but I feel so terrible because I don’t love him that way,” you confessed, feeling like the weight of the world just lifted itself on your shoulders. “I’m terrible,”

“You’re not,” Polly said. “I told you to take advantage of everything but I never told you to love him, did I?”

You went home that day feeling lighter. You could always confide in Polly whenever you needed. You were just so heartbroken to know that that could probably never happen again. Your servants have left now. You told them that you didn’t need them during the night because of how small the house was. They stayed at a lodging for labourers nearby; except for the guards. They came with you wherever you go, even if it was only at a distance.

You were putting away the heavy gold earrings in the vanity in your room. It was dark, except for the lamp that you opened by the bed.

“You should really change your locks,” Your head whipped, earrings falling on the ground.

“Tommy?” you asked, rushing towards him in your most comfortable clothes. It was a long sleeved pyjama shirt that Simon owned. Tommy didn’t like it. “Oh my God. You’re here,” you breathed, shaky hands touching his arm. “You’re here…you’re here,”

“And you’re here,” he says, his voice void of emotion. He looked for the pressed flowers in the frame that usually sat on your vanity. It was gone. “You left,”

“I didn’t want to,” you said, removing your hands from him when you felt how cold he was.

“Did you plan on coming back? At all?” he asked. His rage blinds him. Why was he so cold and cruel? Why couldn’t he tell you how happy he was to see you again? He didn’t know how to handle his emotions. Years of longing…of heartbreak…of wondering if he could ever be good enough came down on him.

“Tommy?”

“It’s just a funny thing, isn’t it?” he chuckled, lighting up his cigarette. “You leave, make your way into the world, and then expect things to be the same.”

You frowned.

“It’s a funny thing. You promised to wait for me and you didn’t,” he spat. “All I ever looked at was your photo in those four years and you—“

“I didn’t want to leave, Tommy,” you whispered.

“But you did!” he exclaims. “You left me! You…you left me and married someone else. You decided that I could never grant my promises and fucked someone else. Like a…like…”

“Like what, Tommy?” you asked, stepping away from him. “Like a whore?” He’s never thought of you like that before.

“I never said that,”

“But you thought it!” You sit on your bed. “You see me like how everyone sees me. Fuck,” you shook, shielding yourself away from him. “How could you ruin this for us?”

“No, I’m—“

“Then, what? What is it, Tommy? You come in here to my house and pick a fight. You can’t blame me for the choices that I made! I had no idea if you were coming back. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Wait for me,” he demanded. “I told you to wait for me. I’ve been building us everything that we ever wanted but you were just so impatient,”

“How could I if you never wrote back?”

You looked up at him through teary eyes. You finally gave him the chance to look at you. You looked older, despite the garb that you were wearing. The sparkle was gone. You looked up at him. He’s different. Detached, cold, and emotionless. The blue eyes that used to convey so much emotion were gone. He wasn’t letting you in like he used to.

You both changed.

A shimmer on your neck catches his attention. It was his mother’s locket. You catch his eyes casting down on it.

“I forgot,” you croaked, looking away. “I’m supposed to give this to you.” He wasn’t your Tommy anymore.

“No, you should keep it,”

“It’s okay,” you nod, removing the locket from your person and putting it on the bed. It was the first time you’ve ever removed it and it felt like you were removing a leash. “You own it. You should give it to someone else. Someone that’s…that’s not me,”

“Y/N…love,” he tried but you shook his head. “It always belonged to you.”

“We’re not the same people anymore, Tom. You look at me and-and it’s how everyone else does,” you cried. “Like a whore. I’m selling my body and my future for a life like this. Right? I don’t want to have this anymore,” you said. “We grew apart and we’re older now. We’re not the same people,” You don’t love me anymore.

There was hell and there was a place below hell. It was where he was. How could he be so cruel to make you cry? How could he insinuate that you were all the same? How could you hint that he doesn’t love you anymore?

“I waited for you, Tommy. Waited for you to write back and at first, I felt…sad. Then, angry. You think I’m so disposable. So replaceable, right?” you asked. “I sent you letters every week. You always told me you’d protect me but you couldn’t even send me a letter telling me that you were alright. You couldn’t even protect Johnny!”

Maybe if he told you that it was Polly who intercepted those letters, you wouldn’t be so mad at him. Maybe you wouldn’t think that he’d abandon you so easily. Maybe you’d know that you were the only face that got him out of the tunnels. Maybe you’d know that it was your name that made him feel good. Like your name was some prayer he’s worthy enough to say every time that he felt like he was underground again. But how could he hurt you more than he already did?

“You were the one who replaced me,” Maybe you’d finally know that he loves you and that, if you could have just waited a little bit longer, you’d never have to worry if your hair was out of place.

“There was nothing to replace.”

Tommy brews in anger. To Polly, to you, and to himself. He couldn’t tell you that Polly intercepted your letters. He didn’t want to cut your relationship with her too.

“Fuck!” he roared. The barmaid comes in and asks Tommy if he was okay. He shrugs her off but seems intent on staying.

“Do you want me to sing for you?” she asked. He leans back, uninterested.

“Sure,”

“Happy or sad?” she asked.

“Uh, sad,”

“It’ll break your heart,” she says, smiling softly.

“Already broken,” he muttered. Already broken.

He sits there, unmoving. To be honest, he didn’t know why he was so mad at you. He was truly, utterly, and irrevocably alone now that you were gone. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to being alone. He prefered it sometimes. Maybe it’s because he always expected for the two of you to be alone together. Like you always were.

The fear of being unknown to you scares him. You’ve always known him—his whole heart and his whole soul. You’ve always known him but now, you’re gone. You’ll never know him the way you knew him. You were too different now and it rips through him like nothing else. You’ll never be there for him like you did. He’ll never know you like he did once. He could never pinpoint it but he hates how he was never enough for you. If only he could provide, if he could only protect, if only…

Here he thought he’d finally have a wink of sleep after four years.

You were on the phone with your husband after Tommy stormed out in anger last night. You needed to be comforted, to be told that you were right and that everyone else was wrong. It was one of the few luxuries you allowed yourself when you were with Tommy but you were positive that you’ve lost him now.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. “I can always come down there, you know,”

“I know,” you nodded. “I just miss you,”

“You do?” You could tell that that inflated his ego. “If it’s any consolation, I missed you too,”

“Do you think…do you think you can be here for the funeral?” you asked before you could even stop yourself. Why were you bringing him here when Tommy was around? Were you bringing him here out of spite? To make Tommy what? Jealous? But then again, was it a sin to ask for comfort from your husband? Tommy would never understand. He was quick to tell you what he thought of you yesterday. It was the first time he did it but you couldn’t get it out of your head. If to him, you were a whore, then a whore you’d be.

It was the only thing you were good at anyway.

“Of course,” he nodded. “This thing with Solomons is just shit work anyway. I’ll be there the day before. Will that be alright?”

“Yes,” you whispered. Are you really willing to let him inside the fort you’ve built with Tommy? “I lost my mom’s locket today and I…”

“You did?” he asked. He knew how important that locket was to you. You begged him to not take it off during your wedding. If only he knew. He bought you jewels but you never wore another necklace. “We can get you another one. Something that’s even more beautiful than the one you had.”

“I suppose so,” you sighed. “I love you,”

“I love you too.”

And you weren’t sure if you were still lying.

Simon arrives at your house sometime in the morning, before the sun rises. It was his first time seeing your house—being in your house. It was a small, shabby home with flowers. Have you always liked flowers? One of the servants opened the door for him and he entered. Poor you. Did you always live like this?

He spots you reading a book on the couch when you look up at him.

“How was your trip?” You close the book and sit upright. “I hope it wasn’t horrible,”

“I’m here now,” he sits down, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. “You’ve been on my mind since you left. Is there anything I have to know?”

“I…I talked to Polly,” you confessed. The grip that he has on your waist tightens. “But we only talked about Johnny. She said that the police aren’t doing anything to know who killed him.”

“I see,”

“But I left after that. I’ve never seen her since,” you said truthfully. “I told her that we couldn’t meet again,”

“Thank you for not breaking my trust,” he said, removing his grip on you. “You know it’s for us, right?”

“Yes, I know,” you nodded. This is wrong. This is all wrong. Why were you understanding him more? Are you only agreeing with Simon because you hated Tommy at that moment? What’s the sudden change?

You were all gathered at Johnny's funeral. Simon was beside you, holding your waist protectively. Beth was a wailing mess by the coffin. They were putting him six feet under. Last night was the last time she’ll ever see Johnny’s physical body again. You were bowing your head down, trying to keep your tears away. Johnny had been the father figure and now, he’s gone too.

The ceremony ends soon enough with Simon never letting go of your body. The Shelbys have noticed. Simon was basically hounding you so you wouldn’t have to talk to others.

“I sometimes wonder if she stopped talking to us because she wanted to or if she was forced to,” Arthur said, looking at you and your husband. Ada was looking at Polly. They were the only ones who knew. They both agreed to never tell a soul because of how messy things could be. Tommy would wage a war if it concerned you. “The question is why is she letting him?”

Tommy walks to where you were. He clears his throat to make himself known. He watches your figure become rigid. Simon was looking at him, his hand still on your waist. If he could shoot this prick’s hand for even laying a hand on you—

“I’m Tommy Shelby,” he starts. “I just decided to come by and offer a quick greeting to your wife.”

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” Simon replied, his voice was strained and you were scared. Terrified. “Y/N didn’t tell me about you. Have you, darling?” There was a threat in his voice.

“Oh,” you nod, licking your lips. Your voice was wavering. “Mr. Shelby i-is someone I knew when I was a child, darling. He left for the war and…and…”

“We haven’t seen each other since,” he finishes. “I wish we could talk more,” Tommy added, confirming what he already thought. He didn’t spare you a glance and if he did, he didn’t make a show of it. “Mr. Coventry. Y/N,” he bowed, taking your gloved hand and kissing your knuckles. He walks away, leaving Simon’s anger and your anxiety behind him.

Simon didn’t speak to you on the way back. You tried but he only dismissed you with a cold shoulder. When you arrived home, he dragged you by the arm to the living room. You watched while the servants dispersed to give you some privacy. It was funny how they always pretended that they knew nothing.

“Do you really think I’m fucking stupid?” he roared, his loud voice vibrating the walls of your home. “You talked to Polly Gray but didn’t meet Tommy. At all,”

“You have to believe me, Simon. I never…it’s my first time seeing him again!” you pleaded, scared for Tommy’s life—scared for yours. Your arm hurts but you have bigger problems right now. What was a little bruise anyway? “I didn’t even know if he was still alive,”

“Can you shut the fuck up?” he asked. “It’s like everything that you’re saying are…are lies! I gave you everything,” he spits. “I gave you and your friends money. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be in that fucking brothel fucking some twat who could never afford everything that I’m giving you. Is that what you want? Do you want to go back there?”

“Simon,” you tried. “I swear, I didn’t know he was still alive. Polly never told me. I—“

“Liar!” he says, stepping closer to you. He grasps your chin tightly, your head unmoving at the pressure. “I bought you. Don’t you dare fucking disrespect me. I own you,”

“Simon, please…” you cried. “I swear to you I didn’t…”

“Shut up,” he spits. “You’re fucking disgusting,”

He shoves you to the floor and you cry. He leaves without looking at you. He didn’t apologise for what he did. It was the first time he showed you what you were to him. A property. You didn’t sleep that night; you were just on the balcony, looking at the docks, wondering what would’ve happened if you had just waited.

The morning comes and you are tired. Simon just woke up and decided to stay with you on the balcony.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he whispers. He wraps his arms around your shoulders. “I’m sorry for doing that. I promise to never do that again. I was just…so angry because Tommy Shelby came to us. Do you see why you’re not allowed to be here? Why I hate it when you’re in Birmingham? These fucking rats have no respect,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Simon, you said things,” you whispered, looking up at him. Tears stained your cheeks. Everything that he said replayed inside your head over and over. What right did you have to demand his apology if he owned you? “You…”

Defeated, Simon sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You know that I’m doing this for us. I’m sorry,”

You could only nod wordlessly, blinking away the tears before they fall again. You didn’t notice the bruising on your jaw yet. You weren’t at the brothel anymore but up to what extent are you truly free? At the end of the day, you’re still weak. You still have nothing. At the end of the day, buttering him up doesn’t matter.

BIRMINGHAM, 1912

“One day, we’ll be able to buy those fancy, black cars and drive around London as much as we want.” Tommy said. He was in his work clothes, a greasy white shirt and his shaggy hair falling in different sorts of places.

“We will?”

“Yes,” he nodded, his shoulder touching yours. You were just about to work when he pulled you away. He asked if you wanted to come with him to The Cut for a little while and you agreed, finding it hard to say no to him. “I’ll get you one and then, I’ll get you a horse.”

“Don’t forget the house with a big lawn,” you giggled.

“How could I forget?” he asked. “I’ll buy that first,”

“Would you hate me if things don’t work out the way we want them to?” you asked. “I’m just wondering,”

“Why wouldn’t it? We’re staying together,” Tommy said, casting you a confused look.

“I mean, you’ll get a wife. I can’t live in the same house as her,” you said. “I don’t want to cause unnecessary problems for the two of you. I want her to be my friend too.”

“I’m not marrying,” he said. “Why should I marry? We come as a pair. Never one without the other. We won’t need anyone else,”

“That would be nice.”

“I get it,” he nodded. “You’re always my main priority. I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about all that yet. As long as you’re with me, I’ll be fine,”

“And if I’m not?”

“I won’t,”

“How are you going to do all this?” you asked. You always believed in Tommy.

“I’ll do everything,”

“You’re a man of ambition, Tommy. Did you know that you can’t have ambition without being a little dangerous?”

He ponders. He’ll deal all of his cards and fold if it came to you.

There were a million things you wanted to tell him at that moment. He does, too. He looks at you so…lovingly and so naturally that it doesn’t seem like anything anymore. Tommy really didn’t fear anything, except when it came to you. He’s scared to tell you the truth because he might change the course of things. He’s scared to never fulfil all of his promises to you. He’s scared that he’ll never amount to anything other than a greasy boy that you took care of.

