#'John and my mother got on like house on fire – even though they did not understand a word each other was saying'

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (26) Manipulate

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 26)

Summary: Rosie finds an unmarked box in her wardrobe. When John scolds himself for lacking as a parent, Rosie sets things straight.

Twenty-Six Years Old

Six months after my return to London, I was moving out again. The internship at the ministry of justice paid surprisingly well. I couldn’t help but think that a certain uncle had been using his manipulation skills again… In addition to my wage, the generous inheritance from Nana and Timothy’s income from his published novel, were more than sufficient to buy a decent flat in Stockwell. 

Nana had clearly wanted that 221 Baker Street was well looked after, and gifted it to her two boys, and insisted in her will that if Deidre, or Dee, as she preferred to be called, needed a home, 221A should be hers. And for the last two years, 221A had been occupied by Dee. My parents got along with her like a house on fire.

“It’s like having a younger version of Hudders down there,” Papa stated.

“Agreed. The sassiness runs in the family, I presume. Dee’s skills in the kitchen are sadly things she did not inherit from her aunt, though,” Dad said.

“Definitely not! She almost sat the flat on fire when she was boiling eggs,” Papa filled in.

***

Moving out the first time, had been poles apart to this move. That time I was going on an adventure, and I knew it was for just a period. When I moved in with Timothy, it was forever, and that was more bittersweet than I’d anticipated.

Moving to Paris, I had only taken clothes, some books, my laptop and the like. Stripping my room bare, was something entirely different. There were so many memories, and I knew I had to get rid of some of them because the flat wasn’t exactly big, and there were Timothy’s things to consider as well.

Over the next weeks I felt that I lived inside a cardboard box. They were everywhere, even downstairs to let me have some room to move around upstairs and leave the bed free to sleep in.

On the floor inside my wardrobe, I found an old box that had remained hidden behind clothes, rucksacks, shoes and a bag with blankets. It wasn’t marked and I couldn’t remember having placed it there. I opened the flaps and gasped in surprise.

“How are you getting on?” Dad called from the stairs and seconds later he entered my room.

I looked up at him with a stunned expression. When he saw the box, his shoulders slumped, and he sighed heavily.

“Right. I’d forgotten all about that one,” he said sheepishly. “I’ve failed to keep her memory alive for you, haven’t I?”

“Dad,” I scolded him. “You had far more important things to cope with when she died. Raising me with Papa is the greatest gift you could’ve given me. Never be sorry for that. I don’t remember her at all. From what I’ve gathered she did some horrible things to you both. No, stop. She did. I may not know the full extent of it, but it doesn’t matter that she was my mother. Remember what Papa said about extended and chosen family. They can be way better than the biological one. Not that I would want to replace you, mind.”

We both looked down at the photo of my mother and Dad on their wedding day. I didn’t recall when it had been replaced with the wedding photo of Dad and Papa. It felt strange and a bit eerie to look at Dad embracing another person like that. I took it out and placed it in the box that was going to the bins.

“Rosie!” Dad exclaimed, more out of shock than anything else.

“It’s wrong, Dad. I don’t need that. To me she’s the one who gave me life, but she was never in it when it mattered, and I’ve never missed having a mother. I consider myself the luckiest girl in the world having you and Papa as parents. You’ve done a great job, and uncle Myc, Nana, Molly, Granny, Pops, and uncle Greg have been brilliant carers as well. Now, what else is in here?”

I found Ted, still stained with tomato sauce, a white baby blanket with a bee pattern, tiny boxes containing a curl of my hair, my first tooth, a book where my growth, my first real meal, my first words, my first steps, my first trip, (to Barts), my favourite toys and books were painstakingly written down in Papa’s handwriting. My eyes filled with tears when I realised how much love lay behind those notes.

“He didn’t let me near that book with my horrible handwriting,” Dad said in a choked voice, clearly as emotional as me.

Another book caught my eye. The one uncle Greg had mentioned. A book with children’s names. It was worn, and I didn’t know whether that was from Papa searching for male names starting with a G, or my mother’s search for names meant for me.

“Did you…”

“No,” Dad cut me off. “She’d already decided on a name once we got back together. After…”

He didn’t have to finish that sentence, and I’m glad he stopped himself. Just thinking about it made me nauseous. 

I hadn’t told Timothy about her yet, but I knew I needed to. He would eventually ask. The lack of photos of her would ensure that. I reminded myself to ask uncle Myc how much I could reveal. Not that I knew more than half of it myself.

After I’d put the box aside, I leant into Dad where he sat beside me and placed my head on his shoulder. He put his arm around me and pulled me in for a hug.

“I’m so glad you decided to move back here with me after she died,” I murmured. “We would’ve been miserable without him.”

“Yeah, two years was enough for a lifetime,” Dad said and drew me closer, kissing the top of my head.

“I bet Papa is relieved that he can walk around in just a sheet now that I’m moving out for good,” I quipped to brighten the mood.

Dad chuckled and he was unable to hide the glint in his eyes at this prospect.

Also available on AO3

All the love to the other magnificent participants <3 Thanks to everyone for the endless support and especially to those who normally don't read parent!lock, but despite that are walking the extra mile. I'm in awe!

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

More tags in the replies

[moonlightkitties]

You are your fathers daughter - Red Dead Redemption Reader Insert (Part Three)

Summary: After you get shot at the O'Driscoll camp, you get close to two of the newer members of the gang.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: None

Part One Part Two Part Four

Who knew how strict Miss Grimshaw was whenever someone was injured?

You sure didn't until you got shot last night and have been bed ridden ever since. Here you were, laying down, in front of the fire trying your hardest not to bite the next person who asks "How're you feelin?"

You tried feeding Whisky this morning, nope, go back inside and lay down. Sitting up? Sure, just don't try to pick anything up with your bad arm. It was annoying. You hated being stuck inside when there were chores to be done.

Oh, and you've been so busy with your migraine and bullet wound that you haven't notice that there's a new member of the Van der Linde Gang.

A Mrs. Sadie Adler.

Apparently when we first got to Colter, Dutch and Arthur went out to find Micah and John. They only found Micah and he showed them a homestead that, not really surprising, was already occupied by O'Driscoll boys. Well, Micah found her hiding in the basement, and then had the bright idea to terrorize her and burn her house down on accident. She was a miserable poor thing , always crying and hardly ever sleeping. You hardly slept too so she was good company. The pair of you would stay up late, talking. About the gang and the members, her husband, your mother and why Dutch wanted revenge. In a way Sadie was very much like a female version of Dutch. She was very keen on getting revenge as much as Dutch was about Annabelle.

Until one night, when your arm was feeling a bit better she asked "Is there someone special in your life?" you froze, your cheeks going red in embarrassment "Not really" you shrug, leaning your body into the fire, trying to get warm. "Really?" she asks, surprise in her voice. "Not even a small crush?" she teases, knocking her shoulder against yours. Your cheeks turn redder, although it wasn't noticeable because of the fire. "Well, there is, but he's back in the Blackwater jail."

"Oh?" she asked, her interest perking.

"Sean, though you wouldn't know him."

Your mind went to the red headed Irishman you were talking about, he was twenty-one, and although Dutch thinks he's "too old for you" he still managed to get you on small jobs with him weather it was robbing a homestead or keeping watch over camp with him.

It was a stupid schoolgirl crush but you noticed he was taking a liking to Karen so you never had the guts to confess your feelings to him.

A silence went over you and Mrs. Adler as you thought.

"My Jakey" she began, after a few moments of said silence "Was the most kindest, patient, understanding man I've ever met" her voice trailed off so she could let out a quiet sob, your heart ached for her. You never wanted to feel the pain of loosing someone you hold close to your heart. You couldn't bear the thought of never seeing Arthur, John, Dutch or even Hosea again. You were a family with them, your two old dads and two miserable wet dogs that you call brothers. You rubbed her back as she sobbed, and after a few moments she put her hand on yours.

"You're a good kid, (y/n), I never wanted kids but if I did, I would want them to be just like you."

Your heart swelled at her praise, you hardly got any and when you did it was usually from Hosea which, you weren't complaining, but it was hard growing up without being praised for things, big or small.

"Thanks" you mumbled, your voice going shy.

"Well" she said, getting up from her chair "I think I'm gonna head to bed" you gave her nod of acknowledgement and she went to her space on the other side of the cabin and laid down. You sat there for a few more seconds before your mind trailed to the O'Driscoll boy that saved your life a few days ago. You felt guilty at dismissing his plead for you to vouch for him but you knew it would only make his situation worse.

You overheard Dutch talking to Arthur about how he was "bound to speak soon" since he "hadn't ate in days" and that made you feel even more guilty so you pulled your coat over your underclothes and snuck out of the cabin, making sure to not wake any of the other women up. Pearson should have at least a few things out, right? You made your way to the area where he was prepping the food. And yes, you felt awful stealing but you couldn't just let the O'Driscoll starve, well you could, but he saved your life! You grabbed a can of the nearest fruit you could find and made your way into the barn where he was tied up.

The barn doors creaked and you cringed at the sound "No.." the O'Driscoll whimpered in fear "I don't know anything else!" the barn doors shut a little too fast for your liking and made a loud noise as it did. Lets just hope that didn't wake anyone up. The O'Driscoll looked up, his face bruised from being beat and his cheeks hollow from being starved. His eyes widen "You" he began "I saved your life and you didn't even help me!" he exclaimed, his voice, rightfully, angry.

"I'm sorry" you began, opening the can of fruit "I couldn't just call my dad out in front of everyone" you told him "Then do it in private" he spat out. You sighed, annoyed "I can't, why would I tell him an O'Driscoll saved my life? He would never believe me!"

"I ain't an O'Driscoll" he muttered, looking away from me.

"Do you want the food or not?" you asked, getting really annoyed at his pouting.

"Yes.." he mumbled. Once you brought the can of fruit to his mouth he started lapping at it like a dog. A cute one at that. The way he lapped at the fruit juices made you think…unspeakable things. He was cute, a shy look crossed his face once you realized you were staring at him. "Oh! Sorry" you let out an awkward laugh. He looked down, his face turning a bright pink. "Well I should get going" you tell him "But I'll come back tomorrow night, I promise." As you turned to leave you could hear snow crunching from the outside of the barn. You panicked and looked for somewhere to hide but you were too late and the barn door opened. Your heart stopped as John's figure came into view. He narrowed his eyes at you and glanced between the O'Driscoll and then you. "What are you doin in here, kid?" he asked, an annoyed sigh leaving his mouth. You stood there, not knowing what to say "Uhm" you began "I just…I felt bad so I came here to feed him." John let out a chuckle "Feed him?" he repeated "He's not some type of lost puppy we found" John told you, taking a step towards you "He's an O'Driscoll" he spat out "And I can't believe you of all people are showing him mercy."

"What do you mean you of all people?" you asked, glaring up at him. John scoffs "I mean, you're Dutch's daughter, if he catches you being nice to an O'Driscoll, he's gonna have your ass." You grumbled, who cares if I was Dutch's daughter, it's not like I was some innocent lamb that needed saving. John sighed after you didn't respond "Just…come on, you're not even supposed to be out of bed, you're arm is still hurt."

"No, it's not" you snapped "I feel fine!" John raised his hands up, surprised at your outburst "Alright! Sorry! Yeesh!" nevertheless, you still followed him out of the barn and back into the cabin.

"Aren't you supposed to be resting too, scar face?" you ask him, his eyes roll at your nickname for him "I had to get away" he shrugged "Between Abigail's griping and Arthur's complains I just had to find somewhere to relax."

"I don't know why you're complaining" you tell him "If I was Abigail I would have left you long ago." John gave me a warning glare "Don't you start" he huffed "No, because you left without any warning" you snapped "You left Abigail and Jack like they were nothing." John clenched his fists at your words "You don't understand" he told you through gritted teeth "You were fourteen when I left, you knew nothing about what I was going through."

"I was young, but I still knew what was going on. Abigail was counting on you and Jack needed his father in his life." you argued. John huffed "I'm not talking to you about this." As he walked off you felt a tingle of guilt, you didn't mean to make him upset, it's just you saw how much his absence hurt Abigail, but not only her, his absence hurt you and Arthur as well. It was like he forgotten all about you. You were four when he first joined the gang and you grew up with him. Arthur was, and still is, a good older brother too, he was the one that taught you to ride Whisky once she was old enough.

The sun was about to rise and you walked into the cabin to find most of the camp awake. Karen eyed you suspiciously but didn't say anything as you sat in front of the fire. You slept almost all day yesterday so you weren't tired, even though you were up all night talking to Mrs. Adler and John. Reverend Swanson took your bandages off and let out a grunt "What's wrong?" you asked, noticing how concerned he looked "Nothing, your shoulder looks better than it did the first night, I was just worried the infection got worse."

"So, I'm all good to start chores?" you asked, getting anxious for his answer "Yes, but take it easy" Swanson replied, standing up from his chair. Finally. You were good to go back to chores instead of laying around all day. You walked out of the cabin, your shoulder was sore but you wanted to work today. Most of the work was inside the cabin since it was still freezing outside, so you spent the day washing clothes, doing dishes, even helping Pearson prepare the food.

When night came around, you were exhausted, going without sleep and working all day did something to someone. You noticed the men mounting there horses and walked over to Arthur "What's going on?" you asked, patting his horses muzzle. "Were doin the train job" he replied, gruffly. "Really?" you ask "That was today?" Arthur nodded at your question "Yep, Dutch wants us to rob the train and then get us out of here before were caught." Your head turned to Dutch who was busy talking to Hosea, they both looked annoyed with each other and when Hosea stalked off you knew he didn't approve of this plan.

"Come on gentlemen!" you heard Dutch yell "Good luck" you say to Arthur "And be safe, please" Arthur ruffled your head and gave you an affectionate chuckle "I always am kid." you give him a grin "Not always" you say "There was that job with the wagon, that job with the bank and that time you nearly got caught by that bounty hunter." Arthur rolled his eyes "Yeah, yeah, don't remind me" he chuckled.

As Arthur and the others left, you were left outside. You longed to go with them but you knew you were unexperienced and Dutch would force you to stay anyways. The O'Driscoll boy was still tied up in the barn so you made a mental note to stop by there once you checked on Hosea, he was starting to grow on you a bit. You opened the door to the cabin where Hosea was and you found him in front of the fire, busy writing something down.

"Hosea?" you asked and made him jump "Sorry!" you said, putting your arms up "Ah, (y/n), what's wrong sweetheart?" he asked, patting a chair beside him so you could sit. You shrug "Nothing, I just noticed you and dad arguing and wanted to check up on you." Hosea waved your concerns away "I'm fine, your father just" he lets out a sigh as he trails away "Your father is a very stubborn man and won't listen to anyone" he rambled "I thought we were supposed to be lying down but when there's money to rob he jumps on the chance like a cowboy at a rodeo" Hosea finishes his ramble with a huff and a rub to his forehead.

"Just, please, don't end up like your father, (y/n), for my sake" he was teasing, but his eyes told you that he was being serious. You looked like Dutch, a lot, your facial features, your dark hair, you even notice you're starting to sound like his mannerisms as well. "I'll try" you tell him. Hosea nodded "Now was that all?" he asked "I need to get some sleep. In case this job goes well we'll be leaving in the morning" you nodded "Yeah, I just wanted to check on you." Hosea pulled you into a comforting hug "You're a good kid" he told him, kissing your head, something he always did ever since you were a toddler. You melted into his embrace and stayed like that for a little moments longer. You missed these moments, you missed Hosea, it seemed like you could never see him.

"You know I'm always here for you right?" he asked and you nodded "I know…I just don't want to let you down." he chuckled "You could never let me down, you have some fire inside you and I don't want to see it burn out."

His words clung to you that moment as you walked towards the barn. The men were gone and half the camp was asleep. The O'Driscoll was sleeping when you walked towards him and jumped when you tapped his shoulder. He calmed down once he knew it was you "Hey" you said "uh hey?" he said, confusion in your voice.

"I um, I never really did thank you" you said "For saving me" the O'Driscoll shrugged "It was nothin really" he mumbled "What's your name?" you asked "Or do ya like O'Driscoll better" you smirked "Kieran" he said "Kieran Duffy."

Kieran.

"Well, Kieran, do you have a family?" you ask, trying to get to know him "Why?" he asked, suspicious "You goin ta kidnap and tie them up too?" he asked. You scoffed "No, I'm just trying to get to know you that's all."

"Well, uhm, I-I don't, my parents died when I was young, from cholera" he explained "Oh, sorry about that" you told him and he shrugged "It's alright, it was a long time ago."

As you spoke with him he mentioned he was from Ireland and that he and his parents immigrated from there to America when he was little. He also told you he joined the army but it "didn't work out" and that he joined a gang way before he met the O'Driscoll's. In the end you knew a lot about him and you told him that being Dutch's daughter demanded a lot out of you and how stressed you were about following your father's footsteps like he oh so wanted you to. You thought about the conversation that night and how much you really wanted to talk to him more. He was good company and heat rushed to yours cheeks as you thought back to the way he was nervous and squirmed around you.

Maybe, you could grow to be something more.

[eppysboys]

“Astrid and The Beatles became even closer when she invited them to her home in Altona. For the first time since arriving in Hamburg, the five boys were able to enjoy some home comforts and escape the desperate privations of their hovel like accommodation at The Bambi Kino. They also enjoyed some sorely missed English food: “They loved visiting my house. For their first visit, my mother asked me what they liked to eat, and so she cooked them mashed potatoes, steak and peas – the first proper English meal they’d had since arriving in Germany. She even got them some strawberries, and made tea with milk and sugar. John and my mother got on like house on fire – even though they did not understand a word each other was saying. It was lovely to see. The boys had a good time – they had a bath and enjoyed looking through our records and books. It was to be the first of many such visits.”

