#the Tommy thirst is back in full force

[shushiyuii]

Hello shushiyuii! I just wanted to share an Idea for a possible continuation of the "safety from exile" oneshot you made a while ago.

My Idea is that after Ranboo rescued Tommy he now lives with them to hide from Dream. But one day there is an unexpected knock on the door and they both panic so Ranboo noms Tommy to keep him hidden. However it's Tubbo at the door and not Dream like they feared. Ranboo invites Tubbo inside because he can tell that somethings bothering him. So the two(three) of them hang out for awhile and Tubbo slowly opens up about his problems. He admits he's feeling stressed because he's worried about Tommy and that he regrets exiling him. Tommy who was listening in from Ranboo's stomach wants to comfort him so he tells Ranboo to let him out. He does and what follows is a heartfull Clingyduo reunion where they make up followed by benchtrio cuddles. Possibly with Tubbo nomming Tommy to reassure himself that Tommy is safe and back with him. So yeah. That's my Idea. I'd love it if you could write something like that but I understand if you don't want to/don't have the time. I hope you have a nice day

Words: 1,342

Warnings: Mention of death, depression, starving and thirst. Other than that it's mainly hurt/comfort

Notes: I am impulsively writing this at 3am so im sorry for any grammar mistakes. this is the first time i've written in a while, i can't say itll be any good or anything. I don't think this is some return either

But in general regards to an update. Im doing fine and I love this idea btw, im sorry if isn't up to standard.

“N-no…I don’t want… STOP!”, whatever remained of his voice screeched. It felt forced, harsh. When was the last time he had drank anything besides salty sea water? When was the last time he had a proper food source that wasn’t something he could forage?

He lifted the sheets from his side and shivered from the rags that covered his body, despite being probably tucked in. The sudden change in temperature didn’t do his fuzzy head much favors either. 

“Fucking…”, he couldn’t finish the ramble. He fiddled with what remained in his pockets for anything but found nothing, no health potion to quell his aching head. Despite that, he stood up. Wiping his eyes from the uneasiness of waking up.

He let out a yawn as he examined his surroundings, they were not all too familiar to him. It didn’t feel natural. The other day he was handling explosions to the body as if it were any normal everyday occurrence. Anything ordinary felt the opposite. Nowhere felt safe anymore.

He knew where he was though, despite everything. A dried and empty sigh passed his lips, devoid of emotion. He was tired, so tired yet he managed. He wasn’t surprised that the emotional backlash was now hitting him.

He turned to a mirror, he’s surprised that Ranboo even kept one in his room. Typically endermen hate the stares of people, including their own reflections. Perhaps Ranboo was immune to its effects. 

He was sickly pale, his hair matted so far that he could hardly recall how he used to keep it kept. Whatever remained of his shirt was rotted, the bright red faded and shoulder exposed. His trousers that had stayed with him through war were now barely held together with strings in his opinion, they’d practically turned to shorts.

His eyes… People used to say they were full of ambition, promise… A burning passion that could surpass even the god’s wills, was now hollow and dull. Is this how Theseus felt during his fall?

It mattered not, whatever safety he had was only temporary. Even now, he should be cautious. He would be considered a fugitive. 

A knock came from the door, he was quick to alert. The next thing he knew was instinct was taking over him and he hid behind the door frame and grabbed whatever he could to be a weapon, a golden hoe.

It wouldn’t cause much damage but it could certainly knock them to confusion for a short while if hit in the right spots. He readied himself, prepared that it would take his last life. He was always prepared for this, it was what he had been trained for in war. 

He was pretty sure Techno taught him that.

Steady breaths, aim…

STRIKE!

An inhumane sound spat out from whoever tried to enter, alerted. They had managed to dodge the boy’s sabotage. The hoe had now struck into the floorboards, whatever strength or adrenaline he used during that swing was all that had remained of his strength as he fell to the ground.

“Tommy!”, the hybrid called out in a hurry, worried. He had no care for his near death, concerns immediately went to his friend. Tommy wiped his brow which had accumulated sweat and looked to Ranboo, deep in his eyes.

He flinched at the sudden eye contact but remained, usually that would trigger an enderman but Ranboo remained still, unmoving. 

He hadn’t noticed he wasn’t breathing at all and coughed out whatever was left of his charcoaled lungs. Letting out an old man's cough, he wasn’t even a smoker like Wilbur had been. How fucked were his lungs?

He eventually managed to get his breath back and stood up properly, still winded but having calmed down from his unnecessary reaction. He knew he was in no danger, but his body still reacted that way.

Some things just don't change, do they?

[...]

After the unnecessary scare, Ranboo had brought him to a common room and only now he had realized how big this place was. Wherever he was, it wasn’t familiar in the slightest. It was all new to him.

But even then, he could tell the place was new. The smell of freshly cut oak and lack of decorated pots and chairs or lavish tables, the place was newly constructed. It was probably an estate if he had to guess, Ranboo’s estate.

He had also been given a red sweater, stained with blue. He was told that it was a sweater handed out to guests, but by the faded blue stains. He knew who had come here previously, he shoved down any emotion that threatened his integrity. 

Ranboo had also given him a pair of tidy black trousers, although they were a little too big for Tommy, he didn’t mind. It was better than nothing but rags. He missed the feeling of clothes, it felt like some of his barriers had been rebuilt. Ever so slightly.

Across the table was Ranboo, trying to shove some bread in Tommy’s direction. It was neatly sliced but it was only simple plain bread, no butter nor jam. The hybrid said to eat small and soft, due to his starvation.

But he couldn’t help but start craving himself a feast of glorious potatoes, golden apples to quell any aches, the cleanest of water. But the thought also made him sick to his stomach, the thought of food was enough to make him dizzy.

He hated it. 

“You’re safe”.

Safety means nothing, not anymore. Safety was Wilbur, Techno, home. All gone, stripped away, abandoned or dead. It wasn’t worth anything to mourn anymore, everything he once had was already gone. Even the last person he’d consider close had tossed him aside in what he’d call hell.

He couldn’t bring himself to respond, only shaking his head.

…

“You’re already in a bad condition. Eat.”, a familiar voice spoke. But it wasn’t the person in front of him, instead it was from straight behind him. The enderian’s ears twitched anxiously before his pupils dilated his relief and what seemed to be happiness.

Though, he wasn’t happy. Far from it. He never wanted to see the face again, at least not now. Before he knew it, he had already thrown a punch to the already scorned face. The boy fell back a step yet remained upwards. 

He didn’t have enough strength to put him in the ground, funnily enough.

A blind eye stared back at him, he couldn’t discern any emotion. Since his face had been burnt and scarred from fireworks. It left him blinded in one eye, deaf in an ear. Though, from the body posture, he wasn’t mad in the slightest.

For what reason?

“Ow”, was all he mumbled before turning back to Tommy. His face in concern, no anger. Perhaps even pity.

It only fueled him with more anger.

He pushed the shorter one to the ground, straddling him as he put whatever remained of his strength and fury into beating the one under him, screaming as though he were in a war zone. 

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop. 

I'm so sorry.

Just please.

Stop.

None of his punches made any impact, the boy had managed to block them with ease. The first was now cradled gently within his palm.

Stop it.

He gently shoved Tommy off, enough so that he could sit up. 

Why?

Pity?

He embraced the boy over the shoulders, attempting to cradle him as though he were a child. 

He’s taking advantage…

Why aren’t I mad?

Didn’t I hate him?

His shoulders shook with sobs. Resting against his neck. 

“Let it out. Forget about anything else. Let’s just pretend for 5 minutes that things are like they should be.”.

A copy of mellohi started playing quietly and softly.

When had he shrunk? He didn’t know. All he could process was that he was in safety of his friends' scorned hands, promising to keep him safe. Nuzzling and muttering reassurances as he let out the cries of his own.

A small smile poked from Ranboo’s fanged lips.

[weirdlittlecorner]

You ever see a picture of one of the boys and just-

Look at him! He’s so fuckin’ hot 😭😭

[whentommymetalfie]

Home to you -chapter 22

-Refuge-

Prologue//1//2//3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: Tommy is somewhere in between. 

Warnings: ptsd, nightmares, aftermath of forced hospitalization and medical malpractice, hallucinations, suicidal ideation 

Wordcount: 2,3 K

Finally after all the pain, there’s nothing. Simply that. A void without sound, where he floats, weightless. He wants to stay here in the nothing. Here, they can’t reach him, can’t hurt him, can’t tell him cruel things. At first the nothing is just that, nothing. Dark, not the same frightening dark as the bad place but soft and safe, warm, and quiet. Here he can rest.

Finally, he can rest.

But then the pain comes back. In his head. His limbs. Limbs he’s suddenly aware of again. Like fire it licks up his spine. Twists his bones. Makes his skin crack and bleed like dry earth. He tries to get away, but the nothing keeps him from moving. The darkness weighs down on him, suddenly heavy and solid

earth and mud

above and around

Hands reach through the nothing and he doesn’t want them there, they’ll hurt him, they all do. Only one person’s hands are safe. But he can’t seem to remember whose exactly, all he knows is there’s only one person he wants close…

His mouth remembers even if he doesn’t

Alfie.

The name echoes in the dark.

But it hurts too much to remember, now when Alfie is gone. But his hands seem to be here. He recognizes the touch of Alfie’s hands anywhere. Even here in the nothing he can feel it. But it hurts too much to remember, so he lets the memory slip away.

Listens to the earth move around him feels it crawling around him gnawing at him

Voices fade in and out of the dark. Light touches. Something cool on his forehead that soothes the pain a little. Like flickering lights the voices come and go. He wishes they’d stay gone, wants the nothing to swallow him again.

The pain goes away eventually. Allows him to sink fully into the nothing. He’s going to stay here, where they can’t hurt him. No one can hurt him here. He can rest here. The world outside of the nothing is loud and painful and full of shadows with needles and the cold air is putrid with the stench of vomit, full of voices demanding things of him, things he can’t give them. The nothing is warm and soft and quiet.

He doesn’t want to remember what came before it -utterly helpless arms tied fiery pain in his leg the smell of vomit the thirst all the voices - it hurt him, what came before, that’s all he knows for certain.

So why should he remember?

…

The voices come back, harder to ignore now. Closer somehow. One voice in particular tugs at his memory, wants him to come out of the nothing. A deep familiar rumbling. It tells him stories. They too seem familiar. The touches that come with it are always gentle. Hands that stroke his hair, fingers that interlace between his own, arms that hold him. And with the touches comes awareness, that he does in fact still exist, still has a body, even if that too seems distant.

But the nothing is safer. He can listen to the voice’s stories and rest. The voice has a name but he doesn’t want to remember it. But the more it speaks, the harder it becomes to stay here in the nothing. It begins slipping away from him. Little by little. He clings to it, wants to stay here

why won’t they let him stay?

is it to hurt him again?

The voice tells him he’s safe. And he knows somehow this voice wouldn’t lie. Warm skin against his, a familiar scent, the sound of someone else’s heartbeat close to his ear, someone else’s breathing, lips pressing softly against his own. Maybe he can be safe there, too? It’s outside of the nothing. But the voice coaxes him, promises that he’s safe now, that he’s not alone. And that’s the thing, he’s alone in the nothing. It’s safer to be alone. But maybe he doesn’t want to be? Little by little he allows it to coax him back towards the surface.

Then suddenly, the nothing is gone. It rips away from him all at once, torn away by the sound of distant yelling.

Tommy opens his eyes to a world that is entirely wrong. He’s in a bed, in an unfamiliar bedroom. Pushes himself up, fighting against weak limbs. Sits there trembling, struggling to just stay upright. He doesn’t recognize the room at first, but the view outside the window, the familiar grounds of rolling green hills makes him realise, understand where he is. His heart drops, a deathly chill washes over him. The room spins around him.

How can he be here?

He left, he got away, didn’t he?

No, no, this doesn’t make sense, none of this

makes sense

He went to-

to

They wanted to take him away

he can’t take care of himself, he’s a danger to himself

so he left and

went to

His broken mind works frantically to piece together the fragmented puzzle, but all it can form is the memory of the cell, in the asylum, they took him to an asylum, he remembers the needles the straitjacket, the padded walls and the pain, the thirst and the fever and all the voices- It comes crashing back over him and the memories drag him into darkness, leaves him without air and rocking back and forth the way he did in the cell to soothe himself. He tries to think, think, but it’s so difficult

He's not in the asylum anymore.

Did they take him home because he got better?

Or because he got sick with the fever? They might take him back now when he’s better.

He swallows to force the bile down his throat as nausea overwhelms him.

No, but he got away, remembers

the dark gravel road underneath his bare feet, running, walking and eventually stumbling through wet grass, through the darkness

he heard the voices, he heard them talking about it behind the closed door (a danger to himself, possibly others, maybe he should be institutionalized, an asylum), and he left, he

went to

where did he go?

The dark gravel road, walking through the rain, the man with the kind voice

“Where are you going?”

Margate

He went to Margate. To Alfie. Alfie. He was in an asylum, that’s true, but he thought of Alfie, how Alfie would find him, Alfie wouldn’t leave him there.

He lets out a sob in relief when he remembers. Alfie holding him, reading to him, tucking him in under warm blankets, Esther, the walks and the horses and it all feels like a beautiful dream

“Maybe that’s all it was?”

no

But how else could he have ended up back here?

“You never left, Tommy,” Grace looks at him from the corner of the room. “Why would you have been allowed to leave?”

no, no

“Why would someone do any of those things for you? As if you deserved that sort of kindness.”

He begins shaking. Never left, nowhere to go, just another cruel trick his mind has decided to play on him.

“You’ve lost touch completely with what’s real or not. It makes sense you’d create a fantasy like that.”

His breaths come in loud whines between clenched teeth. He digs his fingers into his hair, his scalp, pushes against the scar.  The room spins faster around him and his breathing picks up, but he doesn’t get any air and black spots begin clouding his vision. Faster and faster and the ringing in his ears grow louder and louder

Alfie, how does Alfie fit into this? He doesn’t. He can’t understand, can’t make sense of it.

But the yelling outside cuts through the noise. And the familiarity of one of the voices has Tommy scrambling out of bed. White hot pain flares up his leg as he sets his foot down and his knees give way. He falls, climbs back up using the bed and stumbles forward until he reaches the window. Outside on the gravel driveway, he sees Lizzie and

Alfie.

Tommy makes for the door, the door isn’t locked, this door isn’t locked, he shoulders it open. Despite the pain he runs. The corridors close in around him. Tilting like a sinking ship and he stumbles, catching himself against the walls. Hard to remember the way through the house. All the corridors seem unfamiliar

too familiar all at once

they all look the same

“You shouldn’t be wandering around on your own, what have we said about this, Tommy?”

Why is he here?

Why does his leg hurt? Maybe he stepped on the mirror shards.

“Tommy, what have you done?”

No, he needs to focus. Alfie. Get outside. Find Alfie.

He makes it to the grand stairs.

“Mr. Shelby! You’re awake!” a familiar maid, can’t remember her name, comes towards him. She smiles at him, but her brow soon furrows. “Oh, but you shouldn’t be out of bed, you’re hurt-“

Shouldn’t be out of bed you shouldn’t be out of bed Tommy what if you’d gotten hurt can’t sit here by the window all night Tommy what if you’d gotten hurt go back to bed you shouldn’t be out of bed-

She comes towards him, arms outstretched and wraps one of them around his waist. He hadn’t realized he was wavering on the spot. He struggles against the grip. How can she be so strong? Alfie, he needs to go to Alfie-

“Alfie,” he croaks. His throat hurts.

“Yes, I’ll tell him you’re awake, of course. But you really shouldn’t be out of bed. Let’s get you tucked back in, and I’ll fetch mister Solomons.”

He shakes his head. No no he doesn’t want to go back, but he only manages a choked whimper.

“Mister Solomons will be with you in a second.” She tries to lead him back through the corridor and he can’t fight because he’s too weak. She’s taking him away from Alfie, he doesn’t want to go back to the bedroom but she doesn’t understand, she won’t listen to him

no one ever listens

Tommy screams. Screams and screams and fights for all he’s worth. She hushes him, holds him tighter but when his voice cracks and breaks she finally lets him go and he runs, stumbles, nearly falls down the stairs, catching himself against the banister. The front door is open. He staggers out onto the stone steps.

Alfie is there. And he knows, he knows when he sees him and it all comes flooding back, -jumbled and fractured but real- doesn’t know how he did it, but knows that Alfie found him.

let it be real please let it be real

Alfie will find him Alfie won’t leave him here Alfie keeps him safe.

“Alfie,” he sobs. The look of disbelief in Alfie’s face shifts into a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners, filling with light. Like finally seeing the sun. Tommy doesn’t even feel the pain in his leg as he runs down the steps.

Alfie rushes towards him, catches him as he crashes into his arms. Solid, warm and utterly real. He shatters completely. Alfie holds him. Tommy buries his face in his neck and cries. Drags his familiar scent into his nose, holds on as tightly as he can and cries and cries and cries. Alfie speaks words he doesn’t understand -Yiddish?- mutters them into his hair as he rocks him back and forth.

“I’ve got you, love” he whispers, then. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”  

Alfie cradles his face between his hands and wipes away the tears.

“I’ll never let anything happen to you again. You hear me? Never,” he says. “As long as there’s blood in my veins and breath in my fucking lungs, I’ll keep you safe. Whatever it takes.”

More sobs rip up his throat and Alfie hushes him and holds him against his chest. For a while that’s all there is in the world -Alfie’s arms around him, Alfie’s heartbeat against his ear, Alfie’s warmth seeping into him and thawing all the frozen parts.

But then someone else speaks.

“Tommy,” they say.

Lizzie is standing in the driveway. Sharp around the edges, unbearably real. He can’t bear the look in her eyes, the way she always looks at him, being faced with the extent of his failures. It’s difficult to breathe again. Alfie pulls him closer. Shielding him. So he must see her too. Must be real. Here.

Why is he here?

How did he get here?

It’s too much, all of it, he can’t make sense of it it doesn’t make any sense and he can’t bear it

can’t

“Shh, shh,” Alfie hushes and cradles his head against his chest. “You don’t have to be afraid. No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe now. I’m here.” He’s begun making noises. Broken, hoarse sounds. Alfie’s arms are the only thing keeping him upright.

The gravel crunches. Tommy gasps for breaths. Quick, shallow. His lungs ache.

“Breathe, love, you need to breathe. In and out, yeah?”

“He’s ripped his stitches,” Lizzie’s voice says, distantly. “I’ll get the doctor.” Her steps disappear. So does the rest of the world, slipping and fading, but he no longer wants to go back to the nothing

Wants to stay here with Alfie.

Alfie hoists him into his arms, settling his head on his shoulder and allowing him to hide his face in the crook of his neck.. Alfie takes care of him. Alfie keeps him safe. Alfie won’t let anything bad happen to him-

“But he did let something happen. He couldn’t keep you safe.”

-everything beyond that is too much, too painful to take in.

“I’m here,” Alfie says. “Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of everything.”

“He can’t keep you safe from this. From them,” Grace whispers.

But he only listens to Alfie’s voice.

As long as Alfie is here, it’ll be alright.

[embermc]

c!Quackity's form of manipulation is interesting because, although he is definitely lying and purposefully being deceitful, and although he is very much being extremely manipulative by preying on people's insecurities and using what cuts the most deep to them in order to get them to do what he wants, there's also this sense that you get that, at least on some level, c!Quackity genuinely believes the general themes and meanings of what he is saying and trying to convince others of to be true.

I think it ultimately stems from the idea that a lot of c!Quackity's manipulation and convincing attempts he's made in the past few streams are absolutely loaded with self-projection. He, whether it is subconsciously or not, is not only choosing the members of Las Nevadas due to their skill set, what they can provide for him, or because they're currently in a lost, weakened mental state (although those all are a large part of it). In each of the planned additions we've seen so far (Foolish, Purpled, and Fundy), there has been a sense of himself, or an old version of himself, that c!Quackity has noticed in each of them, or at least projected onto them. Each of them represent an old ideal or version of Quackity, something that is very deep-cutting and central to his current philosophies and behavior. And in his attempts to convince them to join Las Nevadas, while he was also being purposefully deceitful, manipulative, and was weaponizing their insecurities, there was also this underlying sense that c!Quackity himself was lashing out, that he was trying to break through to them with what he believes is true due to his past experiences, and in doing so, was forcefully projecting a lot of his own insecurities, both past and present, onto them.

Take c!Foolish, for example. To c!Quackity, yes, he wants to use c!Foolish for his power and weaponize him, but c!Foolish is also representative of a former version of himself. A version that wholeheartedly believed in peace, believed in diplomatic relations in politics and was optimistic about improving the world around him through nonviolence, negotiation, friendships, and love. But now, c!Quackity is adamant about taking power by force, using any means necessary, however unethical and morally dark they may be. He doesn't believe that peace and diplomacy can work anymore, and believes that Foolish is, well, foolish, for thinking they can. c!Quackity believes it is a fruitless venture to pursue the betterment of the world through peace, diplomatic relations, and waiting in hope for something to go right. This is something he wholeheartedly believes now, and is trying to instill that belief in c!Foolish (albeit, through morally corrupt and pretty deceitful ways). c!Quackity looks back on that old, idealistic version of himself and sees wasted potential. He sees plans that never worked, philosophies that were flimsy and bound to fail, and ideas that never paid off. He sees his old self a fool. That is partially why, when faced with this person with such similar ideals and beliefs to his old self, c!Quackity can't do anything but openly experience frustration, and a little bit of disappointment and disgust. (Continuation under cut).