He doesn’t say any of this, though, so he just smokes slow.

BIRMINGHAM, 1919

“I have to do something about it,” Tommy told his brothers, taking a swig of his Irish whiskey. He was composed but his mind was running at a speed that he couldn’t quite catch up on. Were you happy in your marriage?

“Tom, it’s better if you could just let her go,” Arthur replied. “It’s not my place, hm? But we saw them yesterday. Maybe it’s for the best,”

“It’s not,” Stoic as ever, he looked ahead.

“It’s a bad idea…” his older brother tried. “You’re fighting against a king. You’re not—“

“Why is everyone telling me that I can’t do anything? Why?” he asked. “I hardly recall asking for your permission, Arthur. You and Polly have been telling me what I can and can’t do.”

“Tommy, think about it. With the fucking guns and taking on this whole…thing with her. It’s too big. So, just let it go, eh? You’ll get yourself killed,” John added. He knew of Tommy’s affections for you. Hell, he knew what Tommy meant. John discreetly watched you and your husband. You couldn’t maintain eye contact, you couldn’t speak freely without a stutter. It was so different from the Y/N that he used to know but Tommy couldn’t be persuaded. He was living on the edge of life in the war that it didn’t matter to him if he died or not. He’s free from the fear of death; he could do whatever he wanted.

“I’m a man of ambition. You can’t have ambition without being a little dangerous,”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Tommy feels like the world was caving in. Fuck. He always hated sleeping, no matter how much he craved it. The darkness of his room and his closed eyes reminds him of the darkness of the tunnels. The walls and the tightness of the closed spaces; the unknown waiting on the other side. The lives he lost, the blood that his comrades spilled. He sits up, he hates how he couldn’t sleep because he’s always hearing the gunshots and the bombs in France. He hates being weak. Things were never the same and he so desperately wanted it to be. He couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. He couldn’t see the faint lamp that burned on his bedside table. The ringing in his ears doesn’t subside. It was just fucking dark.

He looks over his bedside table and reaches for your picture. You always seemed to calm him no matter where he went. No matter what he does, you always seem to ground him.

“Y/N,” he whispered, taking a swig of his whiskey. As if that would just conjure you. He was sometimes convinced that your picture was an apparition of the time when everything was quieter. When his world had no guns and bombs. When you two were together. He frowns, taking his head in between his hands and cries.

If only he was stronger. If only he was rich. If only he could fulfil all of the promises he gave you. If only.

If there was anything he regretted, it was how angry he was when he went to your old house for your first meeting. He’s been waiting to be graced by your smile for years but he couldn’t control the anger that brewed inside him. He was so guarded after the war. But those guards seem to crumble around you, leaving him defenceless and vulnerable like a child.

A knock on his door arouses him. It was currently just before the sunrise; that hazy blue period that calms him before everyone else wakes. He checked from his window outside but there was nothing. Another knock comes and he sighs, going downstairs to check. He puts his gun behind him. He opens the door and it reveals you.

You were shaking like a leaf when his eyes landed on your figure.

“I don’t know…where else to…to go,” you whispered. He goes out and looks around to make sure that no one’s there. When the coast is clear, he takes your hand and guides you to the living room. He was hoping that no one heard anything.

“Do you need anything?” he asked.

“Just…water, please,”

“Did you walk all the way?”

“Yeah,” he hears you say while he pours you a glass. “Sorry for disturbing you,”

“It’s alright,” he tells you, giving you the glass.

“Yeah,” you replied, drinking the water to avoid any sort of communication with your old friend. “Tommy?”

“Hm?” he asked, sitting in front of you and it’s so different it hurts. He used to sit beside you, knee to knee. He had to blink multiple times to clear his vision—to make sure that you were actually there. “What brings you here?”

“I…I…” you couldn’t say a single word before you broke into tears. It was then when Tommy actually looked at you, the bruising on your chin, your defeated stance. He trembles in anger but forces himself to let it subside and comfort you. “S-sorry,”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, love,” he whispers, sitting beside you this time and rubbing circles on your back. “You don’t have to talk about it,”

“Would you still…would you still protect me?” you asked and you were aware of how selfish you sounded. “You’re right. I’m a-a whore,” you chuckled, looking away from him. “I know I’m being unfair…marrying Simon and then coming here…”

It appals him for you to think that he’ll ever stop protecting you. It disturbs him for letting you think that way because of one argument.

Your chin was quivering as you tried to form a coherent sentence.

“I thought…I thought I was free but he laid a hand on me,” you tried. “Gripped my chin and called me his property,”

You told yourself that it wasn’t Tommy’s fault.

“All because you talked to me during the funeral,” you whispered. You couldn’t stop yourself and Tommy couldn’t stop himself from the emotions that linger. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault that you loved him.

“Let’s run away,” It’s all his fault. All his fault that he loved you.

“Tommy…” you whispered, shaking your head. “Did you know…did you know why I stopped talking to you?” you asked him. He didn’t. Maybe the reason why he’s so angry with you was because he didn’t know. “When you were in France, he told me that if I continue any form of communication with the Shelbys…he’ll locate you and your brothers and have the three of you killed.” You reveal to him. “You always said you’ll protect me but I wanted to protect you too.”

Your broken voice was something that he’ll never forget. Your fragile figure was something that he’ll never remove from his brain. You were…miserable. How could you let yourself be miserable for his sake? How could Simon let you cry? How could he break you? You were so strong, the strongest he’s ever known.

“I will kill him,”

“Tommy, no,” you whimpered. “I’m here to tell you that…that the best way to protect me is to forget about me,”

“You can’t do that to me,” Tommy replied, his voice stern. He was trying so, so hard. “Not when I waited to come home for four years.”

“It’s the best way,” you pleaded. “You can go start a family or…or do something else but if you really want to protect me, you’ll forget about me,”

You were so defeated, your figure curled to your heart like you were protecting yourself from everyone. Tommy could see the stutter of your body while you tried to control everything.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he tried, blinking the tears away but failing. His resolve was crumbling; popping the joints on his knuckles to ground him. It was then he noticed your nail beds, peeled and crusted with dried blood. You must have been thinking about it for so long. “You’re not giving me a choice here, love,” You must have been hurting.

“He’ll kill you, Tom. I wouldn’t be able to take it if I am the reason why your body’s thrown at The Cut.” you told him. “I let you go once without knowing for sure that you’ll come back alive. I’ll make sure that this time, you are.”

“So that’s it, eh?” he asked. “Your bastard husband threatens my life and you let him control you.” he licks his lips.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” you told him. “That's all I could do. You’re a man…you could have the world. I’m a woman and I can’t have anything unless I make it. This is me making it.” This is me making sure that I’ll never have to think about you.

You left in the wee hours of the morning and Tommy lets you go without a fight. He thought that he was the one doing the protecting, when you’ve been protecting him all along. You were his most tender wound. Battle scars from France don't compare to the pain he’s feeling in the darkness of the house. Should he run after you? Should he heed your advice? What if he kills Simon? Will you be free then?

“Her husband’s dealing with Alfie Solomons,” he tells everyone during a family meeting. “I’ll deal with Solomons myself,”

“You’re waging a war that is bigger than all of us, Tommy,” Arthur said.

“I’m not asking for approval,” he only replied, his voice was monotonous; suppressing his emotions as much as he could. He swallows. “Information about Y/N’s home life has reached me. She told me that the best way to protect her is to forget about her.” He confessed.

“Well, shit,” Ada replied. “Surely…”

“Surely, I won’t.” he said, voice stern and determined. “I’ll deal all of my cards if I have to. Do you get that?”

“Tommy, it’s a bad idea. She’s right. With the fucking inspector on our throats and Simon Coventry…you’ll get yourself killed.”

“I have decided,”

“Then, what’s all of this for, then?”

“Just letting you know.” he says, looking at everyone’s face of disapproval.

When he exits the Garrison, Polly runs after him. She was determined to let him let you go for your safety. It was a sticky situation that Tommy was putting himself in. A semblance of power doesn’t mean that he’s powerful but he couldn’t seem to understand that.

“Tommy, do you want to save her because you want to or is it because you have to prove yourself to you?” she asked him, grasping his arm.

“Polly—“

“Do you love her because you do or do you only think you do because you need her? It’s alright to let her go, Tom. You have to realise that maybe she’s correct,” she reasoned. “The more you move, the more she’s constricted—“

“You took her away from me, Polly,” he spits. “How can I not love her when I need her beside me to even get a wink of sleep? Her picture was all I looked at in France. She is the reason why I’m alive—why I’m here. You took her away from me and I am taking her back. Does that look like love to you?” he demanded, shaking her arm away.

“You want to know what blinds a man as smart as you, Tom? Love,” she says. “You’re making things—“

“So I am blind,” he shrugs. “I vowed to protect her and that is a vow that I’ll take to the grave with me, Pol. You could help or not. It wouldn’t matter either way but you owe it to me to try. At least,”

A beat passes, Polly doesn’t speak. He nods to excuse himself, walking away as the blind man.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I’m so glad you’re still here.

Don’t forget to reblog / leave a comment if you liked it!

PART 4

TAGLIST: @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius @trixie23 @everythingelseisextra @majesticcmey @liveat1am @dumb-wh @denabp16 @yvonna-chan @goldensunflowe-r @therosabel @hunnibearrr @dazecrea @daddyslittleattentionwhore @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @dang-shawty-okay @dasia21 @tsenthusiast1920 @aces-tattooartist @panda-luminary @ttaechi @spencerrxids @i-heart-food @fudge13 @affabletimelady @heartcereql @ce1iat @notalxx @1800-queen-trash

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #protection!tommy

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100gayicons · 1 year

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GAY ICONS ANNA MAY WONG

As a young child living in Los Angeles during the early 1900s, Wong Liu Tsong dreaming of being an actress (Liu Tsong meaning "willow frost"). At the age of nine she pestered film crew to hirer her… so much so that she gained the nickname "C.C.C." or "Curious Chinese Child". Two years later she came up with her own stage name (Anna May Wong) - a combination of her original Chinese name and the Angelisized name used in school.

Despite her father’s objections, she was cast as an extra in The Red Lantern (1919) - her film debut. Soon, this and other extra roles motivated her to quit high school and pursue acting full time. She later said of her decision:

"I was so young when I began that I knew I still had youth if I failed, so I determined to give myself 10 years to succeed as an actress."

Her first screen credit came in 1921, when Wong was cast as Lon Chaney’s wife in “Bits of Life”. The next year she appeared in “The Toll of the Sea”, one of the first movies filmed in color. Variety singled out her performance as being “extraordinary”.

But unfortunately, despite her talent, Wong was primarily cast in stereotypical Asian roles. And if a film with a well rounded Asian character was available - Hollywood cast a Caucasian actress in “Yellow Face”.

For a time Wong had better success when she movie to Europe. There she befriended Marlene Dietrich and (pre-Nazi Propagandist) Leni Riefenstahl.

When Wong returned to Hollywood, she costarred with Marlene Dietrich in “Shanghai Express” in 1932. Although it was a supporting role, she played an important and heroic character.

During WWII, Wong focuses her efforts on raising money to help the Chinese cause against Japan.

In 1951, Wong starred in “The Gallery of Madame Liu-Song”, a 10 episode TV series where she played an art dealer turned detective - a major breakthrough as the first US television show starring an Asian-American.

Wong had planned to appearing in the film musical “Flower Drum Song” (1961) but died of a heart attack before production began.

The United States Mint announced in 2021 that Anna May Wong would be one of the first women depicted on the reverse of the quarter coin. This made her the first Asian American depicted on American coin.

Anna May Wong never married. When asked why not, she would answer:

“I am wedded to my art.”

She lived in an era when gay men and lesbian women dare not reveal themselves. But rumors persist that Wong was a lesbian. She has been linked to Marlene Dietrich, Leni Riefenstahl, Alla Nazimova, and Cecil Cunningham.

Whether Anna May Wong was a lesbian or not, her story deserves to be told.

UPDATE: Mattel released an Anna May Wong Barbie doll in May 2023!

#gay icons #Anna May Wong #Asian American #secret lesbian #marlene dietrich #shanghai express #stereotypes #Leni Riefenstahl #us mint #flower drum song

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irenethewoman · 8 months

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Mrs. Shelby- Chapter four- First Kiss

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In January 1919, Martha passed away. Even though I had expected it and had witnessed my parents being buried, I still couldn't accept it calmly. Little Maria clung to me, silently crying. I comforted her as I listened to the black priest's eulogy and looked at Martha's life summed up on her grave. I was in a daze at the funeral.

Afterward, little Maria and I walked together on the cemetery path. She greeted Uncle Tommy, who had arrived, but I couldn't make out their conversation. Ada took Maria away, and Tommy and I decided to take a walk.

Ever since I shared my life story with him that night, Thomas had been awkward around me. He thought I couldn't accept the gap in our status, but he was wrong. Chelsea's greenhouse flowers can't survive in Birmingham's mud, but I didn't feel like arguing with him now.

We walked in silence through the cold January wind in the cemetery. "Maria really likes you," Tommy said. "She's a lot like Martha, always seeing the best in this sad world." Talking about Martha made my heart ache. From a lively person to a cold grave, maybe Maria, Ada, and I would meet the same fate.

"What are you afraid of?" Tommy asked.

"What?" I didn't believe his blue eyes could read my thoughts.

"Our mother is buried here too." He pointed to a nearby tombstone with unclear engravings. It was all Shelbys around. I didn't ask about his father.

"Is your mother the same?" I asked.

"What?" He looked puzzled, a rare expression on him that made me proud.

"I was thinking, the women here all seem similar. They marry honest factory workers or knife-edge gangsters, have children, and care for the family until they die. A few lines on the tombstone summarize decades of life, only mentioning their father's surname, husband's surname, and children, but not themselves."

"I'm afraid I'll share the same fate," I admitted, placing a white lily on Mrs. Shelby's grave.

