#camden grace

[qfabraywrites]

Bridgeport Enclosed Inspiration for a mid-sized eclectic kitchen remodel with a drop-in sink, shaker cabinets, blue cabinets, granite countertops, white backsplash, porcelain backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island, and black countertops in an enclosed space with a black floor and wood ceiling and a u-shaped cement tile floor.

[persistentrain]

https://freestylerecords.bandcamp.com/album/touching-the-times-remixes

[lubentina]

Harold John Wilde Gilman (British, 1876 – 1919)

Grace Canedy (the artist's first wife), c.1904. Aberdeen Art Gallery & Museums

oil on canvas

[tonksnymphdora]

Bridgeport Living Room

[poetskings]

@jegulus-microfic | May 3: rush | 1.8k

James is in a rush to get to work, until he meets someone that makes London public transport less awful.

James is running late.

It had been a morning of little catastrophes; James slept through his alarm, his clothes were still damp from where he’d done laundry a little bit too late the day before, and Remus had drunk the last of the coffee so naturally James had to call in at the local coffee shop rather than getting it at home.

All of this to say he’s spectacularly late.

He’s got a meeting at eleven and unless some minor miracles occur and public transport actually functions for a change, he’s going to be fifteen minutes late.

He fires an email off to Lily all but begging her to cover until he gets there (she says yes, because she’s an actual literal angel and James would drop dead if he had to function a day without her) and power walks to Camden Town station, because even as late as he is, full on running is a bit too undignified.

The one small mercy of him running hideously late is that the tube station is pretty quiet – there’s only a handful of people waiting on the platform. James puts his headphones on and takes out his book, zoning out as he waits for the train to arrive.

It doesn’t take long; the Northern line is generally reliable outside of rush hour, so James finds his way into a carriage and sits down, preparing to read for the rest of his commute.

That is, until he glances around the carriage and his vision catches on the person sat opposite him.

He’s quite possibly the most attractive person James has ever laid eyes on; all dark hair and thunderstorm eyes and oh, his hands. They’re delicate and decorated in rings and gripping onto a pencil as he sketches.

James has always been a hopeless romantic; ask any one of his friends and they’ll tell you that he falls fast and hard. He’s attracted to shiny things; to pretty things, and this boy sat across from him is all of that and more.

It takes everything in him to not go and sit next to the stranger, but even he can acknowledge that it’d be a bit weird. So he completely forgets that he should be paying attention to his book and instead opts for glancing up at him every minute or so after making some vague and half-hearted attempt at reading his page for the fifth time in as many minutes.

And then James’ world shifts on its axis.

He glances at the pretty stranger to find him already looking. James offers a small smile, aborting an attempt at a wave when he’s already halfway through the motion.

The stranger laughs and it’s possibly the most gorgeous sound James has ever heard in his life. He wants to hear that sound forever. He watches as this divine creature raises his hand before mimicking his aborted move, and James is gone.

He wants to sit on this train forever and make eye contact with this angel who’s decided to grace the Northern line at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday.

The stranger breaks eye contact first, going back to whatever he’s sketching, and James wants to see those storm cloud eyes again but is equally enthralled by the graceful movements of his hand as it drags a pencil over paper.

James has always liked hands, sue him.

A few more minutes pass before James summons the courage to say something. He doesn’t know how much longer the stranger is going to be on the tube, and for all that today has been absolutely awful, he thinks, if he believed in a god, that he would believe that this was divine intervention.

He takes his headphones off, ready to give the stranger his full attention, only to realise that he’s humming under his breath. It’s liquor-smooth and James wants to drink it in forever. He doesn’t recognise the song but he doesn’t want it to end. It’s his new favourite song, he thinks.

He clears his throat and the stranger stops humming, blinking up at him. James offers a small grin again, walking over familiar ground with him. This is what strangers on the tube do; this is normal. Then he veers off course.

“What’re you humming?” he asks. The angel across the carriage raises an eyebrow, shutting his sketchbook before standing up. He steps closer, closer, and James thinks he’s stopped breathing.

He pointedly looks at James’ bag, which is on the seat next to him, and James is suddenly all limbs and no grace as he moves it as quickly as possible, drawing that laugh out once again. James wants to wake up to that sound; it’s a shot of espresso to his soul.

He offers James an earphone, and James is helpless. He takes it as the angel speaks to him for the first time.

“It’s Dreams by Hana Vu. She released an album today and I’ve fallen in love.” He tilts his head back as the song washes over him and James is only half listening, instead focused on the long line of his neck. James has fallen in love too, he thinks, but with a man, and not with a song.

James lets the song play as he continues to stare. It’s only when the stranger turns to look at him that he realises that the track has come to an end and he’s expected to say something.

“My name’s James,” he offers, and he’s sure it’s not what the stranger wanted, but it’s all he has. He is hollowed out of everything and anything that isn’t the man on the train with him.

The man raises an eyebrow but nonetheless offers his own in return. Regulus.

After that it’s like the floodgates open. This stranger has offered James his headphone and his name and James would be a fool to not make the most of this opportunity.

He’s only half paying attention to the stops as they fly past, the eleven o’clock meeting barely even registering as a thought. He hears the call for Tottenham Court Road but Regulus is talking about his course at UCL, about how he wants to be an artist but he’s promised his parents he’ll at least try to stick out the law degree before blowing his future chance at earning money to smithereens.

James quickly glances down, firing off another email to Lily and apologising profusely but something important has come up that he simply cannot miss.

He talks about how he never really knew what he wanted to do until Lily mentioned journalism. The two have set up a small independent media organisation that he loves and can’t wait to build up. Regulus looks genuinely interested, and James has waited for what feels like forever for someone to look at him like that.

James loves his friends, he does, but when he was younger he established himself as a class clown, and his wants very rarely get taken seriously. It’s nice to have someone take him seriously, to care about his hopes and dreams and to ask intelligent questions about his plans for Sectastra Media. He knows that Lily is the real brains of the business, but he’s not completely ignorant, and Regulus seems to get that.

Tottenham Court is a distant thought, and he knows it runs contradictory to the passion he’s had for it when talking to Regulus, but this man sat beside him is magical and James doesn’t want to miss this.

Their conversation winds through countless topics and James cannot remember the last time it felt this easy for him to exist in his own skin. It’s only when he starts to get a slew of messages that he realises that they’ve been on the tube for nearly forty minutes. He glances apologetically at Regulus and calls Lily back, fully prepared for a thorough bollocking, which even he can admit he deserves.

He glances at the boy next to him and prepares himself to admit that he should’ve gotten off the tube three stops ago when he sees Regulus frantically firing off a text about how he’s not going to make the contracts lecture and can someone please send him the notes.

James doesn’t even try to hide his smile as he nudges Regulus. “Running late too, huh?”

Regulus startles slightly, a rosy flush creeping up his neck, and it’s the most gorgeous thing James has ever seen.

“I was meant to get off at Warren Street.”

James stops breathing. He stops existing. His entire world has narrowed down to the contours of Regulus’ body.

Warren Street was two stops before Tottenham Court.

The words are out before James has fully processed them.

“Go on a date with me?”

Regulus looks startled, like he can’t quite believe this is real. Silence starts to stretch.

“I was meant to get off at Tottenham Court. Go on a date with me?”

Regulus starts breathing again and James’ world starts turning again.

“Alright,” he says, and it is soft and tentative and oh so fragile and James wants to frame this moment.

The pair get off the tube, waiting for a new train to take them in the opposite direction. Something has shifted between them, and James lets his fingers brush against the back of Regulus’ hand, feeling the cool bite of his rings.

Regulus doesn’t move away.

The second train comes and they don’t even consider sitting anywhere other than next to each other. James and Regulus has become JamesAndRegulus, and the conversation flows and something rare and precious has been created.

Tottenham Court approaches, and Regulus breaks conversation, turning so that James can no longer see his sketchbook as he writes frantically across the page.

He tears out the page, offering it to James. It’s a sketch of him; rough around the edges but James knows what it means. In the top right hand corner, a number is written in delicate cursive.

James looks away from the drawing, finding Regulus biting his lip, that beautiful rose blush drawn across his cheeks.

James is helpless; so far gone and without any desire to find his way back to the person he was before he stepped on the train this morning.

“Thank you,” he says, throwing his bag over his shoulder. He pulls his phone out, immediately plugging Regulus’ number in and sending a text to the angel on the tube.

Regulus nods and says, “you’re welcome.”

The tube doors open on Tottenham Court and James makes his way to his office, feeling lighter than he has in months.

Lily will rightfully be fuming, and James knows that it’s nearly midday, but he thinks that perhaps he wasn’t late after all.

He was right where he needed to be, right on time.

[anonymooseforever007]

Man of My Dreams

(Alfie Solomons x female reader)

Summary: Y/N is one of the newest secretaries at the Shelby Company and she's always eager to make her bosses proud. But one night, when Tommy give her the order to watch one of his business partners.... maybe she took the order "by any way you can" a bit to literally....

A/N: Hi y'all! There's nothing graphic, but this fic does contain a short mention of forced prostitution by some aweful bosses over their secretaries, but nothing happens here. And aside from usual Peaky Language and sexual innuendos I don't think there are any other TW's for this story! I was gonna post this later but I'm pretty please with how it turned out so here it is now 😂 I just wanted to write a nervous reader meeting cheeky Alfie! Enjoy!❤️

WC- 3.2k

Main Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"WAIT! Don't go! You can't!"

"And why is that Treacle?"

".....because I love you?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(A little while earlier)

Mr. Shelby had given you one job. Only one job left today and he said it was vey important that you complete it at all costs and by any means necessary. If you failed there maybe be a lot of trouble and not just for you. But what was that job?

Keep Alfred Solomons inside the office...

It was after closing time at the betting shop and while almost everyone else had gone home you were still working on a few papers Mr. Shelby wanted done by tomorrow. And while they wouldn't take too long, you were still a newer secretary at the company and rather eager to please your bosses. You were also one of the younger secretaries and this was one of your first jobs that consisted of more than stocking shelves or sweet talking rude customers in the bakery. And while everything had gone smoothly so far, you still found yourself accepting the extra work from time to time in order to get in your boss's good graces. He still paid for the time of course, very well actually. But as you'd learn today, late office hours often came with unexpected surprises too. 

One of these began when Mr. Shelby suddenly walked through the main floor towards his office. Only he wasn't alone. Walking a few paces behind him was another man. You'd recognized him as Alfie Solomons, an imposing man who owned the "Bakery" that Arthur Shelby was always grumbling about. You hadn't actually spoken to him or even met him yet. The most you'd gotten was rumors from the other women in the shop about all the terrible things he'd done. Even worse than some of the rumours about your boss. But tonight it appeared that would change. You didn't miss the quick glance made towards you by the Camden Town man when Mr. Shelby passed your desk with a quick acknowledgment, before heading straight to his office.

Only six minutes into the important meeting, Mr. Shelby had been called to the Garrison to deal with a fight started by his brothers. He had been annoyed to no end at having to fix yet another one of his brothers' impulsive decisions, but seeing as Polly was helping Esme with her new baby, he was the only one left to go. Well, the only one Arthur and John would listen to if they were half as drunk as Finn said. And Finn himself was also being dragged back to the bar by Tommy to help control his brothers too, so he couldn't watch the other gangster either. Even if he lacked his brother's stomachs for fighting, Finn still had almost a head over each of them and could hold them back well enough if needed. 

So Tommy brought him along too, leaving you behind with the order to keep the other gangster company until he returned. It didn't matter that Alfie had already agreed to waiting until Tommy came back. Or in his words "graciously relented more of his precious time" in the name of "proof of his good will." Tommy still didn't want him snooping around the office while he was gone. So he'd given you strict instructions to keep the gruff man in his office until he got back. You were also to make sure he didn't mess with much in there either. 

You'd never anticipate just how astray that one plan would take you...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hi. I'm Y/N, one of the secretaries. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Shelby wanted me to look at his typewriter and clean up the office a bit before I left. One of the keys has been a bit sticky lately. So don't let me both you, and if you need anything let me know and I can get it for you."

You'd figured that had been a pretty decent thing to open with. It was a good excuse for staying in the office, and Tommy had wanted you to fix the key for a while now. But you started to rethink your opener, as all you got in return was a brief nod from Mr. Solomons who continued to read over the paper in his hands. Pursing your lips in a line and feeling slightly awkward now, you just nodded to yourself moving to Mr. Shelby's typewriter. You did get a questioning stare after that when you picked up the device and moved it to the table in the middle of the room. That was the table between Mr. Solomon's desk and the door. It meant you had a better chance of stopping him should he try to bolt. Didn't mean it was a big chance though. No, you didn't doubt this man could easily pin you if he tried, and you hoped in the back of your mind that he really did plan to stay as agreed. And so, glancing at the unchanging position of your charge every few minutes, you set to work on pulling apart the typewriter...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silence.

Pure uncomfortable silence had descended upon the small office nearly half an hour after Mr. Shelby left. Well, you found it uncomfortable, but Alfred seemed to have no issue with the quiet that settled over the room. By this point he'd moved from the chair he was originally sitting on to the one behind him, closer to the bookshelf. Which happened to be directly across from your own seat. 

He sat, unbothered, still reading the same contract he had when you came in. He must of gone through it twelve times by now. Occasionally, he'd mumble under his breath, causing your head to shoot up, waiting for something to happen with bated breath. One of these times, to slight humiliation, your head had shot up expecting to see him still looking down at the papers...only to be met with his own piercing eyes. Neither of you spoke at that moment, you just stared eyes wide with surprise while his remained unreadable. The moment was broken by the sound of a siren out of the window causing you to look over. You didn't notice the slight smile the briefly passed the man's face.

It had been fifteen minutes since that moment and you were finally starting to relax, thinking that maybe this really wouldn't be as bad as you thought. Keeping him here didn't seem too bad.