And then there's c!Purpled. In his conversations with c!Purpled, Quackity emphasizes the fact that Purpled has no legacy left. Everything he has is gone, he has nothing for people to remember him for, so he and his contributions don't matter. And c!Quackity then chalks this all up to be the fault of not only Purpled himself, but of the people, the powerful people and figures of authority, that have reduced him to being nothing and have overlooked him, used him. A lot of this speech is definitely c!Quackity being morally dubious in his attempts to recruit Purpled, but there was also this underlying sense of desperation in this scene, of growing emotion and frustration...specifically on Quackity's end. I want to talk about this quote in particular: "You will be a big part of history. Finally, you won't be used by shit people like Dream, or anyone else who has used you for your abilities, and for your skills, and for anything you've ever done on this server." This is a clear sign of projection, as a lot of this quote applies to c!Quackity far more than it applies to c!Purpled (although it can apply to Purpled as well.) Quackity has always felt undermined and used by those above him, whether it be Dream, Schlatt, or anyone else. He's always hated those who he views as tyrants and those who have manipulated or used him to their own benefit. I particularly remember a scene where Quackity, back in the Manberg era, was fuming over the fact that he felt that c!Schlatt was using him, playing him for a fool and using him for his political abilities.

There's also the fact that, due to him constantly being undermined by those above him, nearly every single one of Quackity's plans or ideas have been rejected, or have catastrophically failed. He was left with nothing. This is particularly clear during his pre-Doomsday stream, when Quackity reflects on how so many of his plans have failed, and was left to wonder if anything, and anything he's done for L'manberg, really even matters. Having his plans constantly foiled and being constantly undermined and "used" by those above him with more power, by "shit people," left him hopeless, with a sense of having nothing left he truly had faith in. That is, until Las Nevadas. Not to mention, the idea of being "forgotten" is one that most likely rings true to Quackity, even if he won't admit it to himself, as he's still troubled over being supposedly "forgotten" by his fiances. So, in a way, that's another small example of, although c!Quackity was being purposefully manipulative towards c!Purpled and was weaponizing his insecurities against him, there was still present that deep-rooted idea that, at least on some level, Quackity believes a decent part of what he was saying to Purpled because his arguments were rooted in his beliefs and frustrations with being used and overlooked in the past, although they have become laced and corrupted by his manipulation attempts.

And lastly, there's c!Fundy. This is probably the most blatant example of c!Quackity partially, most likely unknowingly, slipping out of a manipulative mindset for a small while in order to project onto somebody he sees a similar past version of himself in, or reminds him of past qualities and experiences of himself. He brings up again, quite passionately, that idea of being constantly overlooked by people with more power than you, of being oppressed and being told what you can and can't do. Now, of course, he's also being manipulative and deceitful here, because Quackity knows full well that c!Fundy would be enticed by this argument and would be able to relate. He knows that Fundy had a thirst for recondition and a desire not to be oppressed, not to be told what he can and can't do, as well as to have someone give him admiration and affection. He uses this to his advantage, in order to craft a pitch that Fundy couldn't refuse. He even uses people that don't truly have much power, such as c!Tommy, as examples of people that has had power over he and Fundy in the past (although, it's possible that c!Quackity's trust issues have lead him to believe that to be true as well, but that's a different topic and only a theory).

Point being, Quackity is clearly being manipulative here, and he knows it. In all of these situations, there is a good chance that he knows he's not being morally right. He mentions it to c!Sam, making a joke that implies he knows he's not the "good guy."

However.

I do still believe that c!Quackity somewhat believes some of that pitch to Fundy himself, as well. Because he too, has really had similar situations as he describes Fundy having. He was overlooked and pushed around by Schlatt, told what he could and couldn't do. He was told what he could and couldn't do in the early days, when he wanted to join L'manberg. He was even foiled by Techno and Dream, used by Dream in particular, numerous times. He had to have an entire revolution in order to gain the right to declare independence for what was a tiny little hill.

A lot of what makes Quackity's manipulation and lies interesting is that, unlike others like c!Dream, his lies are laced with truth. When he manipulates someone, he doesn't usually just flat-out lie to them, and doesn't always just make stuff up. He takes their insecurities, accentuates them, and then uses them in order to attempt to manipulate the ideologies and motives of the person he's speaking to. And, as I've mentioned before, he projects. This makes it much easier for him to manipulate them, because he can connect to them and develop an understanding of their thought process. But it's also a way for him to subconsciously vent his trauma, his frustrations, and his insecurities.

Quackity is a character that doesn't speak about his emotions often, at least not anymore. To him, "there is no place for emotions in Las Nevadas." He doesn't want to get hurt, so he won't open up. So, in these manipulation attempts, attempts to use others, there's also this subconscious sense of Quackity taking his own frustrations, his own insecurities, and casting them onto somebody else as a way of venting and trying to find a solution to them. He speaks and rants about things that he partially believes are true, about violence over diplomacy, about being tired of being overlooked and used. From there, he can take these frustrations and make action out of them. Find a solution for the troubles and frustrations that now totally belong to the other person as well. This solution being the thing he sees as the solution for his own troubles: Las Nevadas. Because in reality, Las Nevadas isn't really the solution to any of the other people's problems. It's not the solution to Foolish's issues, or Purpled's issues, or Fundy's issues. But Quackity, in his desperation for a sense of his own agency, for a legacy, for an impact he can make on the world, sees it as the solution to his, and he wants that belief to be validated by seeing it as the solution to others' problems as well.

Now, of course Quackity, on some level deep down, knows that Las Nevadas isn't meant to help or heal the people he's recruiting. He does indeed partially want them for what they can offer him, their power, their skills, and so on. He is being manipulative in a lot of his words and actions because he knows he's using underhanded methods in order to recruit people that he can use. But, as I've stated before, Quackity has a tendency to think, at least on some level, that his actions are for the sake of ending oppression on others. He's hypocritical, in a way, and that's always been a part of his character, back since New L'manberg days at least. He's wanted power for himself and is willing to use people to do so, but also strongly believes that he's ending oppression and he's helping out those who are being "used" by tyrants. I think there's a similar situation here, although he's a lot more cynical and views himself as less of a hero now, and acknowledges that he's willing to use unjust methods and use others. He's slightly more self-aware of his misdeeds.

But he's still heavily projecting his own beliefs, insecurities, and ideals a lot, and I just find that interesting. It's a fascinating part of his character's thought process, because as I've stated before, he's aware that he's being manipulative, but his manipulation is still laced with partial truths, truths that he himself believes to an extent. c!Quackity is an incredibly interesting character, and his forms of convincing and manipulation reveal a lot of his inner thought process that he tends to prefer to keep hidden away, for his own sake.

[lina-lovebug]

Jason Todd x Luna Maximoff headcanonns

Luna Maximoff is a Marvel character. I'm doing a series where i pair up DC boys with not well known MCU girls.

- cutest beans

- unlike Jason, Luna doesn't have a thirst for blood but understands his pain

- mainly cuz she's a telepath but

- she's also an empath, and so she can feel whenever anyone is troubled and was basically his therapist for awhile

- Jason liked Luna for her 'good girl' looks when they first met with her father's blue eyes, Pietro, and her mother's blonde hair, Crystalia

- but soon learned that she was a being not to be messed with

- born on the moon and the first mutant-inhuman? her mind powers were stronger than Wanda's

- she was having a panic attack and Jason touched her, and saw and felt her pain

- he even saw how her father died

- even if she smiled on the outside, he now knew how much pain and suffering she had been through

- her cousins, Tommy and Billy, LOVE Jason

- not so much after his revival

- Jason admires her family's heroic past but is honestly terrified at first that she might be too confident in her abilities

- her father is dead, her aunt went insane, her uncle was brutally murdered, so naturally it spooked him a bit

- and being a person with no physical abilities but strong mental powers, Jason always takes it upon himself to protect her while she's destroying someone from the inside

- after Rose used Jason, Luna snapped and forced herself inside her mind and almost made her legally brain dead

- Hank and Dick had to stop her from going too far

- and since Jason and Luna were so connected mentally, she felt his death

- she swears she even heard his last scream

- things get difficult after his death, and she ended up moving back to New York and joining SHIELD

- She joined the new young heroes program with Iron Fist, Nova, White Tiger, and Spiderman but it wasn't the same

- when Jason came back, he was terrified to go look for Luna

- what if she was different? what if she hates him? what if she was with someone else?

- But no, Luna was just older and more mature, and was even asked to join the Avengers

- but she couldn't do it because she knew she still hadn't recovered from Jason's death

- He snuck into her apartment to see her but almost died cuz she attacked him from the inside

- but immediately recognized him and started crying, too scared to touch him because she was convinced she had gone mad like Wanda

- He took off his Red Hood mask and couldn't speak, too scared that the love of his live had moved on

- "I never stopped loving you" first words out of her mouth and he embraced her in a hug, both just sitting in her living room and crying for an hour

- when she kissed him for the first time in four years, he knew he couldn't let her go

- although they argued about his style of vigilance, they came to an agreement and she rejoined the Titans

- As a couple

- Retired seven years later, it would've been five but Jason is Jason

- Before asking her to marry him, Jason visited Pietros' grave

- "I love your daughter with all my heart and soul, and I'm going to make sure she is loved for the rest of her life. Even though you aren't there to walk her down the isle, she knows you're there. You've always been there."

- overall cutest couple and would definitely end up having twin girls and a boy

Hope you've enjoyed! Luna Maximoff isn't given a full story in the comics but her powers are so cool and I just know she'd be the sweetest person, but knows she's strong and knows ppl underestimate her abilities.

[sirensmojo]

Black Bird - Tommy Shelby x Reader.

Summary: You’re a young writer for a famous magazine back in New-York, and forced to move out to Birmingham due to certain circumstances. A woman American writer, all alone in a city you know nothing about. Your presence soon enough gets noticed by none other than Thomas Shelby, who think about using your writing skills to his advantage.

Warnings: suspense & fluff

A/N: I wrote this for @a-mess-of-fandoms​ ‘s 1k challenge, hope you’ll enjoy it

Prompt: “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird”

Word count: 1,601

*Masterlist*

You’re walking path went from slow and light to quick and fierce, someone was following you, you knew it. As a woman who used to live alone in New-York, you had to work on your hearing to keep you safe from whatever danger the American streets were full of. Even more, than you used to work until late at night. Here, a pub, you will spend the rest of the night there if that’s what it takes for you to feel safer. Nothing in this city looked like what you used to see. You hoped you could get along well with the English, but wherever you would put a foot in, they would all either ogle or stare at you as if you weren’t even a human. You knew for sure some gangsters have heard of what you were writing on back in your hometown, that was why you were being followed and kept under surveillance. They wanted to make sure you would not do the same here. “Oh look, who’s there” Arthur mutters to his brother. Tommy lifted his eyes to the woman that just pushed the door. Something wasn’t right, your face was full of fear and he could hear your heart pounding in your chest as if it wanted to jump out of it. Yet, in your eyes, a beam light was shinning softly and peacefully. It looked like a truce in war. You were full of fear, your body was speaking it, while you remained calm in the mind. As he was reading your face, Tommy observed the crowd stopping from cheering, instead, they were all murmuring into each other’s ear. It reminded him of what people did whenever he entered a room. But instead of muttering things to others, they all stayed silent. He ordered Arthur to fetch a bottle of Irish whiskey and two glasses. The young woman was now sitting at a table, looking at the door as if you were waiting for someone to join you. When Tommy pulled the chair so he could sit, your whole body turned to him in one single movement. Your lips slightly parted and your eyes dawdled on the face of the man before they looked down to the glasses. Tommy coughed without giving you a single look. Once he was comfortable in his seat, he opened the bottle and filled one of the cups he pushed so it slid to the other side of the table, in front of Y/N. Then, and only then, he deigned to look at you, searching for a cig in his cigarette case. He held the case towards the brunette. “A cigarette Mrs. ?” He asked, brows high. You lifted your hands to your hair and grabbed a bobby pin in between your fingers. You led it to your lips and opened the tool wider so you could grab a cigarette with the edges of it. Once the cigarette was stuck in between the two pieces of metal, you lifted your eyes to Thomas that was intently looking at her movements the whole time. He cleared his throat and came to light the cigarette of the woman, but when he leaned towards you, he found out you already lighted her cig. “Gentlemen are dead in America” You lowly let out, as you slouched to stick your back to the wooden chair. “I’m no gentleman,” Tommy hassled to speak. Too fast. You now knew he wasn’t used to be turned down by a woman. 

Y/N sketched a smile and grabbed the whiskey bottle with one hand, as the other was still holding the bobby pin with the cig. You poured the liquor in the empty glass and dropped the bottle on the table in a thud. You glided the glass to Thomas and then looked at his face to gauge, once again, his reaction. He reluctantly grabbed the glass and took a sip on it. You did the same. “A woman cannot stay alone in a bar” He stated. “At the bar, no she cannot, Mr. Shelby,” You retorted. He chuckled, and draw upon his cigarette. “It’s a table here, eh?” He patted the table. “Not the bar,” He added. “Not the bar,” You repeated, as shaking your head to each side. “So, I’m going to help you a bit as I see you have difficulties to talk to me. Someone is following me. I’m not staying long in here. ‘Just waiting for the gangster to get tired. You know?” Eyes fluttering, you took some puffs on your cig and gracefully spitted the smoke to your side, locking your eyes to the door. Tommy ignored your sassy remark and exhaled loudly. “I know who you are. Y/N Ethel Frances, in your hometown you were a star. Kind of, every gangster was afraid of you. Not because you were part of a gang bigger than them, but because you could write. And write you did” While talking, the man waggled his cig in the air, pointing you with his fingers. Not to mention he wanted her attention, he tried to approach you as he did with every woman he knew. But he also was well aware you were nothing like the women in here. At first, he thought it was because you were American, but since he sat down with the brunette, he knew it was more than that. “I searched for Justice,” You said without looking at him. “And you reaped what? Being forced to move out because of your thirst for ‘Justice’”. He almost spitted the last word, and your gaze couldn’t stay away from him anymore. "Tell me what you want from me" You finally spoke. "I can take it," One of your brows lifted as you were waiting for Thomas to say something. "Your writing skill could benefit me". "What could benefit, me?" You asked. "Other than protection, money, and peace?" Tommy squinted. "You can offer me the two first ones, but peace? Please I'm too old for believing in such foolishness. You're a gangster after all". 

"You're speaking about gangster and justice, but what do you truly know about good or bad?” He cleared his throat. “And...” He marked a pause. “You're not so old," He glanced at you as you choked on her drink. 

“Didn’t you ever tried to do things right, Mr. Shelby?” “Call me, Thomas” “Why would I do that?” You hassled to answer. You were irritated. Not because of Thomas Shelby, but because the scars of your past life did not heal, yet. It was too soon to be able to talk about it with a stranger, even more to a gangster you would have torn down if you still was the same person as in America. 

Mrs. Frances got up, ready to leave, but the hold of Tommy’s huge hand prevented you from it. You turned to face him, diving your free hand into your purse. In a single clean and neat movement, you lifted her purse to Thomas’s head level and shot a man from a background table. Tommy immediately turned around to see the damage while Arthur that was initially behind the counter, pulled a gun to Y/N. The whole crowd started to run loudly out of the pub as screams filled the room. “Arthur! Put this gun away, eh?” Tommy motioned to his brother as he stood up. He then looked at you. “The fuck was that, Tommy?” Arthur enunciated loudly, his profound accent calling you out. “Just put that away, brother” Tommy tried to resonate with his brother, speaking with a soft voice, but in his tone, it was clearly heard he wasn’t unfazed either. 

The three soon were the only ones left in the Garrison. Tommy was walking forward you, knitting his brows, a new cigarette stuck in between his plump lips. You slid out the gun of your purse and held it to Thomas to make him known you didn’t want any more trouble. She wanted to cooperate. “He was the man following me. I told you I was leaving as soon as I knew he would get tired” You loudly say, you knew who the Shelbys were, in Birmingham. But your safety was pivotal for you. You were forced to shoot your shot. “Fucking Americans coming to my pub pretty like birds but with the mind of fucking rabid dog,” Muttered Arthur for himself. “I am a bird!” Y/N screamed to him, quite offended by his implicit. “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird,” Retorted Tommy with a solemn voice as he tore the gun off of your hands and unloaded it. Y/N giggled and tried to muffle it. Hearing you laughed for the first time made Tommy turn around to see that. It was just as warm and as charming as he has imagined. “Are you taking the job?” He asked, pulling the cig out of his lips with his thumb and index. “ ‘Course I am” You snapped back. Then, you glanced at the man and took the cig of his hand, dragging on it. The man poured a little bit more of whiskey in two glasses and sat down, motioning to Y/N, so you would do the same. Once you sat down, he took back his cig you were holding him, and a wide smile grew on his lips. “What’s that?” She frowned. “You’re a black bird, eh?” Tommy pointed the black bird embroidered on the fabrics of your dress with his fingers that were holding his cig. “Shut up, you fool” You retorted, quite amused but more charmed by how stunning he looked with this smile on his face.

[subarubi]

Somethin’

Pairing: Sam Wilson x fem!Reader

Summary: Sam Wilson’s in for the ride of his life. (Idk I suck at summaries)

Word Count: 3.2k

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Sexual content. Modern AU. Cowboy!Sam. Slight Angst? Idk. Alcohol consumption. Inappropriate use of stable floor. 

A/N: Something about the leaves changing is putting me in the mood for some Sam Wilson lovin’. ma’ams, sirs, non-binaries, I present to you, COWBOY SAM. This is purely born out of thirst, the barely there plot is just a vehicle for it. Yee-motherfuckin’-haw!  

-

Clear blue skies and soft, white cumulus clouds look just the same above him here as they did there. 

It had been the first thing he noticed on that long, quiet car ride home from the airport and the last thought before settling into the checkered sheets of his adolescence. Night, day, clear or grey — it’s the same sky he’s been under his entire life, same backdrop to his last few years at war. 

One certain days, he feels blind as a newborn, clutching to his momma’s chest as she quiets his cries. Others, he swears he can see thousands of miles away if only he just squints hard enough. 

Today, there’s sweat stinging in his eyes, so he only sees wide pastures through a blurred filter. 

Sam Wilson holds his father’s hat in one hand, uses a forearm glowing bronze beneath the sun to wipe away the dampness over his brow. He’s known heat, spent hours baking under the hot sun in full fatigues. This is a different kind of heat — the lazy, sleepy kind that starts in his neck and spreads warm everywhere. It pools in unwelcome places: behind his knees, down his shoulder blades, in his ass crack. 

“What’s the matter, cowboy? Can’t take the heat?”

"M’fine,” he scoffs indignantly, kneading a thick thigh splayed out over worn leather, soothing his sore muscles. Despite his objections otherwise, Sam’s dog-tired and aching for a cold shower. He wants to fall face first into the couch and stay there for, forever, maybe. 

Your smirk burns him up from the inside out with irritation and a whole other barrel of emotions he doesn’t want to get into when you’re being this annoying.  “If you need a break, I won’t tell anyone...”

Sam pants a laugh, settling the cattleman hat back over his head, squint in his warm brown eyes easing in the brim’s shadow. Shaking his head, he replies “I don’t believe that for one second.”

He’s heard that most people settle a bit after they reach their mid-20s. People have jobs and responsibilities and have less room to be obnoxious and wild. You haven’t changed one bit since high school. You’re just as loud mouthed and unpleasant as you were all those years ago before Sam left to enlist. You used to laugh and throw mud in his face when he worked on your daddy’s ranch as a kid, put burs in his boots and made fun of his gangly arms. Not much has changed on that front now that he’s back — he’s kind of glad for it, so used to people in this little town treating him differently now.

Sam licks salt from his lip, watching you in front of him, horse in a jog. 

The steady rocking of your hips side to side holds his gaze, matching your pace but hanging back enough that conversation is sparse. Sam eyes the way denim hugs your legs, tapers off into a pair of worn brown boots with stitched designs fraying. He remembers when you’d first gotten those boots, how you danced in them before him. He’d always had a sneaking suspicion you liked him back then; he was older and worked for your daddy, your teasing always felt like just an excuse to talk to him. 

You’re a woman now. An honest to god woman with pretty eyes and a dangerous smile — all stuffed into tight jeans and a chambray shirt with the top buttons undone in such a way that he can the path of sweat down your neck and into your cleavage. Sam visibly swallows.

“What’s it like?” your sweet twang tickles the inside of his ears, a shiver run down his spine. 

Sam shifts in his saddle, leaning up on the horn to give his sleeping ass a break, “What’s what like?”

Silence for a beat, what little he can see of your profile twists in uncertainty. You slow up so that your horse falls in step beside his, shrugging to appear more casual, though it’s more comfort for you than him. “I mean... the Air Force, Afghanistan. That whole thing.”

Oh, that whole thing. Sam stiffens, reins creaking in tight fists as he struggle with such a small, harmless question. 