"Are you scared?" Tommy found this interesting.

"Of course. Do you think my privileged background means I'm not afraid of running away alone? Or is it cowardly to admit fear? I think it's brave to admit fear and still do it. I was afraid when I left home, when I lived penniless on the street, when I faced Polly, and when I shot 99 people. I said proudly. I don't know if my tombstone will someday read 'The brave and fearless Miss Diana Turner'—sounds more exciting than 'Mrs. So-and-so.'"

"Do you know how to use a gun?" I showed him the pistol Polly gave me and removed the bullets. "Don't underestimate women, Mr. Shelby."

"Thomas, or Tommy."

"What?"

"You can call me Tommy." His blue eyes, usually gloomy, now held a gentleness that I wished was meant for me.

After the funeral, my relationship with Thomas changed. We played chess and discussed business. I became concerned about him, especially when he woke me up to warm milk for the children.

One night, Thomas woke me up again. "For God's sake!" I sat up, frustrated. "Is there something you have to say at night?"

"That's not a motorcycle. This afternoon, my men stole motorcycles from the factory. I was there."

"That's a gun! Diana, it's munitions!"

I was stunned, listening to him list his trophies. "So many arms... Where are you hiding them?"

"Charlie's yard, where you were today."

I realized that with so many arms lost, London would investigate. But these arms could be a bargaining chip. We looked into each other's eyes and then kissed.

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #cillian murphy #fanfiction #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby smut

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dearshelby · 5 months

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Curses, spirits and other things to not believe in | T.S x OC

Summary: Three times Eleanor didn't believe in anything mystical and the one time she nearly did

A/N: I'm in a roll with Eleanor I swear I can't stop thinking about her, although she's my skeptical bby this had absolutely NO INTENTION of disrespecting any cultures or beliefs (and btw "kotex" is the 1920s pads, just in case you don't know 😌)

1919

The only thing going through her head as she made the way to Charlie's yard was Tommy's sad features. The raindrops rolling down his face as he blankly said his horse was cursed was more than enough to make her heart sink.

She couldn't let this go past without explanation. She wouldn't.

Walking through the gates, her nose wrinkled to the smell of engine oil, horses and rust. As a teenager, the place had served as a meeting spot many times, it didn't look as bad decorated with candles and flowers, or perhaps it did and she was too focused on Tommy to notice.

"Curly?!" Eleanor called when no one came to welcome her.

"He woke up with a bad fucking fever," Charlie's raspy voice answered from far as he slowly walked to her, "he's too soft to see horses dying,"

"Mr. Strong," she greeted.

"How many times did I tell you to call me Charlie?"

"It's rude-"

"To call the oldest by their names?" he completed, "but you call Polly,"

"Well, we're closer," she explained, "no offense,"

"None at all," he humorlessly chuckled, "what brings you to my yard, girl? Tommy hasn't come since last night,"

"Yeah, that's what I wanted to talk about," she gulped, "I'd like to take a better look at the horse, there must be something that went unnoticed for it to get sick in a matter of hours,"

"You know nothing about horses, do you think you'd get something that Tommy and Curly didn't?" Charlie argued, "It was cursed, Tommy must've told you,"

"He did, I don't believe him," she said, "Have you buried it already?"

"No, but it's stinking,"

"So let me see it,"

"Look, I'm telling you, there was nothing wrong with the horse until the Lees cursed it," turning on his heel, he started walking out.

"Wait! Mr. Strong, please!" Eleanor pleaded, "Tommy thinks the horse was cursed because of him, I can't stand seeing him with the bloody blues because of something that makes no fucking sense,"

"...he's lucky to have you, y'know? I'll tell him that,"

"No! I don't want him to know, not until I have an answer,"

"Tommy has an answer, I don't think he wants another one," he dismissed, "go home, girl, if you really want him to feel better bake something nice,"

Eleanor's jaw clenched as she watched Charlie going away, then quickly softened. There was no use arguing, she returned home without an answer.

1920

"Don't you have something to share with the family? Or at least with Tommy?" Polly questioned.

Eleanor immediately tensed up, she wasn't ready to talk about her recently found pregnancy. Tommy was too focused on building a good reputation for the company for her to drop the news, his reaction worried her.

"How did you-"

"I dreamed it and you confirmed," Polly explained, "wearing large blouses, not drinking, slowing down in the betting shop and the chores,”

“I-” she gulped, “I think you really want another baby in the family, so much you're dreaming it,”

“It's a girl,” Pol continued, “beautiful, with Tommy's eyes,”

“Pol,” Eleanor scowled, “I'm not pregnant,”

“Why don't you want to tell?”

She gritted her teeth, then sighed, “It doesn't make sense, are you watching me?”

‘Eleanor, I'm telling you, I foresaw Katie, Martha, Junior, Peter and David, all of John's, do you think I wouldn't see Tommy's?”

“No, you must've went through my drawers and noticed I haven't used kotex in a while, nor sent Finn to get any,”

“Still using the poor boy for that?” Polly smiled, “Think whatever you like, I saw my niece,”

Ellie looked down, she had no idea of how her aunt in law found out about her pregnancy, but she felt deep relief, at least now she could talk to someone.

“I don't know how to tell him, he's so focused on the company, it's not the right time,”

“It's Tommy, darling, there’ll never be a right time,” noticing her concern, Polly added, “he will love this child more than anything else,”

“I hope so,”

“‘Course he will, I know him, just listen to me and don't do anything stupid,”

“Okay,” Eleanor whispered and weakly smiled, “but you'll still have to tell me how you found out.”

1924

“Tom,” she called, going through her jewelry box while he got dressed in front of the mirror, “did you see the sapphire you gave me?”

He looked at her through the side of his eye. Truth be told, she didn't even like the jewel, it was way too big and lacking details, she didn't see any other women wearing something so scandalous at the fundraising dinner. However, it was a gift from Tommy, he seemed proud to be able to provide her luxuries and if he insisted on her wearing it, then she would.

Moreover, the way he seemed to blame a curse for the italians’ murder attempt got on her nerves. He was certain her almost death was caused by cursed jewelry and not Lizzie being stubborn enough to date a man from a gang and work for another and John throwing a violent jealousy tantrum.

Oh, how she wished she could sell them both to the italians. She knew the Changrettas, they often went to her mum's sewing shop and she was sure they'd accept her truce offer. But unfortunately, Tommy wouldn't.

“No,” he mumbled.

“Did we leave it in the hospital?” she asked, a shiver running down her spine as she remembered the excruciating pain from getting a bullet removed, “I'll send someone to get it, I don't think they'd steal from a Shelby,”

“There's no need, they won't find it,” he sighed and put his cigarette down, “I took the sapphire,”

“Then where is it?”

“Far from here,” he explained, “far from our house,”

“What?! Tommy, do you even know how much a sapphire costs?!” she argued, “Of course you do! You bought it! What did you even do with it?!”

“Eleanor, you know why we can't keep it at home,” he drawled, few things annoyed him as much as her unbelief.

“Ah, yes, of course!” she ironically smiled, “it was the sapphire that got me shot, not John's and Lizzie's stupidity!”

“And what do you want me to do? Give my brother away?”

Yes, she thought, he should've known better.

“No, Tommy, I don't want anything bad to come at John,” she answered instead, “but I see how much this takes a toll on you, he's responsible for this and he should be the one to fix it,”

“There's no talking to those bastards, they want him dead, they tried to kill you-”

“No, they tried to kill you,” she interrupted.

“Doesn't fucking matter, the sapphire is gone and the italians will be soon,”

Rolling her eyes, Eleanor picked another jewel to wear, aware that if Tommy was utterly certain of something, there was no way of changing his mind.

1924

Eleanor pursed her lips as the other woman entered her car. Her long curly was covered by a black headscarf, contrasting with her red dress and the gold bracelets, but matching her dark make-up.

“Madame Boswell,” Ellie greeted, “I'm Elea-”

“I know who you are,” she interrupted.

“...do you know what I want as well?”

“Your husband came to me when you were in the hospital, I sensed great sadness in him,” the madame weakly smiled, “same as you, healthy but in pain,”

“Well, this time,” she sighed, holding back tears, “he's badly injured, doctors said he'll be alright but,”

“You don't believe them,”

“I do, but I need better assurance,” reaching for a small box in the backseat, she handed it to the madame, “sapphires are quite expensive but this is much more,”

Boswell opened the box, revealing a shiny diamond necklace.

“I want you to make sure my Tommy will be alright,” Eleanor continued.

“You want to trade a life for a diamond,”

“If you can't do it tell me who can,”

Madame looked at the jewel, back at Ellie, then closed the box, “There'll be someone looking out for him all the time, do not worry, he'll live,”

Eleanor's jaw clenched. Of course there would be someone, her, she always took care of him, now wouldn't be any different.

“Anything else?” she asked, trying to get something more certain.

“Is there something more you want me to do?”

“No,” annoyed for letting her despair talking louder than her sense, she opened the car's door and ordered, “get out, you can keep the diamond,”

“I'm gonna do as you asked,” Madame assured as she climbed out the car.

“You're being well paid for that.”

Driving back home, she worried about what could've happened while she was away. Hiring the best doctors in England would've been much better than wasting time with mysticism. She should know better by then.

#tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #OC Eleanor Shelby

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morganofthewildfire · 2 years

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A Secret Bloom - chapter 5

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~ 2k words

masterlist

the reveal you've all been waiting for

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Orynth, 1919

Rowan stayed on the ground for an indiscernible amount of time, unable to process what he’d just seen, what had just happened. All he knew was, by the time he pushed himself up, Aelin was gone.

His mind was spinning which, paired with the adrenaline still racing through him, made him nearly nauseous as he stood up.

What happened to her? Was she paralyzed? Was she in pain?

And the thought selfishly first in his head: why didn’t she tell him?

Of course, there wasn’t anything he should really expect from her. They were effectively strangers, no matter how many conversations they’d shared, no matter how many secret smiles, no matter the almost kiss.

She owed him nothing. So why did this hurt so badly?

His heart ached for her, at the shadows he saw in her eyes. Even if this wasn’t a recent injury, it clearly still haunted her.

Was she scared of what he’d think? Was that it? Rowan had been in war. He’d seen the bravest people he’d ever known suffer the worst sort of wounds, and his respect for them only got higher as he saw how they dealt with them.

He’d trained with a boy named Vaughan, who was about the same age as him when they’d both enlisted. They’d been friends, they’d gone into battle together. And then one day, a mortar shell went astray and he’d watched him, a young kid who’d been perfectly fine one day, lose both of his legs in an instant.

Rowan couldn’t imagine the turmoil he’d gone through, and his respect for the man only increased with how he’d handled it. How strong he’d been.

There was absolutely no part of him that would judge Aelin for whatever had happened to her. He would only ever admire her more for her resilience. For her ability to put on a smile every day when clearly the world was trying to beat her down.

He needed to find a way to tell her that.

“Gods,” he breathed, pushing sweaty hair back from his forehead. Dragging his eyes around the scene, he saw the cracked remnants of the bench she sat on every day, feeling even sicker at the sight. But then his gaze fell on something else lying in the dirt.

Her journal.

It was flipped half open and turned over, pages creased and folded on the ground from the impact. Rowan stepped forward, bending down to pick it up, brushing his hand over the cover to get some dirt off.

He turned it to try and unwrinkle some pages, his eyes catching on her looping handwriting spelling out the words:

Loneliness is more crippling than any physical ailment could ever be

His heart ached painfully, but he shut the journal gently before he could accidentally read any more. Clearly this was private. She hadn’t made the choice to show it to him, and he’d respect that.

Even if with every new thing he learned about her, he wanted to know infinitely more.

Maybe this was his way in. He could go up to the house and ask to see her, claiming he needed to return this journal to her. There was a large chance that a servant would just take it to pass on to her, but Rowan could insist that he wanted to be the one to give it to her, to maybe see if she was okay, since he was her gallant rescuer and all.

Either way, it was worth a shot.

But not yet. Despite the urge to go see her, he still had a job to do.

------

Preparations had started inside the house. Aelin didn’t know if this had been going on for days and she just wasn’t paying attention, or if they’d started this morning after she read the letter.

Either way, the house was bustling now. Servants were running around cleaning, moving things to their proper places, adding flowers and decorations to make the house look fresh even in the waning fall season.

If this was to be her supposed fiancé, she wouldn’t be living here anyway when they were married. But she supposed her parents still wanted to put on a show.

She should care, but she couldn’t find it in herself to dredge up the feeling. Instead, she felt nothing for the rest of the day. Even when she soaked in a hot bath, to soothe the sore muscles she could feel from her fall earlier.

Her legs were numb, like always, but the rest of her body had felt the jolt of the sudden impact with the ground, even if it had been cushioned slightly by Rowan. Though his body was as hard as a rock so it hadn’t been much different.

Her cheeks flushed at the thought.

Now’s not the time, Aelin.

She shook her head, getting rid of the intrusive thoughts. Though she was sure Rowan was much more handsome than whatever dusty old suitor she was going to be forced to see the next day. He was certainly the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

Even more handsome than -

She really cut herself off there, frowning at the slip up. She didn’t think about that. Not anymore. It was hardly productive, and hardly good for her health. Aelin glanced out the open door of the library, seeing someone pass with a huge decorative flower pot. Luckily, no one was bothering her in here, but she was still annoyed with all of the chaos.

It was obnoxious.

Setting down her book with a huff, Aelin started rolling her way over to the door, intending to shut it. But she paused when she heard a voice.

“Can I see Miss Galathynius?” A familiar voice rang through the foyer, “I have her journal to return.”

“If you give it to me I can pass it on to her,” one of the footmen said, and panic raced through her. She wheeled forward out the door, turning into the foyer. She didn’t know if she wanted to see Rowan or not logically, but emotionally, she didn’t want him to leave.

“Mr. Whitethorn?” Aelin asked, wheeling toward the pair. He was trying to catch her eye, but she looked at the footman instead. “I’ll see him, Illias, thank you.”