Through such occasions, Astrid was able to get to know The Beatles as individuals. 

“Paul is still like he was then, very lovely, deeply modest, and very well mannered. He nearly broke his tongue talking German to my mother. He had his phrase book with him. He always tried to be the translator, because he had these three or five words of German that he knew. George was the sweet one. He was just 17, and he would sit and look at things, politely asking “Can I please look at that book, that magazine?” He is one of my closest friends. I am so pleased to know that he is in England watching over me. He had had tough times recently, and so I am pleased he has his family and his religion to help him. He lost John, his parents, he was almost killed during that terrifying attack, and he had that bad cancer, but through all these tragedies he is still the George he has always been; kind, helpful and full of love for his friends. He is very caring toward me.

...

John was the strong one, always asking questions. All that anger that people associate with him and that was showing the film “Backbeat” in several scenes, where he shouts “It’s all dick!” at everyone and anyone - including me – was not the John I knew. That’s fiction, I never heard him say that. We got on every well – he was never hostile towards me.

“And Stuart!!! Well, by the time they visited my home we really had a crush on each other, so we just sat gazing into one another’s eyes, as the rest carried on. Neither of us actually made the first move, it was both of us - like magnets. At that time, Klaus was my boyfriend, but he sensed what was happening. He saw it and, in a way, forced it, which is strange to understand now, but Klaus always wanted me to be happy. He knew I wasn’t happy in our relationship. He and I were great friends, we shared the same tastes, the same sense of humour, but we just could not live together as lovers, that was impossible. So he encouraged Stuart and me a little bit.”

Astrid Kirchherr on the personalities of The Beatles. Interviewed by Colin Hall for Get Rhythm, August 2001

[david-watts]

could you pls tell me some stories about the pretty things ? i’ve been reading about their escapades in new zealand and i find them so fascinating!

well!!! the idiots who nearly got themselves banned from a whole country!! sure thing hold on

phil may absolutely had daddy issues. I read his wiki page (usually I avoid reading the wiki pages of things I am Very Interested In it's one of my weird aversions) trying to find out how tall he was and apparently his mother remarried and he changed his surname back to may after that at some point I can't really remember lol! I never found out how tall he was

viv prince, the original drummer, got fired because he simply didn't show up anymore. later he joined the hell's angels and according to the back of one of my vinyl he was 'the only guy to ever get kicked out of the hell's angels' which is hilarious to me what did he even do

the album emotions wasn't meant to have as much production to it, that was studio interference, though while I think they were probably not that happy about it I don't actually know how much was voluntarily allowed

not strictly pretty things, but dick taylor quit the rolling stones (well ok it wasn't the stones Yet) to focus on art school. at art school him and phil may made a new band. he literally went 'you guys are idiots I'm out' only to arguably join an even bigger bunch of idiots

do I even need to mention the fact that phil may, brian pendleton, possibly also viv prince and brian jones all shared a house? because I will. literally obsessed with that fact (I don't actually know if either brian p or prince actually lived there, but it's mentioned in laura jackson's biography on brian jones that three of the pretty things lived in that house, and as both dick taylor and john stax lived at 13 chester street, or at least until they were evicted, and considering brian p left that jumper laying about...)

speaking of brian jones him and phil may travelled to stones concerts in a separate car to the other stones. that and brian literally running after the doorman of a hotel the two were staying at together to correct him after he'd greeting may as mick jagger. I've talked about that fact before but it drives my little brain absolutely nuts thinking about it. did brian have a type? long-haired brunettes??

one of the bassists for the pretty things in their s.f. sorrow/electric banana/pre-parachute era was wally allen. he was also in the marcus hook roll band. I don't know if he was just producing or if he played on any tracks off the top of my head. but of course, the marcus hook roll band had four different members of the young family and as aonus I'll mention that angus young was not meant to be there allegedly, he tagged along with malcolm, and he had to be coaxed into playing with beer and naked women. iirc he would've been about seventeen at the time.

and lastly how can we forget that certain parts of the usa banned don't bring me down because of 'implied sexual contact' in regards to the verse where a girl is brought home and they 'have a little rave'. but nothing was said about the fact that on the studio version of the song, where it definitely sounds like phil sings 'I need a lover/yeah someone new/and then to him/I will be true' and then even sings about even buying a wedding ring for his lover! trust me guys that's not gay at all!! promise!!!

anyway I hope I haven't told all these stories before!! I don't really have many sources. literally just what's mentioned in other biographies or in the liner notes of a few lps because I haven't been able to get my hands on any biographies or anything lol

[zilabee]

"We never threw out our ashes at Gardner Road, but would bank up the fires on the cold winter's nights before and after gigs. This cosy netherworld began to attract young musicians and within a short space of time the apartment became a real haven for musos. It became open house. [...]

The Beatles did not appear immediately, but after learning from the eminent Bob Wooler that my address was behind the recently opened Granada Bowling Alley on Green Lane, they soon began turning up for tea, toast, and advice in between games of ten-pin bowling."

-

"By the Christmas of 1961 Kenny and I had become so busy by day and night that we employed a housekeeper, the wonderful and resilient Anne, and Anne's catering and attention to detail - not to mention her beautiful young daughter, Girda - far outstripped her rather caustic tongue. She was very welcoming to young band members who mostly saw beyond her authoritarian facade. [...]

Everyone was treated alike by Anne. She was totally unaffected by egos, stardom and petulance. She was like a surrogate mother to the groups and would chastise them if they were late or hadn't ironed their stage clothes. There would be occasions when I would return home to find three or four young musicians semi-clothed, only to find that Anne had got them to strip off their shirts because they needed 'a good ironing'.

She had me worried at times, but she knew that even though I was earning my crust via retail, my heart was totally with the music, and so she acted as both their conscience and my guardian angel, constantly reminding them of their duties to me as professionals. Anne could be very caustic with my brother and was at times highly critical of him, disliking his inflated ego while appreciating his obvious talent. She would tell him to his face that I deserved better from him, that his band deserved better too, but Lee would laugh it all off - unlike the attentive John Lennon and Paul McCartney who seemed to pay a great deal of attention to Anne's salutary remarks."

-

"As stated previously, I think Girda was a big attraction for Paul, but they all loved the ambience, particularly John Lennon who would often fall asleep in the chair in front of the fire after endlessly doodling on scraps of paper. I got the impression that there was little at home to inspire him and that he preferred the warmth (in more ways than one) of Gardner Road. John would generally sleep through until late in the morning, when he would be awoken by the arriving Anne pulling out the ashes from the extinguished fire and lighting the new blaze with the assistance of his doodle-ridden scraps of paper."

-

"By 1962, of course, Brian Epstein had the Beatles under his control; however, that control was actually shared to a great degree, at least while at Gardner Road, with yours truly and my housekeeper. It was Anne, as she reminded me shortly before her death, who suggested to Brian that the Beatles should be put into the best quality suits that he could afford. It was also Anne who ridiculed Brian one evening for turning up in an all-leather outfit... it was never seen again.

Although pop history loves to dwell on myth, often attributing seminal moments to specific characters, suggesting genius and inspired thought and inspirational moments, the real flashes of history actually revolve around stinging remarks, little asides and offhand suggestions. A great deal of popular music history finds this a little too complicated and rather difficult to record, for it appears better to suggest gleams of impulse rather than ridicule, satire and irony. But Anne's place in the Beatles story is a valid one. It was she who was a catalyst for all visitors to Gardner Road; it was she who fed them, pressed their shirts, lampooned them and deflated their egos."

Standing in the Wings, by Joe Flannery (with Mike Brocken)

[tommyspeakycap]

Please could you write one with Grealish where you’re a Chelsea fan so refuse to wear a Villa shirt with his name on, and for bants Mount gets you a Chelsea shirt with his name and Jack gets all pouty?

omg I love this idea!! gets very smutty at the end ;) enjoy!

Villa Boy

A love for Chelsea had been something you adapted and grew to into as a young girl. Your dad was never entirely sure how to bond with his only daughter and your mother told him just to include you in what he loved. And so came your season pass with a little lanyard that still hung proudly in your childhood room right next to a shirt mounted in a glass photo frame with Frank Lampard's signature scrawled along the eight on the back.

It was actually how you met Jack in the first place, which is the only one single reason that he has for liking your club affiliation. Otherwise, it was one of the most annoying things in his world. It was often a source of teasing and taunting, you saying your team was better than his and him swaggering home and gloating for weeks when Aston Villa take a win over Chelsea. It was the bane of his life that he couldn't get you into that claret and blue. Not even to sleep in or wear around the house, you just would not dare put it on.

"I would feel my dad's shame emanate through the walls, maybe it would kill him. And then I'd lose every morsel of self respect I have, so not a chance." You'd snort, not even giving him a window for more persuasion.

His England shirt? that was fair game. You'd wear that with pride, to the shops, round the house, walking the dog and especially at his games but there was just absolutely no chance of getting you into his Villa shirt.

Though Jack may never admit it, it was one of his biggest wants. Seeing you in his England short was nothing short revolutionary - he'd said. It only made him want to see you in the Villa shirt more. That was his childhood club, getting to captain that was one of his biggest achievements and while he knew you were absolutely proud of him. You were the most proud and encouraging person in his life and there were no ifs buts or maybes in that.

But my god he knew you'd look fit in that claret and blue.

No matter how much it annoyed him, he wouldn't get you out of the darker blue home jersey of your favourite club no matter what he did. It was something he had come to accept over the course of your relationship, it was by and large fine.

Until that jersey said someone else's name across the back.

"Awh come on!" He yelps, mouth dropped open as you emerge into the kitchen with your toothbrush hanging out your mouth and only one shoe on. Jack knows you slept in because he switched off your alarm last night in hopes you'd miss the game, but Jack dropped a bowl when he tripped over the dog and woke you up anyway.

You going to the Villa v Chelsea game in a Chelsea shirt was bad enough, but now he's just clocked something that's sent his mind firing a mile a minute.

MOUNT

19

Not a fucking chance.

"Oi, you!" He calls out, throwing himself off the chair at the kitchen island, his feet fumbling over one another to get after you as quickly as possible. "What's up, Jack?" You hum innocently, a sweet smile playing on your lips as you stand in the doorway shoving on your other shoe. "Is something the matter?"

Jack gawks, opening and closing his mouth awaiting words to find his frazzled brain. "Yes!" He squeaks, a tone you'd never heard from a man before, let along your very deep voiced man. "There's no way that you're- what are you doing? Come back." He groans, his feet shuffling after you as you walk back through the house to find your car keys. "We're going to be late if you don't hurry up." You note sweetly, Jack drops his jaw. "We're not going anywhere until-"

"Hi Mason, yeah I got it. Fits like glove actually. Yeah, we're just leaving now. I'll meet you in the car park."

Jack's face was literally priceless. His agape, eye's wild, brows furrowed. A pout settles itself firmly into his lips the second he sits in the car with his arms folded over his chest like a toddler. You have to physically stifle a laugh at him as you beam the entire drive to Villa Park.

"M' gonna burn that." He states. You cast him a glance out the corner of your eye as you pull into the players parking. A snigger escapes despite your very best efforts and Jack resumes his frontward glare at the dashboard with his lips in a firm line. "Gonna win this game, burn that shirt and knock Mount flat."

You know he's not being serious about Mason. He's very fond of the player when they're on the same side. But you had become very close friends with him through the mutual love for the club he plays at and Jack absolutely despised that. He wasn't the kind to be bothered by your friends even to a moderate degree and even here he trusted you, he just fucking hated the concept of another club and another mans name over your back. It ticked him right off.

You know this very well. You knew what you were getting into the second Mason handed you that dark blue shirt. It was all fun and games really. You loved the club but you only wore the Mount shirt to get under Jack's skin. You thought it might even throw off his game a little.

The second he stormed onto the pitch and scored a goal 5 minutes into the game, you figured that might not be the case.

Every opportunity, every goal, every opening and every single tackle, Jack turned to you. He turned to you with fire in those brown eyes, sending you a cheeky wink. His passion, the very serious look etched onto his features and the way he was looking at you was fuelling a very different kind of fire in you.

Jack played the whole 90 minutes and he took Mason Mount down at every single given opportunity in a careful way that just evaded him getting a yellow card. He finished hot, sweaty and with a man of the match trophy for 2 goals and one assist with a majority of the game spent with the ball at his feet.

The 3 nil win should have been a lot more disappointing that it was, but he just looked so fucking good. The sweat stuck his hair to his temples, his muscles tight and protruding through exertion as he walks off the field after shaking every hand.

You're standing just outside the tunnel with Mason and John McGinn standing with you, talking about the match mostly. John makes a joke about you wearing that top more often, seems to be a good luck charm for Villa even if it's the opposing team. Mason scoffs and says; "More like an angry boyfriend wants to murder me charm."

That's when Jack appears and John barely gets his mouth open to greet him before Jack shoulders through the two footballers. His mouth finds your immediately. Hot, passionate, fiery and filled with his dominance.

He pulls back and grabs onto your hand tightly with his back to the two midfielders. Jack twists his body round with a daggering glare.

"Nobody," Jack growls, "fucks around with girl."

His tone, deep and gravelly, only serves to dampen your panties further in a way that makes your clench your legs together.

Jack's done with pouting, the teasing can resume later. For now, he's dragging you by the hand to a darkened conference room. Hiking you up his body before setting you on the table that sits at a miraculously perfect height that places you right against his bulge.

He wastes no time whatsoever ripping down your leggings and panties, his fingers finding you immediately to swirl pressured motions around your sensitive clit. "Ahh, who's got you moaning like that baby?" He rumbles, words vibrating through your lips.

"You Jack, oh god, you!" You pant as his fingers leave you feeling empty and needy. Jack easily tugs down his shorts and pulls himself out of his boxers to line up with your entrance. His victory sex is hot always, but usually there was a dry spell after a Villa v Chelsea game, so it had never been this hot.

"And who am I?" He grunts, pushing himself into you to hear your shuddering squeak of pleasure. He lays you down over the table, hands following you under your shirt to carefully and tentatively swirl his fingers over your nipples from under your bra. "Oh god, Jack," you move your hands to the hem of the blue shirt to lift it over your head, but Jack's hands stop them before you have the chance.

"No, no, no," he chastises with a smirk, "Want to fuck you in their colours," He continues to thrust roughly into you with each heavy breath, mouth and squeak that escapes you only spurring him on. "Want to fuck you with his name on your back, baby. Remind you who you belong to."

You shudder in pleasure with the feeling of his lips attaching to your neck, letting out a shaky, heavy breath as he snakes a hand down between you to swirl those circles around your more pleasureful spot once again. He knows the intricate details of your body better than any man ever has and he always ensures he uses it to his advantage, but nothing like today. His lips on the sweet spot of your neck, hitting and stretching you perfect between your legs with masterful work of his fingers pushing you closer and closer with each second that passed.

"Fuck , I'm so close-"

"Who's making you feel so good, baby?" He pants, skin slapping and heavy breathing echoing around the room. "You, Jack. You!"

"Not a Chelsea boy eh?" He grunts, teeth nibbling down over your collarbone. "Not a Chelsea boy baby is it?" He reiterates, pairing the movements of his hand only until you snap open your eyes again, "No Jack, it's all you. not a- oh god!"

Jack breathes a chuckle into your ear with an appreciative hum to follow.

"Yeah, Villa Captain isn't it? You're screaming out for a Villa boy, ain't ya?" He coaxes, edging you further and further as he speeds up to a pace he's never quite hit you with before. The adrenaline of the match, the irritation of that blue jersey and the passion for the win colliding to give him an energy he's never yet had. Watching your eyes roll beneath him wearing that stupid blue entices him on, only makes him want to pleasure you more if even possible. "Yes! Yes, I am, oh god just don't stop."

"Go on then," he encourages, voice deep in your ear. "Come undone for the Villa Captain baby."

He didn't have to tell you twice, that was for sure. The sight of your eyes fluttering, the feeling of you clenching around him with a steam of, "Fuck yes Jack!" sends him tumbling over the edge of his orgasm right after you, a strangle cry out of your name as it wracks through him.

When he lays down beside you in the table that very surpassingly withstood the pace of your antics, you're both breathless and shining with sweat. Your legs feel like jelly as you still throb from the pleasure. Jack turns his head to you with a lazy smirk, brushing some hair off your forehead as you turn to look at him.

"Well, I certainly do love a Villa boy."

[asphodel-storm]

This was spawned largely against my will because @baldwinboy5ive made a (wonderful, on point) Cobra Husbands fanvid (which you should go watch) and the song had the lyric 'I'll see you in hell when I fucking die'. Thank you thank you for the inspiration.

It was supposed to be a drabble. It is not. I don't know how I feel about it because I haven't read it. So, yeah, no editing: spoooOooOooKy.

CW: made up afterlife. Those always hit me in a weirdly unpleasant way so might want to skip it if you’re the same.

--See You In Hell--

So, he finally made it. After a lifetime of people telling him to go there, John Kreese was finally in hell.

It was alright.

He wasn't on fire. There were no echoes of tortured screams. No lake of ice. No cackling demons. Hell was a parking lot outside the diner where he'd worked as a teenager.

The only reason he thought it was hell was because...he wasn't actually sure. He went inside and asked the patrons of the diner. They confirmed it.

If he thought he was in hell, that's where he was.

The man behind the counter offered him a free burger to celebrate his arrival and he ate it with no small amount of suspicion.

It tasted good. Familiar.

Everything in hell was familiar; it was the neighbourhood John grew up in. He wandered around until he was standing in front of his childhood home. He took a deep breath before heading in.

His mother wasn't there. John was both disappointed and immensely relieved - those priests didn't know what they were talking about. His mom had deserved heaven and that must be where she was.