Until, without warning Alfie stood up and quickly walked towards the desk. Thinking he was trying to look at Mr. Shelby's private papers you also shot up. But when he turned back around you saw he was only grabbing a new pen, leaving you standing there... once again staring. He must really be starting to believe you're a creep of some sorts, you thought. Trying to save face you'd headed towards the desk yourself, under the guise of grabbing a piece of paper for the now fixed typewriter. You didn't expect him to, but you were glad the your company didn't point out the stack of paper sitting right next to the machine in the table. And with that, you went back to your seat, trying to calculate how many drinks you'd need after this. 

You couldn't explain it, but for some reason you felt like you were doing this wrong. There was some source of nerves buzzing in the back of your head that just wouldn't settle. You chalked it up to this being the "most important" job you'd been given yet, aside from when Polly had you watch the empty shop for an hour one night after locking up so she could chew one of her nephews out for their latest mess. You had been so nervous about someone trying to break in, you'd almost concussed poor Arthur with his own stapler when he'd come in the back door. The only thing that saved him was the fact he actually fell back on his ass, terrified, because you'd popped out so closely to him. You were also lucky he happened to be sober and registered it was you before fighting back. Neither of you mentioned that night to the others.... and neither of you ever would.

The silence continued for a few endless minutes longer before it was finally broken. Alfie groaned lightly as he got to his feet. Luckily you hadn't stood up this time and were able to slow the rise of your head, looking up at him slightly concerned. Even if you didn't know the man, you'd noticed the slight wince he'd made when he stood up, using the couch arm to stabilise his ascent as he reached for his cane by the table.

"Right. Now that's enough of that poppet. You said if I wanted anything you'd give it to me correct? And now I know what I want so you're gonna help me?"

Eyes wide in shock, both from the fact your burly companion spoke, and of what he spoke, you shot up once again in slight panic. Shit Shit Shit. Not only had his sudden actions threw you off your axis, but now he was also looking at you with a stare that reminded you of how John looked at Esme many times before they'd disappeared to the back rooms for half an hour or so. Esme usually came out looking brilliant as usual, but John wasn't one to hide his messy clothes or the marks on his neck. And now Alfred Solomons seemed to be giving you the same look as his eyes roved your body. He tilted his head and took another step forward, indicating that you still hadn't answered his question.

"I...I did say that yes. What do you need Mr. Solomons?"

"Well let's not dance around anymore. Call me Alfie or Alfred if you'd like treacle. I've seen you starting at me," Alfie moved around the table until he was only a few steps away, "I think you know exactly what I want. I think you know exactly how this is suppose to play out. Your boss leaving you here as 'company' for little ole me? You know what happens now right?"  

The last words were spoken so closely you could feel his breath against your face. Your breath hitched realising what he meant. No. It couldn't be that. You knew Mr. Shelby wanted you to keep his business partner company, but surely he didn't mean that kind of company. Your boss wouldn't do that right? You'd never even met the man before today and he wanted you to....

"Show me where the bathroom is why don't you? I've been needing a piss since the trip up."

Your entire body seemed to relax hearing those words. Yes, Alfred Solomons was a very handsome man, the kind you often fantasised with your friends about meeting one day. But that didn't mean you had any desire to sleep with the man for your boss's benefit. You'd heard about monsters who forced that from their poor secretaries. 'A sweeter part of the business deals' is what some of them wanted. Men like that disgusted you, and you were relieved your boss wasn't that way. If he was though, you believed you'd actually have shot him yourself for such a suggestion. Yes, you had a habit of being quiet and were often anxious about if you were correctly doing your job, but you'd be damned if any man thought he could treat you that way. Your father had taught you how a man should respect a woman and your mother gave you a gun if he didn't. A gun that was currently locked in your nightstand, but nonetheless you figured you'd have time to grab the stapler on Tommy's desk if you needed to. Though now that Solomons had brought it up, the idea wouldn't leave your mind. After all, it was just you and Mr. Solomons in the office. Mr. Shelby wasn't back yet and there was no telling how long he'd be. What if he got to you before you reached the stapler?

"It's alright dove, I'm not gonna hurt ya," Alfie's words broke through your thoughts once again, and you'd nodded this time hearing the truth in his words. He'd noticed you'd relaxed upon his last demand, only to tense up a bit in thought moments later. Based on your quick glance towards the stapler on Tommy's desk, he could tell you were now thinking of another request he'd might have made. One that honestly he wouldn't have minded indulging in he thought, taking another quick look at the woman before him. But he didn't because of the uncertain look in your eye and the scolding voice of his late mother telling him off for what he'd just done. 

He knew it was wrong of him to imply such a thing, especially when he'd only just met you and when you seemed nervous as it was. And for a man who rarely regrets his actions, he did feel a slight hint of guilt for scaring you. His mother would have tore him a whole new asshole if she'd heard him make such a comment, implying what the young woman practically had no choice to do. Given, he certainly had made many comments like those before and they were often eagerly accepted and lead to quite a few passionate nights while Cyril was sent home with Ollie... But that didn't mean now was the time for them. Not when it was late at night alone in Tommy Shelby's office the his secretary he'd met forty five minutes ago. Wouldn't that be a story to hold over the shorter gangster though? The time he bent Tommy's new secretary over the man's own desk in under an hour. Alfie felt the seat of his pants tighten slightly at that idea, but tried to push it off because it still wasn't the time for that. 

"The bathroom is this way."

Your words broke him out of his thoughts and Alfie looked over to see you standing by the office door you'd been guarding so "intensely" the whole time. Like your time in the office, the way to the bathroom was also silent. You walked Alfie all the way up to the door, and he was half surprised you didn't accompany him to actual toilet seat. 

After a few moments standing awkwardly outside the door, feeling like you sister waiting for her five year old son, Alfie finally came out again. He didn't even wait for you as he made his way back through the main floor. But instead of cutting a straight path through the other desks like before, he was weaving his way around and between the tables. Sometimes he'd pause and look at the papers on a seat even though they were likely just blank log pages, everything else having been put away for the night. Then he'd straighten up again and travel a completely different direction than before. And because you wanted to make sure he wouldn't take anything off the other desks, you followed him. 

Up and down and around. If someone were to walk into the company just now, they'd have seen what looked like a two person game of tag....One you seemed to be loosing. Finally he reached the door of Tommy's office again, stopping so suddenly, you almost ran into him. 

"Well that was a rush wasn't it poppet? Had to get me daily exercise in didn't I?"

The intimidation you felt from this man was finally starting to wear off. All of the sudden the mood of environment changed again. Alfie sighed and shrugged his shoulders like he'd made a final decision. 

"Right. That's really enough of that poppet. Seems your Boss is a no show and I'm a busy man," Alfie stated as he gathered up the papers he's been looking at. You froze, watching him stand up and make his way to the door. Shit shit shit. He was joking again right? He was suppose to stay put. But now he's moving towards the door and doing the very thing he wasn't suppose to do. Why was he leaving now? He said he'd stay. Shoot. You wanted to go back to the uncomfortable silence from before.

You looked around the room for a reason to keep him there. But aside from Tommy's stapler, you didn't see any means of holding him back. Besides it wasn't like the stapler would be of much use. Tommy always forgot to refill it when the staples were gone and had a bad habit of stealing yours and never giving it back. Sure, he technically owned every stapler in the building, but you were still very proud of your own little tool. It hardly ever got jammed. But now it was no where in sight and Tommy's stapler was as usual, empty, meaning unless you wanted to beat Alfie over the head with it, you were out of luck. Sure, you could probably toss it at him as a distraction and then roll the desk chair into his bad hip, but that just felt mean. Arthur would absolutely love it and might have given you a raise for doing it even, but there was a larger part of you that spoke against hitting a man in his war wound. That just felt like a special type of cruel. But it meant you were left with no other option but to witness Alfie walk out the door. As you watched, Mr. Shelby's words flew through your head, talking about how important it was for Alfie to stay until he returned and how you need to keep Alfie there at all costs. Suddenly, an idea hit you.

"WAIT! Don't go! You can't!"

"And why is that Treacle?" The words came out absentmindedly, Alfie already focused on what he'd do when he got home.

".....because I love you?"

Alfie's hand was on the door when he froze, hearing your almost desperate plea. Spinning around as much as he could with his hip, he faced you again. Confusion covered his face, quickly replaced by an almost cocky amusement.

"You love me?"

"Yes," you nodded somewhat confidently," I've loved you since the moment I first met you."

Alfie, tilted his head and took a step closer, raising and eyebrow.

"Well poppet, considering moment I met ya was an hour ago, I'd say it's a love that won't take long to get over."

He turned again but this time you shoved yourself infront of the door before he could grab it.

"No it's not!"

"It's not?"

Now Alfie was confused. He'd have remembered meeting a pretty face like yours before, especially it it accompanied your rather memorable personality, you'd shown today. On the other hand, you were cursing yourself out internally, berating yourself for the impulsive lie. Why didn't you just grab the stapler? Scrambling to cover yourself now, you delved deeper into your story.

"It's not. The first time we met was... it was... at.... no by.... It was by..... in .in in.... IN MY DREAMS!! The first time we met was in my dreams and I've been in love with you since then!! Yes that's it!"

You nodded vigorously, smiling, hoping he'd believe you. He didn't obviously, he knew you were still trying to follow your boss's orders.... but damn was this fun to watch. Alfie raised an eyebrow moving a step closer again.

"Are you saying I'm the man of your dreams poppet?"

"Yes! Absolutely. I think about you every night."

"You do?" Alfie was only a step away now. "What exactly about me do you think dove?"

You thought for a moment, scanning his body for things to talk about, not that it would be hard, but you felt a little pressured here. If Alfie moved any closer his beard would brush you chin.

"Beard.... Your beard is fluffy, and looks soft," you started," and your stance is...like a sturdy man's stance..you have pretty eyes too...and you have arms... I like arms. You look like you'd give good hugs... or could like make my bed," Alfie bit his lip, trying not to laugh. "Also legs, you have legs, and a cane for your hip. You could like do stuff with the cane ... maybe I don't know. Some people may like that. I know people into that." You had no clue what your were saying at this point, just rambling and Alfie didn't know if it was embarrassing or enduring. But before you could delve deeper into your hole, he stopped you.

"Alright poppet. I get it don't I? You're madly in love with me and the idea of me leaving just breaks your heart, don't it?"

"Yes?...." You nodded, not believing that he was believing it. Maybe?... "It breaks my heart and that's why you can't leave. You have to stay with me. In here. In this office....So you can't leave. Because I absolutely love you with all my heart and if you were to go I wouldn't know what to do. I'm just lost without you Alfred Solomons. You are the man of my dreams an..."

"Y/N, What the fuck?"

Startled by Finn's voice you cursed, turning around to see not only the youngest Shelby, but Tommy, Arthur, John, and Michael staring at the scene before them. Evidently during your "heartfelt" speech you hadn't noticed them arrive back to the office. Nor had you seen them opening Tommy's door, only to hear the last bit of you professing your "love" for the man who'd screwed them over more times than John had kids....which was to say a lot. Tommy's eyes met yours in confusion and slight concern as your mouth opened and closed like a fish, unable to provide an explanation. When he said keep Alfie under control he meant, just make sure the man didn't piss in the whiskey decanters or draw horns on Arthur's picture. He wasn't sure why that involved professing your love. In the back of his mind, it passed that you could be a spy, and Tommy honestly hoped that wasn't the case. He liked you, Lizzie never let him take her stapler. A drunken John just smiled in amusement, pleased with the free entertainment. Meanwhile, Finn and Michael were silently making faces at each other, arguing over who'd grab Arthur's legs, and who'd get arms if he decided to act on the dangerous glare he was giving Alfie. He wasn't actually drunk, but Arthur saw you like another Ada, and he didn't like the idea of Alfie romancing you. Arthur also had a deep seated despise for Alfie in general, but everyone knew that. Now they were all looking at your for an explanation.

Looking over your shoulder, the stapler was still empty.

Perfect.... 

[queenshelby]

Forbidden Desire (Part Four)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest (at this stage accidental), Age Gap, PTSD, Domestic Abuse, Self-Harm, Fluff, Mild Smut

Words: 5,456

Summary:

This plays after Grace’s death but before Tommy becomes a politician. Lizzie is pregnant with Tommy’s child, so it is somewhere around season four.

In this fic, Tommy suffers from episodes of PTSD and so does the reader, resulting from trauma and abuse. They will help and save each other without realising that their connection is much stronger than they could have anticipated.

There will be love, fluff and smut as well as a highly taboo relationship.

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

QUESTION: WHO IS TOMMY TO THE READER? WHOOPS!

YOUR POV

The following day, you again, arrived at the gambling den on time only to find out that Tommy was not there and neither were any of his brothers.

Polly and Michael too were absent from the den that day and the only person who barged in at around 9 o’clock was a woman by the name of Linda.

She was blonde and beautiful, with lovely curls and hypnotic eyes. She appeared stressed however and when you introduced yourself to her, she chuckled.

“I know who you are. My husband told me about you this morning” the woman then said and you queried her.

“Your husband?” you asked, not knowing who she was married to.

“Arthur Shelby. He is my husband and I believe that, last night, you met him, at the state library” Linda explained before sitting down and looking through the betting book.

“Yes, I did. He seemed nice” you acknowledged before thinking back to last night which is when Arthur, who happened to be Tommy’s oldest brother, came to find him. He too was in a panic last night, telling Tommy that he found someone they have been looking for. An acquaintance of some sort and, with that, Tommy had to leave rather abruptly.

Leaving you with his car and the key to the library, Tommy said goodbye without a kiss and it was almost like he did not want his brother to know about the fact that he took a liking in you.

Why this was the case, you did not know but, somehow, it was bothering you. You felt as though he was embarrassed by the way he had met you, in less than ideal circumstances and, the idea of Tommy being ashamed of you, was stuck in your head for the entire night.