Illias looked at her again, his eyes full of questions, but she nodded, turning her chair around and wheeling back into the library. She could hear hesitant steps behind her, and she eventually turned to see Rowan standing halfway into the room, holding her journal in his hands. He’d removed his work apron for once, leaving him in his brown pants and a long sleeved white shirt that he had rolled up to his elbows.

“You left this outside,” he said, lifting the journal, shifting back and forth on his feet. He looked uncomfortable, and it only made her heart sink.

“Ah,” she said, nodding. “Thank you.” Her cheeks flamed as she started to wheel toward him to take it, but he seemed to realize and started forward, walking toward her.

“Aelin, I-” he started to say, sitting down in the armchair across from her.

“Thank you,” she repeated, cutting him off and watching as he blinked in surprise. “For earlier.” Her stomach sank. “It was irresponsible of me to be out there on my own, given my circumstances.” She refused to look at him. “I appreciate the help.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Rowan said, shaking his head. “I will always help you. I -” if she wasn’t mistaking it, his own cheeks flushed. “I care for you.”

Oh.

Aelin’s face was surely on fire, as red as it’d ever been, and she couldn’t think of anything to say to that besides… I care for you too. But she couldn’t say that, not without hurting them both. If not now, then still in the end.

“I don’t know what happened in your past,” he continued, his face sincere. “And I don’t know how people have treated you because of it. But I can only assume it isn’t what you deserve. And I want to promise you that I will never be one of those people.” He reached forward and lightly touched her hand, making her stomach swoop.

But he quickly removed it, and she tried to get her heart beat back to normal. It was a little absurd, considering they’d been nearly skin to skin only that morning, but that simple contact made her feel like a million butterflies were fluttering inside of her.

But then he sighed heavily, glancing out the window behind her, a look of regret on his face. “I probably need to go,” he said, pushing himself to a stand. “I still have work to do.”

“Okay,” Aelin said, nodding to hide her disappointment. He just got here.

“Will I see you soon?” Rowan asked, and she knew what he was really asking. Would she come back out to the garden?

“Yes,” she said, smiling tightly. “But probably not for a few days, with this whole suitor business going on.”

“Right,” he said, nodding, and she could feel the air between them turning awkward. “Well, I’ll see you soon?”

“Soon,” she confirmed, and he smiled briefly before heading toward the door. Leaving her alone once again.

-----

The day had arrived. Aelin had been gussied up and prepared for over an hour more than usual, leaving her feeling like a painted doll. Made even more of an apt comparison due to the fact that she couldn’t stand up on her own.

There was a sense of darkness in the air as she wheeled herself into the foyer, gathering herself with all of the servants, including Darrow.

He didn’t say anything to her as he stood there by the stairs, a stoic presence next to her as she waited for what inevitably would be her doom. She’d already resigned herself to a loveless marriage, a life filled with nothing more than what she’d already been accustomed to for the past few years, but now that her heart had been filled with a hopeless possibility, it somehow hurt a little too much.

But she kept her chin up as the newcomer knocked on the door, watching as Darrow walked over to the entryway, stalwartly opening it to welcome her future husband in.

Aelin ignored her pounding heart as she craned her neck to catch a glimpse of his identity.

But as soon as she did, she didn’t want to. Her face drained of all color, her hands shaking as she instantly recognized him.

A man familiar in the wealthy social circles, gentry like her family was, but also someone who’d garnered a reputation as a man no self respecting lady would want to marry. Not because he wasn’t rich enough, or well viewed in society enough, no. General society didn’t care about him in particular.

But the social circles Aelin used to run in used to talk about him all the time, the ladies used to warn each away from him due to his treatment of them.

She could see why it was a perfect choice in her parents’ mind. He was well to do in society, from the outside would be seen as a good option, but was so ill reputed among the ladies that no one actually wanted him.

But here he was.

Lord Cairn Mallory.

Her future husband.

-----

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@llyncooljones

@justreadertings

@backtobl4ck

@wordsafterhours

@story-scribbler

@mybloodrunsblue

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@dealfea

@whoever-you-choose-to-love

@tomtenadia

@house-of-galathynius

@1islessthan3books

@fangirlprincess09

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@rhysandswingspan

@poisonous00

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass au #a secret bloom

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haveyoureadthismgyabook · 17 days

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Series info...

Book one in the Dear America series

A Journey to the New World

The Winter of Red Snow: The Revolutionary War Diary of Abigail Jane Stewart, Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, 1777 by Kristiana Gregory

When Will This Cruel War Be Over?: The Civil War Diary of Emma Simpson, Gordonsville, Virginia, 1864 by Barry Denenberg

A Picture of Freedom: The Diary of Clotee, a Slave Girl, Belmont Plantation, Virginia, 1859 by Patricia McKissack

Across the Wide and Lonesome Prairie: The Oregon Trail Diary of Hattie Campbell, 1847 by Kristiana Gregory

So Far from Home: The Diary of Mary Driscoll, an Irish Mill Girl, Lowell, Massachusetts, 1847 by Barry Denenberg

I Thought My Soul Would Rise and Fly: The Diary of Patsy, a Freed Girl, Mars Bluff, South Carolina, 1865 by Joyce Hansen

West to a Land of Plenty: The Diary of Teresa Angelino Viscardi, New York to Idaho Territory, 1883 by Jim Murphy

Dreams in the Golden Country: The Diary of Zipporah Feldman, a Jewish Immigrant Girl, New York City, 1903 by Kathryn Lasky

Standing in the Light: The Captive Diary of Catharine Carey Logan, Delaware Valley, Pennsylvania, 1763 by Mary Pope Osborne

Voyage on the Great Titanic: The Diary of Margaret Ann Brady, RMS Titanic, 1912 by Ellen Emerson White

A Line in the Sand: The Alamo Diary of Lucinda Lawrence, Gonzales, Texas, 1836 by Sherry Garland

My Heart Is on the Ground: The Diary of Nannie Little Rose, a Sioux Girl, Carlisle Indian School, Pennsylvania, 1880 by Ann Rinaldi

The Great Railroad Race: The Diary of Libby West, Utah Territory, 1868 by Kristiana Gregory

A Light in the Storm: The Civil War Diary of Amelia Martin, Fenwick Island, Delaware, 1861 by Karen Hesse

The Girl Who Chased Away Sorrow: The Diary of Sarah Nita, a Navajo Girl, New Mexico, 1864 by Ann Turner

A Coal Miner's Bride: The Diary of Anetka Kaminska, Lattimer, Pennsylvania, 1896 by Susan Campbell Bartoletti

Color Me Dark: The Diary of Nellie Lee Love, the Great Migration North, Chicago, Illinois, 1919 by Patricia McKissack

One Eye Laughing, the Other Weeping: The Diary of Julie Weiss, Vienna, Austria to New York, 1938 by Barry Denenberg

My Secret War: The World War II Diary of Madeline Beck, Long Island, New York, 1941 by Mary Pope Osborne

Valley of the Moon: The Diary Of Maria Rosalia de Milagros, Sonoma Valley, Alta California, 1846 by Sherry Garland

Seeds of Hope: The Gold Rush Diary of Susanna Fairchild, California Territory, 1849 by Kristiana Gregory

Christmas After All: The Great Depression Diary of Minnie Swift, Indianapolis, Indiana, 1932 by Kathryn Lasky

Early Sunday Morning: The Pearl Harbor Diary of Amber Billows, Hawaii, 1941 by Barry Denenberg

My Face to the Wind: The Diary of Sarah Jane Price, a Prairie Teacher, Broken Bow, Nebraska, 1881 by Jim Murphy

Where Have All the Flowers Gone? The Diary of Molly MacKenzie Flaherty, Boston, Massachusetts, 1968 by Ellen Emerson White

A Time for Courage: The Suffragette Diary of Kathleen Bowen, Washington, D.C., 1917 by Kathryn Lasky

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall: The Diary of Bess Brennan, Perkins School for the Blind, 1932 by Barry Denenberg

Survival in the Storm: The Dust Bowl Diary of Grace Edwards, Dalhart, Texas, 1935 by Katelan Janke

When Christmas Comes Again: The World War I Diary of Simone Spencer, New York City to the Western Front, 1917 by Beth Seidel Levine

Land of the Buffalo Bones: The Diary of Mary Ann Elizabeth Rodgers, an English Girl in Minnesota, New Yeovil, Minnesota, 1873 by Marion Dane Bauer

Love Thy Neighbor: The Tory Diary of Prudence Emerson, Green Marsh, Massachusetts, 1774 by Ann Turner

All the Stars in the Sky: The Santa Fe Trail Diary of Florrie Mack Ryder, The Santa Fe Trail, 1848 by Megan McDonald

Look to the Hills: The Diary of Lozette Moreau, a French Slave Girl, New York Colony, 1763 by Patricia McKissack

I Walk in Dread: The Diary of Deliverance Trembley, Witness to the Salem Witch Trials, Massachusetts Bay Colony, 1691 by Lisa Rowe Fraustino

Hear My Sorrow: The Diary of Angela Denoto, a Shirtwaist Worker, New York City, 1909 by Deborah Hopkinson

The Fences Between Us: The Diary of Piper Davis, Seattle, Washington, 1941 by Kirby Larson

Like the Willow Tree: The Diary of Lydia Amelia Pierce, Portland, Maine, 1918 by Lois Lowry

Cannons at Dawn: The Second Diary of Abigail Jane Stewart, Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, 1779 by Kristiana Gregory

With the Might of Angels: The Diary of Dawnie Rae Johnson, Hadley, Virginia, 1954 by Andrea Davis Pinkney

Behind the Masks: The Diary of Angeline Reddy, Bodie, California, 1880 by Susan Patron

A City Tossed and Broken: The Diary of Minnie Bonner, San Francisco, California, 1906 by Judy Blundell

Down the Rabbit Hole: The Diary of Pringle Rose, Chicago, Illinois, 1871 by Susan Campbell Bartoletti

#books #middle grade #historical fiction #journey to the new world #dear america #poll #kathryn lasky

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poetryandbloods-blog · 3 months

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Rosalie (1936 - 1975)

Harrison (1919 - 1979)

Petúnia (1957 - )

Vernon (1955 - )

- They were Irish, so they suffered prejudice in England due to their origin.

- Harrison served in the exercise during the Second World War, as did several men in his family, the name "Harry" is a tribute to him who died when Lily was pregnant.

- He worked in the same factory as Tobias, but in the administrative part.

- They were not rich, but working class.

- He and his wife adored Severus, although they found his and Lily's friendship too codependent and worried about what it would be like when they both grew up.

- He taught Severus many things, about personal care, fishing, camping, he loved watching action movies and always took Severus with him because the girls didn't like it. Some of Snape's best memories involve the Evans family.

- They were a very religious Catholic family, but they never treated Lily differently because she was a witch.

- All the women in Rosalie's family are named after flowers, if Lily and Petunia had a daughter they would follow the tradition.

- Petunia looks a lot like her mother, but she inherited her father's blonde hair.

- Petunia was always jealous of Lily, because as she was the youngest she ended up being more spoiled and less scolded by her parents, when her friendship with Severus emerged she felt even more replaced.

- Rosalie died of cancer when Lily was 15 years old, which led to their separation, Harrison died when Lily was pregnant with Harry after a heart attack.

#harry potter #vernon dursley #petunia dursley #evans family #lily evans #portraits #dursley family

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scotianostra · 1 year

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Adam Archibald was born on 14th January 1879 at Leith.

Archibald was awarded the Victoria Croos for an act of bravery during Worlad War One near Ors, France.

Adam was the son of Rennie Archibald, a Plasterer, and Christina Archibald, of 24 Shaws Street, Edinburgh. He lived at 53 Balfour Street with his wife and four children, and before he joined the Army in 1916 he had been Outside Foreman with Stewart’s Granolithic Co Ltd of Duff Street. In his younger days he had been a keen footballer and had had a trial with StBernard’s FC, an early Football club that rivalled Hibs and Hearts during the Victorian era. Adam aws also a bowler and at the time of his enlistment he had been President of the Eastfield Bowling Club. Another of his hobbies was gardening and he had won prizes at local flower shows. He was a freemason belonging to the Elgin and Bruce Lodge at Limekilns in Fife,

b. 14/01/1879 Leith, Edinburgh, Scotland. d. 10/03/1957 Leith.

Adam Archibald (1879-1957) was born on 14th January 1879 at Leith, Midlothian, Scotland. He was the son of Rennie Archibald, a Plasterer, and Christina Archibald, of 24 Shaws Street, Edinburgh. He lived at 53 Balfour Street with his wife and four children, and before he joined the Army in 1916 he had been Outside Foreman with Stewart’s Granolithic Co Ltd of Duff Street. In his younger days he had been a keen footballer and had had a trial with StBernard’s FC. He was also a bowler and at the time of his enlistment he had been President of the Eastfield Bowling Club. Another of his hobbies was gardening and he had won prizes at local flower shows. He was a freemason belonging to the Elgin and Bruce Lodge at Limekilns in Fife.

He enlisted with the 7th Durham Light Infantry before transferring to the 218th Field Company, Royal Engineers during the second battle of the Sambre. At the age of 39, he was awarded the Victoria Cross for action while his unit was attempting to bridge the Sambre–Oise Canal.

On 4th November 1918 near Ors, France, Sapper Archibald was with a party building a floating bridge across the canal. He was foremost in the work under a very heavy artillery barrage and machine-gun fire. The latter was directed at him from a few yards distance while he was working on the cork floats. Nevertheless, he persevered in his task and his example and efforts were such that the bridge which was essential to the success of the operations was very quickly completed. Immediately afterwards Sapper Archibald collapsed from gas poisoning.

He received his Victoria Cross from King George V at Buckingham Palace in May 1919. After his discharge he returned to his job with Stuart’s Granolithic Works in Edinburgh, eventually rising to a position as manager of their Duff Street works. He passed away at his home in Leith on 10th Marrch 1957 at the age of 76. He was cremated at Warriston Crematorium, Edinburgh. His name is on the memorial there. His medals are on display with those of Major Waters at the Royal Engineers Museum, Gillingham, Kent.