In the hours you’ve spent together since he’s been back, the subject of where he went and why he’s back remained fairly untouched. Sam didn’t want to talk about it and you don’t like awkward, feelings conversations in general. He’d liked the balance the two of you had struck up. Considered you a good friend, even, for it. 

“You don’t have to say anything! Just forget I said anything,” you rush out. 

Sam can tell by the way you frantically avoid looking at him that an ashamed heat is crawling up your neck and pooling in your face. He sighs heavily, shoulders sagging and looks out over the herd of cattle moving pastures.

He’s dog-tired. 

After Riley died, he just couldn’t find reason anymore — his momma said it was giving her smiley boy premature frown lines. Getting out was supposed to be a good thing for him, but he’s just so tired of waiting for the results. He’d expected coming home and working on the ranch would be like flipping a switch; he’d be happy again and wouldn’t have to think about his time in the war. For the most part, he has been. But some days he doesn’t know whether it’s better to be blind or to see thousands of miles away.

Then there are days like today: the in between where everything is blurry and he wants to talk about it, but doesn’t know where to begin. 

“It’s hot as hell.”

The bewildered look on your face makes him smile small. His lips twitch and it sends yours chasing off after them, cracking big and wide. He wishes his momma could see him now, with that gap-toothed grin she says she misses so much. What it is, he doesn’t know, but something about you makes him so comfortable. 

If you wanted to, you couldn’t get Sam to stop talking after that. 

He tells stories of COs with sticks up their asses and hillbillies he never thought he’d have to protect and never wants to again, of all the shit Riley put him through and what passes for food on military bases. And by the time the sun sets and the cows are grazing on fresh, untouched grass, the ache in Sam’s hips and legs can’t compare to the one in his cheeks. 

“He sounds like an amazing friend,” you smile softly, boot kicked up on the farriers stool outside the barn.

Sam smiles wistfully into the neck of his beer bottle, nodding firmly, “The best.”

The sweat on his shirt has dried under a cool night breeze, Sam’s eyes slide closed to savor the feeling of it. It’s peaceful and quiet in the best way, a warm beer in hand, crickets chirping and a somewhere frog croaking. He can’t help but think this is as close as he’s gonna get to being happy again without Riley. 

A cacophonous clattering of the glass bottle graveyard the two of you cultivated breaks through it. You hiss loudly, muttering curses under your breath as you try and right the ones that fell over, “Shhh, dammit. Shit.”

Sam rolls his head to the side slowly with relaxed breaths, looking at you with a goofy smile. He places his bottle down in the dirt besides just about the dozen other empty ones, reaching out for you, “You’re a good friend too.”

You watch him with wide eyes, chewing your lip dark in that way that he never lets on drives him crazy. 

His eyes lazily drift over your face, down the smooth planes of your neck and over the panicked heave of your chest. There’s a summer haze over him, he feels all fuzzy and warm with alcohol swirling around in his gut, liver working overtime. He’s thinking things he probably shouldn’t, fingers itching to do things he definitely shouldn’t. 

You are a good friend, he means that. 

He’s been home for a few months now and can count on one hand the amount of people he actually likes spending time with. His momma and his little sister on Sundays after church making — or rather, for his part, eating— pies. Your father, who Sam’s always looked up to, listening to life lessons that he’s already learned but doesn’t have the heart to say so. He likes going to the bar with the other ranch hand Tommy well enough, but only for a few. 

You. All the time, even when he’s supposed to be doing something else or you’re annoying the hell out of him. 

Sam clears his throat, hoping that the starry-eyed look in his eyes is obscured by the darkness of night and the low brim of his hat. By the way you’re looking back at him, he highly doubts he’s gotten away with it. “I should get going, it’s late.”

“You-” you swallow, sitting up straight in your seat as he makes to get up, “you shouldn’t drive.”

Cracking bones have Sam grimacing as he stretches tall, working out all the kinks he’d gotten from a long day out riding, driving the cattle. He stumbles a little in his boots, kicking up a small bit of dirt with a tipsy laugh, “You’re right...”

He sees your tense shoulders sag in relief, settling further against the red barn wall. Sam grins mischievously, swaying towards the open barn doors, “I’ll ride.”

“Sam!” you call after him, and he hears the light pounding of your boots after him as he bolts into the stables. 

He’s never felt so fast, so light, running with you hot on his trail, boots sliding dangerously across the hay covered ground. Sam’s a kid again, unburdened by the hardships of war and the grief of losing his best friend. 

Once, when he was working here in high school with you constantly ribbing on him, Sam stole your hat — same one sitting on that pretty head now — and ran. You gave chase until your shorter legs tired out and ugly sobs of frustration poured from your lungs. He felt guilty, mean even and stopped as soon as those doe eyes looked up at him in hurt. There was a terrible smirk on your face he’ll never forget when you triumphantly snatched it out of his hands and kicked him in the shin, little brat you were. 

This is payback. 

Sam takes a hard left into one of the empty stalls, laughing wildly when you corner him, hands holding his sides in stitches. Smiling eyes betray the scowl on your face as you approach slowly, as if he were a jumpy young colt for you to tame. 

Something’s in the air, suffocating the closing space between the two of you and Sam’s pinned beneath the unreadable stare of your eyes dark with... somethin’. 

The heave of his chest is prominent under the loose fabric of his unbuttoned shirt, white undershirt stretching taut over its broadness. He sucks down big, audible breaths to steady himself, face slack. Sam rests his hands over the silver longhorn buckle of his belt, pinkies tracing over the rough grooves to distract him from this churning in his stomach. It could just be the alcohol. He’s not been oblivious to the all the lingering touches and heated gazes these past few months working close together, but it could just be the alcohol. 

In the back of his head, he can almost feel the phantom sting of his momma slapping him there, warning him that you don’t shit where you eat and he’d be stupid to do what his body is screaming for him to. 

You’re the annoying girl that sent him sprawling into a cow patty, trained the dogs to circle him in the field and nip at his heels. You’re his boss’ daughter and his friend, an important one at that. 

You’re... somethin’ and when he’s with you the sky is bluer and the clouds make these funny shapes with resemblances the two of you never agree on. 

“Okay, okay, you got me,” Sam holds his arms up in surrender, rolled up sleeves unravelling on his forearms. 

It doesn’t stop your approach like he’d hoped it would. The longer this goes on, and the closer you get — he can feel hot breaths fanning over his face now, raising goosebumps beneath his stubble — the weaker his resolve gets. 

You’re right in front of him, warm hands squeezing his shoulders and a glint in your eyes that means trouble. “Do I win a prize, cowboy?”

Sam’s knees buckle just the slightest and it’s your hands wandering down the taut muscles at his sides that keep him standing. When you call him that he feels all weird inside, like any nickname before that was wrong and any after wouldn’t even register for him. 

A sharp hiss leaves Sam’s lips, jolting as a cool few fingers experimentally drift beneath the hem of his shirt, smoothing over his hot skin. He says your name in warning, low and pleading. 

“Sam...” you whisper, knocking his hat off with the tipping brim of your own, a pleading look of your own burning straight through him and settling in the erratic beat of his chest. He struggles to focus on anything other than your fingers splayed out on his torso, thumbs fiddling with the waistband of his boxers peaking out above his jeans, nails scratching just light enough to leave his skin crawling. 

God, what did you say? He can’t remember, clenching fists to avoid reaching out and touching you, all warm against him. And why is he even fighting it? 

Hesitantly, Sam places a calloused hand on your waist, squeezing softly when your nose rubs against his. 

His mouth falls open stupidly, eyes tightly held shut because he’s afraid if he opens them you’ll disappear and he’ll be passed out on the floor at home. He doesn’t know how long he’s been watching after you like he had earlier that day — a while now — but his gaze always seems to find you, same as the few good dreams he has nowadays. 

“I want you.”

“Shit,” Sam grumbles, slapping a hand over the back of your neck and crushing your lips to his. 

The clunk of your hat hitting the stable floor is like the starting shot of a frantic race of tongue and teeth. Sam scrambles to grab handfuls of whatever he can, pulling you closer by the belt loops of your jeans. Your hands curl around his shoulders and push his shirt off, as he pulls you up to straddle him. Sam’s hands shoves themselves down the back of your jeans, stuck between scratchy denim and the soft flesh of your ass. 

Your legs gets tangled with his along the bag of his thighs, the two of you stumbling around for balance. It’s found, of course, in the hay.

Sam’s never felt so desperate, so starved for touch that even with you in his arms it’s not enough. He craves more, wants more of you all the time. He wants you as a coworker, a friend, a lover. 

Everything you have to offer, he’ll take. 

On his back and staring up at you with pathetic, lovesick eyes, Sam blindly tugs off his shirt, distracted by the smooth expanse of skin you reveal to him in your own undressing. He leans forward to press kisses against the cups of your bra, palming at the flesh of your torso and along the ridges of your back, eyes black with hungry want. 

Something whiny joins the harsh breathing that fills the quiet barn and it takes a second for Sam to realize that it had come from him. You slanted your hips over his, slowly rutting the rough fronts of your jeans against each other and Sam can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed by his soft moans. 

“You can’t help it, huh?” you murmur against his lips, rocking back and forth over his groin, “My Cowboy, always watching me with those pretty brown eyes.”

Sam chokes out a wrecked moan, desperately gripping your biceps as you create a burning friction between you, weight bearing down on his hard dick. You’re riding him for all he’s worth and christ, he thinks he might just die. 

“So soft for me, right? Even when I’m being mean...”

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, your sweet tongue in his mouth maybe, but Sam has never been so utterly helpless. He doesn’t rightly know what to do with you, if there even is anything he can do. 

One particular roll of your hips has him quivering beneath you, reaching up to bring you down to his lips in a searing kiss. The grind has him seeing stars, crushing your shoulders in his hands as he fights back the rumbling burn in the base of his torso. Sam curses and you tut him, biting into his shoulder with a teasing smile, humming in appreciation as he stuffs his hands into the back pocket of your jeans and urges you on faster. 

Forward and back, a familiar rocking motion that he’s watched intently anytime the two of you ride out together, Sam’s a moaning mess. You drag your hot crotch against his again and again, he can hardly do anything but pant into your mouth as it presses little affectionate kisses.

“Please...” he begs.

You smile down at him, running your hands under his chin and pinching softly. He loves that smile, real soft and teasing, and just for him. Does whatever he can to draw that smile out. 

And then it’s a full out gallop, fast and hard down on his throbbing jean-covered cock and it’s too late before Sam realizes what’s about to happen. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he struggles to stop you, hands futile in their attempts to halt your hips. You don’t stop and the knowing glint in your eyes tells him you know exactly what it is you’re doing. It’s building, burning in his gut, thick thighs tensed, chasing after it in acquiescence. 

Sam comes with a shout, painting the crotch of his jeans dark and wet with cum. He lays an arm over his eyes, practically hyperventilating as you ease him down with a few slow rolls over him. 

“I-” Sam doesn’t know what to say. Is there anything to say? He’s embarrassed and in awe of himself, of you. “I promise that’s never happened before.”

“You’re somethin’ Sam Wilson,” there’s a laugh in your voice, but Sam doesn’t feel like it’s at him and what he views as his failings. You pat his still heaving chest with a satisfied smile, the thumb of your other hand tapping lightly over his plump bottom lip. 

Sam grins, relieved that you’re still you. Understanding where it counts and a real fucking ball buster. Literally. 

“Not that I don’t love a good roll in the hay as much as the next guy... but, let’s do dinner before next time?” He’s a bit shy in his asking, focused on where his thumb traces the skin you your thigh still splayed out over his. 

You smile and nod, biting your lip and Sam’s a goner if it wasn’t already abundantly clear, “Gotta make it up to me somehow.”

Sam groans and throws you off of him, dipping you into a pile of hay he’s glad you disappear in. 

-

[angelicichor]

As a request... What about Thomas and his wifey who both have breeding kinks trying, getting preggers, then having twins or something? Fuck this is actually probably way too specific so if you want, you can cut some shit out. Except that double breeding kink. I love that hc that Tommy has that kink but I never see anything with his woman having one too and i'd like to change that. That's my new years thing. Tommy and Wife both have breeding kink!

You two need to meet up and talk about this very important topic.Also tbh all the thirst for Bubbsy and Tommy? I’m living for it. Big boys need love and affection. 

With this again a female reader.

N//SF//W

Double Breeding Kink

Thomas Hewitt:

♥ There’s a certain aura to Thomas, something in the way the moves, how he smells, you’re not sure, but you know whatever it is, it makes your heart tremble whenever he’s near you.

♥ It’s a very primal feeling, something that makes you embarrassed just to think about it, the way your body craves his touch, affection, his kissing, gripping and biting, you love when your body is covered by his marks, but you can’t bring yourself to admitting it to him.

♥ But it’s never enough, your body screams for you to be close to him, to be touched by him, harder, tighter, closer, so it can absorb that warm that radiates from him, but it’s just not enough.

♥ And it didn’t escape your notice that the same fervor appeared in his movements not long ago. His body seems tenser around you, his touch is way more possessive, grabbing at your hips, abdomen, nuzzling into your neck and letting the leather of his mask to bend into your skin, so he can leave small bite marks on you throughout the day. 

♥ He brings your hands to his face and chest more often, lets them stay in his hair just a bit longer when making love to you, letting you pull him in, so he can loom above you, his dark eyes piercing yours with an unnamed hunger. 

♥ And sometimes he’d be too late to pull out and there was a rush of blood in your head whenever you’d feel him come in you.

♥ Then it clicked, when Thomas was kneeling in front of you, kissing you all the way from your inner tight to your abdomen, stopping, to look at your blushing face and giving you a warm, loving smile, the mask usually covering his disfigured, handsome face long gone.

♥ You wanted him to fuck you, to make you truly his, to dominate you.

♥ And that realization only deepened once your hands slid under his chin, bringing him up, feeling the weight of his body bending the mattress, making you dip, lay below him and absorb the beauty of his body, the pure masculinity it possessed, the power inside.

♥ And you realized - You want his cum to fill your insides, to make you so full it hurts. You wanted him to breed you.

♥“Thomas…” you whispered his name, pulling his face close to yours, kissing the scars on his cheeks, making him sigh under your loving touch. “Thomas. I want…” you hesitated, your cheeks burning a bright red color as you processed what you were about to say, his head tilting to the side slightly with a loving half-smile spread on his face.

♥“I want… your babies.” you whimpered, feeling a shiver run through your spine, as you avoided his gaze, his reaction, ashamed of your own needs. “I-I want you to… to fill me with your come…” you added, pulling your legs up, your body contradicting what you said and thought.

♥ You heard a heavy breath above you and gathering all the courage you could, to look up. And when you did your breath stopped.

♥ You’ve seen him horny before and it’s always quite a sight to behold, but this? 

♥ His chest was heaving with heated breaths, his addam’s apple bobbing with every breath, jaw clenching in a swallow, mouth stuck in a warm smile, but eyes fully focused on you, eating you alive with that predatory stare, his whole body tensing above you as he lowered himself, strands of his hair tickling your face, but almost unnoticeable. 

♥ He’d look at you hungrily before, but now… he was absolutely ravenous.

♥ And to confirm that his mouth slammed into yours in a heated kiss, his tongue quickly overtaking yours, stealing your breath with each repeat.

♥ His hands quickly grabbed the hem of your shorts, ripping them of you in one swift movement, making the buttons pop and it hurt slightly, but you couldn’t protest when one of his hands rubbed against your entrance with quick, impatient motions, the other one sliding under your T-shirt and ripping the clips of your bra. He didn’t want to wait for any stupid bullshit like taking clothes off. 

♥ Your panties were the next to go and once the soft cotton was ripped, he finally parted from you, letting you breathe, your dizzy head lolling back into the bed, unable to focus for a moment.

♥ Just long enough for him to move down and rise your lower half on his shoulders, bringing your wetness to his mouth, giving your cunt one, long stride of his tongue, that pulled you to attention, your elbows pressed firmly into the bed, to keep yourself steady in the new position, your back barely staying on the mattress.

♥ Tommy wasn’t usually the one to enjoy giving you oral, but the way his tongue traced your entrance, drawing painfully slow lines and then replacing them with softer and quicker kisses and sucks made your head spin, it was a shame he didn’t like doing it more often, because damn was that tongue strong, pushing your walls open and drawing sweet moans out of your mouth. 

♥ He wished he could just tell you how happy he was to hear your request, but with his voice only allowing him to occasionally spurt some simple words, the only way he could convey his emotion was pleasing you and he was aware how much you loved him eating you out and with this position your brain quickly turned fuzzy.

♥ Seeing your face redden with dizziness he allowed you to fall slightly onto the bed, not moving his head away from your needy heat, but instead removing one of his hands from your waist to undo his best, pulling his hardened member out of it’s constraints, where it was already struggling for some time. 

♥ You rose to your elbows, giving him a half-aware gaze, whimpering when you saw the pace with which he stroked his length and you realized just how much trouble you were in for what you said to him, but your heart burned with love knowing that his needs were the same as yours and your let your upper part relax, clenching to the white sheets below you with a blessed smile, while your lower part submitted to Thomas’ tongue and mouth, legs twitching in delight.

♥ And when he finally rose, licking his mouth of your juices with a cocky smile, you trembled, taking in his shirtless body, the way his muscles bulged when he breathed, the curling hair coming from his abdomen all the way to his chest, covering it beautifully, but not too thickly, and even the scars on his front seemed alluring to you, reminding you of what he was, what he did and now looking at him you felt as powerless against his touch as his victims were, the only difference being - you loved this feeling. 

♥ The bed creaked as his hands pressed against both sides of your head and following his body your legs rose to his hips, pulling them closer, your heat begging to feel him inside.

♥ A gasp, a shudder as he slid into you effortlessly, making you fell full, strained, even, feeling him bottoming out, each twitch and pulse of his dick making you whimper and he brushed your hair aside to kiss your forehead, before starting to move.

♥ But only the first time was this gentle, his hips swaying you calmly, his eyes taking in your beauty, and you - his. Neither of you spoke this time, letting your bodies and heart do the work, building up a slowly rising knot inside you that was almost soothing. You only picked up pace after you came, Thomas following you shortly, his last movements stuttering and you felt in heaven when he came in you, but didn’t pull out, still grinding inside you slowly, letting the tension come back to him.

♥ And with the second round you knew there was no more going back, as he bit into your throat, sucking on the flesh, leaving a bright pink mark that would later turn purple, then pushing your legs further apart as he moved closer, forcing you to be slightly lifted and thrusted into you almost brutally, keeping that quick, rough pace you knew and loved, making you moan, scream his name into his lips on yours, shaking your whole body and it hurt, but didn’t at the same time.

♥ His left hand found your clit and rubbed it eagerly, sending a shock through your whole body that forced your chest against his and he growled in content, pushing you down and giving you a devious smirk which you returned with your loving one, letting him force you into another orgasm, so much stronger than the first one. 

♥ And you knew this was going to be a long night.

♥ At some point you lost count how many times you’ve reached your peak compared to him, but when he finally pulled out of you, you couldn’t be more happy, feeling his thick seed spilling out of you as he pulled you in closer, both of you exhausted. 

♥ Still, he pinched your side, making you yelp and with a hearthy but quiet laugh he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, whispering one, sweet word:

♥“Mine.”

Bubba Sawyer:

♥ Bubba wanted something from you.

♥ You could tell as much by the way he’s been circling you the whole day and you realized what it was when you’ve been wiping your hands into a towel in the kitchen after just having washed the dishes. 

♥ That was when his huge arms came from behind you and locked you in front of the kitchen counter, the weight of his body making you bend slightly onto it and you heard his whimper with his forehead resting on your shoulder, drilling into it softly.

♥ You moved back slightly, wanting to turn around to hug this poor boy, who seemed to need your affection.

♥ But then your butt touched his pants.

♥ And you gasped.

♥ Your cheeks turned red, realizing that the attention he was craving wasn’t the usual innocent one, but something more... adult.

♥ And he confirmed, his hips rutting against your side, pressing you further onto the wooden surface, bending you over slightly, whimpering softly against you, begging you to return his touch in his own way, his hands covering yours, careful not to crush them and your mind wandered at their size and warm roughness.

♥ The others were gone for tonight, both of you knew that, but there was still work to be done before they returned and you didn’t want to get into another argument with Drayton, but...

♥ But your body screamed at you to accept this huge man behind you, kissing your neck in a soft, pleading manner, melting your heart and making your insides twitch with his hips, his erection pressed hard against your ass, and you could tell it was a bad one just by the way it hurt slightly whenever he ground. 

♥ And you knew you couldn’t resist him today.

♥ “You’re being naughty, you know that?” you sighed, pressing harder against him, a shudder running through his body to his hands, that closed around yours, forcing your fingers to curl into your palm. “So everybody’s gone and you think you can just do me in the kitchen?” he whimpered at your accusation, resting his head on your shoulder and you could feel the way the heavy butcher’s muscles tensed on your back. Bubba was fatter, that’s true, but under that there was solid muscle, gained with years of hard work and you adored how powerful it felt, contrasting his gentle nature. 

♥ “Well...” you tried to move your hands up and he let you, but not without a soft whine. You brought them back to your skirt. “Maybe you can...” A quiet chuckle purred in your throat as your fingers digged into your skirt, catching the underwear too and with only a bit of hesitation and embarrassment you bared your rear to the masked giant.