You got no sleep whatsoever and needed to know the true nature behind Tommy’s intensions. Why was he so afraid of showing his feelings towards you in front of others? Was this just a game to him? Something to kill his boredom with perhaps?

“Y/N” you then suddenly heard Linda as, clearly, you were daydreaming and thinking too much about last night.

“Yes Linda” you responded almost reluctantly.

“Are you alright taking some bets today? Because we will be on our own until 3 o’clock” she then said and you realised that she must have asked you this very same question just seconds ago to which, clearly, you had failed to respond.

“Yes, I can take bets. You may just need to help me write them down. I am okay with numbers, but complex words are a different story” you admitted to her before asking where everyone was.

“There was an incident last night, near the docks in Camden Town” Linda told you but this did not really answer your question.

“What sort of incident?” you thus asked but Linda shrug her shoulders.

“Business I suppose” Linda said. “My husband never really tells me everything but, what I know is that Tommy was shot last night and this is why he isn’t here today. Lizzie cancelled all of his meetings” Linda explained and your chin dropped while fear began to overwhelm you.

“Oh my god Linda. You need to tell me what happened to Tommy” you demanded, but Linda did not, immediately, answer your question.

“So it is true what Lizzie said. You have taken a liking in Tommy” Linda observed instead. “My oh my, little one. You know you don’t stand a chance, right? Tommy is not a man who is faithful. Despite, he is marrying Lizzie, so…” Linda then went on to say but you did not care and repeated your question.

“Linda, is Tommy okay?” you asked again, to which, finally, you received an answer.

“Yes. He is fine. It is not the first time he got shot and the man who shot him is now laying in a ditch somewhere. My husband made sure of that” Linda told him while you were quick to reach for your coat, causing Linda to ask where you were going.

“I need to see him” you told her, causing Linda to roll her eyes.

“No, you don’t. What you need to do is to help me run this office. Tommy will be just fine” Linda said sternly before making an observation. “You have no idea what Tommy does, do you?” she then asked but the question was a rhetorical one. “He may be my brother in law, but he is not a good man” she furthermore said. “It is because of Tommy that my husband is acting the way he does. He had found God after having been jailed for his crimes, but now he is back carrying our Tommy’s dirty work. It’s appalling and you should stay away from him” Linda finally mentioned to you but this was not all she had to say.

“I know about you. I know about your stepfather too. Tommy is looking for him’” Linda revealed and you gasped momentarily in response.

“What are you talking about?” you wanted to know, seeing that you were not aware of any business Tommy had with your stepfather.

“You think that Tommy chose you out of kindness or love?” Linda chuckled after realising how oblivious you were. “Lizzie is right. You are naïve. Your stepfather has a gambling debt with Shelby Company Limited and went into hiding after using a false identity to steal from Tommy’s family business. Tommy wants to recover the debt and make him pay for stealing from him. This is why he needs you” Linda then told you and it all started to make sense now.

Tommy did not like you. He was using you. This was all you were to him.

“I need to go Linda” you then told her as you were trying hard to hold back your tears. You were feeling betrayed and upset by what Linda had told you and, even though you still could not be sure about Tommy’s true intentions towards you, you were almost certain that you were nothing but a means to an end. 

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

Tommy Shelby Tag List:

@fastfan

@elenavampire21

@dolllol2405

@allie131313

@cilliansangel

@coldbastille

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@cdej6

@kathrinemelissa

@landlockedmermaid77

@crazymar15

@damedomino  

@lauren-raines-x

@miss-bunny19

@skinny-bitch-juice

@odorinana

@cloudofdisney

@weepingstudentfishhorse

@allexiiisss

@geminiwolves

@letsstarsfalling

@ysmmsy

@chlorrox

@tommyshelbypb

@chocolatehalo

@music-lover911

@desperate-and-broken

@mysticaldeanvoidhorse

@peaky-cillian

@lelestrangerandunusualdeetz

@december16-1991

@captivatedbycillianmurphy

@romanogersendgame

@randomfangirl2718

@missymurphy1985

@peakyscillian

@lilymurphy03

@deefigs

@theflamecrystal

@livinginfantaxy

@rosey1981

@hanster1998

@fairypitou

@zozeebo

@kasaikawa

@littleweirdoalien

@sad-huffle-nerd

@theflamecrystal

@0ghostwriter0

@stylescanbeatmyback

@1-800-peakyblinders

@datewithgianni

@momoneymolife

@mcntsee

@janelongxox

@basiclassy

@chaotic-bean-of-smolness

@margoo0

@vhscillian

@crazymar15

@im-constantly-fangirling

@namelesslosers

@littlewhiterose

@ttzamara

@cilleveryone

@peaky-cillian

@severewobblerlightdragon

@dolllol2405

@pkab

@babaohhhriley

@littleweirdoalien

@alreadybroken-ts

@masteroperator

@stevie75

@shabzy96

@rainbow12346

@obsessedwithfandomsx

@geeksareunique

@laysalespoir

@paigem00

@lkarls

@vamp-army

@luckystarme

@myjumper

@gxorg

@eline-1806

@goldenharrysworld

@cristinagronk16

@stylesofloki

@faatxma

@slut-for-matt-murdock

@tpwkstiles

@myjumper

@cloudofdisney

@look-at-the-soul

@smellyzcat

@kittycatcait219

@theliterarybeldam

@layazul

@lyn07

@kagilmore

@50svibes

@mainstreetlilly

@ourthatgirlabby

@bitchwhytho

@takethee

@registerednursejackie

@sofi128

@mrkdvidal1989

@minxsblog

@heidimoreton

@laylasbunbunny

@laylasbunbunny

@queenshelby

@camilleholland89

@forgottenpeakywriter

@vintagecherryt

@indierockgirrl

@mrkdvidal1989

@bluesongbird

@dudde-44

@gasolinesavages

@kissforvoid

@bluebird592

@1eugenia1isabella1

@esposadomdp

@lulunalua23

@lovelace42

@bookklover23

@iwantmyredvelvetcupcake

@moonmaiden1996

@marlenamallowan

@cyphah (cannot tag)

@majesticcmey

@cleverzonkwombatsludge

@throughgoeshamilton

@alessioayla

@elenavampire21

@justforfiction

@cilliansangel

@alannielaraye (cannot tag)

@satellitelh

@simplyreading96

@idledream​s

@vic-top​

[eardefenders]

Sherlock & Co - Mailbag Episode 3 Transcript

00:00 John: Heyyy there, I’m,uh, I’m, uh, back in your ears! Heh. Uh, thanks for inviting me in. Um, I-I just wanted to add a chunk on before this Q and A just to give you an update on all things Gloria Scott. Uh, thanks so much for the kind words, first off. Uh I-I-I did warn about its angst. Um, and I appreciate i-it’s not always a fun ride when, when those kinds of things happen. Um. But hey! I’m glad you all enjoyed it. Um, glad the masterful sound design was appreciated.

00:32 John: Uhm, yeah I thought I’d, I’d check in now and give you a rundown of it all. Post match interview sort of stuff. Uh, Lionel did recover from the stroke. He is out of hospital, but he will be going back to Australia. Um. He’s-he's obviously cooperating with the government, um, down there. It’s not an easy situation, but he’s handling it with remarkable grace and dignity. Um. Victor is, as well. Can’t quite get the read on things with him at the moment. He’s obviously very, very torn. Uh, we solved the case for him, but, y’know, yeah. H-he’s in a much worse place then he was before. Um. *pause* Such is life. Uh, such is a very complicated life, I should say. He’s helping his dad, with the inquiries. Uh, m-my gut says there’ll be prison time. *sucks teeth* Um, y’know, c-cooperation and evidence and the, yeah, t-the mitigating circumstances might be helpful to Lionel and all, but, uh… *deep breath* ultimately lives were lost. He was complicit. Y’know this is the world we live in.

01:49 John: *sucks teeth* Victor has paused the job search, but uh I-I do believe he’ll be coming back to the UK once, y’know, whatever happens, happens. But, uh, yeah. Tough stuff. Um, glad you all enjoyed Mariana joining in on the adventure. Um, don’t know if she enjoyed it all that much. So far she’s watched corpses get pulled out of the canal and now she’s watched an elderly stroke victim get extradited for murder. So, uh, y’know. *chuckles lightly* Welcome to the world of true crime, Ametxazurra!

02:23 John:Um, Sherlock asked me to apologize, also, actually. Um, yes, to apologize that he wasn’t technically correct in his solving of the case. Um, uh, Hunter did reveal the actual truth. I, I told him people wouldn’t really mind. He got me to apologize anyway, so, uh, yeah. There you go. Um, so he’s been a right mopey bastard, as you can imagine. *clears throat* So, to cheer him up, I carted him off to…an indoor theme park! Heh, yeah, you heard that right. Theme park. But indoors. Well, theme park’s a bit strong to be honest. I-I-It’s like an arcade with an indoor roller coaster. But yeah! Y’know! Uhm, back to Camden, but for a much more enjoyable experience.

03:05 John: These questions were asked, um, before The Gloria Scott episode aired. T-two that I ask Sherlock right at the end are eerily prescient. Um, that’s the right word, I think? Uh, I hope. Welp, you’ll see what I mean. Enjoy!

03:19-3:49 *Intro Music*

03:47 *Arcade Sounds Fade In, we can hear Sherlock exerting himself*

03:50 John: Yoooo, wassup guys! Welcome to the John Watson channel where we talk all things John Watson all the time! Ehh, that’s my impression of a youtuber or real podcaster, hope you enjoyed it. Ah, right, Sherlock, tell the members where we are.

04:01 Sherlock: Indoor theme park! Augh! *through gritted teeth* You little alien bastard! Get back here!

04:09 John: Sherlock is doing some whack-a-mole, ah, or they’re aliens in this place, not moles. Could be alien moles. Who knows. Ah, it’s an indoor theme park in *in a very exaggerated North London accent (genuinely he sounds like an ass here)* North London. That’s North London, sorry. Bit excited. Had about a kilogram of sugar. Haha, I’m looking at all sorts here. Arcade machines, carousels, basketball hoop game thingy, air hockey, bumper cars -dodge’ems, call’em what you will-, and an indoor roller coaster! Hahahaa! It’s wild stuff. Okay, let’s get to some questions over a casual game of air hockey.

04:40 *Audio Cut, sounds of air hockey being played*

04:41 Sherlock: Have that! *puck hit sound* And that!

04:44 John: ‘Have that and that’? What are you, a musketeer? Hahahaaaa! *sound of a puck entering the goal* First point Watson! Heyheyheeeey, ahhhh. And now for the first question. Uh, Tonkster aka Resetoaster asks, “To John and Sherlock, if you go to Subway -the fast food I should clarify- what do you usually order?”

05:03 Sherlock: *with exertion* You’re *sound of the puck being hit* distracting me! Ah!

05:06 John: Ah, you wouldn’t be saying that if you were winning.

05:07 Sherlock: I’m not winning *puck hit sound* precisely because of it.

05:11 John: Alright, fine. I’ll answer. Uh, I like the turkey club. Is that-Ow! That hit my finger. *hisses in pain*- I think there’s a turkey one. Um, I like that one on plain-ish bread. I don’t think their fancy breads are all that good. Uh, and then I’ll have a southwest sauce- Wham! Haha! *sound of puck entering goal*

05:23 Sherlock: Oh, bugger.

05:26 John: Subway order?

05:26 Sherlock: Never been.

05:27 John: Great.

05:27 *audio cuts. Sounds of automatic rifle fire going off*

05:29 John: Reloading. Cover me!

05:29 Sherlock: Covering.

05:30 John: Incoming at your two o’clock.

05:31 Sherlock: On it!

05:32 *sounds of two loud gunshots*

05:33 John: Yesss, Sherlock. Right, through the lobby. Okay, let’s see how this goes. Bellaxbear01 asks “If you guys want another pet, what animal would it be? Another dog, another cat, or maybe a fish?”

05:47 Sherlock: I like fish. *sound of gunshots* Very much. Reloading.

05:50 John: *pleased* Oh, hahah! I like fish too!

05:52 Sherlock: Really?

05:53 John: Yeah! Tropical?

05:54 Sherlock: Tropical or temperate.

05:56 John: Well that’s good to know. Yeah, worth maybe one day looking into that? Oo! Getting shot at here. Uh, Amelie5 asks “Do you have a favorite case you’ve solved so far?

06:05 *sounds of a big gun being fired*

06:07 Sherlock: A good question at bloody last. Die you bastards! *big boom*

06:12 John: Oh wowhaowhaooow! *sounds of I guess dirt falling, maybe bodies???* *with a smile in his voice* Oh, you made him blow up! Ha! Ahh, I know the feeling. Poor sod.

06:18 Sherlock: I rather enjoyed the Red Headed League.

06:22 John: Yep, that was a good’un. -Oh, duck down! That’s a machine gun.- Did you like the Red Headed League because of the case or because it proved me wrong about it being boring?

06:27 Sherlock: Mmm, both.

06:28 John: Great, well-oh I’m dead. *sound of man yelling, presumably John’s character dying in the game* Balls.

06:31 *audio cut. Ambient arcade sounds with something fizzing at the forefront*

06:34 John: What is that?

06:35 Sherlock: *struggling to speak* opp ing andy.

06:37 John: Opping Andy?

06:38 Sherlock: *still struggling to speak, but clearly annoyed* Op-opping. Andy.

06:41 John: Ohhhh, popping candy. Right. Well, RangerPip asks any specific reason you started smoking a pipe?

06:49 Sherlock: *unintellible gargling and consonant sounds*

06:54 John: Right, well, if you understood that RangerPip, well done you, haheh. *pause* *in a considering tone* Hunnh. He may or may not be choking.

07:03 *audio cut, loud music and bumper car sounds*

07:04 John: Ah!

07:04 Sherlock: Ahahaha!

07:05 John: Hahahah, left! Left! Left!