#scotland #scottish #leither #soldier #world war one #heore #victoria cross #act of bravery #history

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hookedonapirate · 1 year

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Lady Cassidy's Lover

Summary: 1919 England, Emma Cassidy, wife of a baronet, finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage after the war leaves her husband, Neal, paralyzed from the waist down and unable to produce an heir.

Despite the obstacles, she sticks by her husband's side at Goldby Hall, his family's estate, but when she meets former army lieutenant and Neal's aloof gamekeeper, Killian Jones, she feels curiously drawn to his distant blue eyes and quiet demeanor.

At first, she seeks him out for reprieve from her soulless, mundane existence at Goldby Hall, but what starts out as purely physical quickly turns into more than either of them expects.

But Emma is a baronetess, wife of an aristocrat and Killian is a working class servant. Their love affair is frowned upon, and she risks losing her title, her wealth and her position in the world by being with him. But she is determined to get her happy ending with the man she loves. Even if it means losing everything else in the process.

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd and for looking this over and for being amazing!

Based on Lady Chatterley's Lover for @captainswanmoviemarathon

Hope you all enjoy!

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4 I Ch 5 I Ch 6 I Ch 7 I Ch 8 I Ch 9 I Ch 10 I Ch 11 I Ch 12 I Epilogue

Also on: AO3

Chapter Seven

Killian traces Emma’s nipple with a blue forget-me-not before drawing the hard, pink bud into his mouth. Her breath catches as he sucks firmly, swirling his tongue around her areola as the beautiful naked goddess lies there, her gorgeous legs going on for days, her green eyes as luminous as the grass underneath her. He gives her abandoned nipple the same treatment, following the silky petals with his tongue.

Emma softly moans above him, her hands running through his hair, her breaths shallow as he kisses her nipples. Guiding the petals through the valley of her gorgeous breasts and down her stomach, he follows the smooth slope of her abdomen and the lovely dip of her belly button until he reaches the sacred place between her legs.

He plucks off the stems and places a flower on each nipple and one on her navel. Soon the hair below her waist is covered in flowers.

They’re both naked from head to toe, and he enjoys the freedom of being with her like this out in the open. Well, not completely in the open. Of course, no one can know about them, but he’s okay with that. As long as she’s his when they’re in the forest, that’s all he cares about.

Killian leaves a kiss on every inch of smooth, delicate skin; there are some areas where he has left love bruises, his fingertips pressing too firmly around her hips, her thighs and her breasts. She enjoys when he grabs her roughly, when he’s not gentle. Emma’s breaths thicken with every kiss he leaves, especially when he gets closer and closer to her glistening center.

He presses his lips to her thigh and her folds, but she’s too impatient and grabs him, pulling him up. She pushes his back into the ground so she can climb him, straddling his lap, the flowers falling away from her body. But he’s not complaining. There’s something very pure about Emma’s naked body against the pale blue sky, her long, golden hair cascading down her back. He grabs her hips firmly in his hands, lifting her up so he can enter her.

She rides him there in the grass, the birds fluttering around them as she descends upon his length, her clenching walls pulling him in further, her breasts softly bouncing above him.

As Emma reaches her climax, her body arches, her breasts round and golden in the sunlight, her pink nipples protruding as she dips her head back, moans spilling from her lips, making his heart soar. It’s such a glorious sight to behold, and his own release follows, euphoria flooding through him as he succumbs to his radiant goddess. He groans as her warm, shuddering walls milk him for all he’s worth, every last drop of his seed filling her up.

Her shuddering eventually ceases, along with her whimpers. Killian admires the beauty still gaining her bearings above him. Amidst her sweet, flushed features, Emma’s face shines radiantly in the sun. He has never seen something so beautiful and enchanting in his life.

She collapses onto him as he waits for his heart to slow and his breathing to normalize. As they bask in their bliss, silence settles between them for a few moments before they’re able to speak again, and they eventually fall into easy conversation.

Emma’s chin is propped up in her palm as she traces his nipple with a flower, the petals soft on his skin. “Tell me about your brother. What was he like?”

Killian’s heart aches at the mention of Liam, but he doesn’t mind the question. In fact, he is always pleased when she asks him personal questions. After she never showed up at his cottage, he had been afraid he wouldn’t get to see her again. Or spend time with her. So he is beyond grateful for every second he gets with her. “He had risen through the ranks and became captain. He was a good man and a very clever officer. He was five years older than me and raised me after our parents died, and I aspired to be like him. I let him sort of run my life, and I don’t regret it.” He brings his hand to her arm, his thumb caressing her supple skin. “Tell me about your sister.”

“She lives in Scotland with her husband, David. They’ve been traveling a lot since the war, and we write to each other all the time.” She circles his other nipple with the flower as she peers down at the movement. “I told her about you.”

He arches a brow, surprised, as he props himself up on his elbows. “You did?”

With a small smile on her lips, she returns her gaze to him. “I didn’t mention your name or that you’re Neal’s gamekeeper. But I told her I was opening my heart up to someone.” She glides the flower over his chest, her eyes following the movement. “At the wedding, she told me I needed to open up my heart. Neal and I rushed into marriage, and she knew I didn’t love him.”

Killian’s eyes widen as he looks at her. He couldn’t imagine marrying someone he didn’t love. “You didn’t?”

She shakes her head, her eyes jaded. “I cared for him, and I wanted to love him, but I just couldn’t.”

“You don’t now?”

“No. He’s not the man I thought he was.”

“But you feel your heart opening up now...because of me?” His heart thumps at the possibility.

She nods and looks up at him, her luminous green eyes meeting his blue ones. “Yes.”

Killian takes her hand and kisses the back of it. “I was afraid you wouldn’t meet me today.”

“How come?”

“Well when you didn’t come to the cottage, I didn’t think I’d see you again. Or at least get to spend time with you.”

Regret clouds over her face. “I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what, love?”

“There are a million ways to get hurt in this world, and I was afraid if I opened my heart up, I’d be exposing myself. I was afraid to get hurt like I did when my mother died. I didn’t want to go through that pain again.”

Killian’s heart constricts. “I know what you mean. I was afraid too. Which is why I keep to myself mostly. After Milah, I didn’t want to take a chance to expose myself again.”

“But you took a chance on me?”

“Aye.” He grins and leans in to kiss her lips. “And I’m glad I did.”

“I’m glad too. Now I couldn’t stay away if I wanted to.”

Killian smirks. “Well I am devilishly handsome.”

Emma laughs. “True, but it’s more than that.”

He studies her for a moment. “How about we make an oath?”

“An oath?”

“Aye. That no matter what happens or how many times you have to leave me, you’ll always come back.” He picks another flower and plucks off the stem, taking the ring finger of her right hand in his. She gives him an odd look, wondering what he’s doing as he ties the stem around her finger.

“I, Killian, take you, Emma, in strength and in freedom…and in ecstasy.”

Emma giggles and does the same, taking the stem off and wrapping it around the ring finger of his right hand. “I, Emma, take you, Killian, in strength and in freedom…and in ecstasy.”

He takes her hand in his, staring deeply into her eyes. “I now pronounce us husband and wife in the forest.”

Emma giggles again, the sound making him grin as he leans in to kiss her lips.

“There. Now it’s official.”

“You’re crazy.”

“And you’re stuck with me.”

Emma lies her head on his chest and he wraps his arms around her, his heart thumping underneath her head as silence falls over them again. She cards her fingers through his chest hair, breathing softly against his skin. “Did you know you have four different kinds of hair?”

Killian arches a brow as she lifts her head and brushes a hand through the hair on his head. “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm.” Emma picks up a forget-me-not and tucks it behind his ear. “You have dark brown on your head.” She drags her fingers over his beard. “You have ginger on your chin and cheeks.” Then she picks up another flower and drags it down his chest hair, tracing each of his nipples, the petals soft and cool on his skin. “Your chest is darker than the hair on your head, almost black.” She traces the trail down to the root of his stomach, following the path with her lips, kissing his navel and continuing below his waist. He melts underneath her, enjoying the feel of her warm, silky lips on his skin.

She threads a few flowers into his hair and takes his balls in her hand, giving them a gentle squeeze, his cock hardening among the brownish red curls. “And your hair here—your love-hair—is like a little bush of cinnamon mistletoe. It’s the loveliest of all.”

He looks down and sees the forget-me-nots in the hair on his groin as she smirks up at him, mischief dancing in her eyes.

When she rises to her knees and leans over him, her lovely arse sticking out up toward the sky, she drags her tongue up his length. He groans, sinking his head back into the ground as she gently massages his balls and wraps her plump lips around his velvety tip, softly sucking the bead of precum into her mouth.

She peers up at him, those luminous green eyes locked with his blue ones as her tongue slides up and down his length. She wraps her lips around him, slowly devouring him whole, his cock disappearing into her warm, wet mouth.

She moans around his length, tasting the saltiness of his pre-come and the tanginess of her own nectar on his shaft. He enjoys the softness and warmth of her mouth as she bobs her head up and down, drawing groans from his throat, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he slides his hands through her golden locks.

He moves his hips toward her every time she draws him into her mouth, seeking more friction. She quickens the pace and takes him deeper, as deep as she can until the tip of him is hitting the back of her throat. That coupled with her hand cupping his balls has him coming in record time, groaning loudly, his muscles convulsing as he explodes violently into her mouth. She swallows his offering down her throat and falls next to him as he regains his bearings and waits for the world to stop spinning. But honestly, he doesn't want it to stop.

“Bloody hell…”

~*~

Over the next few weeks, Emma meets Killian every day, either in the morning after breakfast or in the afternoon before supper. Sometimes they go to the hut, sometimes to a clearing in the forest. She wants to go to his cottage, but she knows if she does, she’ll want more time than she’ll be afforded. Unless she spends the night with him. Which she desperately wants. They both want to but it’s a risk. One she’s willing to take. So when he invites her over for a night, she gives him an affirmative yes and this time, she doesn’t plan on backing out like the first time he invited her to his cottage.

Emma goes upstairs as early as she can without giving Neal a reason to be suspicious and slips on her nightdress. Half-past nine, before the house is locked up for the night, she gets out of bed and goes outside her bedroom to listen. There is no sound, so she sneaks quietly downstairs. Neal and Mrs. Bolton are playing cards like they do most nights and will probably go on until midnight.

She returns to her room and puts on boots and a light coat. If she runs into anyone, she’ll just say she’s going out for a few minutes. And in the morning, when she returns, she’ll just claim to have gone for a little walk as she fairly often does before breakfast. The only danger is that someone might go into her room during the night. But unless there’s an emergency, chances are very slim.

Emma slips out silently and unseen. There is a half-moon shining in the sky, enough to light her way, but not enough for her to be seen in her dark-gray coat. She skitters across the park, her heart racing at the prospect of meeting the gamekeeper. They’ve been together many times now, but this is the first time she’ll be meeting him at his cottage.

When she approaches the park gate, she hears the click of the latch. He’s there, waiting for her in the darkness of the forest. Emma throws her arms around him, kissing his lips, her heart fluttering with excitement.

“You’re early,” he murmurs against her mouth, bringing his free arm around her waist, his other hand holding a lantern. “Did everything go alright?”

“Perfectly easy.”

He shuts the gate after her and shines the lantern, his other hand grabbing hers as they make their way through the forest.

Once they arrive at his cottage and go in, he locks it behind them. The kettle is singing by the fire, and there are cups on the table.

He sets down the lantern and helps her out of her coat, hanging it on the door. Her shoes are wet, so she removes them and sits in the wooden armchair with her stockinged feet, warming herself in front of the fire.

“Would you like some cocoa or tea or coffee to drink?”

“I’ll have some cocoa, thank you.”

He makes it for her and hands her a cup of the hot beverage before taking a seat in the chair, which is placed against a wall as he unlaces his heavy boots. Emma sips her cocoa and looks over at him, noticing an enlarged photograph in an intricate gilded frame above his head. It shows a married couple—a young, clean-shaven man in a uniform and an older raven-haired woman in a wedding gown. Emma is pierced with jealousy, even though she has no reason to be jealous. Killian is no longer with his wife. They are separated and he wants nothing to do with her ever again. He has expressed that sentiment many times.

“Is that you?”

Killian twists around in his chair and looks up to see what she’s referring to, and to her joy, he frowns, his face clouding over with hatred at the photograph as he turns to look back at her. “Aye. Taken on our wedding day. I was twenty-one.”

“Do you like it?”

He shakes his head, his nose twisting with revulsion. She almost regrets bringing the photograph to his attention. “No. I never liked the bloody damn thing.” He pulls off his boots and looks up at Emma. “She carted off everything that was worth taking from the house. Except for that hideous thing.”

Emma knits her brows together. “Then why do you keep it? For sentimental reasons?”

“No, I never look at it. I hardly notice it’s there. It’s been there since we came to this place and I never cared enough to bother with it.”

“Why don’t you burn it?”

He glances up at the photograph again and ponders that thought. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea, would it?” He pulls on a pair of slippers, rises and stands on the chair, lifting the large frame and setting it against the wall. The photograph leaves a pale rectangular spot on the green wallpaper.

He goes to the scullery and returns with a hammer and pincers. Sitting back in the chair, he disassembles the frame until he has the photograph out on its solid white mount. He studies it in amusement. “Shows me for what I was, a young curate, and her for what she is, a bully.”

“Let me see.” Emma rises from her chair and goes over to get a better look.

He did indeed look clean-cut and straight-laced, but the woman doesn’t look like much of a bully. In fact, she has an appealing face. But she supposes Killian can no longer look at Milah’s face without seeing the woman he knows her as now.

“One should never keep things that bring sour memories.”

He agrees, breaking the photograph and cardboard mount asunder over his knee, and she helps him throw the broken pieces into the flames, watching the picture of a younger and briefly happy Killian and Milah disintegrate and turn into ash just like their marriage.