♥ His reaction was almost instantaneous, pushing his own pants down and throwing his apron away in a rush before pressing on your back with more power, his erection pressing along your pussy, caught between your thighs and you shuddered at the heat coming from it.

♥ “Someone’s excited.” you laughed and he nodded eagerly, rutting against your slick, forcing you even more forward onto the counter, as he shifted to rest on his elbows, letting you lie down on your arms, enjoying the not so subtle foreplay, biting your lip at his tip brushing against your clit. 

♥ It didn’t take long for both of you to be wet, panting messes, your nails digging into his forearms, trying to control your shaking hips and to keep yourself from hitting the wood with your hip bones as he messed up your tights with his pre-cum and your dripping heat. You pressed the back of your head against his chest and for a second he stopped, pulling back, reading your body, letting your hand pull one of your ass-cheeks apart for him and babbling at your invitation he aligned his cock and slid right inside you, letting you return to your previous position, before starting to move inside you.

♥ The feeling of his thickness inside you made your whole body burn with new found passion and with each thrust you could feel your legs giving in slightly, but feeling that he wrapped one of his arms around your middle, keeping you in place as he pumped your insides, earning himself your sweet moans and whimpers.

♥ You were actually surprised by how long he held out, before you felt his cock throbbing inside you anxiously and you could feel your lust taking over, just this once it would be okay, right? It would be fine to just... let go, right?

♥ “Bubba, sweetie...” your sentence was cut for a moment because of a rougher thrust, he did love when you called his name. “Come inside me, baby, oh, please!” You wanted to be calm but his fast pace wouldn’t let you. “Please, fill me with your cum, sweetheart!” you cried, letting your head fall onto your forearms, loosing your voice to your own panting breath and moaning. 

♥ And you could swear he’d gotten even harder, but that couldn’t be, could it?

♥ Except you knew it could the moment he hit your pelvis, sending a wave of shock over your body, pain mixed with pleasure, scream leaving your lips.

♥  Luckily for you it was a one-time accident, his hurried kisses assured you so as he came deep inside you, making you feel even more full with his thick load.

♥ You sighed in absolute bliss feeling him spill inside you and sadness at the thought you would soon be feeling empty again.

♥ Except it took him exceptionally long to pull out.

♥ And with another thrust you realized.

♥ Oh, he’s into this too...

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 7

When Nelly opened her eyes, she couldn’t remember what day it was, what time it was, or most of all where she was. The bed sheets smelled like a man. Buster. She sat straight up, hardly noticing the clanging in her head.

She scrambled to the edge of the bed and tried to tear off the sheets that were twisted around her middle. She saw as she swung her legs over the side of the bed that her dress and girdle had ridden up around her waist, but she was still wearing her cami knickers. Whatever had occurred last night had not apparently involved their disposal. 

A wave of nausea and dizziness seized her before she was able to stand up. Her head ached so badly that she ran her hands over it, suspecting that she’d fallen and hit it. The exterior was intact, but the interior … It was in agony. Her very brains felt hot and swollen. 

“Hello?” she said. The suite seemed empty, but she couldn’t be sure. “Hello?”

When no answer came, she reached for the half-full glass of water on the nightstand and drained it. She had a raging thirst and scanned for the bathroom so she could fill the glass again and relieve herself. She had to pee like a racehorse. She got up and was forced to hobble on her way to the en-suite. Her misadventures had led to one thing at least: a twisted ankle. She remembered a phonograph and a rolicking jazz tune that made her feel the lightest and gayest and youngest she’d ever felt in her life. She remembered Tommy now, how good-looking he’d been. She remembered dancing for what seemed like hours. She was in such a good mood that she’d even danced with the men who weren’t handsome. She groaned at the memory of the other men as she relieved herself.

There was water in the round basin at the bottom of the skeletal shower and the bathroom felt slightly humid. A towel hanging on the bar confirmed that Buster had come and gone.

At least she thought it was Buster. That part she remembered too. Vomiting her guts out and Buster Keaton squatting opposite her in his white undergarments … doing what? It was fuzzy. She vaguely recalled a desire for a pillow, but he must not have given one to her because she woke up in the bed. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten from the blind tiger to the hotel room. She tried and failed. It was a big black spot, a blight on a reel of film. Buster had not been at the blind tiger as far as she remembered. 

At the sink, she drank four glasses of water total, then rinsed her sour mouth. Her face was pale and haggard in the mirror. She looked about twenty years older. Suddenly, her heart hammered at an alarming thought. It wasn’t Sunday, it was Saturday. What had made her think it was Sunday? They were filming today! She was hours late. 

Her eyes scanned around the bedroom for a clock. She spotted one on the mantel and rushed to it. A quarter to noon. 

“Damn!” 

She ran into the adjoining salon, hoping to at least find her handbag. She did, half-spilled on one of the seemingly dozens of ornate chairs that dotted the room. The handbag held no powder or rouge, but at least it had lipstick and her tin of mascara. She dashed back to the bathroom to apply it. Her hair was another story. There was no hairbrush in the handbag, just a small backcomb that was impotent against the rat’s nest of tangles confronting her. She was out of bobby pins. Her dress was wrinkled and covered in lint, not to mention that she stank of sweat and stale booze. She would have to go back to 22nd Street unless she wanted to get fired on the spot for improper dress. Also, her stockings were nowhere to be found. She looked on the chairs in the salon, underneath the bed, on the mantel, and in the sheets and bedspread. Nothing. She even peeked, blushing, in Buster’s closet and his bureau drawers. She did find a sterling silver men’s hairbrush on the bureau. She also discovered a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet and washed down four capsules without a second thought. 

As she considered the sterling silver hairbrush, she felt guilty. It was expensive and she didn’t want to get it clotted up with her long hair. Promising herself she’d use her own comb to clean it afterwards, she sat on the bed trying to get the tangles out. The hairbrush smelled like Brilliantine. It seemed important not to be seen wandering the halls of the prestigious Hotel Senator with the unbrushed hair of one of Macbeth’s witches. Maybe she could call and have some bobby pins brought up—but that would alert hotel staff to the fact that there was a Girl in Buster’s Room. From her first encounter with him in his dressing room, it was clear that he had dalliances, but she wasn’t sure how discreet they were. For all she knew, an enterprising maid might sell a story to the papers for some extra money at the first opportunity. She brushed her hair and tried not to think of how terrible her head felt. 

Her situation went from bad to worse when a doorknob rattled in the salon. Of course. The staff tidied the suite every day. She considered hiding under the bed, but it was too late. From her position, she watched an arm come through the door, shortly followed by a leg, shortly followed by Buster himself. 

Of all the things she might have expected to come out of his mouth when he saw her, it wasn’t, “You’re awake.”

Before she had a chance to do much other than stammer a response, he was in the bedroom. He took off his jacket and hung it in the wardrobe, saying, “How do you feel? Feel like eating?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling rather weak and desperate. 

“I’ll order sandwiches and coffee. You look like you could use some coffee.”

As soon as he’d exited the room, she frantically pulled the strands of her hair out of his brush and padded to the bureau to return it. Job accomplished, she sat on the sofa rather than the bed, noticing for the first time that there was a rumpled sheet draped over the back and a pillow lying on one end. From them, she deduced that she had run Buster out of his own bed. 

“Relax,” said Buster, appearing in the doorway and startling her. 

“Am I fired?” she said, looking over at him. 

He looked surprised. “Fired?” A half-smile played on his lips as he realized what she was driving at. “Oh, for being young and silly and frivolous? No.”

“I am terribly sorry for last night,” she said soberly. “I kicked you out of your bed and you—when I threw up, you—”

He waved her off. “Don’t worry about it.” As if he’d peered into her mind that very second, he added, “Nothing happened between us, don’t worry about that either. Why’s your hair look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Brushed on only the one side.”

“I don’t have a hairbrush in my bag.”

He squinted, clearly confused. “How’d you get half of it brushed then?”

She flushed what she could only assume was a violent red. “I borrowed your hairbrush.”

“But you only brushed half?”

She was going to die of mortification right here in Buster Keaton’s hotel room. That’s how she was going to go, rest in peace Nelly Foster. “I didn’t want you to know I’d used it, when you came in just now. I hadn’t asked permission.”

He cocked an eyebrow. He strode over to the bureau, then to her, and dropped the hairbrush in her lap. “All yours,” he said. 

“Thank you. Do you think,” she said, not meeting his eyes, “you could have some bobby pins brought up?”

“Sure. Need anything else?”

She shook her head. “I’m just going to go back to my room to change before I head over to the set.”

He sat on the foot of the bed. “You’re not going to the set today, you’re going to rest. How far away is your room?”

She thought. “A mile, a mile-and-a-half? 1911 22nd Street. I didn’t mention it last night?” 

Buster grinned. Nelly had seen him smile, but never up close and never with full teeth. His teeth were very straight on top and he had a dimple in his right cheek. She was keenly aware in that moment of how extraordinary it was that she had ended up in the bedroom of Buster Keaton’s hotel suite, never mind that her methods were nothing short of disgraceful.

“You mentioned a lot last night, but I couldn’t get that address out of you to save my life.”

“Oh no,” she said, her stomach sinking. She shielded her face with her hand.

“You’re a lot of fun.” He stood up and squeezed her shoulder on his way out of the room. “I’m going to call for those bobby pins.”

As he used the telephone, she hastily brushed out the rest of the tangles, swiped her hair from the bristles, and set the brush on the nightstand next to the bottle of aspirin. Pretty soon there was a knock at the hotel door and she ducked into the bathroom, partly to relieve herself again, mostly to hide from whoever was delivering lunch. She looked in the mirror, tried for a moment to make her hair and her face more presentable, but gave up. The lipstick and mascara would have to do. She also gave her teeth a hasty brush with a finger and Buster’s toothpaste.

Feeling shy, she stepped into the salon where a silver tray sat on a cart. “Sit down,” said Buster. He handed her a small plate that held a chicken sandwich. “There’s soup here too. Something asparagus, I think.”

Nelly took a bite of the sandwich and found that she was ravenous. The sandwich gave her an excuse not to talk. As she ate, she considered how she would politely remove herself from Buster’s company and sneak away before he changed his mind about not canning her. Her bare legs made her self-conscious and she tucked them under her on the chair as she ate. The silence didn’t seem to bother Buster. He dipped his sandwich in his soup and ate, glancing at her once and awhile.

“I can’t find my stockings,” she said, after she’d finished her sandwich. “Do you know where I put them?”

“You threw them out the window.”

“I what?” she said, not sure she’d heard right. 

“Of my car.” Buster blinked without expression, the famous frozen face she knew so well from pictures.

She was bewildered. “I don’t remember that.”

“You were hot,” he said, with a small shrug. “By the way, I noticed the ankle.” He gestured. “You should ice it when you get back to your room.”

“I don’t remember turning it,” she confessed. 

“What do you remember?” he said, his eyes probing hers.

She told him about drinking and dancing in the blind tiger. She also told him about the gap in her memory between dancing and winding up on his bathroom floor. “I am really, terribly sorry about that,” she said again. More of the incident had come back to her and she remembered how he’d dragged her into the bathroom and held her hair back as she vomited. 

He waved her off. “I’ve seen worse. I want to talk to you about something serious for a moment, though.”

A hot-cold rush of dread ran through her insides at his words, but she kept her hands steady on her cup of coffee and tried to make her face cool and calm. 

Buster finished the rest of a second sandwich, dabbed at his lips with a napkin, and put the plate on the bottom of the cart. “You know that tall man, the one with the blonde hair?” He paused, looking at her.

“Tommy,” she said. Why she should feel so guilty about Tommy, she didn’t know, but under Buster’s gaze she somehow learned that consorting with him was a horrible mistake.

“Is that his name? Well anyway, I’ve fired him. If he ever comes around again to bother you, come straight to me.”

She must have looked as puzzled as she felt, because he went on. 

“When I walked into that speak-easy last night, they were trying to get you into a room with them. A whole gang of them, and he was the ringleader.”

She was horrified beyond words. Tears filmed her eyes, but she blinked them back. On top of the spectacle she’d made of herself the previous night, she was not going to cry in front of him.  “I don’t remember that at all,” she said, her voice feeling weak.

“I know you don’t.” He reached over and laid a hand on her knee for a moment. “They got you as drunk as possible for that very reason. Just be careful from now on, okay? Take a few girlfriends when you go out.” He withdrew his hand. “Here.” He took a red box out of his pocket and handed it to her. It was decorated in violets and labeled INVISIBLE HAIR PINS. “Do your hair up and I’ll drop you by your room before I go back to the set.”

Back in the bathroom with Buster’s brush, she saw she no longer needed rouge. Her cheeks were in a high flush now, partly from the effects of last night’s imbibing, partly from their conversation. There was no crimping iron to be found, so she made do with a hasty chignon, patting down the flyaways with Buster’s Brilliantine afterwards.

“Ready?” he said, when she returned to the salon.

She felt hot and ashamed walking through the halls of the Senator and down the stairs next to him, but he didn’t seem to care if they were spotted together. She kept her eyes on her feet as much as possible. Even though they hadn’t slept together, no one in the hotel knew that. No one in the hotel knew either that she’d almost been raped by a gang of men last night, but all the same it felt like she was wearing a scarlet letter. 

They waited in silence outside the grand hotel doors for the valet to bring Buster’s car around. He didn’t seem to have anything to say and she was too mortified to make small talk. When the green Duesenberge rolled up and the valet exited, Buster held open the passenger door for her. She assumed it must have been the car she’d ridden in last night, but her only memory of it was from the parking lot in River Junction. She sat beside Buster in silence as he took a right on J Street. When they had come to Joe and Maggie’s house, he went around to the door and helped her down from the car.

“Don't look so glum,” he said, before he let go of her hand. “Everything’s okay. And ice that ankle as soon as you get in, hear?”

[urmomification]

SWAG ANOTHER DREAM SMP AU FIC IDEA THAT ILL NEVER WRITE POG

this is a very long post please im so sorry my brain it just

(tw for like slight possession n shit)

(sorry its all jumbled i write all of these in discord to my friend and copy paste them here please if u have questions ask me im always willing to talk abt this shit please it haunts me)

(context: i saw a tiktok abt the hc that both dream and techno are gods of some sort bc theyre mentioned in the tales of the smp by karl a time traveller and my brain just ran w it)

going back to the techno and dream are gods thing right so dream is a vessel for the god dream xd (??? work in progress youll know what im talking about at some point its really funny tho uve def seen clips of it) and he was possessed?? by the god after the server started (when he started going from super friendly with everyone to control/power hungry) when he started sacrificing everything for power so no one could have power over him? that was the god making him do it bc the god was terrified of not being in control since theyd lost it all to techno in their past. thats why we never see dream and techno fight and why we see dream extend help and support to him at times as well as respecting his boundaries and such bc theyre scared of techno (again w the best of 10 duel reference, techno killed the god in a past life which is why the god has been forced to use a human vessel to get anything done on the mortal plane) but when something that powerful spends pretty much any amount of time in something mortal and mundane like a person, the host body starts to change (hence the mask) i like to think that the god would be akin to that of a biblically correct angel?? like the ones w multiple eyes n shit yk so after time things start to happen to normal dreams body he gets extra sets of eyes and he gets taller and overall his body seems just Too Small for whatevers inside of him and thats why he (hc) started wearing the mask in the first place he knew something was wrong w him but he didnt want anyone to know even tho they would most likely help him he was ashamed that he was different in the first place so he started wearing the mask once the other eyes showed up. and i think that the god would talk to dream similarly to how technos voices work yk? except its just the one voice instead of many many small ones. and again with the mask thing when he lost to tommy and they took him in, part of his mask broke to the point where u could see just a bit of the right side of his face but enough to see that it Wasnt Right there were two eyes where there shouldve been one and spots on his cheeks bright enough to resemble stars and where the color of his pupil should have been is just a sickeningly neon green with nothing else behind it. so they let him keep the mask even tho they already know something is wrong but it clearly makes him Very Distressed when asked to remove the mask or told to give it up. blah blah blah god harassing its host bc it got them caught and thrown in a prison and dream goes ever so slightly insane having to share a mind and body with a literal ancient god w a vendetta against everything hes built whos forced him to sacrifice everything he loved and cared for out of fear yk the usual prison shit and then techno comes a long and breaks him out or whatever but on their way back to his house he drops a really cryptic line abt how 'its nice to see an old friend again' and 'i thought i got rid of u for good last time' and dream is just ???? what are u talking about?? weve never been friends and youve never gotten rid of me? what. until techno spins around and just 'im not talking to you im talking to the thing inside u' or whatever and dreams eyes flash some brilliant gold or sumn and boom this is ur fellow god speaking how may i help you and dream xd (that feels so wrong to say but) and techno bond or well ig just talk abt how the past centuries have gone and ig while xd is fronting (??? i think itd kinda be like DID in a sense w multiple people being able to front yk?) dream is in a sort of semi conscious state but still hears everything going on around his own body until hes thrown back into the drivers seat (i think that xd would only be able to front for short periods of time due to the vessel n shit that makes sense right) and hes so confused someone please help him hes just a dude who happened to get possessed by a god someone help him so when they finally get back to technos house he sits dream down and explains the best he can without literally melting dreams brain. which would also play into the 'technoblade never dies' bc hes. literally a god. mortals cant kill him unless they have idk some sort of super weapon idk and blah blah blah xd gets what they want and finally has the ability to leave finally leaving dream literally the shell of a man with no home friends materials or anything with techno to basically take care of him until he reaches some semblance of stability again (which would take ages, realistically (wdym realistically) going from normal, to a god sharing a body with you and speaking in you brain living as a single being together and hearing their thoughts, to back to normal but with all the memories of what you did and what they made you do and also no more god speaking in ur head it would take a hot sec to recover from) so he lives with techno (whos, not to mention, another god) for a while until he can fend for himself again and after a good year or so passes and no one hears from dream they start to look for him and see what happened bc he went from the biggest threat on the server to just. gone. no one knows where he went after whatever he did and they want closure. is he dead?? who knows. so george and sap set out looking for him and decide to ask techno for help since hes good w directions n shit also he was the last person to see dream alive so he might have an idea of where he is and they walk up to his house and knock on his door and techno opens it and just stares at them he knows who they are, dreams talked about them before but hes never met them really so he talks to them, getting through the polite hellos how are yous before sap finally asks 'do you know what happened to dream? no one knows where he went and we just want closure' techno huffs and tells them to wait there he (this is the basement door im using his arctic tundra house in my head) goes down the ladder to the second basement, they can hear him talking to multiple people (ranboo phil dream) but cant tell who everyone is before coming back up the ladder, back to the door. he tells them to wait outside he needs to get something first (its dream hes getting dream) theyre standing out by carls stable when the door creaks open and dream steps out looking around for who the fuck could possibly be looking for them he betrayed everyone and most people thought he was dead who could possibly be here asking for himself and not ranboo or philza and when he steps out, his green hoodie (memento made by ranboo to help him cope w the loss of the voice in his head) catching the morning light off the snow and he was happy and then he saw them standing by the house hed grown to call home at least for now he breaks. he missed them so so much it hurt. he never expected to see them ever again much less them come looking to see him but hes scared he realizes he doesnt know what to say there is nothing to say he fucked them all over he ruined everything and then hes being hugged. they missed him too. they dont forgive him jsut yet but they missed him and thats enough for him right now. the three of them stand there just being in each others presences and techno creaks the door open to make sure they arent trying to kill each other and sighs and leans against the frame smiling. hes happy again and thats the best he can do for him. he invites them all in and offers to explain everything to them to try and ease the blame off of dream bc in all honesty it was his fault but xd made it far far worse that it should have been (a bit late but foot note abt xd i think that they would be an idle god until someone w intense feelings of powerlessness and insecurity like awoke them from their techno induced slumber and inhabited dream to help him fulfill his desires for power and control) and by the time he and dream are finished its late at night and sap and george are ??? so u were possessed by a god who techno killed centuries ago in a duel and it amplified ur feelings of insecurity and ur thirst for control to the point of isolating urself from us and destroying everything everyone cared abt?? also technos an ancient god who lusts for bloodshed but also makes turtle farms in his free time?? are we getting this right????? and techno and dream are just yea thats abt it glad this all made sense then they all go to bed (its a small house dream has a lil shack like ranboos and sap and george somehow slept over there for the night) and in the morning sap and george leave again but promise to come back, they still arent ready to forgive and forget bc even tho it wasnt all his fault his emotions getting away from him is what caused this all in the first place so they do need time to process now that they know he isnt dead and dream continues to live near techno in almost full independence and eventually moves back with his friends even tho many still hate him. hes happy and for now thats enough. another foot note; even after xd leaves his being, he still has the extra eyes, glowy freckles n is xtra tall n shit that cant just be reversed but now that hes himself again these things take their tolls on human bodies so i think hed have something at least similar to arthritis bc of how his bones were literally manipulated bc of how strong ethereal magic or whatever is. so he would still wear the broken mask but he takes it off now and is ok with it being off hes working on getting better now that hes himself again and everyone living w/by techno is helping him with that. also i think that he would get blinks of xd's memories like from when techno was killing them and have sumn like ptsd panic attacks from it and techno feels super guilty abt it but theres literally nothing he can do except apologize and after the first few times dream stopped him from apologizing bc it is his fault but he didnt do it to him so it doesnt matter to dream at least and they live in pretty much harmony until dream finally moves back in w george and sap the end. he also started wearing the mask in the first place bc of the extra eyes but he played it off as being uncomfortable around new people and not wanting them to know what he looked like until he trusted them (bc that literally makes sense irl how funky is that) so sap and george never pushed him and when they caught him without it on on the rare occasion they wouldnt pressure him to leave it off or anything even tho they already knew what he looked like (when they respect ur boundaries </3) they just assumed that it was insecurity (it was but also mans had like 3 eyes so) and just left him alone

[visforvengeance]

Exit music (for a film)

Ｂｉｌｌｙ Ｈａｒｇｒｏｖｅ

Requested by: no one ;)

Notes: hello. here is something i’ve been working on since s3. it was originally called we hope that you choke. but i changed it literally 3 minutes ago. it’s going to be in chapters bc i couldn’t figure out how to write everything without making it an 8,000 word fic😬. the upside down doesn’t exist in this. el doesn’t have powers. ahem hopper and billie don’t die. i thought this song would fit perfectly with billy considering his dad is pretty shit. i’m procrastinating on wdywmts. i’m so sorry. i have a justin foley fic. do y’all want that shit?