07:08 Both: Ah! *sound of impact*

07:09 John: Oh my god, my ribs! Argh, right! Let’s get up some more speed and smash into these kids-uh, I mean! These, um, big burly blokes.

07:17 Sherlock: Here we go.

07:20 John: Yesss, Sherlock, we are at some speed now, baby! Hahahah, right! Question from Raylein, “Does Archie get human food? And if he does, who feeds it to him?”

07:30 John: Ah yeah I do feed him, I-

07:30 Sherlock: Yes.

07:33 John: Wait.

07:34 Sherlock: What?

07:35 John: You’re feeding him as well?

07:36 Sherlock: I am, yes!

07:38 John: Well, that explains a lot. Uh, yeah Raylein, I don’t really like animal products going to waste so I just, um, I chuck him all sorts. Ope, here we go. Come here you little shits.

07:44 Sherlock: Ahhhhhhhh!

07:45 John: *sound of impact* Ah hahah!

07:48 *audio cut, it’s much quieter now, but they’re still at the arcade*

07:49 John: *remorsefully* I just didn’t think they’d cry and tell their mums is all.

07:51 Sherlock: That’s what children do. *accusingly* You told me to smash into them.

07:55 John: I did not say that.

07:57 Sherlock: Can I get the SD card out of your microphone and check?

08:00 John: No.

08:01 Sherlock: See.

08:02 John: Andrew says, “Question for Sherlock: Do you have any piercings? And, if you don’t, do you want any? And, if you do, which ones do you want?”

08:10 Sherlock: *sucks in a deep breath* Ear piercing. I haven’t used it for some time.

08:14 John: Why not?

08:15 Sherlock: Was that asked in the Discord?

08:17 John: What?

08:18 Sherlock: That. Just then.  The ‘Why not?’

08:21 John: …No.

08:22 Sherlock: *takes a breath* Well then. I needn’t answer it. This is a time for members.

08:26 John: Right. Great. Lovely. Ok, MushPit says “Your deductive skills, was it talent you were born with or a skill that you developed and perfected over time?”

08:34 Sherlock: I assume MushPit is asking me, not you?

08:37 John: Ah ha ha, very funny.

08:40 Sherlock: My senses have always been, um-

08:43 John: Overcalibrated?

08:44 Sherlock: Yes, quite. Sooo, I’ve always observed a lot. When I found it difficult to tune out of my surroundings, I decided to analyze them. Then it became rather addictive. Yes, it became a skill, but I feel it much stronger then a skill. It feels like a byproduct of my very existence. I cannot unlearn it. IIII cannot wind it down or soften it. It occupies me as much as I do it. I fear that I  cannot stop it. Even if it kills me. Even if it drains everything from me and I can never truly find it to know myself, to know my surroundings without the necessity…uh, no, the-the requisite to my very self. To t-try to understand everything-

09:33 John: The rollercoaster’s ready.

09:34 Sherlock: Oh.

09:35 John: Uh, we- we can finish if you want? Uh, y’know we can go on it later?

09:40 *audio cut, we can hear the roller coaster going and John and Sherlock on it. John keeps saying ‘Woohoo! Wheee!’ and Sherlock is saying joyfully ‘Bloody fantastic! Absolutely bloody fantastic!’ Both of them also keep laughing in between their exclamations*

09:48 *audio cut. We’re outside. London traffic can be heard.*

09:53 John: Oh that was good! Wasn’t it?

09:54 Sherlock: *pleased* Superb.

09:56 John: Not a bad idea, is it? A theme park, indoors? I mean we were a little old for it, but hey, y’know, there’s no age limit on enjoyment! Well, I mean you can’t go jumping into a soft play or anything like that, but yeah. Yeah. Now we are walking near Chalk Farm. Not actually a farm of chalk, of course. It’s just a nice place between Bellsides Park and the Northern end of Camden town. How’s that q and a session for you, mate?

10:16 Sherlock: Is that question on the Discord?

10:17 John: Right, ok. This is not a thing. You can still have normal chats with me inbetween members questions.

10:25 Sherlock: Noted.

10:26 John: Well it’s a question for me now anyway. Um, has your mother finally listened to the podcast? And if yes, what does she think of it? Uh, yes, has she listened? She has! She didn’t like the sound of my bomb. That makes two of us, there. Eheh. Uh, and she sent me further messages about Mariana. And! She will occasionally point out when I’ve been rude to people on the show. *clicks tongue* She also asked me if the Austrian man’s face was okay, so she has at least, definitely finished one adventure. And, no. His face is not. Ok. Mum. Uhh, so- hunh, this is weird.

10:59 Sherlock: What’s that?

11:01 John: Two questions here, next to each other. Uh, I-I’m not making this up. First one, Ramt or-or Ramtonk, “t-the flowers on my orchids are gone, but the plants themselves are thriving. Uhh, they’re watered as they should be and get optimal sunlight. Will the flowers ever come back?”

11:19 Sherlock: *pleasantly surprised* Hhha!

11:20 John: Right? Yeah and the second one from Batonks the Graveyard Ghost says, “Question for John, do you have any funny memories from your childhood that you’d like to share with us?”

11:30 Sherlock: Yes, that is quite remarkable.

11:32 John: Well! I’ll let the adventure of The Gloria Scott answer those questions! So, ah, everybody, thanks so much for these. I hope you enjoyed the answers. Sorry it’s been so short, but I’ve just noticed that that’s our bus!! We’re gonna miss it! Go! Go! Go!

11:46 Sherlock: *frustrated sigh* For goodness sake!

11:47-12:17 *Outro Music Plays*

[louisupdates]

Louis Tomlinson and ITV Big Brother's AJ Odudu lead red carpet best dressed at Rolling Stone UK Awards

Louis Tomlinson and telly presenter AJ Odudu were just some of the names gracing the red carpet at Camden's Roundhouse for the Rolling Stone UK Awards and they did not disappoint

By Daniel Bird | Assistant Showbiz Editor

Louis Tomlinson, AJ Odudu and Mae Muller certainly ensured all eyes were on them at the Rolling Stone UK Awards.

Celebs gathered in Camden, north London, for the first-ever Rolling Stone UK awards in collaboration with Remy Martin. The glitzy bash celebrated all things music and will also see 13 artists be inducted into the Rolling Stone UK Hall of Fame.

Throughout the night, those in attendance will see Ozzy Osbourne pick up the Icon Award. However, the Prince of Darkness won't be performing, instead, he will deliver a speech. Meanwhile, Jessie Ware went up against Raye, Jorja Smith, Romy and Grian Chatten for the Artist Award.

Meanwhile, Louis Tomlinson went up against the likes of Yungblyd, Elton John, Nova Twins, Loyle Carter and Rina Sawayama for the Live Act nomination. Here, we take a look at some of the hottest red carpet looks from the night.

1. Louis Tomlinson

Chart-topper Louis Tomlinson may have only recently finished the sold-out and critically acclaimed UK leg of his Faith In The Future World Tour but he stopped by the glitzy awards. The rocker from Doncaster, South Yorks, is nominated for Best Live Act.

Louis Tomlinson, Rolling Stone UK Awards 2023

[heavyhitterheaux]

Teenage Woes Part 2

First Babies of Private Garden Fic

AN: Here we gooo

Synopsis: A certain person finds out what the triplets have done and takes matter into her own hands to set them straight while Jack it at his wits end with Axel's antics

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

Read Part 1 first

First Babies of Private Garden Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

You had just gotten back from Aruba and it was around four in the morning. Attempting to walk into the house quietly, you took to the steps while dragging your huge suitcase behind you and silently cursed to yourself about how much you bought since your bedroom was in the middle of the hallway and you were doing your best to not have to take breaks.

Once you were finally in your room, Jack was sound asleep as you ventured over to the closet to begin to put your clothes away and peel off the clothes that you had on so you could hop in the shower and quickly get in bed in order to sleep. The goal was to sleep in for as long as you could before waking up your youngest three to help them get ready for the day while the oldest three were on their own. You meant what you had said before you left for your girls trip, that you wouldn’t bend over backwards for them anymore like you had been doing since they acted nothing but ungrateful towards you.

They had to learn the hard way and Jack was also in the same boat right along with them because he had gone behind your back and given them the okay to have their phones as well as their car keys and it wasn’t until you confronted him about it that he quickly took them back.

Once moisturized and in a clean set of pajamas, you looked at your phone to see that it was around 5:30 in the morning and decided to sleep in the guest room not even wanting to be bothered with Jack. All of them had a lot of making up to do in order to get back in your good graces. 

It was now close to 8 in the morning when you finally got up and made your way downstairs to see that Jack was packing lunch for Cash and Camden who were sitting at the table fascinated by something on their tablet and eating their breakfast. Once they saw you, they immediately hopped out of their seats in order to greet you.

“Mommy! You’re back.” Jack looked over at you and simply smiled at you which you didn’t bother to return. He would talk to you about it after he dropped the kids off at school.

“We missed you. Daddy can’t cook.” Camden whispered the last part in your ear and all you did was laugh.

“I missed you too. And he’s gotten a little better. Go and finish your food so that I can take you to school.”

“I’ll take them, babe. I know you only got here a few hours ago and you can go back to sleep.”

This caused you to do a double take as you looked over at your husband in disbelief before crossing your arms.

“Worry about your oldest three, not them. I don’t mind.”

“Just let me do this, okay? I took them already and they’ve been on their best behavior since you left..” Jack pleaded with you and you finally agreed.

“Well of course, they’ll always be on their best behavior for their favorite parent. Anyway, where’s Nova?”

“PRESENT! Mommy, you’re back! Can you help me with my hair?” Nova asked you as she came into the kitchen and you immediately nodded.

“Of course, how did you want it?”

“Two French braids please.”

She sat down at the end of the table and handed you the comb in order to part her hair and you quickly braided it. Once finished, you handed her back the comb to put back upstairs in her room and looked over at the clock on the wall to see that everyone needed to leave in the next ten minutes in order to not be late.

Cash got down from the table first taking his bowl with him before going over to Jack so he could put it in the sink while Camden soon followed after he took his last bite.

"Come on, let's wash your hands so we can get in the car and leave." Jack told the two of them and they each moved their step stool in front of the sink to do so while Nova was putting the last of her things in her backpack and you were deciding on what you wanted to eat.

"Say bye to mommy so we can go."

Cash was the first one to hop up into your lap and you proceeded to kiss his cheek as he gave you a hug.

"Love you, mommy."

"Love you too, bubs."

Camden quickly followed suit and soon you were put into a bone crushing hug by Nova. You swore that she grew two inches in the two weeks that you had been gone.

Jack leaned down to kiss the top of your head and bring you into a hug after she had finally let go. 

"I'm still mad at you." Was all you said to him and he sighed.

"Babe…."

"No. And I was serious about you using your hand for a month because you are not putting your hands anywhere near me."

"I… let me drop them off and we'll talk about it when I come back."

"There really isn't any to talk about because I made myself clear before I left how this was going to go. As for now I'm hungry and about to make myself food and then go back to sleep."

When Jack had gotten back, he found you in the kitchen making what looked to be brownies and he went to grab one as you quickly slapped his hand away.

"OW!"

"Don't touch that. They aren't for you."

"Baby, can you please tell me what I can do to fix this?" One thing that he hated was the two of you being at odds and he was really feeling it now because he was caught in the middle of what his triplets did.

"I'm just so over the situation that it doesn't even matter."

"Yes it does because my wife is walking around our house upset and all I want to do is make it better."

"You already know the answer so I shouldn't have to tell you. I am literally three seconds away from giving the triplets and you the silent treatment but I'm not going to. I should have stayed away longer." 

"We need to make a decision and stick to it no matter what regarding them."

"I told you that you already knew the answer and if Autumn steps another toe out of line, hair out of place…."

"She's not going to. I'll make sure of it."

"If she doesn't like me now, she seriously is not going to like me then." You answered thinking of possible consequences in your head. You had absolutely no problem sending her away until she learned how to respect you as well as the rules that you had set into place.

"She does love you, just…"

"No. You always take up for her and I'm sick and tired of it. You have done that ever since she was little and I distinctly remember you thinking that it was going to be me who let her get away with everything, but look how the tables have turned. I don’t even recognize my once sweet little girl."

The two of you used to be partners in crime until she turned fifteen and then you had no idea what happened. Something had shifted and it wasn’t a good shift. 

"Because she literally acts like you. I know you've noticed. She actually came to me and asked what she could do for you to accept her apology." 

"But the disrespect towards me? I never did that to my mother or father because I knew better. And it seems like ever since they turned 16, they don't know how to fucking act but for her it started last year. But remember she's not apologizing if she doesn't mean it. I'm not taking care of anyone who is not grateful for all that I do towards them. I love them with everything in me and I do not take for granted the opportunity to be a mother, but they are seriously testing my patience." You answered while placing another batch in the oven.

"I agree that it was uncalled for and she should have never spoken to you like that."

"My patience is gone so…" You said while shrugging and Jack ran a hand through his curls.

"We'll get through this, babe."

"The only way we'll get through it is if we do this as a team."

“I know. So do you want to tell me why you slept in the guest room when you came back this morning?”

“Simple, I didn’t want to look at you.”

“BABY!”

“I’m just being honest. I needed a moment to myself and I really don’t get that anymore. You really made me feel as if what I say doesn’t hold any weight and doesn’t matter. I know you didn’t see it that way and apologized for it but still.”

“We have a surprise for you a little later this week and I think it will help ease some of the tension. But we’re all going to do better moving forward.”

“I’m not going to believe you until someone shows me.”

A few days later, it was Tuesday morning and Jack happened to be driving through Louisville in order to go to your favorite bakery to pick up the blueberry muffins that you like when he spotted Axel standing outside of Carmichael’s with a bunch of his friends and quickly turned around and pulled up outside of the store.

“AXEL WYATT HARLOW GET YOUR ASS IN THIS CAR NOW!”