The house was exactly like it was in his youth, though, down to a stain on the ceiling from the first time he'd made pasta sauce.

He supposed it was his if he wanted it, but he didn't think he did. He spent the night, then kept walking.

He never got tired of walking. He didn't have any of the aches that came with old age. At the diner he had caught sight of himself in the surface of a napkin holder and he had been a man in his 80s, but when he looked at himself in a shop window now he was about the age he was when he and Terry first started talking about opening their own dojo.

That was the first memory that came to mind when he thought of himself as he looked now. He did not immediately think of it as the age he was when he was mourning Betsy, or the age he was when he killed his captain - this was the him from the night he and Terry had stayed up until dawn talking about all the wonderful things they were going to do in the future. They'd just about planned out an entire life together that night.

They hadn't done a whole lot of it.

John had had to open the dojo alone. Terry was still there, of course, he saw him a lot - but he was his patron, not his partner. He knew that wasn't how Terry had seen it, and John had tried not to either. When they were together they were a unit, but when they were apart it got harder and harder to tell himself things were how they were supposed to be.

He's not sure why he left. After everything with Miyagi and LaRusso - after Terry had helped him through that - it felt like there was nothing for him in the valley anymore except for Terry. And Terry would have tried - clumsily - to change that. He would have given John anything he wanted, which would have meant that none of it felt like it was really his. He had wanted to live a life he and Terry built together and a life Terry gave him just wasn't the same thing.

Of course he regretted leaving. But -

Oh, was this how hell worked? You torture yourself with regrets from your life? John scoffed and shook his head. He hadn't had to die to do that.

John wasn't sure how long he wandered after that. Days and nights passed. He never got hungry, but there were restaurants and supermarkets if he felt like eating. He asked one shopkeeper what the point of stores even was and why he ran one. He shrugged and said he ran it because he wanted to, and that nobody was starving here but some people did get hungry.

The food cost money too. Hell had an economy. Hell seemed to have just about everything earth had.

"Guess it wouldn't be hell if all the food was free."

"Hey man, speak for yourself - I'm in heaven."

At some point in his roaming John found himself in Vietnam, specifically the jungles he had fought in in the 60s. He rounded a corner and was suddenly there. All around him the war continued. He had always believed that war was eternal and now he had proof.

He found his old captain in the clearing where they'd been held prisoner, sitting with his legs dangling off of the bridge above the pitt. John joined him - he was the first familiar face John had seen since arriving and, if he wanted a chance to avenge himself, that might be an interesting change of pace. The white haired man just laughed when he saw him.

"Kreese. Been wondering when you'd turn up."

"Got a score to settle with me?"

"Thought I did for a long time. But no. We're square, unless you've got something to settle with me?"

"Already did."

The other man laughed again.

"Been dead long?"

"I lost track of time, but I don't think so. Have you been here the whole time?"

"On and off. It's hard to get away from this place for good. Even the boys who made it to heaven wander in once in a while."

"I don't think I'll be back."

"It's not up to you, Kreese. Or, it is, but not in a way you have much control over."

"Divine punishment?"

"Some people might say that. I'm not one of them. I figure hell is just your world. Some people try to stay in their favourite bits, some people expand their worlds by visiting new places - but cutting parts out? Well, there are all kinds of hippies who've been meditating on that a long time. Maybe they've cracked it. But I'd never let this go."

John sat with the captain a while longer, listening to the screams and explosions of the jungle. It was as hell-like as hell had ever been.

He did find his way out, though, even as the captain's mocking voice promised he would see him soon.

Over time he figured things out - or at least figured out that he wasn't going to. He stopped in at a library and found out that culture had kept right on developing. There were all kinds of philosophical texts on the nature of the afterlife. John Kreese had never been one for philosophy.

It occurred to him, though, that nobody ever explained life to you. Nobody ever told you the point and the rules were all made up. Why would death be any different? Had he expected a burocracy? A welcome basket? No, it was time to stop roaming around and find a productive way to spend his time.

He ended up in the valley - the one from the era he'd died in. Approximately. He found the strip mall with Johnny's version of Cobra Kai and the dojo was empty. He opened it.

Students wandered in - people who had never ticked 'learn karate' off their bucket lists in life. Kids whose health hadn't let them participate in life, who were thrilled that they could now jump and kick and punch. People who just never got around to it. People who had found new battles to fight in death - of course hell had it's own new wars for those who went looking - and needed training.

Master Kim showed up one day. He was not the stern man John remembered, and he looked younger than he had been when John had known him, but it was him. They sparred, and after beating him his old teacher asked if he had figured out what he wanted out of death yet. He thought teaching was it, but his voice when he answered lacked conviction.

Master Kim said that he was still teaching too (and that John should come to his class since he was clearly rusty), but he said that wasn't all he wanted. Some day - hopefully a very long time from now - he wanted to take his granddaughter to Disneyland.

He'd always been aware that he was old, and that she would be on her own when he was gone. It had been his job to prepare her, to make her strong. He had trained her well, but he wished he had known how to be softer with her in the times when they were not training.

John thought of Johnny Lawrence - thought of a lot of his students - but didn't dwell on them.

"What makes you think Da-Eun will end up in hell?"

"What makes you think this is hell for everyone?"

John promised to come train with Master Kim at his dojo another day. He couldn't make sense of what he meant about this not being hell for everyone, so he didn't try.

He started to believe it, though, when he got two more visitors. The first was his mother and she promised him that, yes, she was in heaven. And how would it be fair to call it heaven if she couldn't see her boy?

Heaven and hell overlapped, she said. They were not the same, but they were not different. You were where you thought you were, but you couldn't think yourself out of hell.

"There are whole university departments where they do nothing at all but talk about this, sweetie. Let's leave that alone for now. Come on, tell me everything? Were you... were you alright, after I died? Am I the reason you're in -"

"No, mom, no. Not at all. That...I did that." He hadn't even admitted that to himself yet, but the realization came to him suddenly when faced with the tears in her eyes. "I... well, it's going to take a while to cover my whole life."

"I'll just have to keep visiting then." She smiled and John realised he was crying. He hadn't cried in decades. He hadn't cried in the cage in Vietnam. He cried now like he had when he lost her, and she held him and stroked his hair like he was 7 and had had a bad dream.

She said she hadn't been in their house when he stopped in because the town they had lived in was somewhere she tried not to go. Somewhere she still ended up, sometimes - like the war, for him - she tried her best not to linger. She seemed to have a lot she wanted to tell him, a lot she needed him to understand, but there would be time for that other days.

The next major visitor was Betsy. His mother had found him after an old neighbour had spotted him in their old town and mentioned it to her, and Betsy had found him the same way. She ran to him and hugged him and even pecked him on the cheek.

"Hey dollface."

"Haven't heard that in a while."

Betsy's first visit was a lot less intense than his mother's. They caught up like old friends - she was one of the only real friends he'd ever had, after all - and he was glad to hear she was doing well. She was working in a dress shop, apparently- just because she wanted to. She liked seeing all the different fashions and helping people find dresses that made them feel good. Money mattered a lot less in hell/heaven, even if it did exist, so she could just leave if it stopped being fun. For now she really loved it, though.

"I didn't wait for you." She blurted out suddenly. "Oh Johnny, I'm sorry, I tried at first but then after a while I thought you had your whole life ahead of you and you certainly wouldn't wait for me. I keep expecting you to tell me all about your beautiful wife and children, but you just keep bringing up your dojo and your one friend from the army and - oh. Oh, Johnny I had no idea."

"That makes two of us."

"The man you started your dojo with, you said you planned a whole life with him and it went right over my head, silly me. Tell me all about him."

"Oh..." He realised what Betsy must think. He opened his mouth to correct her.

"We didn't exactly stick to our plans." Was what he ended up saying.

"Well, maybe you still can."

There were a handful of other surprise visits after that - Ponytail and some other guys from the war - but mostly things started to even out. Normalize. It was all... empty.

Seeing his mother was wonderful, he liked spending time with Betsy, training with Master Kim, and he was even working on getting his captain to step out of the war for a while to visit his dojo (he wasn't sure why he wanted him to, but he did). There were high points, but the overall tone of his afterlife was settling into something empty. It felt like there was still something more he needed to be doing. Maybe that was what it meant to be in hell.

Finally, though, another unexpected visitor turned up.

"No ascot?" Terry appeared older than he had been when he'd been called Twig, but he was still a lot younger than when John had last seen him. His hair was dark again.

"Not today."

"You here for a fight?"

"Thought you might want one."

John felt like he should. He probably would have not long ago. He wasn't sure he didn't now.

"Any time." He replied with a grin.

"I've been dead a while."

"Go see the captain yet?"

"Yeah, he told me where to find you."

"So what do you want, Terry?"

"I want to know what you want. I tried my whole life to figure out what you want and give it to you and -"

"That wasn't what I wanted."

"It was near the end."

"...maybe." Neither of them had been at their best the last time they saw each other.

"I've been looking to settle down."

"Well, you've pretty much just got to go to any of your big mansions at any time you owned them."

"Those places are all part of my hell."

"Everywhere is part of hell."

"Not everywhere." Terry held a hand out to him. John looked at it suspiciously for a moment before taking it. And then they were in a very different Cobra Kai - or, what would have been Cobra Kai if they arrived a few months later. It was the original space they started renting.

"We could do it right this time."

"And then go back to one of your mansions after work?"

"No. There are some houses not far away. They're small, but unoccupied. I haven't figured out how real-estate works in the afterlife if it's not something you already owned, but I figure... we pick something."

"You want to spend eternity living in a tiny house with me and teaching karate?"

"I always have. I know that's not what I did, but -"

John might be more surprised by the kiss than Terry. He hadn't never acknowledged to himself that there wasn't anything there besides broken friendship, never mind...this. But this was it. This was what he wanted. A little corner of the world that was theirs. They were too late to build a life, but maybe they could still build something.

When John pulled away Terry was looking at him with every ounce of devotion he thought he'd lost for good while they were still on earth. But he supposed if that were true Terry wouldn't have come to find him.

When Terry kissed him it was deeper, more thorough, and made John second guess his decision not to move in decades ago. It would take a lot more than this to get either of them to 'heaven', but a cozy corner of hell might be just as good if they built it together.

[chilly-me-softly]

Fake Proposal • John Stones

I saw a video on instagram and got the idea but as usual I got carried away, writing like a 4k long piece so read it at your own risk.

-

"Ugh" John sighs letting himself down on the couch resting his head on your lap, one of your hands immediately going into his hair as you smile.

"Your mother again?"

"My mum again" he sighs before hiding his face in his hands and holding back a moan in his throat, "She's been breathing down my neck with the whole marriage thing. Please help me"

"How? It's not like you can pretend to have a girlfriend and propose" you state slightly but his eyes snap open staring at you.

"No" you thunder, "No John. Get that look off your face. No" you shake your head covering his eyes as he squirms managing to lock your hands between his.

"Please, please (Y/N) help me" he pleads and you're the one who has to try not to meet his gaze so you don't give in to that madness.

"They'd never believe us John, everyone knows we're friends"

"That's exactly why it might work (Y/N)!" he sits up abruptly, "if I do it with a random person it would be suspicious" his gaze is lost somewhere, his eyes move as if he's picturing everything and you can almost see the wheels of his brain in motion.

"And then how are you going to do that? Your mother wants a wedding, she won't be satisfied"

"I'll buy some time, she'll be less on my back at least for a while and then I'll think about it" he looks at you expectantly, he seems really determined even though he would never have thought such a thing until just now.

"Please (Y/N). I don't like fooling my mother like this either but if I hear again how I'm getting older and need to start a family I swear I won't answer for me anymore"

"Fine" you sigh closing your eyes, missing his surprised expression and then his big smile before he literally throws himself at you.

"John! John John John" you giggle trying to get him off you, "don't get into something bigger than you"

"I won't, don't worry"

-

Don't worry. Sure. He makes it easy.

John seemed to take it all lightly, just happy to get his mother and her demands off his back for a while. He'd booked a cabin in the mountains for a couple of days ready to spring into action as soon as possible, counting down the days just like kids waiting for Christmas Day to open their presents.

You must have been crazy to have agreed to help him with something like this, you kept repeating it by packing your suitcase or letting people know you wouldn't be home or waiting for him to pick you up. And then you had decided that if nothing you would enjoy that couple of days' holiday at his expense.

You look around to see if you've got everything before you leave, when John honks. He gets out of the car to help you put your bag in the boot as you close the front door, but it's only when you're both getting into the car and you've fastened your seatbelt that he leans in to leave a kiss on your cheek.

"What's all this sweetness Stonesy, are you afraid I'm going to say no?!" you tease him as he starts the car, shaking his head.

You take over the radio, spending the ride humming songs and complaining about not finding the right one and asking John if you're there.

"(Y/N) I swear, you're a pain in the ass" he sighs before turning right heading into a driveway.

"If you had told me where we were going I would have checked it out myself" you retort looking around as a few houses finally start to appear under your gaze.

"You really need to learn how to chill out" he sighs, "And anyway, we're here"

"I'm totally calm" you state getting out of the car slamming the door on purpose earning you a warning look. Men and their cars.

And you leave him to pick up the bags you brought while your eyes don't know what to look at first. The swing next to the door strikes you immediately, you've always wanted one but never had the space so you immediately rush onto it climbing the stairs waiting for your friend with a huge smile on your face.

"Come on in, let’s go pick out your room"

"I get to choose?" you ask rhetorically following him, being captivated at first glance by what's in front of you. The place is similar to all the ones you see in typical Christmas movies, wood seems to be the main material of the whole construction and the fire in the fireplace is already lit giving the room a pleasant warmth.

"Sure. But only if you're quick" one look and you're already running down the stairs trying to pull him by the shirt and not fall at the same time.

"Mine!" you flop down on the bed panting deciding to go straight for the farthest room in the dark, "go get my suitcase now"

"We're not engaged yet, you can't boss me around like that" he argues leaning against the doorframe sneering but you dismiss him with a wave of your hand.

"What if the other room is nicer?" he asks returning and placing your bag at the foot of the bed, you don't hint at moving from your comfortable spot.

"I like this one" you murmur clutching a pillow to your chest.

"Yeah but what if the other one's prettier?!" his tone blatantly mocking as you roll your eyes giving in to curiosity, complaining loudly as you get up and make your way to the other room.

You open the door thinking you're going to find who knows what, but you find that it's a copy of the room you just left. And his bags are already there so he knew that, that bastard.

"But they're identical" you murmur confused, looking around for a sign of diversity but not finding it. "John! They're the same!" you complain turning to him and hitting him with an open palm on the arm receiving only laughter from him.

"Stop teasing me"

"Sorry sorry. I couldn't help myself"

"Keep laughing, I'll have fun later John Stones" you try to scare him but the smile on his face that doesn't hint at disappearing tells you that you failed in your intent, making you roll your eyes.

-

The first of the two nights you spend there goes by without a problem, well at least after you get familiar with the place and calm your brain because not all the noises you heard were due to thieves. And the next morning you and John have breakfast still sleepy before he proposes you to take a tour around there, the day before you had gone to the city to fill the fridge and you had stayed there and it didn't seem right to spend days away from the city without really spending days away from the city.

After getting ready, you take a path not far from the house and following the various signs along the way, you find yourself in a place that is stunning to say the least. You find yourself on a bridge built over a river, on one side of which there is a small waterfall, creating a unique and relaxing atmosphere.

"You don't want to do this now do you?"

"Ssh you have to look natural" he leaves a light kiss on your cheek before throwing a sideways glance and you call on all your strength not to follow his gaze, pretty sure you'd run into some guy intent on filming the moment.

"Now I'm going to pretend to tell you something cheesy so pretend to get emotional" he starts gesturing and you can't hold back the giggle that escapes your lips as he drops to his knees.

"(Y/N)" he gives you a knowing look and you cover your mouth with your hand trying to hide that smile, from a distance it will look like you're really excited instead.

"Okay so... I need to spend some time like this. It's uncomfortable and um blah blah blah will you marry me?" John starts ranting taking a small box from his jacket pocket.

"You didn't really buy a ring" you mutter shocked when he opens the small box, the surprise completely true at that moment at seeing that item.

"Are you going to hurry up and say yes? My knee is crying out for mercy" he presses you gritting his teeth as you then quickly nod and he gets back to his feet holding you close to him.

"You could have at least prepared a speech" you murmur in his ear tugging at his hair slightly as he laughs, pulling away to put the ring on your finger. His hands actually shaking as he does so and then he draws you to him unexpectedly, connecting your lips with his.

-

"I knew I'd find you here" you smile turning your head towards John, him handing you a cup of hot chocolate sitting next to you on the swing while you adjust the large blanket over your shoulders even around his as you can.

"What does your mum say?" you sigh blowing on that steaming drink looking ahead of you.

"See for yourself" he unlocks his phone quickly opening the conversation with his mother.

'Mum I did it' he had texted sending a picture of him kneeling in front of you and you hugging then.

'Johnny! Omg yes!!!!' 'Wait... is that (Y/N)?' 'I knew it' is mum's frantic reply making you giggle as he pulls back his phone not letting you see anything else.

"I'm glad she likes me" you giggle taking a sip of chocolate.

"She's always liked you" he retorts and silence falls between you two for a moment before he sighs.

"(Y/N) if you're upset about that kiss, I'm sorry"

"It's alright John, it was an act" you reach out to set the mug down, "after all which proposal is believable without a kiss" you joke elbowing him in the side as he sighs passing his arm around your shoulders pulling you to him. Both of you not so sure about it.