Warnings: none in this chapter. i mean cursing? and vulgar language. steve being a dick. billy is maybe out of character. slight mentions of death and daddy issues.

word count: 2,072

Y/n’s POV

“Have you seen the new kid? He’s so hot! Ugh! Look at that hair!” My friend, Genesis, gushed as he walked by. He was hot, but he looked like trouble. And it was annoying how every girl swooned over him. Looks like Steve Harrington has some competition this year. “Gen, don’t you have a boyfriend?” I questioned. She rolled her green eyes and scoffed. “Alex and I are on a break, thank you very much.” I laughed at her faux annoyance.

I closed my locker door and leaned against it. “He isn’t even that hot. He’s already flirting with girls and it’s literally his first day.” Genesis hit my arm. “Can you blame him? Look at him. God, his chest is so mint! I’d give anything to get a piece of that.” I shook my head at how much my friend was thirsting over him. “Jesus, Gen. Can you keep it in your pants? You don’t even know his name.” She smirked and looked at me. “Billy Hargrove.” God, even his name sounded like he’d be a womanizer.

“I’m not even going to ask how you know that. And keep your dirty comments to yourself, Genesis.” The red-haired girl slammed her locker shut. And we began walking to first period. “Oh, don’t be such a prude, Y/N! Ever since you broke up with Steve, you’ve been a complete betty!” I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “No, I haven’t! I just don’t care for boys anymore. They’re stupid and gross.”

“Yeah, since you got your heart broken. Come on! It’s time to show him what he’s missing. Have you seen your body recently? Boys have been tripping over their feet staring at you. You just won’t give them the time of day.” Blah blah blah. She just had to bring up repressed memories of a certain tragedy.

Steve had called me over to attend the end of the year party he was having. His parents weren’t home, so he had a shit ton of alcohol for everyone. When I entered the door, I was greeted by loud music and drunken teens. I wove my way through the crowd and stood by Steve. He’d noticed me and pecked my cheek, “Hey, babe. You made it.” He sounded surprised. “I mean, yeah? Why do you sound so surprised?” He was a little drunk, so he tripped over his words a bit.

“U-usually you never come. Too busy doing your homework or whatever excuse you tell me.” Tommy H. appeared and forced his way into the conversation. “Nah, she’s too busy being a prude. Are you a virgin, Y/N? Steve usually tells me about all the girls he’s fucked, but you? He’s never even mentioned.” Before I had a chance to defend myself, Carol butted in.

“No way she’s a virgin. I heard she had a thing going on with that creep, Johnathan Byers. How’d you take it, Y/N? In the ass? Or did he pop your sweet cherry?” Steve laughed as Tommy and Carol taunted me. I scoffed. “None of your business, dipshits. And seriously, Steve? I’ve been to every one of your stupid parties. You just choose to ignore me. Like you do in school, you cast me aside. Am I not popular enough for you? Is that it? Or are you too busy ogling Nancy Wheeler?” His face scrunched in confusion. “Woah, woah, woah. Are you okay? You’re going a bit psycho. It’s not my fault no one likes you.” I scoffed at Steve’s drunken words. Of course, he’d say something like this.

The next day, Steve found out about what he had said. He tried to explain why he said what he said, but never said he was sorry and that it wasn’t true. I broke it off with him.

I shook my head, pushing the thoughts out of my mind. “I’d rather not. And what makes you think he’d go for me anyway? I don’t seem like his type.” Genesis filled the halls with laughter. “He’s been staring at you since he walked into the classroom. And not to mention, he’s coming over to you now!” What? I turned to his direction and followed until he was standing next to the desk beside me.

“Is this seat taken?” I think I underestimated his attractiveness. He was insanely hot. “U-uh no.” I stuttered out an answer. He nodded and smirked. It was science class and my partner had moved to another state. You know what that means? He’ll most likely be my partner. I don’t think I'm stable enough to handle this.

The next 60 minutes were filled with uninterested and forced conversations about physics and whether I was single or not. Thank god for the bell. Before Billy could say another thing, I rushed out of the classroom and stood by my locker, waiting for Genesis. She looked annoyed as she approached me. “Why the hell did you run off? He was obviously into you.”

I rolled my eyes as she lectured me about the blue-eyed boy’s interest in me. “I don’t want to be the first of girls who he has fucked over. I’ve had enough of that with Steve.” She frowned at my tragic outburst. “You never know! He might be different. Looks CAN be deceiving, Y/N. You have to give him a chance. It’s my dying wish!” Genesis dramatically placed her hands on her heart and head. When I deadpanned, she straightened her posture. “Come on. You don’t even have to go all the way. Just be nice to him.”

I sighed an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Fine! I’ll be nice to him. But as soon as he shows signs that he’s up to no good, I am dropping it.” Genesis excitedly jumped up and down, trapping me in a hug. “Yes! That’s all I’m asking. I just know you won’t regret it.” She declared as she wiggled her eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

Billy had shown up in my next class, and also decided to take a seat next to me. Causing a student to angrily walk to the back of the class, while she shot daggers at me as we talked. He looked at me and smiled. While the teacher taught, he started talking to me. “Hey.” Remembering what Genesis said, I turned and smiled at him. “Hi.” His eyes displayed shock, but his body remained cool. “So, you’re talking to me now?” I laughed and nodded. “I’m glad I didn’t give up on you, then.” “Hm, I’m glad too.”

We talked for majority of second period. He was quite interesting and he had a gorgeous smile. I learned that he came from California and had a sister. He made it his job to walk me to my locker and carry on the conversation we had for three periods now. As we were walking, Genesis’ ginger curls came into view as did my locker. She saw us and her eyes went wide with surprise.

I introduced the two people as I opened my locker. “Billy, this is my best friend, Genesis. Genesis, this is my new friend, Billy.” He turned to Gen and greeted her by taking her hand and placing a chaste kiss on the back of it. “Pleasure to meet you, Genesis.” My friend was astonished, as she bowed. “The pleasure is all mine.” I rolled my eyes in annoyment as Genesis continued to be dramatic.

It was now time for lunch and Billy joined us at our table. While we walked, I felt Steve’s eyes on us. Jealousy painted the features that I once adored. I returned my attention back to the two people who were happily chatting about god knows what. “So, Billy. Are you dating anyone?’ Genesis stated as she nudged my knee with her own. I nearly choked at the question as I looked at her. Thank god he didn’t notice my slight panic and carried on with his answer.

“No, not at the moment.” He chuckled at the question. “Interesting. Neither is Y/N.” I felt hot all over as Genesis exposed my relationship status to a person I barely knew. Now, Billy was full-on laughing while I sat in complete embarrassment. “Yes, and it’ll stay that way until further notice,” I said while I kicked the girl’s knee. She winced in pain and decided to back down, for now. Billy’s face faltered in disappointment. But he quickly replaced it with amusement.

“What a bummer, then.” He smiles almost sadly. “Yes. A complete bummer. I’ve been trying to get her to come out of her shell, but Steve really fucked it up for her.” Genesis said, angrily. He pulled a confused look. “Steve Harrington?” He asked. Genesis and I exchanged a look. “Yeah, you know him?” He nodded while taking a sip of his chocolate milk.

“He’s in my gym class. Real asshat, that guy. What happened between you two?” He asked, curiously. Genesis looked at me, expectantly. I sighed and rolled my eyes. “He was just a dick. He always placed his popularity and shithead friends above me.” Billy shook his head in disbelief and slight anger. “He didn’t deserve you.” Genesis perked up at that. “I’ve been saying that for centuries.” I zoned out as they both shared a common ground on how I deserved better.

Lunch was over and we had to go to fourth period. Genesis and I had gym, so Billy didn’t tag along with us. “So, he seems like absolute boyfriend material.” I shook my head. “You’re really pushing for us to date, huh?” Genesis turned to me after stretching her legs. “Uh, yes? You guys would make the perfect couple. He gives me bad boy/protective boyfriend vibes. Potential daddy issues with unconditional love for his girlfriend? Ah-mazing!”

He seemed really sweet and he was definitely the cutest. His hair seems so soft, and don’t even get me started on his smile. It makes hearts generate above my head! And his body, dear god. It seems so perfect. I’d give anything to feel his abs against my-

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Genesis nearly screamed at me. “What? No, I’m not.” She squinted at me, not believing a word I said. ‘Date. Him.’ She mouthed at me. I shook my head and turned to pay attention to my teacher’s directions.

The school day was over and I was so relieved. Gen’s dad picked her up early, so I was alone for the rest of class. I was putting my things in my locker when Billy approached me. “Did you miss me?” He asked, jokingly. I laughed and closed my locker. “I just about died without you.” I said as I placed my hand on my chest, dramatically. A slight blush creeped up on his cheeks.

He cleared his throat and regained his composure. “Are you doing anything after school?” He asked. I thought about it for a second and shook my head. “Nope. I planned I’m going straight home. Why?” He held the door open for me as we walked outside. “I was wondering if you maybe wanted to hangout?”

I giggled at his uncertainty. “Yeah, i'd like that. We could probably go to the park? And just sit in your car and talk.” He seemed so happy that I agreed. “Ok. Sounds like a plan.”

We arrived at the park and he turned his car off. I turned so I was facing him. “So. Tell me about yourself. How old is your sister?” “She’s actually my stepsister. But she’s 14. My mom died when I was 8.” I grabbed his hand and apologized. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry. That must’ve been hard to deal with.” He looked at our hands and then up at me. I released his hand and placed mine back in my lap. “It was. My dad...he’s really shitty.” Daddy issues? Wow, is my best friend God?

“Sounds fucked up. I’m sorry, again. Do you miss California?” He nodded. “A lot. But I think I’ll like it better here.” He smirked. My eyes went wide for a second and then back to normal. This boy is going to kill me.

“You know. You’re actually not so bad. I think I might take a chance on you.” He leaned back in his seat. “God, I sure hope so. You seem like a doll.” I laughed at his confidence. “Thanks, I guess.”

[maandags]

the watchmaker (Finn Shelby x reader) {part two}

aaaaand here’s the second part yeehaw

– – –

Summary: After your uncle died, you decided to rid yourself of your troubling past and move to Small Heath, into the flat and workshop he left you. Soon after, though, Tommy and Finn Shelby crash into your life and bring back unwanted memories.

Genre: angst, fluff (at the end. gotta go thru some pain first im afraid)

Word count: 7.9K

Notes: CW: death mention - asphyxiation - panic attacks (?) - {part one} - masterlist - bitch i wrote 17k in like a week and , if i could write like this all the time ……………….. @ the writing gods : please,

– – –

That night, you stayed in your flat, pacing the floor and hesitating, not knowing whether to go or to stay. It was already late. You didn’t know if it was still worth it to go, yet your conversation with Tommy from earlier that day had left you confused and with more questions left unanswered than before. You bit your nail, approached the window that looked out onto the filthy street.

You wrung your hands. Undecided. Undecided.

The coat on its hanger was calling your name. In the distance you thought you could hear singing, and laughing; the sounds of jovial carelessness and mirth. Hesitating, hesitating. Then you frowned at your own reflection in the cold glass. Who were you to deny yourself a bit of fun? When was the last time you’d been truly carefree? As much as you tried to convince yourself of the opposite, there were no reasons why you shouldn’t go.

But… But what? you asked the irritating little voice inside your head; but what, exactly?

And so you went.

You’d never seen the Garrison in its full glory. It was pretty, you had to admit, though you knew you would probably have preferred it during the daytime. The rooms were filled to the brim, men shouting and hollering and singing drunkenly, waving around pints of beer and crystal glasses in which sloshed amber-brown whisky. The barman was having a time of himself trying to keep up with all the orders, hands moving so fast you got dizzy just from looking at them.

A short and stocky man approached you, and you immediately noticed the sheen cast over his eyes like a film of intoxication. He brought his face close to yours and you recoiled as he frowned and tried for eye contact.

“What’s a young'un like you doin’ here all by yeself, eh?” he slurred, stumbling when a man almost twice his size clipped his shoulder. He barely seemed to notice, though, all of his attention fixated on you. “Where’s your mates?”

“Um,” you stammered, scanning the crowd over his shoulder in search for a familiar face–Tommy, Finn, fucking Polly Gray for all you cared–and growing slightly panicked when you could find none of them. “I'm–I’m looking for someone.”

“Fuck ‘em,” the man drawled, draping an arm over your shoulder and effectively pressing his body flush to yours, “come with me. Let’s have some fun, you and I, yeah?” You had to make an effort not to gag.

Someone bumped into you from behind, and you were pushed into the man’s chest. His smell overwhelmed you, pressing into your nose and your mouth and your eyes until your brain spun and dark spots started to appear in front of your eyes. You felt your knees weaken, and you were sure that they would buckle at any given moment.

Then a hand closed around your upper arm and yanked you from the drunkard’s grasp. You expected a shouting match to follow–the drunkard had seemed rather insistent on your company–but all that came from him was a whimper and a mumbled apology. You blinked the dark spots from your vision, heavily leaning on the unknown figure–though you had a suspicion regarding their identity–as they lead you through the crowd. Steadily you regained your footing and your sight, and you stole a glance at the person whose hand still tightly held onto your wrist.

“Hi,” you said, a smile creeping up your lips despite yourself.

Finn glanced down, eyebrows furrowed in a concerned frown. “You okay?”

You nodded. Finn didn’t seem satisfied, but led you to a barstool. He gestured for you to sit down, then told the poor fellow on the stool beside yours, “Fuck off,” and hopped onto his freshly acquired seat.

You shook your head at him, but the smile you tried so hard to push down was still there.

“You look pale,” Finn shouted over the noise.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Finn. I’m fine.” You were a little dizzy still, but you didn’t want to get drunk. Your thirst for alcohol had dissipated with your desire to have a fun night, and you felt sour and tired and only wanted to go home.

Finn didn’t look convinced. He waved the bartender over, and a moment later slid you a glass of water. You narrowed your eyes at him. He shrugged.

“Job’s done, eh?” he stirred his own glass.

You nodded, glaring at your water, fingering the rim of the glass listlessly. “Done. All of it.” You took a sip, just to wash down the dryness in your mouth. “Fucking hell.”

He just watched you, and you looked at him, and then you said, “Do you want to go outside? I hate it in here.” You did. You hated the stuffiness of the place, hated the smell of bodies pressed together, the stench of booze hanging in the air and laying a haze of drunkenness over the very air. You hated it.

After a moment of curious consideration, Finn said, “All right,” and cleared a path for you to get out of the busy pub.

The outside air pricked your cheeks and you drew a few grateful breaths, welcoming the sweet coolness in your lungs. You almost coughed, just to rid yourself of the sticky, syrupy air from inside the pub. You started to walk, no destination in mind, but you knew you had to move and get some feeling back inside your limbs.

“Hey, hey, hang on,” said Finn from behind you, and he jogged a couple of steps to catch up with you. “What’s going on?”

“I’m going home,” you said, though you didn’t plan on going straight home. You’d take a detour, maybe stop by your workshop and take a few pieces home; gears or pistons or anything familiar to keep your hands busy and the nerves at bay.

“But why? You walked in and walked straight back out!”

“Yeah. All this stupid trip did was remind me why I don’t go out in the first place.”

“And why’s that?”

You shoved your hands in your pockets and kept up the pace, forcing Finn to jog a step every once in a while to keep up. “Too many people. Too much drunkenness. Too much chaos. Too much… just too much.”

You rounded a corner into an alley that you knew would take you to your shop faster than the main road. It was a tricky passage to take: it was dark and muddy and a popular spot for the most unpleasant of peoples to gather; but it was faster, and by your side was Finn, so you didn’t feel as nervous as you usually would.

He was trying to understand. You could tell. He was doing his damn best to understand why this affected you so much, why the fullness of the pub meant nothing good to you. You didn’t expect him to entirely get it. He grew up with this; he grew up with the sound of gunshots ringing around his ears, the thump of adrenaline that followed it, the nights of drinking and partying and going wild.

It was different for you. It always had been different.

The village you grew up in was quiet, and the most exciting moments of your early childhood were little walks in the forest with your father, and he would point out to you the birds and the squirrels and the mushrooms and sometimes, if you were very lucky, you’d spot a deer or two in a clearing somewhere; or when there was a big market in London, and he’d hoist you up on his shoulders and let you explore all the colours and sounds and smells unfamiliar on your own, from your perch where you towered above everyone else, and exhilaration would fill you like it was injected in the very air you breathed.

And then your father was sent to France, and never came back. Arrangements were made for you to live with your uncle Henry, who lived a few towns over, and he took you in and cared for you like you were his own.

Of course, when you got a little older, there was excitement enough in the building of bombs. But the town Henry lived in was only a little bigger than your home village, and though it took a while getting properly adjusted, it had finally started to feel like home.

Birmingham was different. It was dark and huge and unforgiving and things happened in its shadows that you would rather stay as far away from as possible. Nevertheless, it was where you’d set up shop. It was where Henry had bought the damn shop, and you still didn’t really know why. Uncle Henry had been an eccentric man, but he hadn’t been stupid. You believed that if he owned a flat and a shop in Small Heath it had to be for a good reason.

Speaking of good reasons…

“One more thing,” you started, rather loudly, and Finn almost jumped at your side, “that you better have an explanation for, is this.” You rammed the key inside the lock and yanked open the door to your shop, not stopping to hold the door open for Finn but instead letting him catch it on his own.

You snatched up your toolbelt and started collecting stuff to take home. “I talked to Tommy this afternoon.” Pause. You looked around, found the copper wire you’d been looking for, stuffed it in a pouch on your belt. “And he said that he never told you to babysit me at all. That he had no idea that you even were at my shop all day.”

Finn froze, and you watched with a sort of grim satisfaction as he seemed to lose some of the carefully constructed composure he always seemed to wear around you. He had begun to look almost a part of the shop when you were still doing Tommy’s job, but now he looked as out of place as he had been the first time he’d set foot in it.

“Strange, eh?” You continued. You didn’t know why you were so sour about it all of a sudden. Maybe you felt taken advantage of. Maybe Finn had pretended to enjoy your company all along, maybe he was doing it for his own intentions. It was just the sting of knowing he’d lied to you that made the words taste bitter as you forced them from your tongue. “There’s nothing for you to gain here. Why would you come at all?”

“Small Heath can be a dangerous place,” he muttered, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes and you scoffed.

“Not to you it fucking isn’t. You’re a Shelby, Finn, and I'm–not–fucking–stupid.” You slammed a drawer shut and knotted the belt around your hips before covering it with your coat again. “Actually, I’m surprised you didn’t tell Tommy; nothing happens in this shithole without him knowing about it, right?”

“Y/N–”

“Maybe you wanted to do something for yourself for once, eh? God knows all you can do is suck Tommy Shelby’s cock and hope for a reward.”

“Y/N, stop–”

“You know what? I think I liked you better when you were pretending.”

“Y/N!”

“What?”

“Listen to me!”

You stopped dead in your tracks. It was the first time he’d raised his voice at you, and through the haze of anger still burning in your chest you were a little offended. “What?” you spat again, shoulders drawn up to your ears and muscles tense.

Finn took a breath, closed his eyes. When he spoke again, it was in a voice that trembled, and threatened to spill over with emotion any moment. He was fighting hard to stay calm. “Your uncle–”

“What the fuck does my uncle have to do with this?”

“You’ll know if you let me fucking finish!” he said, irritated.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest and clamped your mouth shut, your chin lifted high and one hip jutting out to show you were absolutely not content with the situation whatsoever.

“Your uncle bought this place–and the flat–as a safehouse. Because he got in deep with the wrong people. He planned to come here once you were old enough to fend for yourself. He paid the Blinders for protection beforehand, but never made it here.”

With every word he spoke, your eyebrows crawled closer to your hairline. The information was entirely new to you, and you were having a difficult time processing all of it.

“He was murdered, Y/N.”

That hit you like a hammer to the chest and your heartbeat started racing. “No,” was all you managed.

“I’m sorry–”

“No,” you repeated, more forcefully this time, “no. No, he died in his sleep. It was a peaceful death. They said so.” You sounded like a child. You knew you did. But your entire world was tearing at the seams, and the fact that Finn–whom you had known for just over a week–knew more about your uncle, your flesh and blood, than you did, didn’t sit right with you.