Axel was startled at the sound of his father’s voice and he turned around to see him red in the face and fuming.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath and sighed before walking to the passenger side of the car and getting in.

Jack started driving and was silent for the entire time they rode to the bakery. Once he parked is when he finally turned to Axel.

“I’m convinced you want your mother to kill both of us.” Jack said while pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Dad…”

“I didn’t ask you to speak. So now we’re skipping school after me and your mother are paying that expensive ass tuition for all THREE of you to go there?”

“Please don’t tell her.”

“HOW CAN I NOT? SO I DROPPED YOU OFF AT SCHOOL THIS MORNING AND YOU DECIDED TO LEAVE AND WASTE MY MONEY IN THE PROCESS.”

“You have more than enough of it.” Axel muttered and Jack did a double take.

“Forget this gentle parenting. What the actual fuck is wrong with you? So you think money grows on trees now?”

“No…”

“Do you not know how hard me and your mother have worked for all six of you to live comfortably and not have a care in the world? I cannot believe that actually came out of your mouth. What happened to my little quiet innocent Axel who used to never talk back, never got an attitude, would always offer to help when you see that me, your mother, or siblings needed it? And you’ve been smoking because I smell it. So, once again you aren’t listening to the rules we’ve set in place.”

All Axel did was stay quiet.

“Being quiet now isn’t an answer. You had so much to say before so speak up. Since you want to step to me like you’re a grown ass man, stand on it. Obviously that means you can provide for yourself now, right?”

“I’m sorry.” Axel quietly said and Jack just shook his head at him. 

“Yeah, I bet you are. Go in the bakery and get your mom’s favorite muffins. That will be your peace offering after you tell her what you did and I will be standing there the entire time so try and lie to her if you want.”

Axel took Jack’s credit card and did what he was told and actually came back with two containers of them knowing that one probably wasn’t going to be enough.

Once the two of them reached the house, it was around 12 PM and you were caught off guard as you saw Jack with Axel and he was holding two containers of muffins.

“Jack…” You started to say, but all he did was cross his arms to look at Axel.

“Tell her what you did.”

“Umm…”

“What is going on? Ax, are you okay? Are you hurt?” You asked now, becoming nervous and checking him out for bumps and bruises. 

“5….4…3…” Jack began to say, but Axel immediately blurted it out.

“Skipped school and dad caught me in front of Carmichael’s and I was smoking. I got your favorite muffins as a peace offering.” Axel hesitantly said as he placed the muffins on the counter and all you were doing was looking at him.

Nothing was said for a few minutes as you were trying to regulate your breathing and this made both of them become nervous.

You calmly walked past both of them in the direction of the stairs and they were calling out to you in order to get your attention.

“MOM!”

“Babe!”

All you did was go up the steps and proceed to slam your bedroom door and lock it before either of them could get to you. 

“Mom! I’m sorry! It won’t happen again, I promise!” Axel said while knocking on your bedroom door while Jack was simply behind him pacing back and forth.

You didn’t give him a response.

“Mom, I know you’re mad, pissed even but…..”

That was when he suddenly heard your voice. 

“Axel Wyatt get away from my bedroom door NOW.”

Axel sighed in response before going into his own bedroom and once you heard his footsteps move away from the door, you opened it and was met with Jack who saw your eyes full of tears and you being red in the face from anger.

“Baby girl….”

“I don’t even know what to say anymore. I’m taking the golden girls for a walk.”

Once Ivy and Autumn were picked up by Jack and brought home, Autumn said she had a gift for you and for you to sit in the living room and she would bring it.

As Autumn handed you the box, you immediately knew it was a Birkin and for the first time in your life you weren’t impressed.

Opening it, you saw that it was a shade of baby blue outlining the black material and knew she did this and definitely asked Jack to buy it since this is one of the only colors that you didn’t have.

“Do you like it? I know you don’t have this one so I picked it out for you.” She quietly said and all you did was look at her before placing it back in the box.

“Am I supposed to be impressed by this because I’m not.” Was all you said and she started to look nervous while Ivy and Axel exchanged looks with each other.

“Well… I…. I figured that this was a part of my apology to you. Well all of us really.”

All you did was slide the box back towards her while Jack’s eyes went wide.

The fact that you didn’t even want the Birkin spoke volumes and then he knew that he as well as his three oldest children were in deep shit.

“Hmm, no thanks.”

“But… you love Birkins and have been obsessed with him since forever.” Axel offered and all you did was stare at him. 

“Your point?”

“Mommy, we’re really sorry for how we acted. We know that you’re so hard on us because you care about us and only want the best for us.” Ivy finally spoke up, but you weren’t budging.

“Spend time with your favorite parent. I have a nail appointment and then I have to go and get Nova, Cash, and Camden. Oh, and don’t forget that Maggie wants all of you over for dinner later, but just you four are going.”

“Wait, babe. What? Why?” Jack asked and all you did was stare at him before responding. 

“You know why. I have things to do so I need to get a move on.”

“But mom…” Axel started to say, but all you did was get up from the table and make your way to your bedroom in order to get dressed.

Once you had left, the triplets looked at their father who immediately sighed.

“I definitely thought the Birkin would work.” Axel said and all of them agreed.

“So, what now?” Ivy asked and for the first time Jack didn’t have an answer.

“This usually always worked so now I don’t have any idea what to do. I swear the three of you better not pull any more shit because she’s going to become unhinged and none of you have truly seen your mother when she’s pissed off.”

Later that evening, once everyone had settled at the dinner table at Maggie and Brian’s house, she was confused on why you as well as her other grandchildren were missing and thought that you would have shown up by now.

“Where’s Y/N and my other babies?” The table was quiet and the triplets didn’t dare make eye contact with her. Jack started to speak, but was immediately cut off by Clay.

“Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but you’re three oldest grandchildren as in Ivy, Axel, and Autumn have been extremely disrespectful towards her and talking back as well as getting suspended for cursing teachers out, fighting, smoking, and also skipping school so she told Jack to deal with them until they can learn to respect her and respect the rules that they set in place for them. Did I get it all, you three?” Clay asked while turning to look at all three of them before looking back at his mother and the look on her face had her ready to body slam them.

“EXCUSE ME? YOU THREE ARE DOING WHAT?”

“Grammy…..”

“Autumn, do NOT. Brian hand me my phone to call Y/N on facetime. One thing I will not tolerate is you disrespecting your parents. Especially my daughter who gave birth to all three of you.”

“Oh, and Autumn also said that they were cut out and not pushed out to her face. Forgot Jack told me that.” Clay added while patting him on the back and all he did was sigh.

You answered on the second ring on facetime when you saw that it was Maggie.

“Hi mom! Are you okay? Why are you making that face?” You asked and she sighed before answering you.

“Clay has told me that those oldest children of yours have been disrespectful towards both you and my oldest child and I had to call you to confirm.”

“Hmm that sounds about right, but your oldest child isn’t innocent either.”

“Oh shit.” Clay muttered while looking down at his plate.

“Oh, really? Tell me more.”

“I took Ivy and Axel’s phones away after they got suspended and told Ax he couldn’t play in his soccer game all for Jackman to turn around and do the complete opposite. They had the nerve to buy me a Birkin like that was going to be a peace offering for the way that they had been acting.”

“If it was me and Y/N…” Clay started to say, but Maggie cut him off.

“Clayborn, SHUT IT.”

Clay simply held up his hands in defense as Jack was simply being interested in his mashed potatoes. 

“Where are you right now?”

“Me and the babies are at Vincezo’s having a date night. We got dressed up and everything. Until the four of them act like they have sense, they aren’t allowed to go with me anywhere and yes Jack is included in that. I’m sick and tired of how they’ve been acting and since I don’t want to deal with it, I’m not going to. Oh and Autumn did say Jack was her favorite parent and how people in prison get treated better than they do and she’s not going to apologize because she doesn’t mean it. So they can stay there with their favorite parent while me and the babies go to Six Flags this weekend. All I try to do is the absolute best for them, but if they don’t want me too, that’s fine. Cam, baby let me help you cut that. It’s too big and I don't want you to choke.”

“Okay, sweetheart. That’s all I needed to know. Just make sure the four of you stay safe while I deal with your triplets and my oldest child.”

“Love you mom! Have fun because I think it’ll fall on deaf ears. Tell dad I said hi!”

“Will do, love you too.”

Once Maggie hung up, the room was silent.

“Mom…” Jack started to say and she immediately held up her hand while Brian was scratching the back of his neck looking nervous.

“The three of you have some nerve. Some serious nerve to be acting like this when you all were literally born with a silver spoon in your mouths. I get that you’re teenagers and want a little bit more independence but how is that going to happen when you show your entire ass and show that none of you can conduct yourselves? Autumn, you are the exact replica of your mother, but she never acted as horribly as you are. Yes, she fought, but the fact that you are also having secret boyfriends and going behind your parents backs? And Ivy, I assume you’re the one who cussed out your teacher. When were you taught to do that? And Axel, the quietest of my grandchildren is now smoking and trying to go through the rest of his life without a lung and skipping school and getting caught by your father. And how dare you say that you were cut out. So that makes it easier? Having to visit the three of you in the NICU everyday made it easier? Having postpartum depression from having the three of you made it easier? Putting her career on hold for the three of you so she could be a full time mother made it easier? At one point, we didn’t even know if Axel would still be here! And the fact that you opened your mouth to say it to her face.”

“Um, grandma, Autumn said it, not us.” Axel quietly said, but all she did was glare at him.

“Do you honestly think I care who said what at this point? That doesn’t take away how disrespectful you three were.”

No one spoke for a few minutes as Maggie began massaging her temples.

“You three don’t even know the half of what your mother has gone through to have you as well as keep you. So many times I thought that she would break, but never did and I’m proud to see how far she’s come from that shy little fourteen year old to a grown woman and I will be damned if her own offspring are disrespectful towards her. All three of you be quiet and eat your food and after this conversation tonight, if any of you do the slightest thing that is out of line of what their rules are, I will come and get you and you will be enrolled in Grandma’s boot camp for the rest of the year and you will not like it. Do not try me. And none of you are getting birthday and Christmas gifts this year so don’t bother asking.”

“Yes ma’am.” All three of them said as they continued to eat. Ivy didn’t really have an appetite, but knew that she should eat since you hadn’t been cooking lately and would probably have to eat a frozen burrito.

“Jackman, living room. NOW.”

The two of them were now sitting next to each other and Maggie had her arms crossed while staring at him. 

“Mom, I know.”

“Then why did you do that?! The two of you have to be on the same page because they are going to think that they can get away with anything and that’s not the case!”

“It was only the first time for them. Not like Autumn who has been suspended multiple times.”

“There is no reason for them to get a shorter punishment just because it was their first time. You’ve become so lenient with them and Y/N isn’t and I thought when they were born that it would be the opposite. You are not their friend, you are their PARENT. You two need to get on the same page and also text Y/N to bring me and Brian a slice of cheesecake. All four of you have stressed me the hell out tonight and when I call Y/N for an update, this better not happen again.”

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[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 1

Read on AO3. Part 2 here.

Summary: With your father off to serve the Continental Army, you've taken up the mantle of protector for your family - so when redcoats arrive on your property looking for him, you stand your ground. Sure, this ends in your arrest as a prisoner of war, but you don't plan on making it easy for them.

Until, of course, your interrogation is co-opted by Colonel William Tavington - the cruel, brutal Butcher of the Continentals.

Unfortunately for you, he's also the most beautiful man you've ever seen.

Words: 5500

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, William Tavington is Not Nice

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: THIS IS CO-WRITTEN WITH MY GORGEOUS PERFECT LOVE, @bastillia.

If you made it through, thank you for reading this first chapter to a mini-story about a villain from a film that's 24 years old. No better way to celebrate Fourth of July than fantasizing about fucking a British soldier!

Bastillia and myself are currently in a Jason Isaacs phase and we desperately need him and in particular William Tavington. So! Here you go. <3

Love y'all so so much!

Grace found you in your father’s rocking chair, dressed in his clothes. Taking a seat on the porch bench next to you, she let her head fall back, her gaze following the ceiling. When you didn’t speak, she sucked in air through her nose and sighed. 

“Are you going to sit out here all night again?” 

You shrugged, and she nudged you.  

“You and one gun won’t stand much of a chance against a bunch of redcoats.”

You frowned, glancing from the pistol in your lap to the dirt path cutting across the grassy field in front of you. Evening’s claws crept across the village, sank into the horizon. Since the fall of Charleston to the British, darkness carried an hourglass with it, the bottom growing heavier every night. Jaw stiff, your eyes followed a firefly as it drifted and winked out like an ember over the grass.

“You would rather I let them burn our home?”

Grace sighed again. “They won’t burn our home.”

You turned on her. “Won’t they? Mrs. Miller has a cousin outside of Charleston. Told me they fired her barn.”

“That’s one person.”

“Mr. Allen said his brother told him about a whole town down the way from Camden they found burned to the ground.”

Grace snorted. “Ah, yes, Mr. Allen, our esteemed purveyor of truths.”

“Grace. If…” You gripped the barrel of the pistol, your mouth drawing tight. She didn’t know, and it had to remain that way. There was no ‘if’ to your father’s return in her mind. He’d left the truth behind his departure only with you.  “I won’t let father come home to a pile of ash.”

A family of crickets swelled in song. Grace shifted closer to you. “You would rather I let him come home to your grave?”

You looked at her. Seeing her expression, a small part of you softened. She wasn’t wrong to worry. Your eyes ached, your head heavy from the lack of sleep. But even when you decided to lie down, your mind refused to release you to rest. Your shift as sentinel would end when your father returned home. With a sigh, you slumped back. The chair eked back and forth on the planks, the drumbeat of your station. 

“Let’s talk about something else,” you said. “Nathaniel’s been paying you quite a bit of attention, hasn’t he?”