-

"I believe this is yours" you murmur taking off the ring and handing it to him, for some reason you didn't manage to give it back to him either the night before or over the course of that day and now that he's about to leave after driving you home it's your chance. It's now or never. But he is quick to shake his head and tighten that object in your hand. "No, keep it... in case my mother comes to visit"

"Don't" you point your finger at him making the most threatening face you have triggering his laughter. "I can't keep my mother at bay"

"John"

"(Y/N) listen, it's just a scenario. It's not going to happen"

"You can't be sure of that"

And in fact a few days later, when you had finally decided to go out grocery shopping, you opened the door and found the woman in front of you. The surprise had been such that you stood open-mouthed in front of her for a few moments before you shook yourself and made her come in.

"Were you going out dear?" she asks you going to sit on the sofa casually as if she was coming to your house every day.

"Just a bit of groceries, I can go later" you had dismissed it removing your jacket and sending a panicked message quickly 'I'm going to kill you!!!'

"Good" the woman looks around before congratulating you on the house, to which you reply embarrassed.

"Oh don't be embarrassed (Y/N), we're going to be a family soon after all" she states and you clear your throat, "Can I get you anything, some water or tea...?"

"A glass of cold water thank you" you apologise then and quickly go to the kitchen opening the fridge and hiding behind it you take the phone back into your hand.

'John Stones!!!' 'Your mother is here!' 'I'm going to kill you'

John doesn't even view the texts and you can't stand there forever waiting so you grab the water jug and take it to the woman.

"I don't want to take up so much of your time, you might be wondering why I'm here" the woman smiles after taking a sip.

"Um I can guess" you hide your nervousness around your glass, struggling however to down a sip of water.

"I assure you I'm not always this nosy" yeah right, "but with John I worry maybe a little too much" you smile at the woman's bluntness, taking time to observe her better you can see how much she actually looks like John.

"I never know how to handle him, he's always been so secretive about everything and I've always tried to push him because I want what's best for him" you don't know if you read right into it but it sounds as if the woman is trying to apologise for something. And you open your mouth to say something but she beats you to it.  

"You've been friends for a long time, I should have seen it coming" you gasp with a suddenly blank mind, internally screaming at yourself to get yourself back into sense so you don't look even more hopeless. But apparently the woman is more focused on something else and doesn't notice your obvious discomfort.

You follow her gaze, caught by a photo of you and John from a few years earlier. You're not fond of pictures of yourself around the house, where everyone can have access to your memories, but John had given you the frame begging you to put it there, so you had pleased him.

"Can I just ask how long you've been together?"

"I don't know" you answer without thinking before widening your eyes trying to make up for it, "I mean... there was no specific date. It just happened I guess"

"I really should have seen it coming" for a moment it's as if she's lost in thought, shaking her head in disbelief, "there isn't a day we don't end up talking about you and he's always so fidgety when it comes to you"

"Really?" you ask surprised straightening up with your back as your phone vibrates but you don't feel the need to pick it up.

"Yeah, and he always has a smile on his face when it comes to you"

"John smiles all the time, I don't think that can be considered a one-off"

"Yeah but there's ways and means of smiling. It reaches his eyes"

-

"What happened? I was at practice I just saw the texts. I'm so sorry (Y/N), I'm going to have a good talk with her" John speaks sharply as soon as you pick up the phone and you have to raise your voice a little to make yourself heard and shut him up.

"It's okay John" you state around a spoonful of ice cream, the container in front of you.

"I'm sorry (Y/N) I swear, that woman crossed every line" he mutters and you can imagine his serious expression, his eyes a little darker than usual and half-closed, his nostrils flared.

"John no" you stick your spoon into the ice cream sighing, "don't do anything hasty, just calm down. Where are you? Are you driving now?"

From the other end of the phone only silence comes before you hear a sigh, "I'm on the road"

"Come to my place okay?"

The drive hadn't been that long to your house so you can still sense the annoyance in his figure and his gaze as he walks in and heads into the kitchen immediately eyeing the box on the counter.

"Why are you so annoyed?! Where's the carefree Stonesy from the last few days?" he looks around before stealing the spoon from your hands and taking some of that ice cream after sitting down on the counter.

"And why aren't you in full hysterics?" he retorts taking another spoonful of ice cream as you roll your eyes.

"I was at first, I wanted to kill you if you remember, but then we talked" you walk over to him taking the bowl out of his hands as he groans trying to take it back.

"If you're hungry I can make you something"

"That is fine"

"I don't think it's good for you" you put the lid on before setting the box down in the freezer before turning to him again, seeing him with his arms crossed giving you a dirty look. You do the same raising an eyebrow, you've become an expert at holding up his game over the years.

"What did she say to you?" he gives up shortly after relaxing his figure by swinging his legs, "she didn't treat you badly did she? She can be a bit-"

"Nosy? I noticed that" you shake your head opening the fridge just to do something as he pushes on. "Well?"

"Hmm? Nothing, I guess deep down she came to apologise because she didn't know we were together and apparently she's been pushing you into a lot of random girls' arms lately and stuff" you gesture shrugging and closing the door, giving him just a sidelong glance.

"Are you sure? There's nothing more?" John checks wary, it's your apparent calm and the bowl of ice cream you were practically devouring that put him on his toes. He'd practically been able to feel your panic through those texts you'd sent him and then he sees you and you seem to be a different person.

"You know me John, if there had been anything else or she had disrespected me in any way I certainly wouldn't have kept it to myself" you try to sound as calm as possible but your playing with that ring, taking it off and putting it back on, gives you away.

"Come on say it" he sighs, lowering his gaze to his shoes for a moment as you raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"Just say it"

"John I don't know what you're talking about"

"I told you. Just say it" and he looks like he's ready to be hit just as if you were going to do it with a punch or something. But you just sigh as you move closer to him, his ankles linking lightly to your legs seeking contact.

"How long are you going to keep this up? Because I'm with you, I'm in now and I'm going to keep playing along. But your mother is just that, an eccentric mother only concerned about her son"

"So if we actually get married..." he leans his head slightly to the side smiling innocently as you smack him on the forehead rolling your eyes.

"Did you hit your head lately? Did you even hear what I said?"

"You said you would like to be with me"

"I said your mother is a good person, and she doesn't deserve this" you retort without giving your brain time to process what he's telling you.

"But if you really think about it, it would be perfect. I'd solve all my problems by not turning out as a liar and you'd have me"

"Did you just imply that I can't get a boyfriend in a normal way? I hope not"

"Sorry, I didn't mean that" he chuckles at your threatening expression pulling you to him and leaving a kiss in your hair.

His gaze is lost somewhere, he's so easily distracted you almost read surprise in his eyes when he lowers his head and realises you're still there. "John, what's going on with you mh?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm starting to really think about what my mom says. And that she's right. When football ends, what will I have left? What's wrong with me? Why couldn't I find anyone?"

"Hey no John listen to me carefully now. At thirty you may be considered old in your profession but I can assure you that for the rest of us life begins at that age" you take his face in your hands gently stroking his cheeks with your thumbs making sure he sees and hears you above all, "you will have all the time in the world to find someone if you want to, to start a family and come to terms with the fact that you are getting older and your hair is getting white"

"Never" he quickly retorts, making you giggle, "I'll never have white hair"

"We'll see... if you can keep those curls, you'll be trouble even when you're old"

"Oh wow so you think I'll make it to eighty still on my own?!" he jokes strengthening his grip on your legs and moving forward slightly.

"Eighty? You have very high expectations for your life" you downplay by moving your arms along his neck.

"Aah what would I do without you" he sighs happily holding you close to him again, "Promise you'll always be by my side?"

At your non-response, his grip becomes more pronounced literally crushing your face into his chest. "Promise me"

"I promise. I promise" you giggle making his chest vibrate with your laughter as well. Quite often you're the one with the identity crisis and John has to play the therapist, calming you down and reminding you to get your feet down on the ground. But often the roles are reversed and you're the one putting the boy's pieces back together, happy that all those years of friendship have created a relationship where he's not afraid to be fragile and let himself be fixed.

"You'll always have me" you remember him in his arms, and when you pull away to let him know with your gaze too, he's already there looking at you. You see his face move closer to yours and instinctively you step back.

"Please I need to know"

"Know what?" his tone is almost a plea while there is confusion and nervousness in yours.

"If what I'm feeling inside is true" he knows you well by now and he can catch your eyes widening in surprise for a split second, a reaction that to unfamiliar eyes might not have happened.

"Can I kiss you?" you nod but you're already closing your eyes waiting for his lips to touch yours again.

-

"What are you doing?!" you ask giggling to yours and John's brother upon seeing the two of them exchanging some money.

"He bet fifty bucks your engagement was fake. And he lost" your brother is obviously very happy to have earned something in that whole thing, your brother-in-law is not so happy though.

"You bet on us?!" John asks incredulously at your side, an arm around your waist.

"Is that so unbelievable?" you hide your smile in the glass in your hand.

"You don't know John if you ask a question like that"

"Eh I can assure you I know him quite well" you two exchange a look of understanding as your brothers pretend to vomit. And you leave them arguing about the validity of that bet, turning away from everyone to have a moment alone in the garden of that facility that hosts you.  

"Are we ever going to tell them the truth?"

"Who, to those two? Nah my brother deserves it"

"But mine doesn't" you quickly retort making John chuckle, "I'm sure we can find a way to take them off him"

"How?" you ask interested as he leaves a kiss on one cheek before moving closer to your ear, "We can steeal them"

"John Stones! You're such a bad influence on me... Let's do this" you rise up on your toes to search for his lips. "Anyway, your family is so damn crazy, nothing surprises me anymore"

"You're not completely normal either admit it"

"Hmm maybe you're right. I must have been pretty crazy that day to going along with you"

"Just that day?" he teases earning himself a hit on the arm before he draws you back to him to kiss you.

"I can't believe we actually got married" he sighs connecting your foreheads gently.

"Who knew my happy ending was always right in front of me"

"Sometimes I think if it wasn't for my mom we'd still be wandering around looking for someone"

"You mean your mother would still be introducing you to some girl"

"Are you jealous?" John smiles cheeky as you do the same. "Oh you know there's this little thing called a divorce"

"Oh no. No no no no, not now so many things seem to make sense. Don't even think about it" he shakes his head energetically tightening his grip on your waist as you laugh, running your ringed hand through his hair.

"I love you John Stones"

"I love you (Y/N) Stones"

[ogsherlockholmes]

13th October

In The Norwood Builder, not only is the client called John, but the antagonist, Jonas Oldacre, is also a J villain. Maybe the name isn’t too creative, but Oldacre certainly is, though slightly careless. 

The client, John, is made the sole beneficiary of Oldacre’s bill, and when Oldacre conveniently ‘dies’, obviously all eyes land on John. Immediately, he is blamed for the murder, and there’s plenty of damning evidence. However, the evidence against John contradicts itself: maybe the fact Oldacre’s will was being directed to him was suspicious, but a Mr Cornelius is getting his bit as well. 

Oldacre faked his death and framed John for his own murder. It was well planned out, as they had established a connection before the ‘death’ when they were discussing the will. He was also the ‘Mr Cornelius’, so he wasn’t losing his money either. But why go through all this effort?

Because Oldacre got rejected.

Yes, that’s right, poor Johnny Jonas got rejected by John’s mother many years ago, so he decided to take revenge. You know, despite the fact it had nothing to do with the son... and it happened ages ago... and he should just accept ‘no’. This is what John’s mother had to say about Oldacre:

‘He was more like a malignant and cunning ape than a human being,’ said she, ‘and he always was, ever since he was a young man.’ “ ‘You knew him at that time?’ said I [Sherlock]. “ ‘Yes, I knew him well; in fact, he was an old suitor of mine... I was engaged to him, Mr. Holmes, when I heard a shocking story of how he had turned a cat loose in an aviary, and I was so horrified at his brutal cruelty that I would have nothing more to do with him.’ 

Three cheers for John’s mother though for dumping his sorry arse. 

Oldacre even tried to further condemn John by making a bloody thumprint on his wall, which matched John’s. He got the thumprint when John sealed wax on a letter for him, which is quite well thought out. Fantastic idea, yet he did this after Sherlock investigated, so it was clearly fake. 

Now, how is Oldacre discovered?

Like I said, Oldacre is smart, but careless. 

Sherlock asked for a some straw to be put on fire in the hall, and he and the police called out ‘Fire’ multiple times. Coming from his hiding hole, Oldacre ran out, truly believing his house was on fire. Dead people don’t need to run away from flames, so it’s obvious he’s still very much alive and just cowering in his own house after his elaborate murder. 

Oldacre, pathetic as usual, tries to defend himself. 

‘Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh... “I have done no harm.” ... The wretched creature began to whimper. “I am sure, sir, it was only my practical joke.”’

I don’t need to tell you that this didn’t work. 

Anyway, moral of the story: if a girl rejects you after you committed an act of animal cruelty, don’t take it out on her son decades later and frame him for your own murder. Very specific, but it needs to be said.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Princess | JJ Maybank

Warnings; jealousy, mentions of drugs, and use of drugs.

Find my masterlist here

She was rising through the ranks on figure eight, and soon, she would overtake the one, the only, Sarah Cameron. It was infuriating, no one had heard of this prissy girl in a while, and here she was, already beginning to replace the blonde.

“Uh.” Sarah groaned, noticing how even her brother was flocking over you, even Topper had returned to the dark side after his helpful stunt.

“What’s wrong Cameron?” JJ asked her, following her eyeline, and carrying his gaze along it, until he found the centre of her irritable - a group of kooks, her own.

“The princess is back in town.” She groaned, noticing how you walked through your entourage, oblivious to any of the pogues that resided on this side of the island. It was as though you didn’t hold a grudge against their species, but that was her thing, you were just trying to copy her actions.

Hell, for all she knew, you’d hook up with a southsider too, and attend the parties at the boneyard as though you were one of their own.

She knew her attitude towards you was petty, but she just couldn’t help it. You now had everything that she had lost, she was even stared down by her dad and step mother, both of whom were mildly disappointed in the side that she had taken within the whole ordeal.

“I thought that was you.” JJ noticed how her mood had turned sour, and he was aware that it was his duty to cheer her up. If John B returned with their drinks, and saw that his girlfriend was displeased, he would be the one to take the blame as it was his company that was keeping her from boredom.

“That girl.” She pointed you out, JJ’s eyes scanning every dip and curve, each mark and mole, upon your body, memorising every inch of- “is the kook. Used to have the mantle of princess before I did. Don’t dirty your hands with her Maybank, she’s a spoilt brat, and whatever she wants, she gets.”

“A kook? Not my type.” He assured her, the whole form of your beautiful being crumbling in his eyes, all because of what you essentially were. A golden finger, in the dirt of his home.

🏹

The Cameron’s house was large, but you smiled, knowing that you lived in one with a bigger foundation, and more floors. Material items were value on the island, it gave way to status.

“Hi Mr Cameron.” You greeted him, with a pristine smile that would knock him dead. Rafe was beside you, content with your obliviousness to the things that he had done.

His father had told him to find a rich, pretty thing. They were the least suspecting ones, too occupied with spending cash and dolling themselves up. It is what he himself had done, after he had worked his way up to kook status, but the wife he now had, well she was as devious and power hungry as him. They fit perfectly.

“Nice to finally meet you y/n, I’ve heard a lot about you, not only from my son but practically the whole island. Is it good to be back?” He shook your hand, noticing the small smile slip onto his son’s face.

“It’s great, nowhere is quite like home.” The hierarchy on Outer Banks was its most predominant feature, no where else quite had an order that lacked most of itself in the same way.

“I need to talk to Rafe here for a moment, would you mind waiting here?” He expectedly asked, and once more, you could only plaster on a false expression, and happily nod.

“Not at all.” Was your reply, and as soon as they had disappeared, you were left awaiting for their return. You plucked at the skin around your nails, and tapped your foot, trying to reduce the enveloping silence that made you feel small and anxious.

Another person entered the room, making you slowly spin to greet them. It was Sarah, and a look of worry crossed over her face, it was quite amusing. The Sarah Cameron, was concerned for you.

“Rafe isn’t a good guy.” She spoke slowly, thinking that you were interested in her older sibling. It made you quirk your eyebrow in surprise, you had never expected her to talk about her family to you, or at all in general. “You can do a lot better.”

“Don’t worry Sarah, I don’t want him, nor do I want to be the so called ‘princess’ of this wealthy establishment. I hate figure eight, it sucks. It’s boring, it’s just parties here, and parties there, but they’re all sophisticated and you have to dress nicely. Sure, the luxury is great, the expectations of washing your hair every day, wearing perfume that literally burns my eyes, and having to dress so- ugh, it’s just gross. You can take the throne back if you want, it’s not too comfortable, it squeezes me in all th wrong places.”

Your paragraph of speech left Sarah in shock, you had been faking it all along. The laughs were all pretend, the smiles were all forced, and she no doubt had one thing left on my mind. “Then why, out of all the kooks, are you hanging it with my brother?”

Nonchantly you shrugged, a sparkle flaring in your eyes. “He thinks he’s gonna get laid, and so until he realises that he isn’t, and he can’t touch this hot bod, then I get free weed.”

“Well played y/l/n, well played.” Nobody had used Rafe and had to give nothing in return, yet you had found the perfect trick.

“He also thinks I’m a virgin, sooooo, my contract is going to last a while, I suppose.” She almost laughed at that, she wondered how you had given him that impression in the first place. Before you had moved, she had seen you makeout and consentually grope countless guys, leading them to dark corners and your empty car.

It wasn’t something that she had ever admit, but for the first time in her life, she thought that you’d make the perfect friend. You sounded just like a pogue, but instead you were living the ‘high life’, and rolling in the cash and smokes that were thrown your way, with no charge.