“Then why didn’t they ever show you the body, Y/N?” Finn’s voice was gentle, like how he would address a toddler having a tantrum, and that made it all the worse.

“Because I never fucking asked!” you said shrilly. “No. Don’t fucking come near me.” You stuck your hands out in reflex when he took a step towards you, and though he stopped moving, hurt flashed across his face.

“Y/N. You need to understand. The people who killed your uncle want you dead as well. It’s relatively safe for you here, but Tommy’s had men watching the shop and your flat since the day you showed up. How do you think we knew about the bombs?”

“But–but–” Your knees buckled and you only just managed to yank a chair towards you.

“I just wanted to make sure you were safe.” Finn ran a hand through his hair, and looked at you with eyes full of hurt. “Glad it’s appreciated.”

As he turned, you dropped your head in your hands and said, “Wait.” You didn’t hear the door open, so you took that as a good sign. “I'm–I’m sorry. For shouting at you.”

He sighed. “It’s alright.”

“No,” you said with a bitter laugh. “It’s not. Can you sit down?” He did, pulling up a chair beside you. You rubbed your temples, screwing your eyes shut against the bonking. “Talk. Tell me… tell me everything.”

And he did. He told you about the twin brothers whose parents Henry had helped kill by building the bomb necessary–or, well, that’s what he had led them to believe.

“In his last letter to us he explained how, while he had been the one to handle any kind of face-to-face business, you had built the actual bomb,” Finn said. “The Pinfield twins found out somehow and are now hunting you down.”

“But they never found me?”

“Oh, no, they did. But every men they sent here to do the job got caught in… an unfortunate accident.”

You scoffed. Why he would want to spare your feelings now was unfathomable to you. “You mean Thomas got them killed.”

Finn nodded. For the first time he looked uncomfortable, and you realised it had probably something to do with your remark from earlier. You winced internally; that had been a fucking glorious move on your part, hadn’t it?

“So now the Pinfields and their men are after me and probably won’t stop until I’m dead.” You breathed a long exhale, surprised at your still-dry eyes. The tears would probably come later, you figured. When all had settled in and the reality of the situation would crash into you with all the force of a fucking freight train.

“Pretty much.”

It was strange, how light you felt. You had just gotten told that a two murderous brothers were dead set on murdering you just like they’d murdered your uncle, and all you could focus on was the fact that you were still alive, weren’t you? So they probably weren’t that keen on your death.

Then you immediately scolded yourself and internally gave yourself a good shaking. Men were looking to murder you. You should be panicking, screaming, crying–at least be afraid–but you found that you weirdly… weren’t.

Sure, the nerves were there. But you had been on edge since you first moved to Small Heath. You had anticipated an attack every time you stepped out of your flat. So really all the news did to you was confirm that you had a reason to be on edge. That it wasn’t just ghosts or shadows you were seeing.

It was mostly the explanation, you thought. The fact that you knew now why everything had felt as weird as it had. Why Finn had been so insistent on staying with you day in day out while you did nothing but work at your desk. Why he had accompanied you to London for errands you had run a million times in the past. A weight had fallen off your shoulders: things were still looking pretty fucking bad for you, but at least you knew why.

So you said, “Okay,” and stood up, dusting off your coat with only-slightly trembling fingers.

When you started towards the door, Finn said, “Where are you going?”

“Home.” Something was starting to form at the back of your mind. The barest whisper of an idea, fuelled by the calm fury that was starting to bubble into existence and seep into your very bones. And honestly, you hadn’t even considered telling Finn about it. This was something you had to do on your own.

You were going home. But before that, you had a stop to make.

“I’ll walk you,” said Finn, and his voice was slightly apprehensive. Maybe he could see the unfiltered, absolute rage boiling behind your eyes.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Y/N. I’m walking you home.”

“Before I took Tommy’s job I never had anyone walk me home, Finn. I held out just fine those five months, I won’t suddenly get jumped and murdered tonight.” You tried to keep your voice relatively light, but the remark still came out sharper than you intended.

Finn made a face and touched your wrist. No particular reason; no particular intention. A simple touch, yet the feeling of his fingers on your skin made goosebumps erupt all over your arm and you felt your shoulders stiffen. Then you told yourself to pull yourself the fuck together, Y/N. Blushing like a goddamn thirteen-year-old over a boy touching your wrist. Fucking pathetic.

“I’ll be fine,” you promised. And you knew you would be.

There was still a bit of hesitation in his eyes, but also a grim sort of resignation. “Alright.”

You left him standing in front of your shop after you locked it up, his hands shoved in his pockets, watching as you marched the now-familiar streets of Small Heath.

It was late, and frankly you didn’t expect Tommy Shelby to still be at his office. Yet he was, and Lizzie–the secretary from before–only barely raised a brow at your quick return. You paid her no mind even as she made a snide comment about your appearance, and when Tommy called you in you thanked her absent-mindedly.

“Close the door, Y/N,” he said as he rummaged around for two glasses and poured a finger of whiskey into each one.

You did, and accepted the glass he offered you, even though you didn’t often drink liquor as strong as whiskey.

“You’ve returned,” remarked Tommy as he sat down and lit a cigarette.

You gave a mocking, sarcastic bow. “I have returned.”

“May I ask why?”

“Yeah. Um…” You swirled the drink, wondering how best to start. “I found out about my uncle,” you finally settled on.

“Ah.” Tommy set down his glass, leaned forward in his chair. He didn’t look awkward, per se, but there was a certain stiffness to his movements that there hadn’t been before. “Then you know why we took such an interest in you.”

“Yes. And this time, it’s me that has a proposition.”

He listened as you explained your idea–in a voice clear but trembling with anger–and smoked up three cigarettes in the time it took you to lay out the full details. He never interrupted once, let you say everything you needed to say, and you were grateful for it. If anything, this whole endeavour was to make sure you were never treated like a child again.

When you finished, he sat back in his chair and tilted his head ever so slightly as he mulled over your words. You were silent, waited for his verdict, because your plan would never work if you didn’t have Tommy’s support.

“It will be dangerous,” he finally said, but the four words made you happier than was probably reasonable. Will. Not would. Will. Affirmative.

“I know,” you replied. “That’s the point.”

He smiled then, a smile equally warm and cunning, and it was then you knew that you had him. “You’ve got balls on you, Y/N. That’s good.” He stood up and started pacing his office, and the two of you began building upon the foundation of the plan that you’d lain out before him.

“I’ll tell John to accompany you to London for the supply run. How fast do you think you can get this done?”

“In ideal conditions? Three days.”

“What are ideal conditions?”

“Me being able to work with no distractions, no need to get up from my bench at any point in time for any reason whatsoever so I can stay focused.”

Tommy pointed at you with his whiskey glass. “Lizzie will come see you twice a day with food and drink. No distractions.”

Everything was coming together. You stayed in Tommy’s office until the late hours of the night, and even after you’d gone over everything you didn’t feel tired. Adrenaline coursed through your very being, the prospect of bringing the plan to fruition much too exciting for you to feel any other emotion whatsoever.

When you were finally satisfied, and Tommy walked to the door to open it for you, you thought of one more thing and stopped in your tracks. You hesitated on the threshold, nipping at your lower lip. “One last thing.”

“Yes?”

You didn’t look him in the eye. “Finn can’t know. Keep him busy, away from my shop or my flat. I know you have people watching the streets–make sure he can’t even get close.”

His brows raised slightly. “And why should I do that?”

You glared at him and folded your hands into your coat. “Because we agreed there’d be no distractions.”

You went to London with John–jovial, rude, but fun to be around–and got everything you needed. You said hi to Harry and Jim, who looked up when you entered their shop for the second time in a week, but walked past the tea shop. No time for anything but work these coming days.

John was nice to talk to. Didn’t take himself too seriously, didn’t take anyone else too seriously. Confident in his status as both a Peaky Blinder and a Shelby, never hesitant to make use of it when the situation called for it, or even when it didn’t but he just felt like it. He was nice to hang around–but he wasn’t Finn.

It was easier to concentrate on your work with no-one around, you’d admit that, but it was a lot more boring, too. You caught yourself grinning to yourself a few times when you thought of something funny and already opening your mouth to share it with Finn–before realising that he wasn’t there anymore and that you were talking to nothing but air.

Lizzie brought you lunch and dinner, and you went home every night around nine P.M, exhausted and sore from sitting in the same cramped position for hours on end. You had a quick shower and stretch, then you collapsed onto your bed only to wake up at half past five the next morning.

For three days you worked like that, only allowing yourself a half-hour break to eat and stretch before getting back to it. It wasn’t like what you were building was hard–you had done it before. Not quite as many in as little time, but that was the fun challenge aspect of it, wasn’t it? Tommy expected it to be done in three days, and done in three days it would be.

On the last evening, you had to work an hour later than usual to get it finished, and then another thirty minutes to clean and close up. All in all, it was almost eleven o'clock when you turned the key and prepared for the walk back to your flat, the cloth bag hanging off your shoulder full and heavy. You kept one hand on it as you walked, just for an extra sense of security.

Then someone called your name from behind you, and your heart almost jumped out of your ribcage from the shock.

“Finn! You fucker!” you hissed, pressing your free palm to your chest and trying to keep your racing heartbeat under control. “What–what are you doing here–”

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to see you at all, and least of all before the job was even done. He must have found a way to slip past the men guarding your shop and flat. You felt yourself getting apprehensive again.

“I just–I haven’t seen you in days. I just wanted to say hi.”

“It’s eleven in the fucking evening, Finn. You should be home.”

“So should you!”

“I was on my way there!”

Then his eyes went to your bag, and his brows creased. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” you snapped, turning away, but you knew instantly you made a mistake. Finn wasn’t stupid–incredibly stubborn and cocky, maybe, but not stupid–and you could see him put two and two together.

“You said it was done.” And his eyes were so disappointed that you almost burst into tears right then and there. “All of it, you said.”

You knew there was nothing you could deny anymore, so you went on the defensive, hoisting the strap of your bag back up and preparing yourself for yet another shouting match that you would feel absolutely terrible about afterwards. “That was before I found out my uncle was murdered by the very same shitheads who now want me dead too.”

“I get that. You want revenge. I really do get it–but you’re only going to get yourself hurt.”

You scoffed. “God, Finn–you saying that tells me you don’t get it at all.” You started walking again. “I don’t care if I get hurt. I just want them gone.” You drew a shaky breath. “Besides, it’s too late for that anyway. I’ll be gone from this place after this is over.”

Finn put a hand on your shoulder. “We can do it for you. You don’t have to leave. I can do it for you–you don’t need to do it yourself.”

“I do, though! That’s the problem! I do need to do it myself, because my entire life I’ve had other people do things for me and look where that ended me up. Dead father, dead uncle. Alone in this godforsaken shit-hole of a town where I can barely make a living until Tommy Shelby and his gang show up and ask for bombs.” You ducked inside an alleyway, didn’t even look if Finn followed you as you spoke–because you know he had.

“There’s nothing heavier on the conscience than another man’s death, Y/N,” said Finn, and you didn’t even try to hold back the bark of bitter laughter that spilled from your tongue.

“Oh my god. Wow. That’s poetic, Finn, that really is. Did Tommy teach you that?” Ouch. You could tell that hurt him. It flashed in his eyes, souring his entire expression. It was something you’d jabbed at before, and every time you added onto it the cracks in his carefully composure widened.

And it hurt you, too. Knowing that you were the one who did this to him hurt you; it was a knife to the gut and a white-hot iron to the heart and yet the words spilled out like a dam broke and you couldn’t stop them. You felt the control on your emotions slip and took a breath, closed your eyes. Your flat was only a few blocks away. Focusing on the familiarity of the bland walls and creaky bed cleared the fog in your mind somewhat.

Calmer now, you said, “Stop trying so hard to be like him. It doesn’t suit you at all.”

He didn’t say anything else until you stopped in front of your flat and pulled out your keys.

“Don’t do this, Y/N.”

You opened the door. “I have to.”

“It’ll break you.”

You gave the darkness in front of you a sad smile. “Already broken.”

The trip to the Pinfields’ mansion was cloaked in silence, and the air was thick with tension. In the car sat Tommy, Johnny Dogs and a few of his men, you, and Charlie at the wheel. The boxes with explosives were laid out on your lap, and you were making the last final tweaks to the mines that were to be planted right in front of the Pinfields’ porch. They were inside. It was an early Sunday morning, after all, and they weren’t expecting an attack–you had a reserve of gas grenades, and all the other exits would be blocked, and the only way to get out of the house would be the front door. There, mines would be waiting for them, and the Pinfield twins would go out with a bang.

Or that was the plan. You would count yourself lucky if anything went somewhat according to the plan, which was based on quite a number of suppositions. You couldn’t deny the nerves that were slowly building up throughout the ride, but Johnny Dogs and his mates were joking around, not looking the least bit nervous, and Tommy wasn’t giving away anything at all, so you kept your face straight and tried to stop your knee from bouncing, a jittery habit you’d never quite been able to rid yourself of.

Then the car stopped, and Tommy announced that, for the last mile or so, you’d have to go through the forest. On foot. Nothing you hadn’t prepared for, so you adjusted the bag hanging from your shoulder and started walking.

When the mansion finally came into view, your breath hitched. Until now, it hadn’t felt real, somehow–it had been easy to talk about how you would kill the Pinfields, but now that you were actually pulling through with it… You wondered if you’d made a mistake. If it had been better to listen to Finn.

You shook your head. No. No hesitating now, no turning back. You’d agreed upon this plan–Hell, you had proposed this plan–and you were going to go through with it. No matter what.

It was still dark, and it was fairly easy to sneak into the garden–the Pinfields’ grounds were so big that their gates weren’t even visible from their house, and the miserable little stone wall they’d put up as extra protection didn’t pose a huge challenge for any of your team. As you approached the main door, your heartbeat started to speed up. But you were now visible from the house, and though you were wearing dark clothes you had to get this done quickly.

Johnny Dogs ran beside you, and he gave you one of his trademark grins and a pat on the back before sinking to his knees and starting to dig the trench.

The two of you worked quickly; Johnny digging, and you carefully placing the mines in the trench, activating them and quickly covering them with the loose dirt. They had a timer on, too, so they wouldn’t be fully active until after five minutes. Five minutes to plant seven mines–you couldn’t risk the brothers missing them–was tricky, but you were positive you could manage it. You had to manage it.

A whistle sounded, and you tapped the last of the dirt over the seventh mine. You shot a quick look at Johnny, who nodded and returned the call. Then he grabbed your arm and both of you sprinted back to where Tommy and the rest were waiting. He had his rifle over his shoulder, and didn’t acknowledge your return except for a grunt when you skidded to the ground beside him. Now it was just a question of waiting–waiting until just before dawn.

They were the longest, most agonising minutes of your life, each one feeling like an hour and when you were sure you would burst out of pure bottled-up nerves and excitement, Tommy said, “Now.”

One of Johnny’s boys sprang up and raced towards the house. A second later you heard the faint sound of shattering glass, and wisps of smoke started pouring from the windows. It would do a fine job of alerting the servants, maybe even the Pinfields themselves, and you started counting down the second, eyes fixated on the front door.

And then it swung open, and a man that could only have been one of the Pinfields stumbled out, one arm over his mouth against the smoke. Your hands flew up to cover your mouth, as if you wanted to stifle the sound of your very breathing.

He leant against the doorframe, wiping his sleeve across his mouth, spitting on the ground. Took a step forward. Kicked a potted plant across his porch, and your heart missed a beat–but it didn’t even fall. It was huge, the pot alone half his size, and all he did was probably hurt his foot. He cursed, loudly.

And then he stepped off his porch.

For a split second, nothing happened, and you thought you would faint with the pressure–but then a mine went off, and though you were expecting it, you jumped and turned away against the sheer force of the explosion that slammed into you like a gust of wind powerful enough to rip a tree straight from its roots and knocked the breath clean out of your lungs. The detonation of one mine quickly set off the rest, and the fast mounting explosions had you shield your head with your arms and flatten yourself to the ground.

But when you looked up and tried to blink the smoke out of your eyes, something scratched at the back of your mind and you scrambled up, ignoring Johnny Dogs’ vicious tugging at your sleeve.

“No, no,” you said hoarsely, falling onto your knees again and blindly grabbing hold of the fabric of his coat. “The other one. Where’s the other one?” Only one of the brothers had stepped outside. The other Pinfield was nowhere to be found.

“Fuck,” said Johnny under his breath, then he shouted what you’d said over to Tommy.

Tommy cursed and stood up too, raking a hand through his hair. He pointed at the men surrounding him. “Find the bastard. Find him and kill him.” Then he turned to you. “Stay here. You’ve done your part. This isn’t your fight anymore.”

Half of you wanted to protest, but you knew he was right. You’d never killed a man. Tricking someone into stepping onto a land mine was not the same as pointing a gun at their head and pulling the trigger. The end result may be the same (one maybe a bit bloodier than the other): a dead man on one’s conscience, but it was easier when you could turn away.

They all went their separate ways, some disappearing into the brush, others making for the house to see if he was waiting it out there, leaving you alone, half hidden behind the bushes and the trees, nothing but the beating of your own heart for company.

Your breathing was too loud. Your breathing was too loud, and when you looked down at your hands, they trembled. You balled them to fists. Hide. You had to hide, tuck yourself away so that nobody could find you. Dropping onto your knees, you shimmied yourself in between two bushes, letting the leaves fall around you, making for excellent cover.

The one downside to this was that you were completely blind to what was going on around you. You had expected noise; gunshots, shouting, engines roaring, but it was silent. So silent. Every rustling of leaves made your heart speed up, for you were certain that somebody had found you, somebody was coming for you, somebody was going to kill you–

And then it would be dark again and silent. Oh so silent.

After a while, it became too much. The pressure. The silence. You started to understand why the Shelbys liked having other people around, why those evenings of party and drink were so popular; it was to forget, to forget the events of the day, possibly forget everything if only for just a few hours. Clambering out of your hiding spot, you inched towards the edge of the forest, to try and catch a glance of what was going on.

Nothing. From the house came nothing, no shouts, no bangs. From the forest around you–nothing. You breathed out, letting it last, trying to get your nerves under control.

You would be fine. No one would find you. No one would hurt you. Tommy would kill the remaining Pinfield brother and he would come get you and you would go home. And then you would be able to leave Small Heath, leave Birmingham, once and for all.

Like a mantra you repeated it in your head, over and over, to keep yourself from running out there and finding the remaining Pinfield yourself. If you muttered it often enough, you found, you could even convince yourself it was the right choice.

You would be fine.

From behind you, there was a slight rustling and a grunt, and you exhaled in relief. “Did you find–”

But you were stopped short by two big hands clamping across your mouth, and you let out a muffled scream. Your own fingers instinctively shot up and clawed at the hands, but whoever it was that had got a hold of you was strong and wasn’t planning on letting go.

“Scream, you little fuck,” spat a coarse voice close to your ear. You struggled, tried to wriggle yourself from his hold. Panic seared through you in white-hot bolts and your eyes were wide, darting around to try and see your attacker as well as find a way out. “So you killed my brother, eh?” grunted the voice, and your insides turned to ice.

Nothing could ever have prepared you for this. Nothing could have prepared you for the scorching terror that burrowed itself in your very bones, seeped into your brain, made all rational thought impossible. Instead of going limp, you doubled your efforts to free yourself from his grasp, ripping and pulling and scratching and biting.

“You fucker–I’ll fucking kill you–” He was trying to stay quiet about it. Your feverish brain took that as a sign that someone was close by–within shouting distance, at least.

So you used all of your strength to yank your mouth free from his hand and scream. Scream as long and as hard as you possibly could; no words, just a blood-curdling shriek. A split second later he was back on top of you, more urgent this time, grunting as he tried to get his hands around your throat.

His fingers pressed into the soft skin below your chin, and only a few seconds later black spots started dancing around your vision. You gasped for breath, and, encouraged, he dug his thumbs deeper into the pressure point. A rock dug into the back of your head, and you concentrated on that pain, letting it flow through you, forcing you to stay awake. Fighting to stay awake.

But he was strong, and his knees were on either side of your hips, effectively pinning you to the ground. He was pushing harder and harder–breathing became more difficult by the second, and your grip on his wrists was slackening. You blinked furiously, but your vision was blurring. This was it, you thought. This was it.

And then a gunshot rang through the air. The sound was distant to your oxygen-deprived brain, but you heard it nevertheless, and for a second you feared the bullet was meant for you; but the fingers around your throat loosened, and Pinfield, who had been pinning you down just moments before, now froze and then dropped like a sack of potatoes.

He fell on top of you, and in a last attempt to free yourself you managed to roll out from beneath him, where you lay by his side, chest heaving with coughs and eyes screwed shut. You were vaguely aware of something warm and sticky on your face, clinging to the skin of your neck, your clothes, but being covered in blood was probably the least of your concerns.

Right now you focused on the fact that you were alive. You were alive, and the scorching breaths you sucked in proved it. Your head swam after being almost asphyxiated, and shaking fingers came up to brush the tender skin of your throat. Those would become bruises later.

You vaguely registered someone shouting your name, and a second later they dropped to their knees next to you. You opened your eyes, blinked hard, and slowly Finn’s face came into view.