When she looks over at him, she’s afraid he might feel sorry for burning the photo, but there’s not a hint of regret or compunction on his face. Instead, he looks relieved. She is too. The burning of the wedding photograph signifies Killian leaving the past in the dust and looking forward to the future. A future with Emma perhaps? She wishes she could burn her own wedding photograph.

He stores the now empty frame, along with the glass and backboard upstairs and returns, sitting in the chair.

Emma goes over and sits in his lap, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck as he holds her. “Did you love her?”

“I did. Once.” His eyes are sullen as he looks up at her and brushes some stray hairs from her face. “But that doesn’t matter to me anymore.” He cups her cheeks in his hands, bringing her lips to his, murmuring against them. “You matter to me. This matters—what we have together.”

“But what if she comes back?”

He shakes his head. “It would make no difference. I would not take her back.”

Emma’s eyes sting with tears as she thinks about what could happen if Killian ever resented her for having an affair with him. Would he hate her just as he hates Milah? “Do you look down on me for being with you while I’m a married woman?”

His brows furrow as if he’s not sure why she would ask such a thing. “Of course not. If I did, I wouldn’t be with you.”

Emma looks away as a tear falls down her cheek.

He takes her chin in his hand, tips it toward him and gazes into her eyes. “You’re nothing like Milah. She hates me, and you…I know you cared for Sir Neal. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have stayed with him and taken care of him. And I cared for Milah...I gave her everything I had, and she took it all...except for that bloody photograph.”

Emma laughs at that, relieved Killian does not think less of her despite his own situation. She rests her forehead on his, brushing their noses together. She captures his lips slowly and tenderly, her heart fluttering as their tongues collide.

Killian rubs her back in soothing circles as she strokes a hand along his chest, both getting lost in the kiss. “I want to take this off.” He gathers her nightdress in his hands, pulling the batiste over her head and tossing it to the floor, his eyes coasting over her naked curves as hotly as the heat of the flames behind her. He brushes a thumb over her bare nipple, teasing it to hardness before drawing it into his warm mouth. She moans, arching herself into him.

“You must take off your clothes too,” she murmurs, her voice wrecked.

He secures her in his arms and rises, bringing them both to the hearthrug in front of the crackling flames. He removes his clothes and settles between her legs. The fire casts a ruddy light over him, every curve of muscle sharply delineated by the shadows.

When he leans in to kiss her neck, her hands slide over his back and cup his ass, her fingers curving around the firm globes to pull him closer. Her eyes slide half-closed as she feels his hard cock pressed against her center, and she squirms slightly underneath him and wraps her legs snugly around his waist. She’s so incredibly wet for him.

His lips tip into a smirk as he swipes some stray hairs from her face, his fingers lightly grazing her skin. She raises a hand to his head, tangling his fingers in his soft, thick hair, and pulling him into a kiss.

Their tongues mingle frantically as he enters her, their mouths parting only briefly to gasp in air, then resealing. Emma’s hands are clenched around Killian’s biceps, anchoring herself as she gets lost in the kiss and the feel of his body against hers. The feel of his thickness inside her as he rocks into her. It’s so different from every other time, it’s tender and slow and so much more than primitive fucking. So much more than a physical act of lust and more like an expression of affection and feelings.

“Come for me, Emma,” Killian urges softly, fighting to hold back his own orgasm. “Let me see you come, feel you...”

Emma cries out his name, her body trembling, driving him over the edge at almost the same instant, pleasure raging through both of them.

Moments later, they lay on their sides, Killian behind Emma, holding her, both facing the now blazing fire.

They eventually go upstairs to bed, for it’s getting chilly. She nestles up to him under the blankets, so warm and enveloped and basking in the feeling of his naked skin against hers. It’s been a long time since she slept with a man. And it’s the first time she and Killian have shared a bed. They have been together a countless number of times, but it’s always been in the hut or outside in the forest. Never in his cottage. Never in his bed. And so they lay in each other’s arms, never moving until the sun rises, its warm rays seeping through the forest.

She’s still wrapped in his arms and can feel him stroking her skin. She opens her eyes, smiling against his face.

When she looks at him, he smiles and kisses her lips. “Good morning, love.”

“Good morning.” She looks around the little bedroom with its sloping ceiling and gable window where the curtains are closed. The room is bare, save for a chest of drawers, a chair and the small bed in which they lie.

When she turns her eyes to his, he’s watching her, his fingers stroking her breasts under the blanket.

“Shall I draw the curtains?”

“Oh, yes, the birds are singing. Let the sun in.”

He slips out of bed, his back to her, and goes to the window, drawing the curtains and looking out for a moment. Emma can’t help but stare at him, his back long and muscular, his butt round and beautiful and his thighs thick and powerful, the muscles in his arms and legs rippling as he moves, his skin bronzed by the sun. He is piercingly beautiful, just as he was when she saw him that afternoon washing himself.

When he turns around, his eyes roam over her naked body as she lays on the bed, his cock fully erect.

She catches her lower lip between her teeth, her center heating up. “Don’t tease me.” She crawls toward him on her hands and knees, wrapping her arms around his waist and drawing him to her, breasts touching the tip of his cock, nipple catching a bead of come as she kisses his stomach.

He growls that heavenly growl of his, blue eyes surging with heat. “Lie down.”

She does as she’s told, he climbs atop her and they make love once again, unspeakable pleasure washing over her as he quickly brings her to the edge, waves of ecstasy crashing over her, carrying her away.

Afterward, they lay spent and satiated in the aftermath, his face pressed against her soft breasts. “You must get up, mustn’t you?” he groans in protest.

“What time is it?”

“Seven o’clock.”

She sighs, running her fingers through his disheveled hair. “I suppose I must.” She is resenting the time, as she always does, when she has to leave him.

After a while, he reaches for his shirt and puts it on, dressing himself and gazing at her wistfully, the sunlight shining through the window.

He goes downstairs, giving her time to get up and dress.

But it is very hard to leave and takes every ounce of willpower. Outside the window, she sees Jolly roaming around. It’s a clear, clean morning, with birds flying and triumphantly singing. If only she could stay. If only the other dreadful world of smoke and iron didn’t exist. If only this could be her world.

Finally, she gets out of bed.

She descends the steep, narrow wooden stairs, the fire burning, the smell of bacon wafting through the cottage. They eat breakfast together, and he walks her to the park gate, both of them bitter about having to kiss each other goodbye at their tree.

Knowing she’ll be back is the only thing that makes her feel better about leaving. It’s the only thing that keeps her going back to Goldby.

~*~

The next morning, at the first vestiges of consciousness, Emma is afraid to open her eyes. Because she knows if she does, he won't be next to her. He'll be in his cottage or at the hut, and she'll be here, in her room at Goldby, living another day as the wife of a baronet. Trapped within the walls of this place, and only free once she passes through the park gate where her husband in the forest will be waiting for her.

But for now, she is alone. No strong arms wrapped around her, no fingers or lips tracing every inch of skin, no piercing blue eyes gazing at her with adoration. Just the cold emptiness of her room.

Emma groans as she turns on her side, not wanting to get up. But turning on her side is not comfortable because her breasts are sore, so she returns to her back, but it does little to alleviate the—

Her eyes fly open, her hands cupping her breasts. She squeezes them gently to test their tenderness, and she throws off the covers, scrambling out of bed and hurrying to the mirror. Her nightdress ties in the front, and she unfastens it to pull her top open and examine her breasts. They're swollen and tender, the nipples a bit darker, a salmon pink as opposed to their normal pale pink.

In normal circumstances, she'd blame it on her monthly cycle, but she hasn't had her period in quite a while. In fact, she hasn't had her period since before she started having sex with the gamekeeper.

Her face pales when she does the math in her head, and the realization crashes over her.

She's pregnant.

#cs ff #captain swan #lady cassidy's lover #captainswanmoviemarathon

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vintagedreamsofsennett · 2 months

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"By 1918, he was back for a third stint with Sennett, this time leaving behind his grotesque makeup of old for a newer, more refined appearance. Sterling (...) usually in relatively straight roles that no doubt made it hard for audiences to recognize the former slapstick police chief and comic Simon Legree.

Cast in this film as a handsome and desirable orchestra leader, Sterling wears stylish clothes and a pencil mustache — very different from the gaudy garb he donned in the early Keystone films."

-Walker, B.E., 2010, Mack Sennett's Fun Factory, McFarland&Company, Inc., Publishers, p.102, p.544

#hearts and flowers 1919 #ford sterling #phyllis haver #fordphyllis forever #책 인용 #mr. sterling my beloved

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e-m-p-error · 7 months

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Ostello And Family

Oscar Lawrence was born to Ruth and Timothy Lawrence in 1899. On December 25th, 1910, Timothy died in the line of duty as a firefighter. This left Ruth to raise her son and navigate a blossoming romance with Marty Nichols, a friend of the family. While he never harbored any bad feelings for Marty, he never did grow to see him as his father.

When he was 20 (August 3rd, 1919), he met 17 year-old Olivia Fairchild at a church choir meeting, who became almost instantly infatuated with him. He was not really looking for a relationship, but his mother insisted that he try dating, and Olivia was earnest about gaining his affections. They married in July of 1921, just a few short months after Oscar became a famous pop-jazz singer.

When Oscar was 33 and Olivia was 28 (March 15th, 1932), they welcomed Gertrude Rose Lawrence into the world. His one-sided emotional affair with Alastor (@ritzy-cervidae) was what prompted her middle name to be rose, as those were his favorite flowers. It was his crush on Alastor that spurred the making of Gertie in the first place.

He was an absentee father, touring and doing movie shoots in Hollywood a lot of the time while his wife and daughter remained in Nebraska. In the long run, he was a better father to Shirley Temple than he was to his actual daughter. He knew her so little that he didn't remember her full name was Gertrude and not Gertie.

After falling into Hell when he died of a combination of liver failure and a heart attack at 45 (May 3rd, 1944), Ostello sunk into his work. He did not date from 1944-1972, until he met Valentino at one of his infamous parties. He was instantly infatuated and they married two months later. While he wanted a child with Valentino, it never actually happened for them.

#HEADCANONS ➽➽➽#I Love You Oh So Madly But I Don’t Stand A Ghost Of A Chance With You (σѕтєℓℓσ)#But The Best Story That I Could Ever Tell Is The One Where I Am Growing Old With You (Ostello ♡ Valentino)#cw death #cw chronic illness #cw liver failure #cw heart attack #cw cheating #cw religion mention

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pricescigar · 2 years

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My Daughter

Summary: Every story has a beginning, and Monroe's story was one of them. When he believes Elvira could be the recianrnated self of his late daughter, his insanity grew stronger...

The 1918 influenza pandemic was the most severe pandemic in recent history. It was caused by an H1N1 virus with genes of avian origin. It killed an estimated 50 million people worldwide. Monroe and his daughter Elvira, live in the desolate Village in Romania. Even then… The Flu didn't spare his little daughter. . .

8th of August 1919

"You'll be alright Elvira, I promise you… You're my little fighter." Monroe spoke to his daughter softly, he pulled the cold flannel looking at her.

"Papa…" Elvira spoke softly, she was terribly weak and fragile. The flu had taken a toll on her. And Monroe was worried for her, no remedy was working on her. Watching Elvira slowly drift off to sleep, he stepped away to wet the flannel again. Once he returned back to Elvira's bedroom, he knew something was wrong.

Monroe approached Elvira's bed, he gently placed his fingers on Elvira's wrist to feel her pulse… And it wasn't there, he was in denial. His worry increased, he knelt down to her. Trying to wake her up, alas it didn't work. "No… Elvira, wake up, please, wake up for me…" He whispered to her, no matter what Monroe did… Elvira didn't wake up. He held her little body close to his. Holding his daughter close to him, closing his eyes, feeling a few tears running down his cheeks.

1 week later. . .

"I'm so sorry for your loss Monroe, losing a child is never easy… If you need anything. We'll be here to help you." Luiza sympathetically put a hand on his shoulder.

"I just want my daughter back… I don't want help, I don't want anything…" Monroe spoke softly, staring down at Elvira's grave, seeing the little Coffin broke his heart.

"I know… I know you do Monroe, we won't let you suffer alone. We never suffer alone." Luiza said to him, as they watched the soil being dug up.

"I wish to be alone." Monroe simply said kneeling down and he placed flowers down by Elvira's grave. Luiza simply nodded and the other villagers who attended the funeral had soon left.

The weeks had been hard for Monroe, he isolated himself and none of the townspeople saw him again. Even if they did it was a rare sight– He remained in his home, alone with his thoughts. Elvira was the only thing in life that he truly ever cared about, forget about all the other people in the damn village… It was only his daughter he cared about, and now she's gone. He could no longer concentrate at his job, the forever battle he was trying to fight in his mind… The grief and loss, it was getting all too much. Not to mention the dreams he'd been having the last couple of weeks… Nothing made sense, nothing did anymore. Life was cruel and unfair to the man, and all he ever wanted was answers. Though he never dared to tell anyone his true feelings…

The cave, that's where he drifted off to. He was so lost, and in so much pain. The grief was hitting him hard, the ache within his heart was a different kind of pain. He was angry, angry with the world. Angry that the epidemic took the only thing he ever cared about. Overstaying his visit in that cave, the mold infected Monroe. And there… He began to see all memories of assimilated organisms, everything made sense to him.

Monroe searched deeper in the vast memories, and there he saw his daughter again. However, she looked much older, this was the future… Impossible, his daughter had been reincarnated into this young woman. The village alone would be in shambles if Monroe would go through great lengths, but his daughter Elvira was back…

Monroe was a different man when he walked out of that cave, he took the molds sample, wanting to find out more about it as a whole. He began to heal the sick to see its side effects, and how it would affect people as a whole. He was fascinated by it's work, with enough people healed, and enough gaining his trust. He manipulated them, from there he made his own version of the mold known as the "Cadou Parasite."

Monroe phoned himself as "The Blsck God." But to the poor villagers who had abandoned their own Christan faith, serving under Monroe's faith… To a new Pagan Cult that had risen, he then became known as "Father Monroe."