Grace stiffened, battling a grin. “Yes, he has.” She folded her hands in her lap, her cheeks reddening. “Why?”

A laugh rumbled in your throat. You knew it. “What do you think about him?”

She pinched her lips between her teeth. “Well, he’s very sweet. Very kind. He always has been, you know the Joneses, they’re such good people.” Her shoulders melted into the bench. “He’s been walking with me after church. Just through the town. We look at the flowers.” She sighed, finally letting herself smile, her gaze drifting until her eyes hesitantly found yours. “What do you think about him?”

“Me?” you replied, as if you didn’t know the question was coming. “I don’t know him that well.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. What have you noticed about him?”

You hummed in thought. Nathaniel Jones. 

“Well…” His jawline was seldom free of razor wounds. “Probably a little clumsy.” The grooves in his fingers were always tread with dirt, the collar of his shirt tanned by sweat. His hands had stained almost every page of his Bible. “Not sure if he ever washes without needing a reminder.” He always showed up to church with at least one piece of tack fastened wrong on his horse. His mouth would mimic reading aloud during service, but his eyes would be trained on the floor. “And I don’t think he’s very bright.”

“Really.” Grace studied you. “Mrs. Jones taught all of those boys, though.”

“Doesn’t mean they all have the same capacity to learn,” you mumbled. But before Grace could protest, you shrugged. “Kind is good, though.” You offered a small grin. “Kind is very good.”

With a laugh of relief from Grace, the two of you lapsed into comfortable silence, basking in cricket song. The rocking chair squeaked back, forth, back, forth. It squeaked in tempo with your heart, rumbling, louder, a vibration skittering through your toes. Deeper, deeper it grew, staccato in its cadence, a pounding that rocked your porch. 

It wasn’t until Grace turned to look at you, her eyes shimmering in starlight, that you realized it wasn’t your heart at all. Torches floated over your lawn and up the dirt path, bobbing in rhythm with horse hooves. A dozen of them, each illuminating a soldier in a crimson jacket.

Your throat thickened. Your stomach tightened. You squeezed the handle of your father’s pistol. Beside you, Grace whispered your name.

“Quiet,” you said. “Just get behind me.”

You leapt to your feet, crossing over the top step of your porch to lean against one of the wooden columns, gun held slack but unconcealed at your side. The officer in front—a white-wigged man with a sword on his hip—held his fist in the air. Behind him, the squad stalled to a stop, dust swirling in the halos of light. 

Swallowing, you stuck your chin toward the sky, hoping that your father’s farm boots made you a little bit taller, that the breadth of his shirt made your shoulders even a little bit wider. The officer in front dismounted his horse and waved his hand, and a soldier behind him joined him on the ground. Together, they marched toward your home. 

“Officers,” you said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”

At the foot of the stairs, the inferior officer looked between you and Grace. His brow furrowed, he leaned toward the ear of his superior. “No record of a son according to our intel, sir.”  

You frowned, but didn’t correct him. Being mistaken for a man had its benefits in this situation.

The superior officer scrutinized you, hairline to hips, his lips screwing in thought. Whatever he was considering, he didn’t say it—instead, he cleared his throat and pulled a piece of parchment from one of the pouches on his hip. 

“Good evening,” he began, his nose wrinkling as he glanced at you and Grace. “You may call me Sergeant Dalton, this is Corporal Bancroft. Is this the home of Michael…” His eyes narrowed as he tried to read the last name. But you didn’t care to wait.

“Yes,” you said. “This is his home. We’re his children.” You stared between them. “Is that all? My sister needs to be getting to bed soon.”

Dalton returned the parchment, his hands meeting behind his back. “You’re aware your father is an officer in the Continental Army?”

Your heart—it was definitely your heart, this time—thumped in your temple. This was the part you didn’t want Grace knowing about. The soldiers waited, studying your face. You needed to say something. Words died on your tongue.

“What?” Grace stepped forward, peering around you. “No, he’s not. He’s been away—”

“Grace, be quiet,” you hissed. 

But she’d already caught the interest of Dalton. “Would you like to continue, young miss?” He advanced a step toward you both, and your finger slipped into the pistol’s trigger well. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to submit to questioning regarding your father’s whereabouts?” He glimpsed your hold on the gun. “Come along, quietly, and you may very well be pardoned by His Majesty’s army.”

You shook your head. “Just take me. She doesn’t know anything.”

Grace whispered your name, grabbed your hand, and proceeded to undermine you. “No,” she said. “Take me. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Dammit, Grace—”

“That’s enough.” Dalton looked at you, then at Grace, then at Bancroft. “Arrest them both.”

---

In the tent, the air was thick with breath and sweat. Candles swayed in the center, their lambent glow hovering on the walls, deepening every shadow. Voices filtered in from outside, so low that they clogged together through the canvas. Sharper was the ache where your bindings had begun to bite your wrists to rawness. Louder the pulse in your own eardrums, and the sniffled prayers coming from the young man bound beside you. 

Twisting your wrists sent a knife of clarity to your brain. You bit back a hiss—you needed to think. 

By your estimation, they’d brought you between two and five miles beyond the outskirts of town. But between the darkness and the burlap sack which had been so benevolently foisted upon your head for the entire wagon ride here, it was impossible to say for sure.

More alarmingly, you’d lost track of Grace somewhere in the weave of shoves and barked commands. When the tents had been erected, you’d been thrown in with the men—Elijah Smith, Adam Brown, and Nathaniel Jones, as fate would have it. Whether this was somehow a genuine mistake even after your thorough handling by the soldiers, or some drawn-out taunt to your choice of attire, you also had no idea. 

Each unknown seemed to hook itself upon a tender sinew in your mind, and stretch it taut. You tried shaking your head, but that only set off a ringing in your ears. 

Beside you, Nathaniel sobbed out another prayer. Your teeth ground together.

Craven would have to be added among the placards you’d already tacked to his character, you decided. 

Outside, hooves thundered again. As they slowed, one pulled ahead of the others and into the heart of the camp. Your ears pricked. There was an unevenness to its gait, the rattle of a bit shank as the horse threw its head before slowing to a halt several yards away. Voices rose and hushed, soldiers shuffling. A distant chorus of acknowledgement to a new arrival.

“Colonel, sir,” said one that sounded like Dalton. “The Dragoons weren’t—I wasn’t aware you’d be arriving.”

“Another detail among many which seem to slip your awareness, Dalton,” said the voice belonging to this colonel, whoever he was. “The rebels, then. What have we learned?”

Dalton was silent for a moment. “Well… Nothing yet, s—”

“Nothing.” 

“We haven’t begun the interrogations, sir.” 

Boots struck the ground. As his horse was led away, the colonel dusted his coat twice. And, with the manner of someone chiding a forgetful child, said: “Well, no time like the present, is there, Sergeant?” 

There was movement, grass rustling, canvas flapping. You stuck out your neck as if this would help you hear—all it managed to do was strain your collarbones. Beside you, Nathaniel was still sniveling, sorry for himself and his whole family, as if now was the time to be crying. Closing your eyes, you caught the frayed wisps of voices, drowned by the sound of his sobs.

“Nathaniel,” you murmured. When he didn’t respond, you kicked his boot. "Nathaniel.”

He snorted up snot. “What? Who are you?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s me. Grace’s sister.”

“Grace’s—” He inventoried your outfit. “Dear God. I didn’t recognize you. Is that why you’re in here with…” His eyes gained focus through his tears. “If you’re in here, where’s Grace? Is she all right?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out!” You tilted your head toward the origin of the other voices. “Be quiet.”

Nathaniel choked and nodded, his nose still leaking, his face ruddy. You caught a sigh in your chest and sat straight, listening for intakes of breath, stammers, the scrape of metal, the chime of glass, anything that would give you insight.

The colonel’s voice first, dipping in and out of your perception. “All of you have… Captain Michael…”

You swallowed. This was about your father. But he should be with the Continentals up near Virginia by now. 

“... his crimes against the King’s army… may be spared and released.” 

Spared and released? Civilians weren’t targets, torture wasn’t permitted, you had nothing to fear from soldiers who would be your future brethren—this was according to the Loyalists in your village, anyway. Recent reports sparked doubt in their confidence. This colonel concealing threats stoked it further.

God, you hoped Grace wasn’t in that tent.

Silence. The candles wavered under the sodden air. One, two, three steps in the grass. You closed your eyes. 

“Very well.” The click of a pistol. 

Your breath stalled. 

“Wait! Don’t—don’t…” 

Grace. Grace was in that tent. Your consciousness slipped with a skip of your heart, but you sucked in air, fighting the ring in your ears. If you were going to help her, you needed to be alert. 

“Is—is that Grace?” said Nathaniel.

You kicked his boot again.

“I’ll tell you everything I know. Michael is my father.” Grace’s voice was tight, trembling. “But he’s—you have the wrong idea about him, sir. Or the wrong man entirely. He’s not a soldier in the Continental Army, he’s been away visiting our grandmother in Pennsylvania.”

“No,” you whispered. “No, Grace, no…”

“How very interesting,” came the colonel’s even reply.

A gunshot split the night. 

All three men beside you flinched at once, and your bones flashed to ice. When the tin-whistle screech died in your ears, someone outside was screaming. Another was pleading.

“No! No, no…” It was Grace’s voice. Relief hit like opium. She was sobbing, incoherent between retches and sputterings of "you killed her,” and “oh, God, no, please no…”

You swallowed bile. Nathaniel resumed his prayers with fervor, now rocking back and forth. Elijah joined him.

“Colonel Tavington, I must protest,” came Dalton’s voice through the chorus of grief, before dropping lower. “... cannot abide… protocol… my jurisdiction—”

“Fortunately for you,” the colonel—Tavington—said, “these prisoners are no longer under your jurisdiction. They are under mine. But do feel free to stand by, Dalton, if you’ve the stomach for it. Perhaps you and your men could benefit from a demonstration, hm?”

“Sir,” was the only acknowledgment Dalton offered.

“Tavington,” said Adam, looking at Nathaniel and Elijah. “William Tavington? The Butcher?”

Elijah met his gaze and nodded without stopping prayer.

Your father had never mentioned any Butcher, but tonight was giving you plenty of context. Bracing against needles of panic, you closed your eyes, forcing your breathing to slow. Wails wracked Grace, and your chest squeezed. She had never seen death. Perhaps naively, you had hoped to keep it that way. 

A gasp rippled through the women, and then Tavington spoke again.

“Now, now, darling girl. Shall we try this once more? Perhaps without lying.” The scrape of a ramrod resounded, then another click. 

“I’m not lying” The tone of her utter despair tightened your throat. “I—I promise, that’s the truth. You can ask my sister. She—”

“Which of you is her sister?” 

“I…” Silence. “She’s not in this tent. I don’t know where she is. But you arrested both of us, sir, she’s around here somewhere!” Another whimper crawled its way out of her. “There’s no need for anyone to die, please.”

You chewed your lip. You’d had enough. “Colonel!” you called out. “Leave her alone. I’m in here.”

“Stupid girl,” growled Elijah, “you’ll doom us.”

Ignoring him, you sat up straighter and willed your nerves to harden. Grace cried out your name, but was cut off with a yelp as leather cracked against skin. Fury roared within you.

Through the hot surge of blood, you heard footsteps marching toward the opening to your tent. Whoever this Butcher was, you’d halfway convinced yourself you’d spit in his face. But you needed to play it smarter than that, needed to keep Grace safe. With what little information you gathered, you at least knew he was a man, and from what you knew about men, they were easily swayed with a bit of physical encouragement.

With the shards of a plan coalescing, you shifted up onto your knees and thrashed your shoulders. Pain leapt from your wrists up your arms, but the movement had the intended effect—the front laces of your shirt slackened, the collar slipping open until it threatened to drape off of one shoulder. Pulse thundering, you settled back onto your heels. Exposed. Ready to bare your throat to the enemy. 

Boots came to a halt outside. Then the entrance peeled open, and the Butcher stalked through. 

You could make out little more than his silhouette. Tall and broad, head bowed to accommodate the tent’s low threshold. Then he straightened, took a step forward, and another, until candlelight thawed the shadows from his face. And as it did, the searing core of your anger surged and flashed to mist. 

He was disarmingly handsome. High cheekbones framed a face carved from cruel marble. His eyes, alive like blue signal fires, penetrated the dimness from beneath the bastion of his brow. Peering down a curved nose, he struck a hawklike poise, with shoulders squared and hands clasped behind his back. His long, dark hair was combed back into a bond at the base of his skull. Immaculate, apart from a single errant strand that drifted down to brush his jaw. Even beneath an ink wash of darkness, you devoured his shape. 

And, against every rational instinct left thrashing for air—found him exquisite.

A prickling sensation rose under your skin, spread hot across your bare collarbones and up your neck. You bolted your eyes to the floor, shifted on your knees. His presence stole even more air from the tent than you’d thought was possible. With a pang of frustration, you blinked hard once. If you were to have any chance of surviving this encounter, if Grace were to have any chance, you needed to pull yourself together. Now. 

One slow, controlled breath flowed in through your nose, out through your mouth. You dared to glance up again. 

The colonel’s head swung down the line of men, surveying his prisoners as a wolf might a flock. And then his eyes landed upon you.

“The sister,” he said, advancing. “Playing soldier with the men.” He clucked his tongue. “Quaint.” Your teeth ground in your skull, but words were not as forthcoming as you’d hoped when you’d shouted his summons into the night. The Butcher moved closer. “Is your father so thoughtless, leaving his daughters vulnerable while he dies in war?”

“My father,” you began, “trusts me to take care of the family while he’s away.” 

Tavington’s eyebrow cocked. “You’ve done a wonderful job, then, haven’t you?”

The venom his beauty had diluted was gathering on your tongue again. With effort, you swallowed it. Stick to the plan. Eyebrows pinching together, you made a show of slouching in capitulation to his jabs. You then conjured a pained whine and wiggled in your restraints, hoping your shirt would expose more of your clavicle, that he’d be able to see the sway of your breasts when you moved.