He was paler than you’d ever seen him before, brows knotted together, lips pressed in a tight line. Only in the back of your mind did you note that he was not supposed to be here. He was supposed to be back in Small Heath. But a gun lay discarded behind him, and that’s when you realised it was Finn Shelby who saved your life.

He was saying something. His lips moved, but you couldn’t hear the words he spoke and you closed your eyes again, rubbing your hands across your face. “Wait,” you slurred. Your tongue felt like lead. Too big for your mouth. You coughed again.

“… you not to go. I fucking told you not to go, you idiot,” he was saying in a sharp but shaky voice, and when he helped you sit up his hands trembled.

“I just almost died. You don’t get to swear at me,” you said, but your voice was barely audible and you doubled over once more.

Despite everything, Finn laughed–jerkily and weak but a laugh nevertheless–and you smiled too, letting yourself fall forward into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I’m covered in blood,” you mumbled into his coat.

“What?”

You pulled away. “I’m covered in blood.”

Finn shook his head. “Not yours, so I don’t care.”

That’s when others started to appear–Johnny Dogs first, along with a few of his men, then Tommy, who immediately ran towards you and started questioning both you and Finn, barely paying any mind to the body lying, like, maybe two feet away from him. When he had quickly inspected you for any serious wounds and was satisfied, he whacked Finn on the back of his head, but he gave a small, tight smile too.

Finn helped you stand up, and didn’t let you go until you got to the hospital.

The nurse dabbed at your cuts with a cotton wad dipped in alcohol, and it stung. Sat on the edge of the hospital bed, you didn’t quite know what to do with your hands, so you kept them folded in your lap. You’d gotten mostly cleaned up; your ruined clothes were thrown in the trash, and all the blood had been washed off your face and arms. You had needed stitches for the cut on the back of your head–scalp wounds bled like crazy–but overall you had gotten away mostly unscathed.

Finn was fine, too. Shaken up, but fine. He’d explained to you on the way back how he’d talked Isiah into following Tommy’s car from a distance, and had just made his way through the forest to the mansion when he’d heard you scream.

You watched him subtly on the other side of the room where he sat with his arms crossed. He met your eyes and smiled tightly, and you stuck out your tongue, which caused him to laugh, which he tried to hide with a cough. The nurse gave your cheek a pat and you looked at her again, blushing slightly. She shook her head, but her eyes glittered.

When she was done, she packed up her stuff and said, “There’s nothing that really warrants a stay at the hospital, honestly. The neck will bruise, but you’ll be fine. Go home, get some rest, come back in two weeks to get your stitches removed.” You nodded and she left.

Finn brought you your coat, and together you stepped outside into the gloomy streets.

Though it was grey and overall a pretty sad day, you found you didn’t really care anymore. If anything, the glum weather had started to grow on you, and you were starting to appreciate some of its aspects. Sometimes. It didn’t beat a nice sunny day on the countryside, but for now it would do.

“So what now?” asked Finn after a moment of silence.

“What d'you mean?” Your voice was still hoarse, and the nurse had told you that it would be for a few days.

“You know. Are you–will you leave Birmingham?”

You had the money. The six thousand pounds from Tommy’s first job. But the more you thought about it, the more you found you didn’t really want to leave. Your flat was shit, but you could finally afford a better one. You had your shop. No one wanted to kill you anymore, which was good.

And of course there was Finn.

“Nah,” you said nonchalantly, kicking a pebble from your footpath. “Nah, I think I’ll stay.”

He immediately perked up, and a grin lit his face and you laughed. He was so predictable. “Good,” he said in a valiant effort to conceal his excitement. “That’s good.”

You would later vigorously blame it on your still-woozy brain whenever Finn brought it up, but in reality you had never thought more clearly. Maybe it was a rush of confidence, or just that you were done with the tension always hanging between you and him.

Whatever the case, you tugged Finn into an alleyway out of view from the streets and kissed him.

It was fireworks. It was the clear sunrise after a long, stormy night; it was everything you had not even dare hope for. Above all, it was worth everything it had taken you to get there. You could have done without the almost-dying, but none of it mattered now, temporarily erased from your mind by pure bliss.

“I’m staying,” you whispered against his lips, your arms around his neck.

He laughed, pulling you closer. “For me?”

You rolled your eyes, even though he wasn’t wrong. “Sure. For you.”

“There’s a contract forbidding our contact, Y/N,” he teased. “You demanded it yourself, remember?”

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Oh my god. Fuck the contract.”

“That’s not very professional of you.”

“You know what else isn’t professional? That fucking hideous haircut of yours.”

He laughed, a full-fledged laugh that bubbled from his throat and rang like the sweetest of music to your ears. “You’re never going to let that go, are you.”

“No. Shut up.” Shut up. And you kissed him again.

[intrepidmare]

Since I skipped doing this a few weeks, today I bring you a longer selection of must-read, A+ rated fanfics that are the best example of how talented people are in these fandoms. There are 2 special mentions: the first is a story written by my own hand (if I rec other people's works why not mine as well, right 😉), and the second is from a fandom I read just occasionally but this story in particular touched a very personal fiber.

Without further ado, here it's my recs of the week. Hopefully, some of these will help you to endure better all this isolation we're forced to be in. Stay healthy, stay home, and wash your hands.

Click on the title to go to Ao3 link.

Olicity

The Thirst by @felicityollies

Mature | one-shot | vampire au

Felicity is the leading vampire expert and vampire/human ambassador in Star City (and surrounding area). The police have asked her to speak to the master of the city in relation to an ongoing case, but first, she must speak to the master’s second in command, Oliver Queen.

You Used To Be My Friend (But I Learned My Lesson) by @tdgal1

Teen | WiP | angst, canon divergence

Arrow skims over feels so this is my fix it fic for season 1-2. Lots of canon but it is an AU so events may be out of order. Tommy and Felicity friendship. This is my idea of how these characters felt during these scenes and how they may have acted differently. Not a great summary but read and let me know what you think. Exploring deeper feelings that the show won't.

The Old King Is Dead (Long Live The King) by @lucyyh

Teen | one-shot | alternate universe

My olicity entry for "Olicity clue challenge. Nanda Parbat AU.

Happiness by @hope-for-olicity

Teen | one-shot | light angst, fluff, canon divergence

Thea and Felicity go out for a girls night at the new night club Happiness, set in Season 3. Olicity Clue entry.

My Smoak Girl by me

Teen | one-shot | fluff, light angst, spy au

Oliver takes steps to protect Felicity from an assassin. Piece for Olicity Clue.

Braime

Modern Lion Pride by @ddagent

Teen | WiP series | Fluff

University professor Jaime, museum curator Brienne, and their three children Catelyn, Brynden, and Joanna.

Fell Heavy In Your Arms by @lionoflannistarth

Teen | one-shot | fix-it, hurt/comfort

Jaime wakes up from the horror that was ep 8,05.

Maybe, Perhaps, Almost by @lionoflannistarth

Mature | complete | fix-it, hurt/comfort

“You haven’t visited the Maester yet, have you?” Brienne asks.

“Oh come now,” Jaime just shrugs, looking up at her with a boyish grin, “you’ve seen me worse.”

Her blue eyes are shining, brimming with life and for a second he feels a mad abandon. She is alive. So is he.

He should just fucking kiss her.

A Good Match by @nire-the-mithridatist & @slipsthrufingers

Explicit | WiP | angst, canon divergence

Renly’s new bride was the talk of the castle.

All The Things I'll Never Have by @nightreaderenigma

Mature | one-shot | canon compliant, fluff

In their tent in the cold of the North, Brienne bravely shares with Jaime a vision of her ideal future.

Which happens to include marriage to him...

The Mandalorian

Forces Beyond Our Control by tamehistorian

Mature | complete | hurt/comfort, post s1

Another planet, another dead end.

Beside him, the child let out a quiet, concerned noise, his small claws clutching at his sleeve. He brushed a finger over an ear in the hopes of soothing him.

“I’m alright, ad’ika,” he said softly. A blatant lie. “We’ll get out of this.” A promise.

*

Din searches for the child's kind.

Redemption by RewriteTheStars5218

Teen | WiP | hurt/comfort, angst

I am a sucker for hurt/comfort so I wanted to write/expand on when Mando gets injured from the E-Web generator exploding. I’m also changing what happens after IG heals Mando because I think he should be a little more messed up after getting caught in an explosion and getting tossed around by a TIE fighter.

One foot in front of the other by @shaicarus

Not Rated | one-shot | hurt/comfort, post-s1

It felt as if the air itself had turned into tar. He eyed the last few dozen meters back to the Razor Crest with the same gritty determination with which he’d brandished a vibroblade at a charging mudhorn.

Bits of Beskar by @coffee-quill

General | one-shot | fluff

“He may be too small for such weight,” she says. “Any decent protection may be too much.”

“Not full armor,” he says. “I was thinking vambraces. Enough to show, but not real protection. Thinner, lighter. It would have to be redone if he still grows, but it would be enough.”

“Hm.” The Armorer looks at him, then nods. “I see what you mean. I will see what can work.”

-----

The child receives his first beskar armor.

You're Not Alone In This by itsagoodthing

Not rated | WiP | hurt/comfort, canon diverg

While struggling with the lingering injuries sustained from the battle on Navarro, Din's a little floored when he gets a hand from one of the last people he would have ever expected to.

Stucky

Let Me Hold You Close by icoulddothisallday

General | complete| angst, mpreg, alfa/omega

When Steve went down with the Valkyrie, he'd only just started to wonder if he might be pregnant. But there's no way a baby could have survived 70 years in the ice. Right?

+

More fic recs

[idhrenniel]

Fireworks / Thomas Shelby

➴ Summary: After the war, Tommy no longer enjoyed fireworks, but he’s willing to do anything to make your anniversary special.

➴ Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Reader (3rd POV).

➴ Warnings: NA.

➴ Wordcount: 1336.

➴ Tagged: @angelaiswriting

➴ Author Note: Special thanks to my girl Angie for reading this and giving me the thumbs up!! A lot more for Tommy is coming!

When Thomas approached her this morning and told her he'd be taking her somewhere special for their anniversary, this wasn't what she was expecting. The races, the fair their first date was at… Anything but this. Of course she loved it, how could she not? Fireworks were one of her favourite things in the world. However, after Tommy came back from France she had to enjoy them alone, the loud sounds often made him shake on his spot and throw up - sometimes she could even see tears falling through his face. Because of this, she hadn’t ask him to join her ever since, his health much more important to her than colours in the sky.

Which was the main reason he had to keep it a secret. It wasn’t until he stopped the car and made her walk a couple of miles up a cliff that she realized what was going on - well, seeing Mr. Zang and his men preparing the fireworks was also a big clue, but she wouldn’t admit it.

Thomas was finishing the picnic blanket when she asked, once more, the devious question:

“Are you sure about this, Tommy?” It earned her a sigh, but she was as stubborn as he was, if not more. “We can do something else… spend the night at home, huh? Just the two of us. Or go to the pictures… we could spend the weekend in London.”

He chuckled and shook his head, offering his hand to her. It took her some moments, but in the end her hand met his and she sat down besides him. He didn’t seem worried, but once again it was difficult to know when he was. Thomas could mask his emotions in the split of a second and not let people see them - not even her. She hoped, as he handed her a glass of rum, he wasn’t doing it in that moment, because if he was putting himself through something that could hurt him for her… that she would ever forgive herself.

“I’m fine. Stop overthinking. If I believed I couldn’t do this, I wouldn’t be doing it.”

She laughed. It was soft and short lived, but it was there. “Liar.” And the smile he gave her, it shut down her worries for a while.

Thomas idea of a perfect “picnic” was a lot of alcohol and little to no food. Now, she couldn’t be surprised about it, after a lifetime with him she knew what a mess he could be in certain aspects of his life. The night he proposed to her, he almost broke his leg running down the stairs because she had said she was leaving and he thought it meant she was leaving him. So, his surprised face when he opened the basket and saw some bread, cheese and fruit meant that she’d have to thank Pol upon their return home.

A couple of hours, two or three bottles of rum, and lots of memories after, dinner (if she could call it that) was over and she laid on her back, with Thomas caressing her face and the bit of skin that her dress exposed. He was on his side, supporting himself on his elbow. Time had passed since the last time she saw him so… carefree. She looked at him and couldn’t see the storm that came with him from France, no pain behind false smiles. Just the man he was before going to war, loving and worshipping her. What did she do? She wondered. What did she do to deserve such a man? Many would say Thomas Shelby was a bad person, but all of them were wrong. She knew him, the man behind the mask. He was everything but bad. Right, he had done some questionable things, but who hadn’t? They had to survive.

Before she noticed and was able to stop herself, her face had gotten wet with tears. Tommy wasn’t caressing her face anymore, but wiping them away. He didn’t say anything, ask what was wrong or tried to console her. He let her cry the tears she needed to cry. He was so good at understanding people and emotions, at understanding her. The thought made her cry a little bit more, but it also made her smile through the tears. Tommy smiled right back at her, like he had always done, like he would always do.

For some time, the two looked at each other. She had stopped weeping some time ago, but Thomas’s hand never left her face. It wasn’t until Mr. Zang arrived, sweaty and with a laboured breath, to tell them the fireworks were about to start that their positions changed. Tommy thanked Zang, who left as hurriedly as he had arrived, and the two sat next to each other, making sure there was no space between them. Her head was on his shoulder, he held her hand in his and she could feel his lips against her forehead.

Although it was past midnight by then, it was mid-summer and not as cold as it should. If she didn’t know better, she’d think God wanted that night to be as special as possible.

It started.

First ones were, as expected, smaller and less loud, but beautiful nonetheless. Of a red colour that painted and illuminated the night. It had just started, but she was already smiling. Like a child seeing them for the first time, she looked up at the sky: her eyes glistening with the remaining of her tears and the happiness of seeing such magnificent beauty. And like so, she observed, one by one as they went up to the sky and exploded. Her hand never left Tommy’s, just to make sure he was alright, to thank him for the surprise. She had yet to look at him, and maybe if she had she would’ve noticed how he never gave the fireworks a second of his time, his eyes too busy admiring the beauty she was to him. But it still took her awhile to do so.

The next round were bigger, much bigger, and much louder. Blue and green danced together in the darkness of night, hugging and kissing, and falling. Then, white went up and then fell like a weeping star, making her heart clench and forcing her to breath out. It was in that moment she looked at Tommy: the louder the explosion, the worse his reaction could be. But it seemed nothing was bothering him, as if he couldn’t even hear them. His beautiful blue eyes were focused on one thing only: her. Full of love and admiration, with a small smile dancing on his lips, he titled his head a little bit to the side before leaning in and kiss her. His lips felt like a fireplace in mid-December, like a sip of water after a decade of thirst. It felt like hope, and love, and happiness. He couldn’t speak half the things he felt, but he made sure to tell her through his actions. The kiss was one of them.

When their kiss broke, she said: “You’re missing the view.”

And he shook his head with a small chuckle and whispered: “No, I’m not.” His voice almost lost with the fireworks. But she had heard. Yes, she had heard. The words he had spoken out loud and the ones he still couldn’t: I’m here, I’m not gone, the sun won. We won.

She leaned in this time, the gap between their lips closing in a heartbeat. Her hand found its home in the back of his head, the short hair tickling her skin. He moved so that he was prop up on one hand while the other got lost in her hair. Perhaps the fireworks were still shining, and perhaps it was still nighttime in a cliff with thousand of stars to see, but as their kiss started to deepen and their skin started to touch, nothing else mattered anymore.

Only that they were together and they had won.

[dullwriting]

|| pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

|| warnings: angst I guess? | so cliché | written by a non-native | a lot of swearing

|| word count: 1.975

|| summary: You seduce influential men for a living, the job being too much for you initially, because it usually ends in their killing, but the money you make, let’s say, helps your conscience. That is until it’s time to give up your current target - Thomas Shelby, the poor motherfucker and yeah ...I’ll say it... love of your life.

If someone were to call me a whore, I’d thank him.

My profession was far more irreverent than that, not leaving room for doubts or a healthy conscience. Healthy was my body however, as the amount of men I slept with was manageable.

I was far worse than a whore, because a whore’s intentions are clear as day.

She gets paid by a client, who – mostly – knows what he wants, they perform the act, he leaves, full stop. The service simply consists of sweaty skins rubbing against each other, a visceral dance being performed, the communication reduced to muscle contraction and crude sounds leaving parted lips. The one and only purpose being ejaculation, one’s body just a means to an end.

My service was a different one.

“Everyone’s a whore, Grace, we just sell different parts of ourselves.” A statement once made by my current target, victim or however you prefer to call it, meant solely for the ears of his blonde Irish barmaid.

That was the particular day, I realised, I was worse.

Far worse than everyone for there was hardly a part of me I didn’t sell to the person my clients wanted dead.

Paid I was not by simple working men who craved some sort of release or stress relief nor horny upper class arseholes who were bored shitless at home while also thirsting for power over yet another poor soul. Clients of mine, they desire quiet similar things but on a much bigger scale, outside the four walls of damp rooms filled with grunts and moans and vulgarity.

Priests worse than the devil they point at, politicians worse than the - I quote - “scum that votes for them”. To eliminate their competition, I shall seduce party leaders or gang leaders or bloody royals, anyone with too much influence for some other influential bastard’s liking. Make sure to involve feelings, in order to make their target emotionally vulnerable so they make mistakes and take risks and bullets for someone who doesn’t even care for them.

Let me rephrase that. Someone who shouldn’t care.

My first targets I indeed treated with cold professionalism, barely ready – but still ready to feed them to those sharks. My first two times, I actually witnessed the job being done, hiding behind doors or brickwork, apparently more involved than I told myself after all, drowning my guilty conscience afterwards in expensive booze, the most expensive they could offer, to remind myself what I was suffering for.

The money I earned was indeed more a regular whore could ever ask for, but at what cost?

The muffled gun shot I heard from afar the first time made my throat close up for real and for a solid two minutes I thought I was suffocating, wondering what the fuck they put in my tea and how naive I’d been to believe my client would let me live after being informed of his plans. Eventually I realised it was my own weakness strangling me which force I underestimated. Life’s little ironies.

The next stimulus that caused the contents of my stomach to rise up to my again closed throat was a thud behind closed doors which gave me a good enough picture of my target’s limp body colliding with the ground. He had proposed to me beforehand. I looked down a bridge that night.

After that I never again mustered up the sufficient amount of courage to attend the inevitable killings after a job well done. There was no third time. It made all the difference.

That had been the case until the gravelly voice on the other end of the line breathed out the two words I feared the most, ever since I cried into the sheets of my first and probably last target I not only pitied but loved. “It’s time.”

“No!”, I screamed at the device, before I could detain it. Fuck. They knew now. They knew I fell in love with Thomas Shelby and now refused to give him up. They knew they had to kill me for I was too much of a menace. The deafening sound of a disconnected line brought me back to reality. I tossed those bloody high heels to the side while sprinting down the street, barefoot, my delicate skin rubbing against the material closest to my personality: the stinking horse shit of Small Heath.

“You’ve saved me.” were the words Thomas had mumbled into my chest tightening with sadness and regret at three o’clock in the morning after I’d comforted him once again, reassuring him that the terrible screams and shots and shovels weren’t real, his subconscious still trying to process war.

“You’ve betrayed me.” were the words Thomas choked out as soon as I barged into his office, out of breath, wet cheeks and horse shit stuck to my soles. Of course he found out before I could save him. He was Thomas Shelby after all and my client just a criminal bakery owner, an amateur in comparison.

“Yes, Thomas.” was my short answer while glaring at the ground. It was spinning.

At any moment I’d throw up.

What was I to reply instead? “No, Tommy, not yet. In fact, I was about to tell you.” That he wouldn’t quite believe. “Tommy, I’m sorry.” That he would laugh or scoff at. “Tommy, I love you. More than anything in this world.” That statement would be either followed by an outburst or an unbearable silence, judgemental and heavy.

For a split second his eyebrows rose up in something I identified as surprise, then he composed himself again. His cold and distant expression however couldn’t hide the hurt I spotted in his glassy blue eyes. Just then I registered my own eyes stinging as tears were uncontrollably streaming down my pale cheeks. I made no sound, just stared at him, silently crying.

“Shoot me, Thomas”, I ordered, voice surprisingly steady. The crease between his eyebrows reappeared on his smooth skin, I so longed to caress one last time.

“What?”, he blurted out. I took a deep breath, exhaling shakily as my eyes darted to the presumably loaded weapon sitting atop some papers wildly scattered across his desk. This was it, then.

“Just get it over with!”, was what I wanted to shout at him. My emotions got the best of me, however. “I know, I’m in no position to make demands, but do me that favour, Tommy. It’s the best option for me.”, I ended up saying instead.

Curiosity washed over his face. He was no longer trying to hide his own emotions, serving as a cue for me. I owed him an explanation, at least that. “The other options, you ask? Being killed by that Jewish bastard for betraying him. I refused to give you up this morning, he probably already sensed my true feelings for you long before, that’s why he accelerated the process. That or the worst option. You killing him first, leaving me to live without you but with that crushing guilt. I’d have to end it myself eventually. You know me well enough, Thomas. I don’t have the courage to commit suicide. The parts I sold were all true in the end. That is how much I love you.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t need to. The grip around the gun he had picked up during my confession weakened, his hand visibly shaking. I was smarter than to act upon the sudden hope flooding my chest, trying hard to ignore it.