🏹

JJ on instinct, creased his face up at the sight of Sarah leaving John B and the others at the boneyard, only to walk over to an intruder. She had told him that she didn’t like her, however her stride and smile supposed otherwise.

“Who’s that?” John B leant over his friend’s shoulder, watching his girlfriend interact with a stranger.

“The kook princess.” JJ informed him, spitting the name out of his mouth, glaring at the kook that had the nerve to once again, walk onto his side of his island. And not only that, but to invite herself to the party.

“She got a name?” John B asked, and that was when JJ realised, that he didn’t know it. Before you had moved, you kept to your side of the island, but the times were changing, with relationships and friendships between pogues and kooks beginning. All you wanted was to be accepted, and if they didn’t like the fact that you were born a kook, then that was most definitely their problem.

“Hey, I’m so glad that you could make it.” Sarah greeted you, you shyly smiled, still not familiar with her being so polite to you. You’d notice her cast you the stink eye on more than one occasion, and how she would speak about you at school in the time prior to your move away.

“I still don’t understand why you invited me.” You honestly said, uncertain by her intentions. If she had other motivations, then you could deal with them, she wouldn’t be the first one to try and challenge you for your position. And either way, you didn’t want it, it were only a weight on your shoulders, but some kooks wanted you to remain their royalty, and so by their reputation, you did.

You pulled a blunt from your shorts pocket, and lit it, inhaling slowly and awaiting an answer from the relaxant. It calmed you, and made the thoughts of being the only kook here, excluding Sarah, go away.

“I want you to meet my friends.” She spoke, and you nodded, more entertained by the smoke that rolled out of your mouth than her intentions. Her hand grabbed your own, and she began to drag you through the sea of people, until she reached a small fire pit, where four people were sat.

You already knew of them, John B being the one on your side of the island the most. It of course was because of Sarah, and her successful attempts to seduce him, and sneak him into her room.

“This is y/n.” She told them, and you didn’t notice the way JJ focused on the weed that hung from the clasp of your fingers. He was surprised by the consumption you had of it, and watched intently as you went in for another puff.

You weren’t just a kook, you were a stoner. Perhaps the two of you had something in common after all, maybe you weren’t this spoilt brat entirely.

🏹

“Pass me the goddamn lighter J!” You beckoned at the blonde, who held the red automatic match out of your reach. On instinct, you crossed your arms, and poured, causing the boy to laugh.

“Don’t do that, you look like a spoiled kook.” His words only earnt himself a glare, and so he reached down, plucked your blunt between his fingers, and lit it. He took a puff before placing it between your own lips. “Technically we just kissed.”

“Geez, I really am spoilt.” You rolled your eyes, as the pair of you stood out of the chateau, where it was the two of you alone. Everyone else was inside, watching a movie, and they didn’t want to get high off the fumes, instead they’d rather remember the ‘cinematic details’, as Pope put it.

“It was a joke Princess.” He rubbed your head, messing up your hair, but he knew that you didn’t care. Appearances weren’t your most entailed feature, you only dressed up to the nines to please your parents. But here, with him and the rest of your friends, you could be yourself. You weren’t a kook or a pogue, instead you were just y/n.

“You need to stop going on about kissing me Maybank, otherwise I might think that it’s something you actually want to do.” You smirked, noticing how his cheeks reddened slightly, and the normally confident male gulped.

“Well...” before he could say more, you lightly pushed him, but he soon grabbed you, and the blunt out of your mouth. “Maybe I do.”

“Maybe I want you to as well.” You flirted with him, eyes darting between where he was licking his lips, and the blunt that was gently held in the pads of his fingertips. “Tell you what, if I gift you with a kiss, I get my property back.”

“Princess you gotta stop that, you can’t call me your property, I’m a person too babes.” You groaned at that, he knew full well what you were speaking about, but he had to be a tease in every conversation that the pair of you had.

“Shut your mouth pogue.” Your words weren’t what shut him up, instead you grasped the fabric of his baggy, sleeveless shirt, and pulled his mouth to your own, your tongue instantly prying its way towards his own, breaking through the seal of his lips.

Distracted, he dropped the blunt, and cupped both sides of your face. He was in heaven, finally he had given into the kook, and vice versa. He was glad to have learnt your name, and everything that you had to offer.

[petite-ely]

Afraid // JJ Maybank

Seven- Mommy Issues

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem routledge! reader

Warnings: mommy issues, mother abandonment, anger, maybe some mistakes, tell me if I missed anything

Description: y/n has always wanted answers about her mother, but the truth seems more harsh than what she had in mind.

A/n : hello, hello friends. Sorry for not updating sooner. I had absolutely no inspiration, lol. Anyways, hope you enjoyyyy! :) (also I know the gif is terrible quality but I really wanted to put this clip and I couldn’t find any cleaner option to make a gif)

Previously

Afraid Masterlist

Song recommendation

Gif made by me!

As a child, y/n never realized how her family was different than the others. A lot of kids on the cut had single parents, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Her mom had left when she was only three, to go pursue her dream job in Colorado. It wasn’t a bad thing in the girl’s eyes. It didn’t feel like she was missing out on anything.

As she blossomed into adolescence, y/n finally understood how unconventional her family was. She heard the other girls at her school talk about their mothers. About the cakes they made or the precious moments they spent together. Mother-daughter bonding moments. She had to admit it she felt jealous. Or maybe was it envious?

She had lived all her life without a mother to kiss her scraped knees or braid her hair before going to sleep. And she would have given anything to experience it, even for one single night.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her brother or her father, far from it, she adored them. They were both so precious to her. Still, she felt as if something was missing from her. Or more like someone.

She didn’t remember her mother, she was so young at the time, but she cherished the stories her father had told her. She fed her imagination on these stories. Making up fake memories where her mother was still there. In her heart it was all real. Reality was bitter compared to the sweet comfort of her imagination.

By the time she was 12, she’d heard the famous story enough to know it by heart, each word of the letter engraved into her head. She begged her father again and again. She wanted more stories, even the smallest anecdotes, she wanted to hear them all. Anything to improve the sketch, constantly redrawn, of the woman she didn’t remember. The woman she couldn’t really call a mother.

She knew the story by heart and yet it felt incomplete. She’d heard enough fairytales and read enough books to know when a story was complete. This one wasn’t.

And she was right.

A week after the twins’s 13th birthday, their dad gathered them around the kitchen table. He wanted to talk. It was very important. Y/n had to admit, this was quite strange, as her father was never the one to bring up important issues. In front of him was placed an envelope, yellowed with the years.

The girl knew this envelope all too well. Every scratch, every little bump, she could almost feel them on the tip of her fingers. It was her mother’s letter. This time, when he pulled out the folded pages, a third paper came out. The missing part.

Big John didn’t say anything, only slid the pearl white sheet to the twins. And though no words came out of his mouth, a million could be seen in his gaze. He wore an unfamiliar expression on his face. It was mix of sadness, fear and regrets. It was the expression of a man who only wanted to protect his children from being hurt.

The missing paper read as so:

“This is my dream, John.

And I know you might think there’s a way for us to fix this, but there isn’t. This time you can’t fix it.

When I got pregnant with the kids, I was so scared. And when I told you, I saw this glimmer in your eyes. This flame suddenly being lit inside of you. You were so excited to have your first child and it was twins! You seemed so happy. It was beautiful.

Then I thought that maybe we could do this, maybe I could be a mother. I had you, so everything would be fine. My friends kept talking about this amazing connection that felt with their babies when they were carrying them. But I never felt it with the twins.

And I thought that maybe once I held them in my arms I would finally feel it. That motherly connection. It never came. And I tried, John. I tried so hard. But I just can’t.

I do love them, I love them so much, but not the way you do. Not the way a parent loves their child It can’t do it, I’m sorry. I wasn’t meant to be a mother. Life is cruel that way sometimes.

If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that you were meant for this. I can see it in the way you look at them. You can do this, John. I know.

Be the parent I will never be able to be.”

Y/n’s curious eyes scanned the paper excitedly. Her face showed a variety of emotions in the span of a few minutes. First, excitement and joy, then, confusion and finally, anger. The tip of her ears burned red, her hand shaking beneath the table.

John B. placed the paper on the table, a loud sigh escaping his lips. Though, compared to his sister, he seemed relatively calm.

Y/n couldn’t contain it anymore. She stormed out of the house, her feet shoeless and her shoulders bare. She had no idea where she was going, but she ran.

It didn’t matter. As long as she was going somewhere. As long as she was moving and running, then she wouldn’t have to think. And if she was thinking, then her mind would take her to a bad place. She didn’t want to go there. So she ran.

The Routledges were never reputed to be angry people, much less violent. They were generally very calm, maybe a bit arrogant, but always composed. Of course, when a Routledge was after something, they would do anything in order to obtain it.

But y/n was one of the exception. She was the first Routledge woman in nearly 150 years. For generations, every Routledge man had sons, who had sons, who had sons until her father. He had a son and a daughter.

She wasn’t an angry person or mean in any way. On the contrary, she was kind and gentle. But compared to her brother and her dad, she felt emotions deeply.

And maybe it was her mother’s side and not the Routledge in her. It was so intense, sometimes. Almost blinding, at some moments. It was like the emotions took over her. It didn’t happen very often but it felt like she didn’t control her body anymore.

When she finally came back to her senses, y/n was standing on an empty beach. She hadn’t realized how far she’d gotten until she felt the warm sand under her feet. A cold breeze wrapped itself around her shoulders. She was so far from home. And so alone.

She walked to the ocean, letting her toes dip gently into the water. The water was cold but calming. Her anger slowly disappeared with each breath she took, until finally she could see everything clearly again.

Y/n turned away. She thought of going back home, when a wave of emotions hit her. She fell to the ground. It was like the air had been sucked out of her lungs.

Her chest burned, she felt like she had swallowed fire. Her shoulders shook and loud sobs escaped her lips. She dug her hands into the sand, trying to ground herself. It didn’t stop her tears from crashing onto her shirt.

A shadow appeared in front of her and she recognized its shape in a matter of seconds. It could only be one person.

“Are you hear to laugh at me?” She said through tears.

“No, not this time,” said John B. He sat down beside her, his eyes looking into hers. “Oh, y/n.” He wiped the tears off of her face

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “It’s just that, that,” he placed his arm around her shoulder, she took a deep breath. “Part of me always thought that she would come back.”

“That she’d come stay with us and finally be our mom. But she’s never coming back, ever,” her tone was almost accusing. “I lost so much time making up scenarios for her and she doesn’t even love us.”

“You know that’s not true,” reasoned John.

“Yeah, but it feels like it.”

“We don’t need her anyway,” stated the boy. “We’ve got dad, surfing, plenty of fish and well, each other. It’s not that bad is it?”

“No, you’re right.” She looked at him. “I just feel like I’m missing out on something. Like I’m,” she paused, looking for the right word, “incomplete.”

“I get it. If the roles were reversed and dad wasn’t there, I guess I would feel that way too,” confided her brother. “But don’t give her this much power. She doesn’t get to make you feel this way. You’re whole on your own, y/n/n.”

“Thank you, bird.” She slid her arm around his shoulder, letting her head rest on top of it. “You know, you can be an amazing brother sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“Hey, bird?” “Yeah?”

“How did you find me, anyway?”

“You always come here when you wanna be dramatic.”

“I do not!”

“You so do!”

And slowly, the imaginary memories fell apart and disappeared. Y/n didn’t need them anymore. She’d be better in the real world.

Taglist

@kaelyn-lobrutto24 @poguestyle17 @im-a-stranger-thing @lasnaro @thoughtsofthestars @briandaflores19 @lunaposey @allycat449-blog @ifilwtmfc @kitty084 @coloradogirl07 @ponyboys-sunsets @chaoticbisous @p0gue420 @sloaneemily @babygal-babygal @itsagurl @mendesmaybank

If you wanna be added or removed or if I forgot you, tell me and it’ll be modified!

[theshelbyclan]

Angel

Summary: You cross paths with famous Thomas Shelby after killing someone he wanted dead, and you can’t help but recognise so much of yourself in this man

(Gif by @nofckingfighting​) A/N: The ever-lovely @psych0crybaby​ requested: good evening my dear. i saw that your request are open again. Could i ask for some Tommy with a total badass reader? Maybe where she saves their asses and no one knows where she is( and she just walks away) and then they see her again and ada explains to them that she mostly kills rapists and guys who harass woman because someone did the same to her when she was in the war? if you are comfortable with, if not have a good evening or day 🌺 I remember the first time I read this request and immediately being drawn to it. I did however want to do it right, you know? Like I really wanted to think about it, so I have. This comes with a warning for anyone familiar with PTSD, and some sexual abuse and assault is mentioned: this may be triggering. Sorry that it took a while to get this out, but I hope you like the result! Words: 4370 *** Breathe in. Look. See. Focus. Remember. Breath out. Throw. The first knife whooshed passed your face and hit the wall opposite you. The second followed quickly, almost magnetically. The third came after a small pause, the silence in which people feel a false sense of safety, and hit the target right in its middle. 

“You’re too pretty to be out here in the mud.” “Again,” you told yourself, “there’s four of them”. Everything comes in four, good or bad. So you moved suddenly, ducked and threw three more knives, previously hidden in your sleeves.

“You know you want it.” Like a cat you jumped up onto a roof and mid-air threw three more, taken from your pockets. But the hardest was yet to come. The last man was always hidden, always late, like that last knife. He too swished and betrayed. So from your boots, you took another knife, jumped down suddenly and planted it in the back of the invisible assailant. “Good girl…” The job was done. Now for the real work. “What happened to you?” And you told yourself, “I’m ready.” ***

“What is your concern, Tommy?” “The one minute. The soldier’s minute. In battle it’s all you get.” Thomas Shelby lived his life looking over his shoulder, but when he turned, there was nothing there. You see it happening, everything at once and there’s no avoiding it. It’s always there, right behind you. Like running through a house with the devil hot on your heels, finally finding the way out, but when you step into the garden, it starts all over again: you’re back at your starting point. You see, your body may be outside in the sunlight, but your mind is back at the house. That’s what it felt like, every day. “We live somewhere between life and death.” This is what existing is: always living somewhere between life and death, between sleep and awake. And the nightmares, they bled into the days, taking over slowly. “Is it another war you’re looking for, Tommy?” There was supposed to be one war, to end all wars. But instead, kids were sent out to die in the mud, and for what? All that blood, smoke, tears, sweat and carnage. Men blowing the whistles, boys praying and crying. Was he looking for another war? That would imply the first one had ended. “I’ll remember everything and forget nothing. I’m thinking ahead, thinking of every possibility, remembering everything that is happening…” As if he could forget. The smallest things could trigger his memories, taking him right back. When John was little, he used to be scared of a monster. Ada had told him that: that there was a witch living in the walls that you could only see in the mirrors. John didn’t sleep for weeks after her little story. And now, the monster turned out to be real, except no one believed in it anymore. Still, it was everywhere and you had to be constantly on your guard. Because it’s not just in the walls and mirrors; it’s always right behind you, creeping, slithering, crawling it’s way up your spine… And so he became a machine, no longer a human being, fuelled by whiskey and cigarettes only, always plotting. “Thomas Shelby against the whole bloody world, right?” And so he wrote, “My name is Thomas Shelby and today, I’m going to kill a man.” *** There had been five of you at home. And home was in Small Heath, though you moved house all the time. When the poverty got bad, the family was split up and you and mother went into a boarding house for women, while father and the oldest brothers went into a boarding house for men. You were alright with this, because father was a bad man, but you feared for your brothers. Mother was the sweetest woman to ever live, always making sure you ate before she did. You never noticed her withering away before it was too late. At twelve, you started working. Walking the docks and shipyards was dangerous, so your brothers tried their best to prepare you. They weren’t like the other men in Small Heath. “Take this,” one brother told you on the morning of your first shift, “Hide it, in those boots.” You’d gotten charity boots, the first one in the family! But walking in them still felt uneasy, and now he expected you to slide in a small knife as well? “When someone comes,” he continued, urging you with his fiery eyes, “you stick ‘m. Don’t wait, don’t hesitate and don’t ask any questions. When he comes, you stick ‘m and you keep on sticking ‘m!” This was the first lesson you’d been taught. Four brothers all taught their little sister and each had but one objective: keeping you safe. One gave you the knife, the other taught you how to fight and the third took the beatings your drunk father had intended for you. The fourth hadn’t any strength or knowledge to share, so he kept close. Wherever you went, he followed in the shadows, and it was like having your own guardian angel, made up of filth and smoke. When the war came, they all enlisted. Of course they did: they were good, strong and brave men. You saw them off, one by one, and after waving goodbye to your guardian angel, something inside you snapped. Inspired by their love and courage, you became a nurse and took up a post at the front. You became a guardian angel yourself. *** Tommy was looking for a war. After France, they’d taken over the Shelby enterprise again and he had ambitions of expansion. Still, there were those in Small Heath who’d forgotten about the Shelby’s and he had to re-establish their reputation. “It’s happened again, Tommy,” John said sombrely, during a family meeting. Tommy sighed and dipped his head forwards, “Will he live?” “Yeah,” his brother replied, “but what are we going to do about this?” Polly, the voice of reason, said, “You need to make an example of him, Thomas. Show him who’s in charge. We can’t have a few Irish rebels killing and beating up our runner-boys. It’s bad for business.” Tommy nodded slowly and was formulating a plan as they spoke, “He drinks at the Horse’s Head. That’s where we’ll get him.” “Are you mad?” Arthur questioned, “On any given night there’s at least fifty Irish in there. It’s like a bloody army!” “We’re not scared of some fucking Irish,” John spat. “We’re not,” Tommy looked at his aunt with whom he shared his strategic skills, “but we need to be smart about this.” “Smoke him out,” Polly added, knowing her nephew’s mind so well. “We need an incentive.” Everything was all planned out. Tommy had an explosion, a staged fight and the rum in place. The men would scatter, the police would be elsewhere and their target would run. As the pub would be set on fire, he would literally be smoked out. That’s where they would be. The plan was good, well thought out and each eventually had been dealt with.