With those long decades of research, experimenting… Failed experiments, hosts out of control; Those unlucky villagers… Those who had turned into Lycans. Soon to make a den of their own, recognised as failed experiments of Father Monroe himself. The most promising candidates of Monroe's Cadou experiments were themselves the descendants of the Four Kings who ruled over the region - Azariel Dimitrescu, Karl Heisenberg, Donna Beneviento, and Salvatore Moreau. Monroe found them perfect as their own individuality despite their ancient feudal rule over the region and they operated together as a council. And that was all they ever were… They watched the village like Hawk's.

In the space of those decades time was slow, even if all was lost. He didn't give up, knowing that somewhere down the line… Monroe would finally see his own daughter again.

During Monroe's free time he created a story, but not any kind of story. A fairy tale, a tale that told of his daughter reincarnated; Elvira, upon seeing her future henceforth, he created the story and was given out to the villagers who had children. Deemed as a local tale to the many villagers and the children who were there and of the truth come what may.

The four Lords read the books too, however they kept their true options to themselves; But to Donna and Moreau... They were rather excited, to say the least, hearing Monroe's daughter would return. They were happy for him of course, hell the four Lords were lucky that Monroe ever spoke about his feelings.

How could Monroe ever come up with something like this, they would always question. But the four Lords knew well enough; To never question Father Monroe, no one would ever dare to do that. Unless you wanted to get on his bad side…And as the story would always go. . .

"Long ago, a young woman found herself awake in the cold, dark and desolate forest. In the freezing cold, the cold air whispered in her ear. Chills running down her whole body, shivering, holding herself ever so clearly for the warmth she needed. Finding such will and courage, she journeyed her way through into the unknown or what may lie ahead of her. At the end of the forest, her eyes met a large castle. For the bell has tolled echoing all throughout the village, the monsters of all the village grew wild. For attacking the stranger that bestowed upon their territory. Managing to escape from the beast's grasps, and finding herself on the way to the ancient castle. While trying to find warmth and shelter, one of the many monsters found her. Knocking her out, while the other monsters called out to the summon. The great witch appeared, his dark figure, dark yet regal . . . Darkness appeared around her. For she, the fly got trapped within the spider's web. Until then suddenly. . . The bat lord had suddenly appeared! It's great wings spread out, high and mighty. Saving her from such darkness that tried to engulf her . . . Whisking her away to it's grand castle, there his sons would be and his brother. Endlessly fighting for her life, terrified, scared and lonely. Feeling the hatred and burden of it all. In the howling night, the girl struggled to sleep. Tossing and turning in her newly found bed, in no hopes of being able to return back to her old life. The nightmares catching up to her . . . Yet then again, to save her from those wretched thoughts, the bat lord once again was always there.

With his wise and cunning words, his voice sweet and deep like honey. Softly and tenderly tending to her every need to calm her, to soothe her saying to her, in the dark of the night: "My dear, come to me. But do not fret, for I am your guide, your shelter, your protector. Of night and day. . . Until the end of time."

And the story concludes there… The pages blank and unfinished, now why would Monroe give out an unfinished book? Because the story is only beginning.

5th of February 2021

Elvira noticed her father was out and about again, which she didn't mind. She always appreciated her own company, and that was enough. Luckily it was her time off from all the Military training that Chris had been giving her, it was a little tough, but if she wanted to be strong; This is what she needed to do, hearing the front door closing she knew her father had returned. Making her way downstairs to see him, but it wasn't her father. It was a complete stranger. It was Monroe.

"Vater you're- … Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?" Elvira became suspicious as she stared at Monroe.

Monroe was looking at the photo of Dietrich, Mia and Elvira, which was in a frame as he looked over to Elvira. "I'm here to bring you back." He placed the photo frame down.

"What the hell? You creep, get out of my house." Elvira spoke sternly this time as she backed away from him cautiously.

"Your father is dead, come with me if you want to ensure your safety." Monroe still remained calm, as he extended his hand towards her. Still advancing, he wanted to do this the easier way.

Monroe watched Elvira closely and saw her get a pistol out of the Kitchen drawer, he could only laugh as he watched the pistol being aimed towards him. He wasn't scared at all. "Go on… Shoot me. I'm not afraid." He stepped towards her.

Elvira shot him a couple of times, one bullet went into his shoulder and the other two bullets went into his chest. But it didn't take an effect on him, he grabbed the Pistol, crushing it into pieces like it was nothing.

"You're coming with me." Monroe spoke seriously, when Elvira tried to escape he grabbed her wrists pulling her towards him roughly. Pressing onto the pressure points in her neck, watching her fall he easily caught her.

"I'm sorry if it had to turn out like this Elvira, everything will make sense soon… I promise you." Monroe whispered to her.

#resident evil 8 village #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #oc #ocs #elvira wolff #father monroe

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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 1 year

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When the Longing Returns (Phantom of the Opera 2004 Fanfiction) || Erik x Christine

Chapter 4 Author's Notes

Read the fic here on Tumblr, or on AO3

◇ Raoul was started rather rudely awake by Mme. Giry rapping her stick against the leg of his chair, and made to leave the immediate vicinity.

Abbreviation of the French title "Madame". "Mademoiselle" being "Mlle." And "Monsieur" being "M." (Plural "Messieurs" being MM.)

◇ Her parting wish was also affectionate. She couldn't help that, though he was older than she, he was still the soft-hearted boy who had retrieved her red scarf from the surf

Exact ages are always of some debate in this story. We know that in the book (and presumably the play also--although given musical theater casting conventions, its understandable why they keep it vague) Christine and Raoul are about the same age (twenty at least).

However this fic is based on the movie, in which Christine's age is sixteen. Whether you choose to accept this exact age in my story is entirely up to your discretion--the birthdate that confirms her age appears on her gravestone in the 1919 tag on the film; which doesn't exist in my canon because I've altered the timeline. So I'm also keeping it vague--Christine could be as old as nineteen in this story.

Patrick Wilson was thirty during filming and, though a very fresh-faced thirty, he most definitely is not passable as being near Christine's age. Raoul would have to be, at the very least, three or four years older than Christine (so 20-24). This would make Raoul ten or eleven during their summer in Brittany.

An even more believable scenario to me, however, is that Raoul was fourteen (seven years older than Christine, making him now 24-28) when they met, and he took the trouble to keep her company when her father was engaged as his music tutor (not something many fourteen year old viscounts would do, even those lacking for company their own age), which caused her to develop a crush on him. This age gap might explain why Raoul is so patronizingly overprotective of her.

It's notable that in the film, Raoul does not share Christine's experience of growing up without parents (unlike in the book), while Erik (though not orphaned, presumably abandoned) does. This not only removes any potential for Raoul and Christine bonding over that trauma as they do in the book, it also puts them on more uneven footing in terms of maturity. Christine's circumstances have put her in a position in which (though still sheltered and relatively innocent) she has matured faster, while Raoul's petted and privileged life as a rich only child with both parents still living has allowed him to stagnate in his rather charmed youth a good while longer.

◇ She opened it, and withdrew a beautiful pair of ivory silk slippers embroidered with blue and yellow flowers.

It has always bothered me that Christine goes to the lair in her stocking feet in the movie. The idea that Erik would allow that—ludicrous. So I’m indulging a little bit here by having him specifically make sure Christine’s tootsies are warm and dry. Victorian evening and bedroom slippers were less sharply defined than you might think. It was common for both to have heels or to be flat. Christine’s slippers here have only a small heel, as that would be more comfortable for her.

◇ She debated whether to tie her hair back... she seemed to recall it somehow coming undone the last time she traveled down into the tunnels below the opera.

I am not above meta references, as you will see. I noticed that the exact moment when Christine's hair is first seen completely loose is when she is riding César.

Here is Christine as she is when she steps through the mirror with her perfect neat halo and smooth curls

Here we can see they've changed to the more voluminous style. Sexier, but still up...

And this is the next shot as they round the corner, and her hair is now completely loose.

My Watsonian (ie in-universe) explanation for this is that Erik snatched whatever ribbon was tying her hair back when he helped her mount the horse.

◇ She picked up the black ribbon she'd used to tie her hair that morning, pulling it through her fingers thoughtfully, and then suddenly remembered exactly how she had come by it: tied around a red rose.

Christine's hair is tied with a black ribbon in "Twisted Every Way"

It's probably too wide to be the ribbon from Erik's rose, but this is what gave me the idea.

I'd love to know exactly what Christine's state of mind was between the First Lair and Il Muto. My thought is, probably confused. Erik clearly jump-started her repressed Victorian sexuality with Music of the Night, but then they both mucked it up with the unmasking and the aftermath, so then those wonderful new feelings she experienced because of him are tainted with negativity and fear, as I explored in the first chapter. But it seems possible to me that when the rose withered, she kept the ribbon and has been subconsciously using it to tie her hair all this time.

◇ But Mathilde Giry knew that Christine would never swear on her father's grave unless her conviction was entirely sober.

I'm very annoyed that in the novel we learn the name of Mme. Giry's late husband ("Jules") but not hers.

So I made this up--this name has no basis in canon, nor in any other off-shoot properties. I don't know why, but Miranda Richardson's Mme. Giry just seems like a 'Mathilde' to me.

Perhaps it's because whenever my dog Matty, who we nicknamed 'Matilda', does something particularly annoying I have a tendency to call her "Mathilde" with a very Miranda Richardson-esque hissy French accent.

I put this to a vote here on Tumblr, with the other option being "Julie" (a play on her husband's name in the book) and this won by quite a margin.

Quite by coincidence, after finishing this chapter, I learned that the name of the victim in Gaston Leroux's acclaimed locked-room mystery story The Mystery of the Yellow Room (who also appears in its follow-up, The Perfume of the Lady in Black) happens to be "Mathilde". I swear I had no knowledge of that fact until after the chapter was finished. This is a complete coincidence. I mean, "Mathilde" isn't an uncommon name in France, but at the same time it's not one you pull off the top of your head either. I was very taken aback to find that my chosen name had ties to Leroux's works.

◇ He'd gone out the previous night and scanned the shop windows until he found those exquisite confections of ivory satin, and blue and yellow silk thread. Christine loved blue.

This is a little headcanon of mine; that Erik knows Christine’s favorite color when Raoul doesn’t. Raoul thinks that her favorite color is red, because of her red scarf, but actually, it’s blue.

◇ Her mouth was rather broad, which he understood was not considered the ideal of beauty by Tout-Paris. It was no demure bud fit only for petty conversation, but a rose in full bloom, made to open wide and pour out the hallowed tones of music… and other sacred tones which he hoped, soon, to draw from her.

Emmy Rossum (who is the basis for this Christine), though undeniably gorgeous by modern standards, very much bucks 19th century beauty ideals. The ideal Victorian beauty had a small, round face; graceful, sloping shoulders; large eyes, and a tiny, rosebud mouth. Contrast that with Emmy’s high shoulders and broad mouth and you can see that, though perhaps “pretty”, her Christine would likely be considered somewhat scrawny and gawky.

Tout-Paris is a French expression: literally translated, it means “All of Paris”, but it specifically refers to Paris’s fashionable elite, similar to the concept of “The Ton” in England. This expression is used by Leroux in the novel when he first introduces the character “Known by all of fashionable Paris as ‘The Persian’”.

◇ "The stone is Alexandrite," he explained.

Finally the last details on the ring! The stone is, as Erik says, Alexandrite.

You'll forgive my terrible photo editing skills. This is exactly how I imagine the ring, and the setting runs very close to Ramin Karimloo's ring in the 25th Anniversary at the Royal Albert Hall.

Alexandrite was a relatively new gemstone in the mid-nineteenth century. It was discovered in the Ural mountains of Russia in the 1830's. As it was noted to shift colors between red and green (the national colors of imperial Russia) it became the national gem and was named after the Czar. Because of its novelty it became very much in demand for jewelry throughout Europe and Asia minor.

As with all gems, symbolism was attached to it; in this case the symbolism shifts with the color. Appearing green in natural light, it became associated with decisiveness and clarity of thought, as well as hope and resolution; in firelight the gem takes on a hot red tone which symbolizes passionate emotion and romantic love. Given these two sides of the stone, those who attribute certain powers to gemstones believe the use of Alexandrite to be beneficial when making important decisions regarding matters of the heart. (In Ch. 3, Christine notes that she feels clear-headed when she holds and looks at it 😉)

Though I don't put sway in such ideas myself, it seemed fitting to me, given the magnitude of the choice Christine made in the cemetery, that the ring Erik gives her should have such symbolism as would encourage and validate her resolve in her decision.

Interestingly enough, I actually made the choice of Alexandrite for the ring simply based off of its neutral smoky teal-gray color before I even checked the symbolism.

The smoky teal-gray neutral tone above mentioned. You can imagine the ring like this if you're more into the John Owen-Jones style

As you can see, Erik's ring in the musical is usually a polished black stone, probably onyx or maybe jet (though some have had red stones). I decided not to use either of these because their association are generally not very positive, given the context. Jet is associated with healing and grief, and, while onyx is apparently sometimes meant to ward off unwanted romantic attentions, it usually just represents death or mourning--hence my choice to swap it for an alternative dark(ish) stone. (Although maybe the onyx would be useful for putting Raoul off lol!)

◇ "I acquired it in Persia"

I am genuinely trying to stick to movie canon as much as possible for consistency. However, though Madame Giry says that since she helped him escape he has known nothing of the world outside of the Opera house, this is a movie specific change I can't quite truck with.

Having read the book, I can't imagine Erik without having made the disastrous life-choices that Persia presents to his character. I think it's essential to his character development, gives his proficiency with assassination context, and is probably the root of his sense of grandeur. So this, like the ring, is another way that I'm deviating from the movie canon, even though it's still the primary basis for this fic.

◇ Christine and Meg went often to the stables to feed the horses, and had fed César treats from their very own hands almost daily.