The colonel frowned, but did not drop his gaze. “Something the matter?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You pulled breath through your voice, fluttered your lashes. The focus required not to crumble under the frigidity of his gaze could have earned you regional acclaim. “These restraints are just so tight.” You wrested your shoulders back and forth as if to demonstrate, gasping from the very real pain that screamed in your wrists. “Perhaps you could loosen them just a little…”

Next to you, you felt Nathaniel watching, caught from the corner of your sight his mouth agape in horror. The realization irritated you. What had he done for Grace other than whimper like a beaten dog for God’s help? Yet another strike against him.

He wasn’t important. Bargaining for Grace’s safety was. 

Meanwhile, Tavington had tracked your movement, his expression indecipherable. Your palms sweat in fear you’d managed to find the one man impervious to the temptation of sex. 

“Poor dear.” He crossed behind you, and you stifled a sigh of relief.

Strong hands slid down your forearms and found the bindings on your wrists. The leather warmed your skin, his breath skimmed your nape. Goosebumps raced over you along with an undeniable desire to shiver, but you held your breath, fighting it off. Instead, you tipped your head to the side, exposing the bare skin of your shoulder to his view, along with the intriguing pocket of darkness that had formed down the front of your shirt, between your breasts. 

Tavington paused. Your breath stalled. With an unforgiving grip on the ropes, he undid the knot—and then yanked it tighter. The fiber gouged your flesh, air fleeing your chest. 

He stood and wedged the sole of his boot along your spine, shoving you forward. You smacked the dirt with a cough.

Your cheeks burned. So you had managed to find this previously-assumed-mythical man. Fine. If your body wasn’t going to work, you would find an alternative strategy. 

“Perhaps that may help you focus less on squirming and more on the task at hand.” Tavington’s boots crossed your vision, shiny enough that you could almost glimpse your own pathetic reflection. With a grunt, you twisted to glare up at him. He was watching you like a child might watch ants under a magnifying glass on a sunny afternoon. “I’m going to show you a map. You’re going to show me where we can find your father. And if your sister gives me the same answer, you both may leave with your lives.”

Hoping the ground would yield a new perspective, you studied him. The horse he arrived on—it’d had a lame gait. Then there was his hair—a single thread of it kissing his jawline. His hands were concealed, his jacket and boots impeccable. But his stock-tie—the knot had been pulled slack, one tail creeping from beneath his collar. 

There was so little to gamble with. But you had to try your luck anyway.

You snorted, using your shoulder as leverage to hoist yourself back onto your heels. “That will prove fruitless for you. She doesn’t know where he is.” You leveled him with your stare. His own bore into you, almost hollowed you. “My father only entrusted me with that knowledge.”

Tavington stepped forward. “A mistake on his part, perhaps, given the situation you find yourself in now.”

“No,” you said. “I think he had the right idea.” 

A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk curled his mouth. “Then you’ll have no problem telling me exactly where he can be found.” He exhaled, the next words drawn out as if your lives were an inconvenient tedium. “Or you and everyone in this tent will suffer until you do.”

Nathaniel quailed. You jut out your chin. 

“Do your worst.” 

Tavington’s lip twitched. He snatched his pistol from its holster.

“You won’t kill me!” you spat. “You need me. Or you will fail.” Your voice was tight. 

Tavington regarded you coolly from over the pistol’s frizzen. That moment’s silence was admission enough—a mote of triumph surged within you.

“Terribly sure of yourself.” As stony as his expression remained, you caught a certain bile now laced through his tone. “Pity,” he tutted, moving forward to rest the barrel between your brows. “To think such a pale imitation of bravery could save you.”

“It’s your risk to take,” you spat out, heart drumming your chest. 

Something flashed across his expression. Seizing your chance, you held his gaze and pressed your forehead into the gun barrel. 

“No cavalryman of honor rides his horse to lameness.” Fear bubbled in your throat, but you swallowed it. “Look at you, Colonel. Your hair, your stock-tie—utterly disheveled. One might think you rushed here. One might even think you need something. Desperately. But you won’t get it if you kill me.” You flicked your eyes toward the other tent. “And if you hurt Grace, you’ll have to, because I promise that if you lay another finger on her, you will leave here with nothing.”

The tent was silent. Tavington dropped to a crouch before you and pressed the pistol under your chin. The barrel moved, guiding your head side to side as he examined your face. You swallowed, heat creeping onto your neck with the intensity of his attention. He was reading you, calculating his next move. You followed the single strand of his hair. You wondered how it felt against his skin.

”Tell me,” he murmured, his breath brushing your nose, “upon which observation I struck you as a man of honor.”

Tavington stood, unsheathed his sword, and in one swift movement, sliced Elijah across the throat. A sheet of blood draped down his chest. Your eyes widened. Adam and Nathaniel screamed. The sword gored Adam’s neck, silencing him, and with its blade still lodged there, Tavington raised his pistol, cocked the hammer, and blew a bullet right through Nathaniel’s head.

The blast flayed your senses to a single tone pealing through your skull. When the world reformed, something warm and slick had smattered your face. You smelled iron.

You heard Grace shout your name, ripped through with terror, and as you heaved a breath to reply, Tavington wrenched the sword from Adam’s flesh and trained it against your windpipe. Adam’s body joined the rest, the dirt rusting with their blood.

“Ah, ah,” Tavington said, eyes sparkling with glee. “Best if sister dearest thinks you’re dead. Kinder that way, don’t you think? At least, of course, until we find out if you have anything of value to offer.” 

Dalton charged into the tent and cursed. He gestured toward the bodies still soaking the ground. “Colonel, please,” he said. “I must insist. I won’t know how to explain all of this to the General.”

Tavington turned toward him, his excitement waning. “How unfortunate for you.”

“I—I know, sir. But please. Let us just take the rest of these women to Charleston. We can handle this there.”

Crickets hummed in unison again. Tavington looked back at you. The terrible thrill flickered alive again.

“Take them, then,” he said, regarding you like a cougar would regard a lamb. “But leave this one with me.”

The sergeant nodded. “Uh, yes. Yes, Colonel.”

He disappeared again. Orders echoed to round up the women and get them on carts to Charleston. From the other tent, you caught Grace’s horrified, desperate tears. Everything inside you was bursting to call out to her, to soothe her despair. But Tavington’s blade prodded your throat. One noise could send it through.

You waited like that with him until the carts creaked off into the night. The bodies around you settled into death, their final breaths a gurgled epode to the dirt. It was impossible to stop the tears of anger that stung the corners of your eyes. Worse still, there was no way to hide them. No move you could make that wouldn’t add you to the litter of cooling corpses. All you could do with your last scrap of dignity was hold the Butcher’s stare.

A smirk flashed over his face. Your throat thickened.

“Now, there’s an obedient little soldier, hm?”

You held your breath, cheeks hot with humiliation or agitation or something altogether unfamiliar. God, what a bastard. If only you’d had your gun on you; you would’ve been happy to demonstrate just how much of a soldier you could be. 

Tavington watched you, checking your compliance as if you were his dog in training. The closer he moved, the greater the heat in your chest, the thinner the air waned. His attention in any other scenario would've felt flattering—he followed every line, every curve of your body, eyes scouring your skin like chipped timber—only he sought the evidence of your deceit, anxious for an excuse to pile you on top of his casualties. 

In any other scenario, the something altogether unfamiliar would've been simpler to define. In any other scenario, you might have wanted him closer.

Tavington raised a brow. Whatever he was searching for, he didn’t find it—or the weight of your information while alive was greater than his desire for your death. 

He lowered the blade. You exhaled.

“Your father is a fugitive. Tell me where I can find him,” he said quietly, jaw tight. “And your sister may fare well in her trial for treason.”

Your heart pounded in your throat, in your temples. You had no idea where your father might have headed, and you didn’t have any intention of handing that information to this monster, regardless. But you first needed to survive him. The rest would come later.

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding. “If you show me on a map where he escaped from, I can show you the path he likely followed.”

Tavington considered you for a moment, then offered a mirthless grin. “I advise you not to move.”

With that, he turned on his heel, striding outside. Breath trembled through you, your eyes jumping around the tent. They’d stripped it of anything potentially useful—no knives, swords, guns, not even a damn rasp or a pair of nippers for the horses.

“Colonel Tavington, sir,” came a voice from outside. 

“Do I appear at liberty, Bancroft?”

“Well, no—”

“Then it can wait.”

“But sir, it’s—”

“As you were.”

“It’s correspondence from General Cornwallis, sir.”

Silence. Your head cocked. He was unmoored. And behind you, candles crackled dutifully. 

If you had any stitch of time to take at all, it would be now. 

Your limbs moved autonomously. You rolled onto your side, working your bound hands beneath your thighs, tucking your legs to your chest. Wincing at the strain in your wrists, you forced them all the way around your legs. Now in an awkward quadrupedal position, you turned and focused on the candles. With a dizzying level of concentration, you managed to suppress the cries of pain as you dragged yourself forward. 

Your wrists throbbed. Numbness pricked your fingertips. Your lungs screamed for air. None of it mattered. Balancing on your heels once more, you wedged your shirt collar between your teeth. Then you reached up and held your wrists over the flame. 

Pain wasn't immediate. First there was only heat. Heat, and the acrid taste of your own heartbeat in your mouth. The fibers between your wrists frayed, dissolving like sugar upon the little tongue of flame. And then, it began to bite. 

If you’d wanted to shout before, it had been nothing compared to this. Everything inside you lurched with the singular need to snatch your wrists from the flame, cradle them to your chest. Your teeth tore into linen. Your eyes squeezed shut.

Blisters bubbled to life on your flesh, agony lodging in your throat. Vision blanching, you could feel every muscle shake violently as they went to war with your will. 

Just as surrender mapped a cannonfire course down your arms, the fiber snapped and your wrists sprang apart. You collapsed to your knees and elbows, wrangling the sobs that clawed your chest, blinking against the cotton fog that threatened to blanket your senses. 

Move. You need to move.

You spared one glance back toward the tent entrance before prying a candle from its pricket and shambling for the lip of the tent. As you flattened yourself to slide under, you caught the vacant stare of Nathaniel Jones. Behind him, the shapes of the other two men could have been cloth-covered stone. A lump wedged in your throat, which you swallowed with force. 

Was it regret? Maybe. Pity? Assuredly. Either way, all you could do now was slip beneath the edge of your canvas prison and light them a pyre. You left the candle on its side, the flame licking at a piece of rope rigging. And you ran.

Silhouetted against the summer night sky, you could just make out a treeline. That would be your haven, if only you could make it. Your feet attacked the uneven ground, somehow keeping you upright. You looked back just in time to see the tent erupt in flame, to hear the bellowing of redcoats and screeching of their horses.

The fire’s ghost haunted your skin. Pain hammered up your shoulders, and as you made your way into the forest, you bit your tongue to silence a burgeoning whimper. Familiarity with the terrain was your advantage, but you needed silence to make full use of it.

You leapt to avoid leaving footprints and snapping branches and dropped against a tree. The tent’s blaze pulsed in your periphery. Drawing a slow, long breath, a familiar rhythm rumbled close, closer. Rumbled, then pounded and clanked in an awkward, head-tossing gallop. 

Tavington’s horse. 

You froze, sunk to the ground, spying the torch that danced with the horse’s gait and watched as it met the treeline, spilled light on the leaves. It tracked through the forest, a flame aching to swallow a moth. The light’s edge nearly skimmed your toes. 

Tavington growled—a deep, furious grind in his chest—and tore off down the perimeter.

When you were certain he’d gone, you stood and kept moving, pressing your wrists together to will the pain away. You’d find somewhere to hide. You’d wait them out tonight. 

Tomorrow, you’d find Grace.

[evita-shelby]

Strings of Fate

Thanks @justrainandcoffee for having the dream that inspired Forbidden and this happier au and happy birthday 🎂 🥳

Cw: smut, infertility, Tommy’s canon fertility issues, cheating

Rose Coldwell needed a husband to escape Lawerence Evertt and the Shelbys could use someone to help Polly and Ada with Finn and John’s now motherless children.

His marriage was one of convenience and no matter what they did, it just didn’t work.

“I cannot have children,” his wife had admitted when they held Ada’s baby and Tommy wondered if they could try and have some happiness of their own.

The Romani Gangster had never held that against her, he was fond of her and cared for her like he cares for all his family, and when he realized the place Alfie Solomons had in her heart, Tom supposed it was a blessing in disguise.

He didn’t stop her; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t resumed his visits to Lizzie nor dallied with Grace in hopes of filling that hollowness in his chest. The least he could do for her is to ignore her visits to Camden Town and believe her lies.

Once business is done, he will broach the topic of a divorce. Tommy would use his own affairs to place the blame squarely on his shoulders and make sure her reputation remains spotless.

He needs Camden Town, Alfie Solomons would have no choice but to ally with him and help him take London or he’d never set her free. It is the only reason he is taking on Sabini now that both Kimber and Evertt are dead and gone.

Alfie’s no fool, his own wife was a Smith whose grandmother lived in Small Heath. If Tommy wanted, he could hurt her, but he wouldn’t. He’s not like that.

She’s a beauty, he’s seen her in the neighborhood enough times to know Mr. Solomons is a lucky man. She’s friends with Ada, on good terms with Polly and Finn adores her. Had he met her sooner perhaps, Eva Solomons would be Eva Shelby.

“If my husband were a jealous man, you would be pushing daisies, Mr. Shelby.” The witch says in Rromani as she looks at the wares in the shop that makes his suits.

“Something you must thank my wife for, I suppose.” His words hit their mark as she stills for a moment before regaining composure. They speak of the matter in their shared tongue, and no one here would report anything but mere speculation to his aunt, Chester Campbell and Sabini.