When the night came, the first part worked like a well-oiled machine. A small explosion in the shipyards, John’s, had drawn the police away. It would take them a while too, seeing as the Communists held their meetings there. Danny Whizz-bang would be inside the pub, looking both menacingly and vulnerable enough to not attract attention among the rebels. He was doing good tonight; he’d be able to light the fire. Tommy, Arthur and a few other blinders were waiting in the alleyways. Smoke started emerging from the pub and Tommy’s head shot up at the shouts of men. As he was getting ready mentally, he thought: some day, I won’t be the one doing this work. As men started fighting and chaos ensued, he followed one insignificant figure with his eyes. This man ran, frantically, into the protection of one of the dark alleys. Tommy followed and shouted his name. The man turned and his face fell as he recognised the Shelby. He in turn grabbed his gun and pointed it at him, saying, “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” But as Tommy was about to pull the trigger, the man fell forwards. The irritation of an eventuality not anticipated shot through Tommy and as he walked forwards, he saw a small knife sticking out of the Irish’ neck. He died on the spot. His first thought was if he could still pass this off as a killing by the Peaky Blinders, because Polly had been right: they needed to make a statement. Of course he could. His second thought lasted a lot longer and actually drove him to action: who’d done this? The angle of the knife made him look up, towards the roofs. No one was there, but Tommy still ran. As a kid, he used to climb roofs. As an adult, he dug tunnels. It’s funny how both came back to him now. Fearing whomever it was he couldn’t see, he chased the murderer. Once up, he could easily recognise the signs: someone had been on the roofs. There were bits of dust where bricks had been falling, flecks of ash where someone had been smoking and the smell of soap where someone had been waiting. Still, the killer was long gone. *** You weren’t sleeping, but sort of dreaming with one eye open. You did that a lot. Nightmares kept you vigilant, even at night. The boarding house you were living at was positively Dickensian, but you didn’t mind. You came from nothing and had little trouble going back to it. Besides, there was no money coming in at the moment, so you didn’t have the funds for any proper room.

In the dark, you thought of the men on your list. One of the best things about the boarding house was its anonymity. People who lived here were the poorest of the poorest, only surpassed by those on the streets and the working houses. No one asked any questions, no one looked at each other and shame drove people into hiding. The large room was separated into small spaces by a few curtains only, but still, there was some sense of privacy. In the darkness, you could think. The worst thing about the boarding house was the sound. It wasn’t the crying babies, children whining for food or people fighting each other, but the sound of pain. Some women wailed in their sleep and it shook you to your core every time. Your mother had sounded like that. You had too, you knew it. Early in the morning, you left. “Where are you off to, eh?” the old lady who slept next to you asked. In some ways, she was the pauper’s queen and she got away with prying. “Work,” you replied shortly. The old woman laughed a hoarse laugh, “You’re not fooling no one, dearie…” As soon as you walked onto the streets, a calmness came over you. Poverty was familiar, but it frightened you too. It was like a hand around your throat, always squeezing just a little but more. Inside, especially, it was like drowning. In Small Heath, some women had started their first shifts at the factories already and men were shovelling coal into the big machines. Sparks flew and fizzled out in your hair. Soot clung to your already filthy clothing. In other words, nothing about you looked out of the ordinary. The rest of the day was filled with you practising two skills: observing and vanishing. You listened in on conversations everywhere, while timidly looking away when anyone did notice you. Men boasted of their achievements and women complained everywhere. But you listened for any signs of cruelty and found it easily. See, in a city forgotten by civilisation, no one notices cruelty anymore. It’s part of everyday life. You, however, had decided to change that. This was your revenge, or atonement, whichever way you looked at it. One man in particular stood out to you. His eyes were cold and his shoulders broad, and when his wife came to him during his break, he slapped her without warning. Sometimes menace leaves a certain aura and you could sense it in him. When a filthy child came from the factory as well, also on a short break, you motioned the child to come over. “Hey, love,” you said softly. The child didn’t trust you, but his sunken eyes still pleaded, “What?” “Here,” you offered him a bun you’d just stolen, “I need your help.” He hadn’t eaten in days, that much was clear, and with his mouth full of crumbs, he said, “Wiff whaff?” “I’m new here in Birmingham. Where can I get a job?” He pointed, “Ask the foreman.” You smiled gently, “Thanks, love.” “Where’d you get the bun?” he inquired, less shy with each bite. “My husband bought it for me.” “You not hungry?” This child was sweet, so he’d know, “No, you have it. We got more at home.” “Okay,” and he continued absolutely devouring the pastry.   Just before he walked off again, you asked him, off-handedly, “That man, over there?” you pointed at the man with stony eyes, “You know him?” The boy fell still, “Yeah. He works here.” “What’s his name?” “Don’t know,” he whispered, “But mum told us to stay away.” “Why?” The kid shrugged, “He’s a bad man I suppose.” “Like those Shelby’s,” you tried, knowing the kid would know them like everyone around here did. It worked. “Nah,” he laughed, “the Shelby’s would never touch a woman!” “Does he?” you asked, eyes narrowing. “Mum says so. Mum says women are scared of him, because he hurts them. All of them.” You nodded slowly, “Why don’t the Peaky Blinders take care of him?” He shrugged again, “Miss? Thanks for the bun, but I really need to get back. I need my job.” “I know,” you urged him, “Go.” In France, you helped the sick and dying. This is what you had come for and you’d given up everything to do it. With the telegram of each brother found dead, you became more focussed on the work. It was like you turned into a machine, running only on adrenaline. Sometimes you would work shifts of 48 hours, simply because the other nurse had collapsed, or because the bodies wouldn’t stop coming in. Fear became second nature and fatigue had to be ignored. But being tired also made vulnerable: you learned this when one of the superior officers followed you into the halls of the makeshift hospital. Remaining on your feet after working for so long was easy, as long as you kept on moving. But when he grabbed you and you paused, your knees started buckling. Maybe it’d been the fear, maybe it was his rank and maybe it was purely that fucking bloody war, but there was no fight left in you in that moment. He had his way with you and you just… froze. Shame and guilt drove you back to England and back into the shadows you retreated. And then, shame and guilt turned into anger and the guardian angel became an avenging angel. You didn’t have to wait long. After his work was done, you followed the man with the cold eyes, watching his every move. All your fears and the kid’s warnings were confirmed in a dark corner of a filthy street. The woman never stood a chance. And so you vowed: you would end him. *** “What’s up with you?” Ada asked pointedly. Tommy’s head shot up and he stared at his sister with vacant eyes. “Thomas Shelby, the man who never eats. A rare biological mystery, he is,” Ada commented sarcastically. He grabbed a fork and picked up a potato, “I eat.” “Hardly,” Polly commented. “I have work to do, so if you ladies don’t mind…” But Ada wasn’t finished, “You’ve been lost in thought all day. Mind sharing it with us?” “No really.”

“Because we’re just women or…”

“Ada!” Tommy sighed, “Something… happened. Something unexpected and I can’t figure out how.”

“And this bothers you.”

There was something deeply infuriating about having a sister who was reading the newspaper, right next to you, but never made eye contact, and still she was absolutely right about everything. So Tommy threw his head back and admitted defeat, “Someone killed a man.”

“It’s Small Heath.”

“Someone I wanted dead, but he got there before me.”

Polly sat back down and leaned forwards, “The Irish? I though we did that.”

“Yes, that is what I had people believe.”

Ada suddenly looked up, “How?”

“I failed to take it into my calculations…”

“No. How was the Irish killed?”

Tommy blinked a few times, “A knife. Thrown from the roof.”

His sister smiled faintly, didn’t say a word and then went back to her newspaper.

“Ada…” Tommy growled, “If you know something, tell me.”

“Why? I thought you boys were taking care of business now.”

He looked at his aunt for support, almost desperate, but saw from her face that he could hope for little sympathy there.

“Fine, what do you want,” he demanded.

“Respect,” Ada said coldly.

“You have my respect.”

“Good,” she slowly flipped the page, “Now tell me you need me.”

Polly’s smirk grew into a grin and Tommy cursed all women, right there and then.

So he cleared his throat, “Ada, please, tell me.”

“It’s almost like it’s physically painful for him, isn’t it?” Polly said conversationally to Ada.

“Fucking hell…” Tommy groaned, “Ada, I fucking need your help. Please just tell me what you know!”

“Fine,” she abruptly closed the newspaper, “You need to go to that pub in Digbeth.”

“The one by the water?” Tommy frowned.

“That’s the one. Next to that boarding house that should’ve been closed years ago. That’s where you’ll find your killer.”

Immediately, he stood up. Because even though he thought he’d been subtle about it, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the incident for days now. The killer, whoever he was, had taken over his thoughts entirely. It was dark outside already, but still early enough for the pubs to be open. He’d go there at once.

“Tell her I said ‘hi’,” Ada called after him as he left.

And Tommy retraced his steps slowly, “‘Her’?”

“Her.”

He paused for a second, but when nothing else came, “You know they don’t allow women in pubs.”

“They do her,” Ada chuckled.

“Ada, stop playing these fucking games!” he shouted, as he threw down his cap in anger.

She, however, didn’t even blink and repeated, “Her. It’s a woman who killed your Irishman. All the women here know her; she takes care of a certain kind of man for us. She doesn’t want it known and she rids the world of bastards, so we leave her be. It all works out.”

Tommy turned to Polly, “Did you know of this?”

“I’ve heard of her, yes.”

“Then why the fuck has no one told me before?”

Polly sent a stern gaze at her nephew from over her teacup, “I thought you weren’t interested in women’s business.”

***

When you walked into the pub, a small nod to the man behind the bar was all that was needed. Dressing like a man had many advantages and this was definitely one of them. Still, he knew you were a woman, but after helping him out one night, you were allowed in. So you sat in the corner and became one with the furniture, drinking your whiskey in silence.

And then it happened. One man, who had no business being here, walked in. Thomas Shelby of the Peaky Blinders was considered royalty in Small Heath, so why would he be here, in this grimy little cellar pub?

The thought that he came looking for you never even crossed you mind at first. He leaned over the bar and ordered whiskey, asking a few more questions you couldn’t hear. You tried to listen more closely, but the more you did so, the more inaudible his words seemed to become.

Suddenly, he turned and looked you right in the eyes. Without a second thought, you jumped up, kicked the table towards him and made your way to the door.

“Fuck,” you heard him ground out, but still he was quick. In a flash, he had the door barricaded and a gun pointed at your head.

“Out!” he commanded everyone but you.

You felt for the reassuring blades under your clothes and relaxed a little.

“Now, Miss…” he started after everyone had left.

But you didn’t plan on being interrogated, so the first knife whooshed passed his head: a warning.

Thomas Shelby froze. Then it was like an animal awoke in him and he lunged forwards, tackling you down with him. While you were struggling, you tried to plant a second knife into his leg, but he rolled away just in time. With big eyes he stared at the weapon now stuck in the floor.

And so you were standing opposite each other, weapons of choice pointed at each other’s heads.

“Alright,” he said after a while, holding up his hands in a pacifying manner, “There’s no need to fight.”

“Spoken by a man who knows he will lose,” you replied, without missing a beat.

“You want a fight?” Tommy said quickly, “Then fight me like a man. No gun, no fucking knives. If my sister is right about you, you’ll fight me like a man.”

With that you scoffed and threw away the knives, right next to his head, into the door. It gave you such pleasure to see him shudder with each one, but your face betrayed nothing.

“Now what?” you asked.

“You tell me.”

“Fine,” you sighed and punched him in the face, hard.

As his head shot back, you noticed a flicker of surprise in his features, but he quickly recovered and his face turned emotionless yet again.

Your triumph didn’t last long. If anything, you arrogance had distracted you, so the three blows that followed from his fists came out of nowhere. One to the nose, one to the chin and the last one square in the jaw. Thank God you weren’t vain.

You took a breath in, made yourself focus and quickly jabbed him two times, before hitting him right in the eye with a mean left hook.

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered, “Who the fuck taught you how to fight like that?”

“My brothers,” you replied, before you could stop yourself.

Tommy held up his hands and his two punches to your gut literally took your breath away. Meanwhile, he said, “Why aren’t they here to defend you now, eh?”

“Do I look like I need to be fucking defended?” With a sudden kick you were certain you cracked at least on of his ribs.

Wheezing, he leaned over, but managed to grab your leg in the process and flipped you over onto the ground, “Brothers still do.”

“They’re dead,” you said from the floor, “the Somme,” and with one quick motion, you’d tackled him with your legs, “What about you?”

“The Somme too. Verdun…”

Before he could recover, you climbed on top of him and started pounding his pretty face with your fists. Unfortunately, he quickly bucked you off and hit you with a nasty uppercut, which made you wonder about your teeth.

You crawled back a little and felt with a hand at your mouth: blood. Tommy leaned against the wall and was still panting, lightly tracing a hand over his ribs. The chaos subdued and you both rested.

“Are we done?” he growled.

You stared at him with a look that told him you could go on for hours like this, “What is it that you want?”

“I just want to talk.”

Quickly, you started thinking out your options. Clearly, he knew who you were and evidently, you’d killed the wrong person this time. Really, it was bound to happen at some point.

“Who was it?” you asked, “the one you didn’t want dead.”

“I did want him dead,” he said as he slowly lifted his cigarette case from his pocket.

“Then what’s the problem?”

He smiled a little and the gesture was so unexpected that the feeling it gave you caught you completely off-guard, “I wanted to be the one to kill him.”

You furrowed your brows, thought back and suddenly nodded slowly, “The Irishman.”

He pointed at you with his cigarette in hand, “That’s the one.”

In the silence that followed, you watched this man, this broken boy. His eyes started glazing over and you knew he drifted off to placed in the distant past. As he smoked slowly, you recognised the signs of a flashback so well and you suddenly became more curious than ever about this man.

He saw the same thing in you evidently, because out of the blue he said, “You and me. I think we understand each other.”

“Do we?” you said in a voice that demanded distance.

He nodded a little, “We kill.”

You laughed a cold laugh, “Are you insane like me?”

“Maybe I am…”

“Or just in pain like me?” you added.

He didn’t speak for a long time, like he was thinking what to say next, but then, suddenly, he broke the pregnant silence. “Who hurt you?” he asked, in a voice so low it was almost inaudible.

You leaned forwards and locked eyes with him, fire burning inside them, “Everyone.”

Tommy sat back and offered you a cigarette, but soon realised you wouldn’t take it from his hands without expecting abuse from them. So he threw it your way and you grabbed it gratefully. When you lit it, the two of you leaned against the wall in the same manner, postures similar.

“It’s time,” he announced, looking up at the ceiling.

You cocked one eyebrow, “Is it?”

“The minute is almost up.”

“And how does it end?”

He sighed, “With names. You’ve beaten me. I’m no longer Mr. Thomas Shelby. It’s Tommy now.”

And you smiled at him softly and replied with your own vulnerability, “Y/N.”

***

Masterlist

[pandoras-princess]

Next Best Thing (Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader)

*gif not mine//credit to owner

A/N: Hello my lovelies! 🌸 Welcome to my first ever Peaky Blinders fic, I wrote it ages ago and have just edited it slightly so my apologies if the quality isn’t greaaat but the other parts will be better I promise! 😅 This is an AU fanfic where John never married Martha or had kids before he married Esme and there is no Grace for Tommy andddd the timeline is absolutely wack, I know it’s a lot so if you’re in the market for a traditional by the book Peaky Blinders fic this one is not for you I’m afraid 🤗 also if you’re finding it a bit slow I advise you to hang in there until after the time skip because that’s the better half of this part in my opinion, nevertheless I seriously enjoyed writing this so Happy Reading Peoples! 🥳🥳 as ever I appreciate every like, reblog and follow, feedback is forever welcome 😌

Summary:  Being the bestfriend of Jonathan Shelby meant that you’d grown up attached at the hip. And considering you were hopelessly in love with him, life was eventful to say the least. With John marrying Esme you decide it’s high time you got over him. And as they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else...

Pairing: (OOC) Thomas Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence, smoking and drinking, mentions of addiction, mentions of sex but no smut I’m afraid

PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━

Being John Shelby's best friend was definitely not an easy job.

You and John were the exact same age, born on the same day of the same month of the same year, precisely one hour and eleven minutes apart, and since your family only lived one house away from the Shelby's it was a given that you and John would grow up to be best friends.

You were as good as family to them, so when your father was killed in the war and your mother unable to cope turned to the drink and drugs, you were left officially orphaned at age 10 and Polly arranged for you to live with them, raising you as her own.

Growing up with the Shelby's came with it's challenges. They were all fiercely protective of you but no one more so than John. When you were kids he'd beat up anyone that dare made you cry, or sad or angry or anything other than happy really, and as you grew older and began to date he'd scare away anyone deemed not up to scratch, which seemed to be pretty much all of them, threatening violence known around Small Heath as common behaviour for the Peaky Blinders. This meant that you never really had a boyfriend, or many boys interested in you at all for that matter, and any who were rarely had the balls to act on it for fear of the Peaky Blinders wrath. However this didn't bother you much as there was only ever one boy you truly wanted interested in you, the one boy who never would be interested in you.

Of course being a teenage girl you'd had your silly crushes, Tommy being one of them. But they all paled in comparison to what you felt for John.

Being best friends meant that the two of you spent practically all of your time together, did everything together, went through and dealt with everything together. He had always been your shoulder to cry on, your ear to bend, your hugs and smiles and laughs, your safe place. It was inevitable that you'd fall for him. And fall for him you did, painfully obvious to everyone except John himself.