This is a nod book canon:

I was startled to hear a joyful neighing and I murmured, "César!" The horse quivered... I'd recognized César, the white horse from Le Prophète. I used to pamper him by feeding him delicacies. One night there was a rumor backstage that he'd disappeared and been stolen by the Opera Ghost. [Trans. Lowell Bair, 1990]

Like, how was I not going to include references to this? Leroux makes it clear earlier in the book that César is the smartest horse in the stable, so of course that's the horse Erik would steal to be their steed, but then Christine confirms that she is familiar with César and often went to visit him and feed him!? And César recognizes her, too?! Like hello?! Could I just let that slip by?

◇ M. Lachenal, the head groom, was even more upset. He was certain the Opera Ghost had been the culprit. And he had been right.

Book character! M. Lachenal is the head groom in the novel, and he absolutely delighted me:

"We don't have need for more than four stablemen for twelve horses!"

"Eleven," said the head riding master, correcting him.

"Twelve," repeated Richard.

"Eleven," repeated Lachenal.

"Oh, the acting manager told me that you had twelve horses!"

"I did have twelve, but I have only eleven since Cesar was stolen."

And M. Lachenal gave himself a great smack on the boot with his riding crop.

"Has César been stolen?" Cried the acting manager. "César? The white horse in Le Prophète?"

"There are no two Césars," said the stud-groom dryly. "I was ten years at Franconi's and I have seen plenty of horses in my time. Well, there are no two Césars. And he's been stolen." [Trans. Alexander de Mattos, 1911]

What a character! I had to include him, even if it's just a mention.

◇ They didn't speak, because the Phantom had begun to sing from Roméo et Juliette

Either Gounod was a very popular composer at the time, or Leroux just really loved his work because he's he most referenced composer in the novel. Primarily Faust, but Romeo et Juliette is also frequently mentioned.

After the masquerade, when Erik comes to meet Christine in her dressing room, he is singing the "Wedding Night Song" from Act IV of this opera.

I could easily have used that duet, but I thought even Erik, under the circumstances in my story, would consider that too forward. So I opted for the iconic confession scene on the balcony from Act II instead (here is the performance I used as reference while writing this scene). It seemed appropriate given that Christine is elevated, and Erik is singing up to her.

What really sold me were a Romeo's opening lines:

"Ô nuit ! sous tes ailes obscures

Abrite-moi!

(O night, beneath thy dark wings,

Shelter me!)".

The dance around identities and names also seemed apropos; and the comparison of Juliet as a "bright and enchanting star" I thought tied in nicely with Christine's "Star Princess" aesthetic for the masquerade in the play.

◇ His rendition would ruin this song for her forever; not even the most mellifluous of lyric tenors would ever be able to do it justice.

I'm half meta dunking on Raoul here: Romeo is traditionally a lyric tenor, but Patrick Wilson also happens to be a lyric tenor.

◇ "My father's surname was Vachon, but I don't remember if my mother ever gave me a Christian name," he said

Erik's surname: the eternal poto white whale.

So many adaptations have attempted to give him one, but none have ever quite satisfied me. By far the most successful, I think, was "Destler" from the 1989 film with Robert Englund.

I could easily have used that name, but while reading M. Grant Kellermeyer's 2018 annotated, restored version of the 1911 translation, I came across this name, "Vachon", as the name of the [unsubstantiated] supposed inspiration for Erik. While Erik Vachon (a purportedly real disfigured architect who was employed in the building of the Palais Garnier) is likely a mere figure of urban legend, the name has its roots outside of Fandom spaces and extra-canon, and so I feel most comfortable using it.

It apparently means "Cow herder", and I additionally think that's a nice contrast to the rather lofty name he chose for himself, "Erik", which has multiple possible meanings including "eternal ruler", "sole/singular king" and "ever powerful"

◇ A few silent moments later, she glanced up at him and observed: "Erik is a Scandinavian name..."

Leroux reference: in the novel, Christine questions Erik about his name and origin over dinner, wondering if perhaps he is of Scandinavian descent, as the name Erik is originally Scandinavian, especially with the "k" spelling.

Here the tone is obviously different: while in the novel Christine is awkwardly casting about for conversation to fill the silence while he watches her eat (without eating anything himself, a very awkward and uncomfortable situation for anyone), here, Christine is testing the waters, feeling buoyed by the fresh sense of trust she feels from him.

#author's notes #when the longing returns #poto fanfiction #phantom of the opera fanfiction #phan phic #erik x christine #eristine #poto e/c #erik the phantom #christine daae #poto 2004 #emmy rossum

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irenethewoman · 8 months

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Mrs. Shelby - Chapter Six - Confrontation

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In May 1919, Birmingham,

Thomas tried to coax me out of my comfortable bed, but he failed. By the time I woke up, Thomas had already left. On his bedside table was a plate of jam-covered bread. Tommy couldn't even manage to warm up the milk, but I guessed it was the best breakfast he could prepare. I rubbed my eyes and felt a bit touched - I guess he had a little bit of a conscience. I finally overcame my drowsiness and left Tommy's bedroom, only to run into Ada. Ada looked at me in disbelief. "Did you come out of Thomas's bedroom?!" I nervously touched my nose. Tommy and I had an agreement to keep our relationship a secret from our family, even though Tommy was a bit unhappy about it. I was about to deny it when Ada interrupted me, "You like to touch your nose when you're lying!" Now it was even more awkward. Even though the truth was obvious, what could I do? Should I just tell Ada, "I slept with your brother"? Ada would surely think that Thomas forced me, and their misunderstanding would deepen. It seemed that ever since Thomas returned from France, Ada had been growing increasingly dissatisfied with their actions, probably because they had become more ruthless. When Martha was still with us, we would silently listen to Ada's complaints together. After Martha passed away, I was busy helping Tommy with the business, and it had been a long time since we had our "fireplace talks." "I... uh..." I was trying to figure out how to explain to Ada when she took my stammering as evidence that Thomas had forced me. "He forced you?!" Ada exclaimed. "No, no, no!" I quickly denied. "It was my choice, Ada. I love him, I love Thomas, and he loves me." "You love him? Good Lord - you say you love Thomas? You..." I sighed. I thought Ada was about to say, "What's wrong with you?" The fact that she didn't say it only confirmed Ada's dissatisfaction and prejudice against Thomas. "Ada, Thomas is not what you think. He's the best man I've ever met - smart, resilient, strong, ambitious, compassionate. Yes, he's not that kind, but everything he does is for us, for his family." He's also very handsome, with the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. I thought secretly in my heart. He's my little prince. After Ada reluctantly promised not to reveal our secret, I felt relieved and left. When I sat at my desk, I realized there was a question on my mind: Where had Ada been last night? She had obviously just come home. But that didn't seem so important now. I wouldn't get an answer even if I asked her. I glanced at the calendar on my desk - today I had to go to the Garrison pub again. I actually liked going to the pub during the day. There were no customers at this time, no unbearable sweaty smells and noise, no strong smell of alcohol, no drunkards - everything was peaceful. Harry would pour me a glass of whisky on the rocks, and then we would each go about our business, talking casually. Harry said I didn't seem like a Shelby. He said I was quick-witted, nimble, and, most importantly, friendly. In fact, he didn't know me well - I just didn't like to talk much. Tommy used to say I could be as sly as a fox at times. But others didn't need to know that. The door was pushed open, and I heard a voice, so I looked up and saw a woman in a green skirt suit walking in.

She had gray eyes, a tall and graceful figure, and an air of elegance. Her golden hair was slightly curly and shiny, like threads of gold. I hadn't seen a woman like her in Birmingham for a long time - the kind of hothouse flower that was clearly nurtured with money. After five years away from London, I had become better at discerning people's backgrounds, and at first glance, I thought she was beautiful but also dangerous. I think I suddenly understood why Tommy had asked me last year if I was a prostitute - a woman who looked like this and dressed like this would only come to Birmingham if she couldn't make it in London. Or... she might be a spy. I didn't speak; I just stood behind the bar and silently watched her as she talked to Harry. Experience, references... an experienced barmaid wouldn't be unaware of the danger of her looks in a rough pub like this, and she wouldn't stay after being rejected without asking for a reason. She was slender but not malnourished, and with her appearance and attire, she certainly wasn't short of money. But to be honest, she did sing beautifully. Harry glanced at me and, seeing me engrossed in the ledger, he didn't object, but agreed instead. This woman was a dangerous character, and it was best to keep an eye on her for now. I found out later, after I got home, that the new inspector had forcibly dragged Arthur out of the cinema at dusk and gave him a good beating in a secluded corner. Good, at least we know what those five-foot-tall Irishmen who can fight are here for. I helped Ada change the water in the basin, lost in thought as I did so. Poor Arthur. He really didn't know anything, and his power within the family was gradually shifting to Tommy. Yet he was being treated as the boss, and he was taking the blame for me and Tommy. I decided to make it up to him tonight and express the apologies I couldn't put into words. Tommy came back with the alcohol. "He said he was sent by Sir Churchill himself to Birmingham..." Churchill... oh, an old friend. He was a former comrade of my father in the political arena, and I had been a flower girl at his wedding. I pondered for a moment, still busy applying ointment to Arthur's wounds. "He said it was for the national interest and related to a theft case." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I guessed right. So many weapons, London couldn't just let it slide. This was Birmingham, filled with striking workers and ruthless gangs. If they could use the recovery of the weapons to clean up Birmingham, making this city, second only to London, a national arms factory - a double benefit. The newly appointed inspector could also expect promotion and medals. I didn't dare to look up at Tommy; I was afraid that if we made eye contact, we would reveal our intentions.

Arthur said Tommy wasn't acting right and turned to Polly. "If I knew, I would have bought the antidote from Compton's pharmacist a long time ago," Polly replied, glaring at me in the process. I played dumb as if nothing had happened. Tonight, we had a rare free evening, and I went upstairs to tuck Maria into bed. "Aunt Demi, are you going to marry Uncle Tommy?" I was shocked by the child's words and was at a loss for words. "Who... who said we're getting married..." I must have blushed. Faced with Maria's clear eyes, I couldn't lie and say I didn't love Tommy, but I also couldn't tell the truth that I didn't know, so I replied vaguely and fled. I didn't hear Maria's muttering. "But Uncle Tommy really likes you." Tommy was sitting on my bed, waiting for me. "I have to go deal with those things." I closed the door and nodded, "I see there are more patrolling police on the streets today, be careful." Tommy stood up, and his tall shadow completely covered me. His breath enveloped me, and I clutched his sleeve, lost in his kisses. Unconsciously, my dress was taken off by him, and the cold wooden floor pressed against my skin, which woke me up a bit. I pushed him away but didn't want him to leave. "You... you have to deal with..."

He ignored me and carried me back to the bed. In the long night, we were each other's only warmth. When I woke up, it was still dark outside, and Tommy was still by my bedside. "Is it all taken care of?" I wasn't fully awake, and I couldn't even open my eyes, so I just shifted my body and lay on his leg. "Yeah," he stroked my hair, "it's been delivered to the old tobacco dock, where it's moisture-proof." "You can get some rest now, my little prince." I tried to open my eyes and sat up to give him a kiss. He held me and tossed me back onto the bed, lying down next to me. This morning, Tommy and the brothers went to the market in the suburbs. "I want to buy another horse, Diana." He kept kissing me, annoying me until I waved my hand to shoo him away. "A white horse, all white, as beautiful as you." The commotion on the street shattered my beautiful dream. Those police officers were more like gangsters and barbarians than the Razor Gang. They took advantage of the situation, bullied the weak, and dared to act only when the Razor Gang was absent, breaking into people's homes in the early morning, dragging them out of bed and onto the street. They broke open chests and cabinets, smashed and looted people's furniture. They made life unbearable, with chickens flying and dogs jumping. "Such gentlemen, truly God's chosen people!" I sneered, jumping out of bed. This was big trouble. Tommy and Polly weren't at home, but I knew what to do. "The police said Arthur agreed to let them search." "I didn't tell them they could smash people's houses like this," Arthur shouted. "All right," Tommy and I said in unison. Tommy patted my hand gently. "Have they searched the bars?" "The Rifle Bar, Iron Chain Bar, and Marquess Bar all paid protection money," I said, rubbing my chin irritably.

"Except for Garrison, which they didn't go to." Polly added. Ha, what a clever tactic - making people believe it was our tacit approval for the sake of more protection money and tarnishing our reputation. Wait a minute, Garrison... The woman who applied for the job was from Garrison. I think I knew which side Grace was on now. Polly chased the men out of the inner room, and only the three of us were left. "We all know what he's looking for. He won't stop until he finds it." "Then let him pay a price, Polly." I picked up the glass of whiskey that Tommy had put down, took a sip, and felt the spicy kick in my mouth. "Since he's already convinced that we're his opponents, let him know that the Razor Gang isn't just a lapdog he can summon at will. We can only trade, negotiate, but never surrender or sign a treaty." Polly seemed surprised by my tough stance. Tommy reached out his hand calmly, and I walked over to him. Polly looked at us standing side by side in silence and then sighed to Tommy, "He wants to see you, he knows you're the boss. Will you meet him?" I reminded Tommy, "He's from Belfast, but Churchill isn't. You can see his tactics - so blatant, resorting to force and torture. He doesn't understand the rules of the London political arena, Tommy. There's a group in Parliament, the Fourth Estate, more important than anyone else." "Media," he said and kissed me. Night fell, and I led the reporter from the Birmingham Evening Post to the bonfire.

While what Tommy said was all true, I had to admit that he looked like a charismatic politician, and he was more charming than my father, Lord Turner, a former British ambassador to Germany and a member of the Conservative Party. Sadness, disappointment, anger? Because of the king, because of God? For himself, for the people he sheltered? Of course, but these emotions were far from as intense as he appeared. "You really look like a politician." After sending off the reporters, I stood next to him, and we watched the flames rise together. "Is that a compliment?" "My father once said that it would be a shame if I didn't marry a politician. He swore to marry me into 10 Downing Street." He laughed. "He'll know; I found him a good son-in-law." I whispered in his ear as I lay on his shoulder. He kissed me.

#cillian murphy #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby imagine #fanfiction #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic

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