“In the bleak midwinter-“, I started then, interrupted by the loud clattering of steel against hollow wood. He let go off the weapon, the blue of his eyes now surrounded by a reddish rim. My lids immediately shielded my burning eyes from the scenario before me, my heart too broken to witness Tommy crying, not over me, not now.

Looking away, not seeing the consequences, that makes all the difference. All the difference.

How wrong I was. Hearing his voice, laced with sadness, barely above a whisper, that made it even worse. “Shut up!”, I hollered through my sobs.

“Actually-“

I opened my eyes again, seeing how it was of no use, nervously running a hand through my hair. “Please, shut up, Tommy! Don’t make this worse! For Christ’s sake, just shoot me! Fucking get it over with already!”

I didn’t notice the door handle being pushed down behind me, someone entering the room while I screamed at him in between pathetic sobs, fighting for breath afterwards, the oxygen not wanting to reach my burning lungs. Once again, I was suffocating, grabbing my throat with numb hands, panic and adrenaline rushing through my increasingly weaker body. As soon as I felt a pressure on my shoulder, I sank to my knees, coughing and choking violently. Somewhere in the distance I heard Polly’s voice, filling the room with curse words and instructions. The last thing I heard.

Countless voices overlapping, chairs screeching and the sound of heels clicking made me realise how busy hell was and how there was no light at all, just noise and heat nagging at my back pressed against a rather soft surface. That was until a searing pain shot through my head as a wave of harsh, glaring light flooded my blurry vision I recovered all of a sudden.

I moaned at the sensation, causing the noise to die down for a second. “She’s back!”, someone announced surprisingly thrilled and it took me a solid thirty seconds to recognise the voice that belonged to none other than Arthur Shelby.

Hell would’ve been busier and too good to be true.

“You had a panic attack.” “You fainted, love”, Polly and Ada exclaimed in unison before I realised that I was staring at them, a bewildered frown plastered on my face.

“Tom?”, was the only syllable I managed to croak out before a painful coughing fit disrupted me. Probably for the better. To my right I heard an all too familiar voice mumbling my name, my head snapped into his direction.

“Why-“ I cleared my throat. “Why am I still alive?” The question seemed to amuse and sadden him all at once as the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, yet it never reached his eyes.

“I knew”, he finally spoke up. “I knew it all, just waited until you’d tell me. Alfie should’ve made a bigger effort, dealing with the Peaky Blinders, with me of all people, therefore I knew. Also, I knew that you actually loved me.” I gulped, feeling my lips tremble as I was close to crying again.

“You talk in your sleep. You also talk to Polly, about me among other things and Polly obviously talks to me and, you know, she’s never wrong.” That earned a satisfied grunt and a breathy chuckle from the rest of the Blinders.

“I- I don’t understand”, I finally confessed, looking up at him through my lashes. “You were about to shoot me for treason, weren’t you?” That made him look down and my stomach drop. I’d never learn, would I? Let that bloody hope and bloody hormones cloud my judgement every time. He’d have pulled the trigger eventually, if it wasn’t for me fainting.

“Actually, no. After I was informed of your client’s instructions I lost my patience. The gun wasn’t loaded, I just wanted to point it at your head to get you to finally confess, to teach you a lesson, whatever.” A long sigh left his lips.

“Somehow I couldn’t even get myself to point an unloaded weapon into your direction, that’s how much I love you.” I shivered at his choice of words, the last part of the sentence sounding awfully familiar.

“If it’s not you who kills me, it’s him. You’re not the only one I deceived”, I insisted.

“A dead man can hardly harm you”, he chuckled in response.

[dawnwriterimagines]

Sneaky: Thomas Hewitt (Smut)

Request: Can you write that someone sneaks into the house, like a drunkard or something, he stumbles upon the readers room and watches her undress, but ya know Thomas catches him? Thanks!

The halls of the Hewitt household were quiet, the old, wooden floors creaked and scrapped against one another as the house settles. A faint brush of wind rocks through the screen door, echoing a light smack against the wooden frame of the inner door. Luda Mae and Charlie were fast asleep, settled into their own beds with their light snores the only audible sound of their presence. Uncle Monty watched his television downstairs, a bowl of warm beef stew in his hand as he scooped up a messy spoonful and gulped it down. Above him, the floorboards creaked faintly, it was persistent yet alittle sloppy, if he could hear clearly he would've known it wasn't the house settling in.

The TV was loud enough for him to remain oblivious to everything around him, he was already dozing off as it was. He shook his head and yawned tiredly before taking off his cloudy glasses and tossing them on the side of the couch. The last thing his blurred eyes caught was a twist of light and a male bonking another on the head for stealing his shoe. His eyes closed and he was drifting off into a peaceful slumber, his half bowl of soup leaned off to one side and off his lap. Did he remember to lock the front door?

Upstairs, you and Thomas were still awake. Your hands were fisted around his loose shirt, trying desperately to pull his closer as if to bring him deeper. His large hands were on either side of you, sinking into the mattress as he pressed his bodyweight into the bed. Your breath's came out in rapid pants, forced sometimes as you forget how to breath with each thrust of his hips. Thomas looked down at you, his eyes boring into your own as he found himself mesmerized by your undeniably alluring expressions. The way your cheeks burned with color, the glisten of sweat that ran down your body, even the way your eye's would roll back as you felt a wave of pleasure consume you. He loved seeing you this way, seeing you come apart all because of him.

However, he longed to hear your moans and screams, the audible pleasure you'd tell to the world as he gave you what you longed for. But, with everyone asleep, you both had to try your best to be quiet. That didn't mean that he didn't put all his effort to push you to the edge, to the point where you had absolute no control over yourself. He'd apologize later but all he could think of right now was making you feel as good as you made him feel everyday.

Your thighs were squeezing his waist, holding him close as he stayed still inside you, another orgasm rippling through you. Your head pressed into the pillow as your hands claw at the sheets as you squirm under his touch, "Ugh, god, T-thomas!" You gasp, your body arching upwards as you suddenly force a breath into your lungs. He takes that as a sign to continue and you instantly bring a hand up to your mouth as a moan begins to rip through you. Thomas let's out a pleased moan, happily increasing his pace as he feels his balls begin to tighten as you clench your walls around his dick. His eyes squeeze shut as he feels himself getting closer, the feeling indescribable as his thrusts start getting sloppier, the wet slap as your hips meet his get louder.

"Oh, Tommy," he hears you moan quietly, his eyes opening to see you looking at him with those loving eyes. "You're--you're such a good boy, you're so good to me. Oh, yes, Tommy," he feels the light touch of your fingers drag up his back and it nearly sends him over the edge as he groans. "You deserve it, Tommy. You did so good today, so good," you gasp out as he hits you in the right spot, his dick drips out pre-cum as he feels himself start to lose control. "Give it to me, honey, Cum inside me, Thomas." you pull him in as you finish and he let's himself thrust he inside once more before your lips are on his.

He groan's against your lips, a whimper of pleasure escaping him as his cock pumps out thick ropes of his cum inside you. Filling you up to the brim, spilling out from the opening as your legs quiver beneath him as your pussy milks him of everything as it clenches around his member. He lays down next to you in exhaustion, pulling out of you after he had emptied all of his contents inside of your warm heat.

You turned your body to look at him, your eye's drooping sleepily but you wore a satisfied, happy smile on your face which made him feel so lucky. Your head laid in the crook of his neck and your legs lazily tangled around his left leg, you looked up at him and he couldn't have felt more in love than he did staring at you. As you dragged your pointer finger against his bare skin, without his mask, he realized he's never felt more loved.

"I'll wait for you up here," you whispered to him and he inwardly groaned as he recalled Charlie reminding the both of them of the still lively victims down below in the basement. You had only remembered as you glanced at the leather mask at the bedside, your eye's having adjusted to the darkness with the moonlight peering in through the windows.

He let out a breath, letting out a muffled whine, reluctant to leave your side, especially after such an act. You giggled, cuddling him against your chest as he rested his head onto your bare chest, "Don't worry, Tommy," you cooed softly, "if you'd like, I could always come with you?" At that request, Thomas peered upwards as if thinking before shaking his head as he lifted off of you.

You pouted half heartedly, to which he brought his hand up to caress the side of your face, upset to see your smile gone so soon. "I know, I know," you said, understanding that Thomas hated when you went down into the basement, it wasn't somewhere that he wanted you to be. You were to pure, to loving to have to deal with the mess that he made slaughtering those animals. "Well, if I can't come with you then, I want you back soon, ok?" You smiled as he nodded eagerly, lifting himself from the bed and throwing on his pants. You watched as he got dressed sloppily, the effects of your passionate night clearly having a toll, you bit your lip as he slipped his pants over his thick member. "I'll wait up for you." The way you said it, slow and sensual, sent shivers down his spine and he walked up to the bed once more, unable to help himself. You leaned upwards, the sheets slipping off to reveal your bare upper half, he took the back of your head needily and gave you a mind-numbing kiss as you both took in a forced breath.

As he let go, you let out a small whimper at the loss of his touch before blowing him a kiss as he hesitantly walked out the door, listening as he descended down the stairs. You settled back into your pillow with a bright smile on your face as you waited with a short giggle.

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It would be about a half an hour later where a man stumbles into the house, his steps sloppy and luckily he made good work at not tipping anything over. He was a local Texan from Houston, apart of a biker gang farther up west, he had been heading back from a bar when he realized he had been driving the wrong way. He was too drunk to remember where he was, so he broke into a motel and slept there for the night, still fighting off his killer hangover when he found this place.

He thought it was a large house, seemed empty, no lights and no cars running so, it was the perfect spot. And the only decent spot for miles. His bike had run out of gas on the road, so he decided that he'd just steal the truck out front once he got a good night's sleep.

The first thing he heard was a faint rumbling in the floorboards from below, almost like a chainsaw but, what would anyone need a chainsaw in the house for? So, he kept looking around and found an old man asleep in front of the tv, it was fairly loud and brushed off his suspicions, so that's where the noise was coming from.

He decided to leave the old man be, he was crippled after all, what harm could he cause? So, he walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, groaning in thirst as he pulled out a pitcher of water and gulped it down. He pushed it aside, half full and a dirty stain from his beard staining the glass.

He then pulled out a pot, that appeared to be filled, and set it on the table with a mild clank before opening it, his nose caught the scent of the stew and he let out a low cackle before his right hand went in and scooped up a handful. He chewed and slurped greedily, moaning in satisfaction, however picking his teeth at the rather tough meat. Slabs of the meat getting stuck between his teeth, he puts the soup away before grabbing a rag and wiping his face and hands lazily.

The stairs creaked under his weight but he only continued as he hummed to himself, his pinky picking at his front cracked teeth. He looked around trying to find an open room, before glancing at at the first door hat caught his eye that was cracked open with light pouring out into the hall. He could hear a woman lightly humming to herself, a soft song slipping from her lips, her light footsteps on the floor made him walk towards them.

He peeked through, awaiting the view of a modest woman as always. However, he instead found the bare backside of a little vixen, your back to the door as you sat on the end of the bed as you brushed your hair absently. You raised yourself from the bed, abandoning the sheets and walking over to the dresser for a hair tie. The male behind the door felt his pants tighten as his eye's went wide at the sight of you, his mouth watering and a sadistic smirk crawling on his lips.

He remembered how he had left his woman with the gang, now unable to have a good lay for the past two days, he felt his lower regions burn in need. Well, he did fuck a few women in the bar but, they were all loose and dirty, but not you. He licked his lips as you turned around, your full breasts in view and you looked over at the window as you tied your hair.

He knew what bed he would be sleeping in tonight.

He licked his lips as his hand moved down to his hardening crotch at the thought of what he would do tonight.

He began to slowly move the door aside, trying to keep as quiet as possible, he didn't need you screaming and alerting everyone in the house of his intentions. Then he'd never get to have any fun time.

Staring at you as you leaned down to grab a shirt lying on the ground, he noted the thick white substance still dripping down your legs. He chuckled at the thought of fucking someone else's woman, he would enjoy the look on the bastard's face when he caught him raping his girl. As you pulled down your shirt he raised his foot to take a step inside, all the while unable to hear the footsteps approaching up the stairs.

You turned towards the door suddenly, startling the male before he realized you couldn't see him. "Thomas?" You questioned.

The biker, straightened his leather jacket, his hand on his right pocket where his blade would be, "N--uuhhmmphh!" He felt a hand over his mouth before he was lifted off the ground by the back of his neck. He choked and sputtered, his eyes nearly popping out of its sockets as he gasped as his attacker began to turn his head backwards painfully. With his neck on the brink of a snap, his scared, wide eye's met the angry, glaring ones of his killer. With one last pull to his jaw, his neck bone cracked audibly as you opened the door to see the trespasser and Thomas standing there.

You gasped as the trespasser collapsed onto the ground, falling to his knees before falling forwards and landing on the back of his head. His head had been turned all the way to his back, his eyes still bulging impossibly as his nose dripped blood as he lay there still. The spinal bone poking out of his skin, clogging the blood flow and stretching the skin of his neck painfully.

You looked up at Thomas before down at the male at you feet, "Was he...was he watching on me?" You wrapped your arm's around yourself, a sudden wave of nausea coming over you at the thought.

Thomas didn't answer, instead his body shook with rage as he began breathing heavily in anger, you took that as a yes and you groaned before stepping away from the dead body. You reached for Thomas as he growled angrily, moments from tearing the twitching body limb from limb, "Tommy--" you didn't finish as he suddenly went forwards and grabbed the body by the ankle. He didn't even glance at you as he turned around and pulled the body up onto his shoulder from behind, clearly breaking and popping the leg out of place. "Thomas," you tried again, following him out of the room but, he turned instantly and gave you a hard look.

There were moments when you knew not to question him and this was one of those moments as you backed up, biting your bottom lip. He then grabbed the knob of your bedroom door and pulled it closed, looking away as the door shut. You winced slightly before listening to his footsteps hit the stairs as Luda and Charlie left their rooms to assess the noise.

After telling them what happened, you received a cup of tea from Luda and a comforting pat on the shoulder from Charlie before he went up to Monty down in the living room. Luda hissed at him as he smacked the old man in the back of the head, "Charlie!" She gasped and your eye's widened, nearly choking on your tea.

Monty hit his nephew with his cane, turning towards him rubbing the back of his head as you stood to ease the matter. The two began to bicker to one another, "Didn't I tell ya to lock the damn door?" Charlie snapped.

Monty glared at him, stomping his cane onto the floor, "You must have some serious balls to be messin' around with me like that boy!" Bringing his fists up he swung it around warningly, "Don't let these stubs fool ya." Charlie huffed, crossing his arm's as Monty tapped his hands against his amputated legs. Glancing at you as you walked past, placing a hand on his shoulder, Monty calmed considerably before giving one last dirty look to Charlie. "Now what's the fuckin' problem?" He asked, his eyes on you as he rubbed the palm of your hand with his thumb.

You glanced up at Charlie who spun around and opened the door with ease, "This!" He answered for you. He tossed the door from side to side, "This is the problem. See how easy it is to move this door aside, well thats how easy it was for some cattle to sneak in." Charlie spit as he closed the door, proving his point. "Why was the door open?"

Monty then frowned, "Fine. Fine, I fell asleep."

Charlie let out a short humorless laugh, "I think I've got that all figured out. I mean why didn't you lock it when I told ya?"

Monty huffed before you shook your head, "Charlie, look, it's fine," you assured, squeezing uncle monty's shoulder once before pulling away. "No one's hurt and Thomas took care of him before he could hurt anybody."

"That doesn't stop it from happening again," he looked past you to point a finger at Monty, "I don't want this blown off ya hear? Now, Thomas's downstairs cleanin' up yo' mess."

Charlie grumbled before walking off upstairs to get his few hours of sleep back, his footsteps faded until his bedroom door shut loudly above.

Monty shook his head, "That boy ain't got the slightest bit of respect." He pulled the wheelchair at the couch side in front of him, beginning to drag himself onto it.

You walked over, "Here, let me help," you aided before heaving the older man up from the couch and helped him sit himself onto the seat.

After the commotion was discussed and everyone was settled, you finished your tea as the last bedroom door slammed shut. You sat there, a flickering candle, your only source of light as you waited for Thomas to finish his work in basement.

As you set your cup into the sink, you reached over to turn the water on before sighing, "Oh, Tommy," you breathed as you thought back to the way he looked at you. What could've made him so upset? Did you do something? Was it that the trespasser was watching you and--!

Oh no, what if he thought you were putting in a show for that pervert! What if he thought you had invited him in? You leaned against the sink and ran your hands through your hair, breathing erratically as you shook your head. You would never do that to Thomas, you sincerely hoped that he didn't think that you would ever hurt him like that.

Turning on the water, you rinsed out the tea cup before glancing at the basement door and walking up the stairs.

Going into your shared bedroom, you found yourself unable to sleep and grabbed your towel before walking into the bathroom. Maybe a shower could clear your head, you just hoped Thomas wasn't angry with you when you came out.

Running the water, you stripped your clothes off before glancing at the mirror, the faint scar from an escaped victim on your shoulder. You looked away before stepping into the shower and letting out out a deep breath as you closed your eye's as you let the water run directly over you. You lifted your hands up and ran your hands through your hair before stopping at your shoulder's, opening your eye's despite the slight sting in them. How could you make it up today Thomas?

There was a knock on the bathroom door before it was pushed open lightly, you paused before wiping the water from your eye's and stepping back together peek your head out from the other side of the shower curtain. Thomas stood there, looking down at the ground as he held a notebook in his hand, the one he used to write in. To tell you anything that was on his mind if he couldn't find the signs to tell you clearly in sign language.

He glanced up at you as if guilty before you went back into the shower and with a silent breath, turned off the water. You stayed behind the curtain as you peeked your head out holding the edge of it to cover up. You couldn't find anything to say as he stepped in closer, his eyes narrowing confused as you pulled the curtain to your naked body. "Tommy, I hope you're not...I never meant to upset you. I hope you know that I didn't--" you spoke hastily before the notebook was lifted slowly for your to see.

The writing was alittle sloppy and hastily written, it said: I heard him in the house. And then I saw him there, looking at you. I could've lost you, and it would've been my fault.

Your eye's watered at the realization as you read, before looking up at him seeing that he couldn't meet you eyes. Noticing you were finished, however, he dropped the book before he began to sign, just like you had taught him.

Tears trickled down your cheeks as you identified every letter, every message that he conveyed.

I shouldn't have left you. I almost lost you. I'm sorry.

You hadn't done anything wrong at all, Thomas had felt as if he had failed and that's why he had shut you out. He had been beating himself up for over an hour and all you could think about was how you had messed up when it was the complete opposite for him.

"No," you whispered, "No, no, Tommy, how could you think that?"

You stepped out of the shower quickly, grabbing his bloody wrist fo stop his signs as you watched his eye's water in guilt, in self doubt. "Don't ever think that, you could never lose me. You were so great, Tom. And It wasn't you, I had thought it was me! That you might've been upset with me." He looked at you oddly, as if the idea itself was ludicrous, grabbing your wrists in surprise of your words. "But, oh, Thomas, I can't believe you would've thought that this was in any way because of you. You're the one who stopped him, the only reason that I'm ok, that your family is safe." You caressed the side of his face and he breathes calmly as he leans into your touch. "And I'm here. I'm with you, I'll always be here." He leaned down, resting his forehead on yours as you traced your fingertips against his jawline.

"You're so wonderful, Thomas," you sighed lovingly. "And you don't even know it." You smiled up at him as his eye's brightened at your words before you wrapped your arm's around his neck as his hands found your waist to lift you into his torso. "I love you, Tommy."

With those words, you let him carry you into the shower, helping him discard his shirt as he stepped out of his pants after unbuckling his belt. "I love you," you repeated to him, he growled against your skin as you turned on the water with tour free hand. The water hit your heads before he spun around and let your back hit the opposite wall so his back was hit by the running water. Blood running down the drain. "I won't leave you, Tommy, I won't." You moaned as he whined against your skin as he pressed himself against your heat. "Oh, Thomas," you gasped as you closed your eye's in pleasure as he forced himself inside, his grip on your thighs tightening as he feels your walls around his length for the second time tonight.

Opening your eye's, forcing them to focus as he began to stir inside your heat, you found yourself staring back into his eyes that were so intense and loving that you couldn't hold back. You moved your hips to position yourself against him, he moaned deeply at the feeling before watching you lean forwards and connect your lips with his. Closing his eye's as you tangled your hands in his loose curly strands, you both moved your lips in sync as you smiled against him.

Thomas chuckled softly, you wrapped your arm's around his neck as you pulled away from him to look at his face. He never did find himself with an urge to put his mask on with you, you could see the real him because you were never afraid. And he loved you for that. For thousands of other reasons as well but, in this moment he just loved you for being by his side.

You grinned, your eye's brightening as you looked at him. You couldn't imagine a life without him, and you were glad to know that he felt the same.

You didn't leave the bathroom until the sun rose. The two of you were in no rush to start the day, instead deciding to sleep in, in each others arm's. Leaving the bathroom, you were just about to close your eyes to sleep when you caught him signing to you.

I. Love. You.