Shortly after your 16th birthday, you were reading a book by the fire, a woven blanket strewn across your legs and a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming your hands when John bursts into the house loud, drunk and jolly. He often snuck out to join his brothers in their shenanigans - whether it be business or pleasure - and you were all too happy to listen to his stories when he came home.

You watched John intently as he regaled to you his latest night out. You watched the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly as he spoke, a smug smile tracing his lips every so often. His eyes glistened from the whiskey and his lips were wet. A cigarette clasped lazily between his fingers, his eyes closed for a split second whenever he took a drag. Deep in admiration of the boy sitting in front of you, you didn't quite notice the change of events in the story.

"-and then she walked right up to me and kissed me!"

It was at that point that your attention snapped back, ears pricking up and heart racing as you go over what he'd just said. But too excited to wait, John didn't give you the chance to work out if you had misheard him.

"Well before I know it she's got me in the back alley dress hiked up going at me like a feral she was. Can ya believe it after all this time I'm finally a man aha!" John exclaims, a goofy, ear-splitting grin plastered on his face.

He spares any explicit details, knowing it was no way to talk with a lady no matter how close they are to you or how drunk you may happen to be. Nevertheless, upon hearing those final words coupled with the look of pure elation on his face, your heart shatters into millions of ice cold shards right before your eyes. The pain that was rapidly building in your chest and the image of John with some tart, skirt bunched around her waist fucking like dogs in the alley was too much for you to bear. A wave of nausea washes over you and you stand abruptly, dashing to the loo before the contents of your stomach emptied onto the carpet.

A few minutes later you hear faint knocks on the door.

“Ye alright in there love?” John asks, concern lacing his words.

“All good” you reply quickly, willing your voice to steady itself.

Wiping the sheen of sweat from your forehead you collapse into a heap against the wall, and a sigh escapes your lips as you wrack your brain for the exact moment you had lost him. While John had never shown any signs of liking you, you were always able to draw hope from the relationship you two had, no matter how blind it may have been. Now though, he had dashed that hope, blind or otherwise, as he had given himself to someone else. He had openly chosen not to be with you.

Not to be yours.

Fobbing John off with some excuse about a dodgy dinner you quickly retreat to bed, going without giving him a hug, unable to bring yourself to touch him. And from that day onwards you lived with the knowledge that your love was unrequited. You lived with loving him, and him not loving you.

For the most part it was rather easy. John wasn't the kind for serious relationships - preferring causal sex to the committed kind - so you never really had to deal with any girlfriends or the lark, just the occasional tart interested in him on the rare nights out you tagged along. Even then, you soon learned not to go on any nights out without Ava or Polly present and so the issue of John and his women quickly became dormant. That was, however, until John agreed to marry Esme Lee.

Tommy came to you before asking John, asking for your help in convincing him. He knew John would come to you with it asking for advice before deciding. Tommy explained his plan, marry John off to the Lee girl forcing them to squash the war and join forces to overthrow Billy Kimber. It was simple enough and since you'd already accepted there was never to be a you and John, you agreed.

The time came and sure enough John came to you, confused and somewhat annoyed at Tommy's rough handed approach, and sure enough you stayed true to your word, telling him it was nothing new, people had arranged marriages all the time.

So on he went to marry her, your true feelings unknown to the man.

[2 years later]

"You shouldn't be working here you know. John certainly wouldn't like it" Tommy said, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched you carefully wipe down the bar surface. He was referring to your new job as barmaid in the Garrison and having just finished your first shift you were cleaning up. Last orders had been and gone and every punter had now left the pub, drunk and merry on their ways.

After John married Esme you spent the next two years much to yourself. You embraced the spinster lifestyle and faded away into the passing days. However it was the turn of a new year and to everyone's joy you'd come to your senses, deciding it was high time you stopped wasting your life moping after John. He didn't love you - that much was clear - but somebody out there must and so it was time for you to move on, you thought. Reinvent yourself. This 'new you' started with marching into Tommy's office and demanding the new barmaid job. Surprisingly he offered no resistance, merely a quizzical look at your sudden determination before giving you the job. So here you were, your first shift done and nobody left in the place but you and your new boss.

"Well it might surprise you to know, Mr Shelby, but I don't abide my decisions by what John would or would not like me doing" you reply. Finishing up you leave the cloth on the bar and make your way over to the table, taking the chair adjacent to his.

"Is that so?" He asks, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours as he offers you a cigarette. You accept, bending down slightly to the offered flame and without breaking eye contact, you light the cigarette and take a drag, exhaling as you sit back up.

"Yes, Thomas, that is so" you reply, the use of his name making clear your exasperation with the questioning.

"Very well then, a toast-" he picks up the bottle of whiskey and pours some into each glass, placing one in front of you and taking one himself "-to your new job, and to your new found freedom" he says, locking eyes with you on his last words and clinking your glass before you both down it. If growing up with the Shelby's had taught you one thing it was how to hold your liquor.

Soon you and Tommy were halfway through the bottle and quite drunk, too caught up in the fun to notice. It was now something past 3 in the morning; you and Tommy had been talking, drinking and laughing for nigh on 3 hours now, going through old stories of your childhoods, stories from before you were born and from afterwards, stories of your parents and stories of his.

"So tell me, what is the meaning behind this sudden change in you then?" Tommy inquired, only too happy to see your old self back again.

Before you knew it the whiskey had gotten the better of you and you found yourself telling him the reason. You told him about John, about your love for him, about that night and about how you'd come to terms with it and decided to move on.

"Besides, it's not like he was the first boy I ever liked, so I'm quite sure he won't be the last" you state matter of factly, unaware of the storm you had just brewed.

See, unbeknown to you, Tommy was fully aware of everything you had just poured out to him. He knew about your love for John. He knew the deepest parts of your heart, your mind, your soul. Every crush and fling you'd ever experienced Tommy knew all about it, thanks to a little book you liked to keep hidden under your mattress. You had been detailing all matters of yourself in that little black journal for as long as you could write. Polly happily replacing it when you found your current one full, it was much easier than finding a shoulder to cry on every time you needed one. When Tommy came across it he had no idea what it was, merely out of curiosity did he open it and start reading.

"Oh, who was?" Tommy asked, lighting another cigarette. Following suit you decide to take a minute to weigh up your options, drinking in the smoke as you did.

"You” your voice remains deceptively steady, not wanting the man watching you so closely, so attentively, to become aware of the raging swarm of butterflies occupying your stomach.

"Is that so?" Tommy pulls on his own cigarette, the smoke rising from his lips as his eyes lock onto yours. "So what changed then?" His eyebrow arches perfectly, a smirk gracing his lips.

"You're 4 years older than me! There was no way you'd ever look at me as anything other than an annoying little sister!” You say in a chuckle, the fiery whiskey encompassing all of your thoughts in a humorous glow.

"And if I told you I do look at you as something other than an annoying little sister?" His eyes flick to your lips for a millisecond before returning to your own (E/C) orbs. If you’d have blinked you would’ve missed it, but your full attention being fixed on the man before you meant that you hadn’t.

"Well... that would certainly change things." The possibility of one of your fantasy's coming true ignited you to your very core.

Silently, Tom rises from his seat and offers his hand to you. You take it, and he leads you to his office with the worst of intentions in mind.

[desertno3]

Memories (John Shelby x female!reader)

You finally tell your granddaughter about John.

1300 words. Angst.

“Thank you, darling,” You say as your granddaughter takes the stack of plates from your hands and starts setting them down on your long dining table.

You had invited everyone over for a family dinner and she’d insisted on coming over early to help you set up. It was becoming a rare occasion, having everyone under the same roof. Your kids and your grandkids were getting older and, as a result, were a lot busier these days.

“How’s work, love?”

“Fucking awful,” Your granddaughter replies with a grimace. “The head of my department is still a bitch. I got in trouble last week for talking back to her but I’ll tell you what, she deserved it!”

You know you shouldn’t encourage her behaviour but you can’t help but chuckle at her tenaciousness.

“I know she’s horrible, darling, but be careful,” You tell her. “You talk back to her one more time and you might be out of a job.”

She shakes her head, “Not gonna happen, nan. She knows she can’t fire me, I’m the best bookkeeper they’ve got.”

There’s a certain look in her eye when she says it, one that looks so familiar it makes you smile wistfully as you lay out the cutlery.

“You are too much like your granddad, you know that?”

She stops what she’s doing and looks at you curiously. “Really?”

You hum in confirmation. Out of your seven kids and your countless grandsons and granddaughters, she was the one who had your John’s personality to a tee.

"What was he like?"

It takes her a few moments to ask you that, unsure if it was a question that was okay to ask. For as long as she could remember, John - her grandfather on her mother’s side - was rarely spoken of and she never knew why. It had always been a thing of mystery to her and her cousins - even now as grown adults. They’d never even seen any photos of him let alone his side of the family. You'd left it all behind in a whirlwind of anger and pain on the day of his funeral.

You pause for a second after she asks you that, hesitating to answer. It was true that you never spoke much about John. There wasn't a day that went by where you didn't think about him but talking about him usually stirred up emotions that felt much too raw for something that happened to you decades ago.

For such a long time after John died, you were determined not to dwell on it - if not for your own sanity, then for your children. With one parent gone, you knew you had to be there for them, to be present, and so it was just easier to not talk about it. But they were grown now, old enough to have their own children, and your heart breaks when you realise your grandkids had grown up without much knowledge of the man you loved with your entire heart.

"He was cocky." You don’t know why that’s the first thing that comes to mind, but it is. "Maybe too much for his own good."

Your granddaughter raises an eyebrow, noting the fond smile on your face.

"Something tells me you didn't mind that much," She teases and you laugh.

“You’re right, I didn’t. I loved him very much. He was charming and just… God, he was lovely. Stubborn, just like you, but he was sweet when he wanted to be.”

"Can I ask what happened to him?"

She’d always wondered. The first and only time she’d asked her mother about it, she simply said he was shot and that was that. She knew, though, from the look on her mother’s face that there was more to it. But there was something about that look that made her never dare ask again.

When you fall silent, she starts backtracking.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

“No, it’s okay,” You say, shaking your head. “You should know. He died in nineteen twenty-five. You see, he and his family… they were involved with a lot of people they should have never gotten involved with and he paid the price for it. Gunned down outside our own house on Christmas morning, right in front of me. He took about a dozen bullets... right through his chest.”

"God,” She whispers. “That’s horrible."

“I’m surprised your mum never told you about it.” You say to her, curious, because it wasn’t ever like what happened to John was to be kept a secret.

“I don’t think she likes talking about it.”

Oh. You feel a wave of sadness wash over you when she tells you that. Her mother - your’s and John’s eldest - was the only one of your seven who saw the gruesome aftermath of the shooting. She’d heard the commotion outside, heard her father’s voice yell out. She was the one who had corralled her siblings to the other side of the house right after the shots had rung out, making sure they didn’t have to see what she’d just seen - their father’s lifeless body bleeding out on the pavement.

“I don’t suppose she would,” You sigh. “She saw it all happen and it wasn’t a pretty sight. She was only a kid.”

You knew there was nothing you could have done in the moment to change how things unfolded but you did wish you could have somehow prevented her from seeing that. You remember the way she was afterwards. It was like the remaining years of her childhood were taken from her the moment her father was. She’d grown up quickly, stepping up to help you with the littler ones now that you didn’t have John around. You would see her trying to be strong, focusing on being there for her siblings, but then at night she’d crawl into your embrace and cry into your chest. And you’d hold her and cry, too.

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Your granddaughter says sincerely, placing a hand on top of yours. She hated seeing you so forlorn.

You give her a grateful smile, moving to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Don’t be sorry, love. You deserve to know more about your own grandfather. I’m sorry I haven’t told you much about him over the years.”

“It’s understandable, nan. I… I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose someone like that,” She says softly. “Do you still miss him?”

You nod. “Always." ~

Later that night, after everyone had gone home, you rummage through your bedroom closet until you find a small wooden box - one you hadn’t touched in years.

You smile sadly when you open it to find an array of belongings nestled inside - your wedding ring, John’s rings, drawings and knick-knacks from when the kids were younger, and, finally, a small, framed portrait of John. The only photo you had left of him.

You take it out and lightly run your finger over his photographed face, looking as young as the day you last saw him.

Earlier, during dinner, you couldn’t help but look at all your children and all your grandchildren gathered together under one roof and think about how you wished John were alive to see the sight. It was the first time in a long time that you’d let yourself entertain that train of thought. You wanted him there, beside you, so you could turn to him with an awed smile on your face and say, Look what we made, John. An entire family and then some. He would have loved them all. That, you knew for sure.

Unshed tears stinging your eyes, you press your lips to the portrait before placing it back in its box.

“I’ll see you soon, love.”

[protection-of-the-peaky-blinders]

A Peaky Christmas Day (Tommy x Reader)

Title: A Peaky Christmas Day Summary: Tommy asks you to spend Christmas Day with him. Tommy finds you wandering the snowy streets on Christmas Morning. Asks you to spend Christmas Day with him. Words: 3,372 | Part 1 of 2 Warnings: Trigger Warnings for mentions of Domestic Abuse, Alcohol abuse, Rape, Swearing, She/Her Pronouns Author’s Note: To the Anon that suggested this, I was already writing something similar so I hope you don’t mind me adding in some tragic backstory. Part 1 of 2. Part 2 more focused on Christmas Day Fluff. It’s my first Tommy Shelby Fanfic so if he’s out of character, I profusely apologise. 

 ~

Christmas Day. Merry Christmas. 𝑀𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑦.

You couldn’t recall a time where Christmas was ever ‘merry’ for you. Your father was always drunk, using the excuse that he was drinking ‘Santa’s whisky since it’s Christmas after all’, and his drunkenness was often taken out on you. The more he drank, the worse it became for you. Which is why you prefer to stay home and ensure he has meals throughout the day, try and soak up some of the alcohol, and try and distract him from consuming too much, lest it become far worse than things thrown at you.

Christmas Eve had been the start of your problems. You weren’t aware your Dad had gone out drinking at the pub until he came home and gotten handsy with you. Luckily you were able to shoo him off with the excuse of you cooking dinner and he needed to take a shower. But this didn’t last as long as you hoped. You managed to get him to eat something but your night went downhill from there.

 Had you given Tommy Shelby permission from another time prior, your Father wouldn’t have lived to have seen Christmas Day. At the moment, you regretted protecting your Dad against the Peaky Blinder. For some reason, Tommy stepped down and respected your wishes. You were grateful. But you knew that Tommy knew your Dad can be extremely abusive when under the influence.

Christmas morning finally arrived and you were already exhausted. You hadn’t slept. Your Dad keeping you awake between his bouts of drunkenness. You had no safe spot in the house. Your bedroom, which should have been anyone’s general ‘safe spot’ was never respected by him as he quite often came barging in.

He finally passed out in the early morning and that’s when it became too much for you. Still in yesterday’s clothes, though severely crumpled and torn, you left the house in such a state that you blindly walked in the snow for hours. It was still dark, but the sun that was slowly rising had allowed enough light to dimly light the area in a dark blue hue.

 You walked and walked. You knew if you stopped and caught your breath, you’d break down like a mad person and you couldn’t do that. You’re not weak. You’re not. Your situation was complicated. You couldn’t leave. You couldn’t disrespect your Mother’s memory by leaving your Dad all on his own. He was still grieving the love of his life. Your Mother had only died a year prior. A few days before Christmas, actually. This year had marked the one-year anniversary. The wounds were still fresh. The first time Tommy found out your Father was abusing you, he wanted to pay your Father a visit. But you stepped in and explained the situation. At first Tommy wasn’t having it, but you begged him to respect the memory of your Mom; a good, kind-hearted, nurturing woman. When he saw you almost breakdown in tears, he stepped down; on the condition that if it gets out of hand, he will do something about it. “You’re protected by the Peaky Blinders now, love.” He had said as he took his cap off and placed it on your head. Far too large for you, but it had you smiling again. And in turn, made him smile softly.

 By 7:30 in the morning, the sun had peaked above the rooftop, though hidden behind clouds, it still left enough light to let you know that it’s now daylight. Snow was starting to fall ever so slightly and your h/c hair had lightly begun sprinkled with snow. You would have looked cute with your red nose and cheeks – had the circumstances been different. Your fingers were cold as ice, too, but it didn’t seem to bother you.

 -- As always, for Tommy, Business never stopped. Even on Christmas Day. Rising up early with the sun, and before anyone else awoke, Tommy got himself dressed and headed into town where he had a couple of matters to take care of at his office. His family might get annoyed at him but at least it won’t be bugging him throughout the day, playing at the back of his mind and making him irritable company. He almost lost track of time when he dropped his pen and sat back. Taking his pocket watch out from his vest pocket, he flicked it open anad read that it was nearing 8am. Better get a move on. By the time he gets home, the fire should be lit, half his guests should be waking up or arriving. (Some of his family chose to stay the night, others were going to arrive in the morning).

 Lighting a cigarette, he made his way out of his office and out of the building, immediately being greeted by snow. Snowing at Christmas was always magical. Or so many believed. It didn’t bother Tommy in the slightest. He wasn’t overly sentimental about Christmas, except for how it brought his family together as normal as they can be; no talk of business, no arguments. Just lots of laughter, chatter and loud teasing. The only person who’s ever cross as Christmas is Aunt Pol when she tells the brothers to settle down; John and Arthur being the rowdiest ones.

 Christmas Day was one of very few days where Tommy’s demons don’t weigh heavily on his shoulders, nor hauntingly appear in his eyes. Yes, he’s still quite reserved and prefers to quietly observe his family, but he smiles more and joins in the laughter.

 It wasn’t long before Tommy was in his car and driving away, wanting to get home before the snow got heavy. His drive home only last a few minutes as he drove out to the edge of town, only to slow down when he saw a woman stumbling on the side. Had it not been for the familiar hair, he would’ve thought it was just some whore who had a bit too much too drink. Clothes were crumpled and torn, hair falling out from the updo it must have been kept in; indicating a wild night no doubt. Such was not the case. Foot placed pressure on the brakes of the car as he carefully slowed it down to avoid skidding on the snow-covered road, ocean blue eyes squinted in concern before murmuring a soft “Fuck.” Under his breath when he realised who it was. The car creaked to a halt as he hastily placed the brakes on, turned the ignition off and swiftly climbed out. “Y/N?” he called out, as he walked over to you, head ducking a little trying to catch a glimpse of your face to give him full confirmation it was you. You stopped in your tracks when you heard your name being called by a familiar voice. It was comforting. Too comforting. Because the minute you stopped and looked up to see the clearly concerned look of Thomas Shelby walking over to you, you crumbled. Your features crumpled as distraught washed over you, and he made it in time to catch you against his chest as you cried. “Aright…” he murmured as he braced himself to catch your weight, “Alright, love. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you firmly against him as your body trembled violently from each sob that tore from your chest. He’s never seen you cry. Never heard you cry. Never knew someone could cry as painfully as you. He didn’t need to ask too many questions about what happened. He knew getting an answer out of you now would be hopeless, so he’d wait until you calmed down a little more. But knowing your situation at home, and your dishevelled appearance, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. One hand left your back and curled in the locks of your h/c strands, the other hand remaining on your back and holding your protectively against him. Each sob that tore out from you had you struggling to breath, gasping between each cry. Being out in the cold climate probably didn’t help either, with the snow already starting to fall. “Shh…shh, shh… come on, hey, come on...” you heard him hushing you firmly. Probably to most people it might sound as though he was annoyed because of the tone of his voice, but you knew there was concern that filtered through that gravelly voice. “You’re safe now, eh? You’re safe.” Cold, ocean blue eyes glanced around as he held you; snowfall was beginning to cover things like a white blanket and he needed to get you out of the cold. A few people were still walking around in the distance behind them, but apart from that, it seemed like it was just you two being the daft ones still outside in the cold. Your painful cries tugging at his heartstrings, making him want to murder the fucking bastard that did this to you; family or not. The only thing stopping him from spreading more red at Christmas was you. There was no way in hell he could leave you in such a state. Your father can wait. But he WILL pay. Tommy will NOT let this slide. He continued to hold you until you calmed down, his patience with you was commendable, but it’s one thing you needed was patience and understanding. Your situation was … delicate. Fragile. He certainly didn’t want to fuck anything up with you. Except for your Dad. But that was a given. When your cries had quietened, you dared not look at him, knowing your face was a complete mess. You felt him let go of you, and for some reason you thought he was disgusted by you. Something you feared would always happen if a situation like this occurred; where you were painted dirty. A whimper of fear left your throat and you stumbled back in your footing. Letting you go, Tommy had quickly shrugged out of his jacket to place it over your shoulders, give you some warmth because it was hard to miss how frozen you felt against him. He missed the whimper that came from you, thinking it was just a noise of distraught and nothing more. The same with the stumbling of your footing, thinking it was your exhaustion creeping in. Not once did he ever consider your dirty or disgusting, the word ‘whore’, a word you feared you’d be seen as because of your Dad, never once occurred to him when he’s with you. Or thinking of you. Quickly draping the heavy coat around your shoulders, he was quick to wrap his around you again. “Y/N!” he murmured before his other came around you to hold you up in case you buckled completely. “I’ll take you back to mine, eh? Sit you by the fire and get you warmed up. And then we’ll talk.” “But it’s Christmas.” You murmured though your voice croaky from the distraught outburst you had only moments ago. “You’re spending Christmas with me. Alright?” It’s not like you had much of a choice in the matter. When Tommy formulates plans, he sticks to them. The only time he wavers is if you’re legitimately uncomfortable about it but that’s never been an issue with Tommy. “…but my Dad…” you asked, letting the question go only for Tommy to sternly answer back, “Will be dealt with. Let’s get out of the cold before you get sick. Come on.” Arms stayed around you, right arm draped around the middle of your back, left hand cupping your elbow as an added means of security. Tommy guided you back to his car, his own body acting as both a shield and grounding point for you. Your frozen hands clutched at the thick fabric of his coat and wrapped it shut against your chest, shivering beneath it when your body finally discovered the sense of warmth and you only begun to realise how cold you actually were. Opening the passenger door for you, Tommy waited a moment for you to climb in before closing it. Blue eyes surveyed the area once more, either for prying eyes, any signs of her Father, and also simply out of slightly paranoid habit. You let out a shaky sigh as you leaned back against the seat. Your legs flopping to the side as all the strength that kept you going suddenly left you. The exhaustion finally caught up and was threatening to pull you under, but you kept your eyes open. The coat didn’t help with the comfort it provided; warmth and smelling of smoke and cologne; Tommy’s signature scent. You jerked slightly as the driver’s door opened and Tommy sat down, slamming the door shut. He didn’t speak for a moment, eyes gazing straight ahead out the window. “He put his hands on you, didn’t he?” You licked your lips in nervousness, knowing there was no point in lying to him. He already knew the answer, just wanted the truth confirmed before he decided to carry out whatever plan he was currently formulating in his mind. “Tommy…” “Answer the question Y/N. Did he place his hands on you?” His voice was low. Calm. A hint of danger behind his voice but he kept it soft but firm for you. “…Yes…” you breathed quietly, Tommy already able to hear the tears in your voice. “Fuck.” He murmured beneath his breath as straightened himself up to start the car. “He did that too.” Your voice hitching as you admitted to the worst of what your Father did to you, making Tommy pause in his actions and drop his hands. He finally looked over at you to see you curled up, looking small and fragile. Tears already falling from your E/C orbs again, though you weren’t outwardly crying. Just seemed as though you didn’t even realise you were crying at all. His heart broke for the pain you’re in; this soft, beautiful woman, broken by a man she’s meant to trust and be loved by. His heart angered by the fact that he wanted to protect you, made a personal oath to protect you and had failed to do so. He didn’t even want to think what would have happened to you today had he not found you. “He will be dealt with, Y/N.” he repeated himself firmly, with authority. If you were going to argue against him, you would not win. His decision was final this time. Blue eyes bored into yours “I want to make that very clear.” You weren’t afraid of him, but you were afraid of what he’d do. But you knew your Father went too far. You had no fight left in you to protect or defend him. “…By order of the Peaky Blinders?” Grabbing his cap, he yanked it off and flopped it against your head, the way he did it during one of many moments that looked like you both were an official couple but at the same time, nothing had yet officiated it (by means of a kiss or something typical that officially seals a relationship). “By order of the Peaky Blinders.” He murmured back, pulling the cap down slightly to hide your face. Fuck. He’ll never forgive himself for not being there to protect you. But then, he’d have risked you never forgiving him if he broke his promise and acted on it sooner. It doesn’t matter. He can’t change the past. He’s got you now. Safe. By his side. Safest place for you to be. He’ll take you home, get you warmed up and settled in. Reintroduce you to the family since you’ve only met them briefly a few times before; Tommy wanting to keep you away from a lot of the shit that goes on, not wanting you to get caught up in it all. He’d call a family meeting at some point and give the order for tomorrow. It's boxing day after all, what better way to celebrate than by boxing the fucker’s head in eh?

 That was his plan. For the most part of today, he just wanted you to feel safe and comfortable, and to place a smile on your face. At least he’d be able to give you your Christmas present. Perhaps not in the way he imagined to present you with it since you’re in a fragile state and he dare not risk jeopardising anything. But at least he was able to do it on the day that mattered most.

 You didn’t bother adjust the cap that was a bit too big for your head. You hummed softly in response but nothing further was said from either of you. Tommy finally tore his eyes from yours and began to put the car into motion. It wasn’t too long before you were lulled to sleep by the leisurely motion of the car and the hum of the motor acting as white noise. With Tommy being silent and not conversing with you didn’t help, but certainly the lack of sleep you were currently suffering with was the key factor as to why you fell asleep within minutes. Tommy glanced over to you when he noticed you had gone quiet, no sound of sniffling or shaky little intakes of breaths. His concern was quelled when he realised you were asleep, and purposefully took the longer route home, slowing down over some of the bumpier paths to avoid waking you. It was the least he could do for you in your current state. Getting you home and warmed up was a priority, but he couldn’t recall a time he’s ever seen you asleep. You looked peaceful. Angelic. As if you didn’t suffer a horrendous ordeal that last throughout the night until the early hours of the morning. He didn’t want to break the peace you had with sleep, so he let you be as long as he could. You honestly felt like you had barely gotten any sleep when you were being shaken awake only seconds later (Tommy had managed to stretch the drive close to half an hour). In your disorientated state, your eyes snapped open and you immediately fought against the hands that were on you. Your whimpers being the first noise to come from you, only to be hushed by a gravelly voice, “Hey, hey, Y/N! Y/N! Its just me. Just Tommy. Yeah?” Between fighting him off, he managed to catch your wrists and hold them steady from attacking him, but when you came to your senses, eyes wide with fear and your chest rising with each breath, your hands went limp in his hold. “Tommy?” “Yeah.” “Oh god…” “It’s alright. Hey…look at me. It’s alright. Just me. You’re safe now. You’re safe.” Blue eyes never left yours as he waited for you to calm down. Letting go of your wrists, he pulled away just a little bit to give you space in case you needed it. He offered his hand for you to take in case you needed physical reassurance. He wasn’t sure how best to help you right now, so he wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t take his hand. But you did. “God, I’m so sorry.” You apologised once you found your voice and your bearings. Bringing your hand to his lips, he softly kissed the back of your hand, “Don’t be.”

He bit back words of anger hurled at your Father for making you feel this way, knowing it wouldn’t do you any good. You didn’t need to deal with Tommy’s anger.

 “Now come on, eh? Let’s get you inside. Warmed up by the fire. Cup of tea. Spend Christmas Day with me.”

Ocean blue eyes that held so much anger and danger, was staring at you with nothing but softness, adoration and a fierce protectiveness. He lifted the back of your hand to his lips and gave it another tender kiss, making your lips curl up into a smile. “That’s my girl.” It was the first time you smiled since he found you, and fuck how it made his heart flutter. Especially when you ducked your head in shyness but not before he spotted the hint of blush dusting your cheeks, making him chuckle ever so slightly. || Tag list: @captivatedbycillianmurphy

[tommyspeakycap]

“It’s a couple minutes after midnight and there were already a couple resolutions broken.”

with tommy maybe?

thank you for all your writing. those past two prompts made my first day of 2021 so much more enjoyable, as all your writing helped 2020 (a really shitty year for me personally as well as overall!) you’re an Angel x

that’s so kind of you to say!! i hope this year treats you a lot better x sending love ! x

Tommy nods his head in the direction of his sister after she placed a crystal glass of his favourite expensive whiskey into his hand while he continues his conversation with Arthur. “You can add manners to your fucking list of resolutions, ungrateful bastard.” Ada huffs in response to this, scoffing at her elder brother as she sits down and takes a drink of wine.

“Swear jar!”

Heads turn to the two little boys standing mischievously in the doorway in their pyjamas with huge grins. Ada rolls her eyes playfully at her son and nephew as you appear behind them. “I told them they could stay up a bit longer, behaviour permitting eh boys?” You ruffle both of their hair and feel your son wrap his arms around your leg, “Of course mummy! love you!” His words make you beam, your love for him so obvious in the way that your eyes shine. It makes Tommy smile from across the room.

You walk in carrying a small plate of some homemade shortbread to place on one of the small tables in the large family room that the entire Shelby family was occupying in yours and Tommy’s huge country estate. “Exactly Karl,” Tommy says, pointing at his nephew as he moves the conversation back to the issue of his sisters profanity. “Swear jar, Ada.”

Ada shakes her head, but honours the newly instated Shelby swear jar rule and puts a few coins into the glass begrudgingly. “We were talking about resolutions,” Arthur informs you, “Tom said he’ll cut back on the smokes, right Tom?” You turn to your husband, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as he sits on the couch, one elbow resting over the arm of the couch with that glass of whiskey in his hand and the other arm around your daughter half asleep leaning against his chest . “Really daddy?” Your daughter remarks quietly. You watch him shrug his shoulders. “Course.” He says. “I know how much your mother hates it,” he paused to lean closer to her to whisper, “and i love your mother very very much, so i’ll do it for her,” with a gentle wink. You didn’t hear those words, but watching him with the daughter he loved so much made your heart swell.

“And stop swearing!” Ada chimes, prompting a giggle from you. “Around the kids, at least.” Polly adds as she sips from her champagne glass. Tommy rolls his eyes again, feeling rather under fire from his tipsy family. With your heart fluttering every so slightly in your chest because to the rest of them, the resolutions that the head of their family was attempting were just that, silly resolutions that everyone makes every year. But to you, or rather between you and Tommy, those were changes you had voiced your wish for many times, especially since your daughter had been running around the house shouting “By order of the Peaky Fucking Blinders!” at the top of her lungs with the plastic gun John had gotten her since Christmas.

It was, of course more the smoking that bothered you. You worried constantly about his health, you knew it couldn’t be good at all that he was at the point practically a chain smoker. You wanted him to see his children grow up. You wanted to spent as long with his as you could get with the life you all lived.

“A man after my own heart,” you coo, leaning down to peck his lips, the cheeky nature of your husband kicking in as he slips his tongue between your lips and somehow manages to hook his arm around you and pull you down onto his lap without spilling his drink. You pull back, shaking your head at him playfully with a smile as you lean back against him. You hear John snigger from across the room, “He was going to quit drinking.” He taunts, nodding his head to the amber liquid in Tommy’s glass.

“Not the new year yet, John.” Tommy glares, but you know drinking isn’t going to be likely something that Tommy is going to stop, especially not within the next five minute before the year changes. The only thing that really matters to you is that he’s going to try. Esme hits John’s arm as a means of telling him to shut up and stop teasing his brother. They knew he was trying to make these changes for you.

“Mrs Shelby?” You turn your head to the maid standing cautiously at the door. “The baby is awake.” You nod your head, patting Tommy’s knee to prompt him to release him arm from around your waist. “I’ll get him, thank you Francis.” The maid nods her head and you kiss your husbands cheek. Tommy, as he always does, follows you with his eyes as you leave the room. A twinkle gleaming as he thinks about you and the newest addition to your family. The way you hold the baby boy, glowing with happiness even in the middle of the night reminds him of everything that is good in his world. His family is all that keeps him going and he knows for a fact that he would not be able to survive without you.

“Hello baby,” you coo as you enter the nursery, “Suppose you want to wish everyone a happy new year mister? oh aren’t you just the more gorgeous baby.” As you lift him into your arms to cradle him gently, you find yourself getting lost in time thinking about how much you love your family. You felt blessed to have three happy and healthy children despise everything that you had done and everything that had been done to you in your life. You had suffered a lot and caused suffering in some cases, so you felt as though there was nothing you could have done that would have amounted to you deserving three beautiful little humans who love you unconditionally. You didn’t know you could even love that much until you held your babies in your arms. And the way you got to see Tommy love them and care for them and become the man you had known all those years ago before he was traumatised by the war was the most beautiful thing to you.

Having children made him a better husband and a better man. You counted yourself lucky to get to be the woman who’s hand he holds as you walk together throw the fields behind the house, watching your son and daughter race and tackle each other in the snow or run through the long grass in the winter. For those moments where there was peace from the world, from the dangers and demands of the great Thomas Shelby, everything was made worth the battles.

You’re dragged from your admirational daze when you hear Tommy’s heavy footsteps falling behind you as he walks into the room. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing a long kiss against your cheek. “Happy New Year, Mrs Shelby.” You hum contently at his words, “Mm, Happy New Year to you, Mr Shelby.” Tommy gently rubs his finger over the small head of hair on his new son, “And you, sweet baby.” His voice rumbles lowly in your ear as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “What’re you doing up here?” You ask, turning your head to look at him. Tommy averts his eyes, taking a few steps back to sit on the rocking chair by the window. “Might’ve broke a few resolutions.” He murmurs, the awkward embarrassment feeling that he only ever gets with you rises up to flush his cheeks just like it used to when you first got together all those years ago.

You giggle slightly, placing the baby back down in his crib. The carpet is soft beneath your bare feet as you cross to Tommy, reaching out a hand to lift his chin so he’s forced to look up at you. “It’s ten past midnight Tom, what did you do?” You don’t speak with malice or anger, instead a hint of humour leaking through your words. Tommy shakes his head, “Just had a drink. Not important.” He uses his arms again to hook you down onto his lap. This time, you tuck your head under his chin to rest on his chest, closing your eyes softly for a moment. “What is important,” he continues, “Is how much i love you. And our family, so much.” He feels you smiling, “I love you too.”

Tommy rests his chin gently on top of your head. “Love you more.” He feels you laugh slightly this time as it dawns on your he may be fully serious about how much he loves you, but he’s also buttering you up.

“Thomas?” you query, voice raising in pitch every so slightly. “Mhm?” he responds, neither of you moving from your the comfort of your position. “Didnt you say you broke, resolutions? Not just a resolution?” You now sit back so you can look at him as he grimaces at you, “Well, that’s not really-“

Your head snaps between your little girl and your now apolgetically and almost painfully grimacing husband after you hear her adorable little voice practically answering your question for you before words could even leave Tommy’s lips with her sweet voice shouting;

“Daddy! Remember you need to put money in the shitty bastarding swear jar!”