She and Rose are friends, even if dear Rosie thinks Eva isn’t aware of her relationship with her husband. What her reasons are for feigning ignorance about their affair is something Tommy intends to find out.

“He goes his way, I go mine.” The woman answered his unspoken question and refuses to turn and look at him. “Same agreement you have with Rose.”

“Can’t fill the emptiness either, Mrs. Solomons.” Even the name feels wrong, just as Rose Shelby does.

Tommy looks at a bolt of fine black lace and suggests it to her with a calculated look on his face to sell the lie. As far as Polly will know, he is merely convincing Eva Solomons to convince her husband to free Arthur and claim Billy Kitchen’s death as his doing.

“If you wish to seduce me, Shelby, you should try harder. I like to be wooed.” The witch dismissed his words and before she could ring up the shopkeeper to buy it, he orders the man at the counter to put in on his tab.

He pays for his suits now. Never leaves a debt unpaid and tips generously, he even vets his whores after Grace took advantage of his weakness in the name of the Law.

Tommy Shelby should remember how that hurt him and his family as he courts the Witch of Camden Town.

But he cannot help it, there is something pulling him to her that he hasn’t felt since Greta. Like an invisible string connecting his rotten soul to hers.

“Your cousin, Wag, said your husband refused your tickets to Chaplin's party after what he did to my brother and my men at his Seder.” The Gangster wanted revenge, he had an ace up his sleeve to get Alfie Solomons to have the police sergeant in his pocket release Arthur and his men.

This was more than just a play against Eva’s husband and Rose’s lover, this was Tommy Shelby being led by his stupid broken heart to see where that string of fate leads him to. Not his cock this time, though the woman beside him ignited all sorts of want with that feel of magic about her.

“I want you to wear that lace for me and after that, we will go to my sister’s place in London, and we will fuck until we forget what our spouses are doing in that property they think we don’t know about.” He comes close enough to breathe in the soft rose water and vanilla and that touch of myrrh and frankincense left over from incense to enhance her supernatural abilities.

Tommy Shelby doesn’t know what he’ll do is she says no.

“Tell Ada to leave the lights on and the front door unlocked, I will be arriving there before you to keep Sabini off my tail.” Eva turns and looks at him over her shoulder with an enigmatic smile.

She doesn’t wear black lace.

She wears a jet beaded dress with a satin slip underneath with her dark hair curled and lips painted with the lipstick Rose will find on his collar tomorrow.

He shouldn’t want her, her husband could kill his brother for this, but Tommy Shelby cannot help himself.

He hardly remembers the party as the heady smell of witchcraft and roses stirred a fire within him he hasn’t felt in almost a decade. Grace had been there with her husband, but he had paid her no mind as he came to know the bewitching woman on his arm.

“You behave as if you were a man starved for love.” Her eyes are dark with want and her quiet laugh betrays how mutual this burning he feels is.

“As starved as you are, love.” Tommy cannot even bother to check the coast was clear as he kisses her hungrily at Ada’s doorstep.

Despite the need to sate the hunger they feel, they take their time, stumbling to the couch where they don’t bother removing their clothes. Any attempt to strip her of her fine clothes is met with a wicked grin, as he ran is hands up her silky skin and felt the lace he had paid for as she sank down on his hand.

“You said I had to wear the lace, you never said how.” The witch said against his mouth before kissing like a high-end whore.

“I need you.” He groans against the column of her neck as he kisses every freckle Solomons takes for granted and matches the slow pace she’s set. “Evie, I need you.”

Sex with Rose was good, a bit tame, but enough to scratch the itch. This was different, as if he’d known the witch before, as if he hadn’t been meant for anyone else except her.

“You don’t even know me, Tommy.” She pulled him back to her mouth as she rid him of his vest, gun holster and every item between her long black nails and his bare chest.

She could tear out his heart from his chest and he’d let her, just to fill that hollowness inside him.

They don’t stay in the couch, neither wanted the night to end and in silence decided they’d greet the dawn clad only in sin. The bed would be where they fuck in earnest, where he will take advantage of his own lack of fertility to ensure Solomons stays none the wiser.

Tommy takes his time peeling off the lingerie she wore only for him, kissing every inch of her and letting the sense of déjà vu guide and reward him with sounds he bets Alfie cannot string from her.

God was always cruel to him, to give him a soulmate and give her to a man who doesn’t worship her like she deserves. He tells her so when after feasts on her cunt like a man starved.

“Then show your goddess how a true believer should worship her.” She pulled him up and tasted herself in his tongue as he made love to her until she wept from the ecstasy.

Dawn paints her skin golden, and her eyes turn the color of his favorite whiskey, he wished he could wake every morning like this.

“Who knew Mr. Shelby was a poet?” the witch reads his thoughts and hears him use poetry to describe the naked goddess he's still inside of.

“Who knew soulmates were real?” their hands interlock as they lay together basking in the afterglow, pretending they don’t have cages to return to.

Tommy Shelby knows he must make her part of the deal: he will set Rose free only if Alfie does the same with Eva.

He can’t let her go, even if he’s only known her for a day or two, he knows he can’t live without her.

They all return home; Rose smells of Alfie and he smells of Eva. It is the first of many, they know it when Rose takes Ada’s old bedroom and Tommy’s in his own bed and both dream of their lovers.

Neither feel hurt as they did before when the guilt ate at Rose even if he’s never been loyal to her, the callous too thick to let them feel their sins burning against their conscious and damning them to hell once more.

“I hadn’t planned to tell you this until the Derby ended, but I will set you free. Our deal has been honored and you no longer need my protection in the form of a wedding ring and my last name.” It sounds cold and cruel to everyone but them.

Rose cries in relief and joy as she hugs him in gratitude. He’s set up the date with their lawyer, paid extra to have it done faster and even sought the Rabbi in Rose’s Temple to ask whether he needs a Get so his soon-to-be ex-wife can marry his lover’s husband.

Even if he does die today, he will die as Eva’s fiancé and not Rose’s husband.

“Rose and I declared our marriage over, and unless you do the same, I will blow your fine establishment up to marry your wife. The choice is yours, Solomons.” The gangster fears death and yet fears nothing today, but he trusts his witch. His witch who told him the grave he will dig is meant to show him how expendable he is to his new master.

Everything would fall into place and all would be right in the world…for them at least.

That night, still reeking of graveyard dirt and a man’s blood, he spends it in Eva’s arms in the sprawling house she will rule over as its rightful queen.

“How soon can we marry?” she holds on tightly to him as if they may wake up from this dream any moment.

“Before you start showing, I hope.” Tommy answers guessing why she’d even ask in the first place.

And so, they marry, in the last days of summer with a special license as their former spouses do the same in Margate.

Whether Charles Absalom Shelby is named for his uncle or Charlie Chaplin, is something only the new couple will know.

[geekwritersworld]

Little Artist - Pt 3

Part 1 Part 2

warnings: mentions of violence, the frikin walking stick.

A/n: so this was quite short, however, the next ones gonna be where shit gets real. I spent some days trying to figure out what to make this part to be, but really this short one needs to be posted to move the other parts forward. Thanks for reading, feedback is appreciated :)

He had a walking stick.

Two days later and your voice continued to replay inside Tommy's head, even as he walked into Camden Town.

Usually Tommy always had a plan in mind. He knew how to strategically plan every single detail whilst anticipating all possible outcomes. Most times, it would take him perhaps half an hour to come up with a plan.

However this time was different. He had seen Campbells body, he had seen him dead. Yet, somehow his sister had seen on the contrary.

Tommy did realize it was possible that it was someone with a similar description, but Tommy knew to follow his gut, which told him it wasn't what he had subconsciously hoped.

That night, Tommy heard back from Finn, letting them know Grace was in America, married to a wealthy man.

It did put him at a little ease knowing the filthy barmaid wasn't in the same city as his family, that she was an ocean across.

__

It made you uneasy to have seen your normally stoic and expressionless brother loose composure and instead look caught off guard for a split passing second when you told him about the man you'd seen. Tommy, who normally wasn't shaken or phased by anything, did look fearful for a second that passed by quicker than you could blink.

If it was enough to make Tommy Shelby look a little fearful, you knew you were well and truly fucked.

Instead of responding to what you had told him, he simply looked at you and said "get some sleep- or more of it I suppose" he stood up.

When you woke the next morning, you felt off. Incredibly off. Something was very off, you weren't sure what it was, your head felt a bit fuzzy, but overall you just felt- wrong.

You wondered if you should still go to university or take an off day, but you truly didn't want to skip. You wanted to power through so that's what you did.

Putting on a fresh pair of clothes, downstairs Pol had made you a cup of tea, sipping on that eased your head and feeling better you headed out.

You quickly bid Polly goodbye and left for london. Again you were aware of Isaiah trailing you a few streets later, smiling to yourself you continued walking, not acknowledging him.

The more you pretended you had no idea your brother was having Isaiah trailing you, the more peaceful it would remain. Everything would turn chaotic if you spoke to him about it.

So you didn't.

Arthur grabbed the bottle off the counter and walked out of the Garrison, turning the corner of the building, he observed the people and the children running around.

Taking a swig of the drink and he looking ahead he spotted someone standing at the far end of the street, Arthur's eyes didn't work as well as they once did, but he was sure of who he had seen.

After the multiple times he'd been badgered and clobbered by his family for acting too impulsively, he decided it would be best if he spoke to his brothers and aunt first.

Barging into their home, Arthur looked into the kitchen where Ada, Pol and Tommy sat. Ada had just rolled her eyes at Tommy, who Arthur was surprised to see had returned from Camden Town so quickly, when she spotted Arthur.

"OH look, another fuckin one of us"

Arthur looked behind him wondering if his sister was slowly loosing her mind, not thinking of a single reason why she'd be pissy with him.

"Right.." he paused, shaking his head " uhm 4 out 7 of us aint so bad-" he muttered to himself.

Tommy raised a brow.

"Yeah guess who I've just spotted yeh" he rushed.

Sitting down, he slammed his hand on the table, making Pol and Ada snap their heads at him and look irritated while Tommy remained indifferent.

" I've just fookin seen Campbell, FOOKIN CAMPBELL!"

Tommy's eyes, Pol noticed, went still. They looked almost dead, his eyes looked empty but Pol, she could see that though his eyes were emotionless his shoulders were tense and his hands loosened around his cup.

Pol breathed heavy, she couldn't understand, she had just gotten Michael back, granted Michael was still away, but he came every now and then, for once things seemed stable and out of the nowhere, there was another rubbish hand they'd been dealt.

However, she remained composed.

"Where?" Tommy asked.

"Near the street- that goes towards the trains"

Tommy lurched up from his seat so quick his chair scraped and fell over, irritating Ada.

Arthur followed behind, not knowing where exactly his brother was headed, but he followed closely.

Squinting you tried to focus on the shabby red tube of paint in your hand but put down your brush and rubbed your head when the pain got worse and you were struggling to keep your eyes open.

You decided to drink some water, not having drank water in a while you assumed that perhaps the lack of water probably caused a headache.

So you kept rubbing your temple, but after twenty minutes when it didn't improve, deciding it was best to head home you excused yourself, grabbed your bags and notified you professor who let you go.

The hallway was rather empty except the occasional professor that walked past, but this time there wasn't anyone. Heading for the large door from where a little sunlight crept in, your head swayed, it felt almost far too heavy for you to hold up before you plunged into darkness.

Tommy needed a plan. A quick one. He noticed someone running towards him from the corner of his eye, turning he saw it was Isaiah's father.

"Tommy" he breathed "have you seen Isaiah?"

Tommy raised a brow " I suppose he's in london, with y/n"

"I'm not sure that's possible, i haven't seen 'im in two days, and my boy, he checks in every day, never misses a day" his eyes wide and hands shaking.

Tommy froze. Throwing the cigarette out of his mouth, he looked at the young boys father "we'll find 'im" he promised.

"Arthur" Tommy turned to his brother "need you send a letter"

The 2 hours to London had been excruciating- Tommy's hand had almost gone numb from gripping the steering wheel so hard.

If Isaiah hadn't been trailing you this whole time, then there was only one person that was. Tommy hadn't assigned anyone else to trail and look after you.

In the hustle and stress of all the work, Tommy completely overlooked checking in with Isaiah regarding you. Finn had been with Michael for the last few days which explained why no one other than Isaiah's father had noticed him missing.

With all his experiences Tommy knew there were unimaginably horrendous things that could happen in a less than a day.

The world was cruel, Tommy knew it better than anyone else, so he could imagine you never getting to show up to university again. He knew the possibility of his little artist's life being cut short was incredibly high in that moment.

He could only hope he as well as his brother were quick enough. If they lost a single second, they'd lose you.

Your arms felt heavy, and your head felt like it was tied down. But though your vision was black you could still hear some subtle noises. They sounded far off, just barely there. You struggled to open your eyes.

Your eyes still felt so heavy, almost like something was physically holding you back from opening your eyes.

After a few more tries, you decided to try in a bit again. Having fallen asleep, not aware of how much time had gone by, when you woke again- this time you felt lighter. Your head and arms remained heavy but after a few minutes you were able to peel your eyes open and look directly at the bright light that hung atop your head. Hissing slightly, you closed your eyes immediately.

"You might want to take it slow Ms. Shelby"

You could make out of course it was a man that had spoken, his irish accent thick.

Panicking, you jolted up, the sudden movement causing your head to hurt to the point where you scrunched your eyes in pain.

Looking up, you felt a little relieved knowing you were in a hospital. What unnerved you was the man who had been watching your house, now stood in front of you.

Your throat felt dry "who are you?"

"Inspector Campbell"

Tommy rushed onto your university grounds, ignoring the bewildered looks he got from professors. Immediately recognizing his peaky attire- the guard let him in without a word.

Asking a stunned young girl for where he could find students in Art, he slammed open the door to the room, making everyone jump. Some dropped their brushes on the floor as Tommy scanned the room for you, when he spotted the only empty chair he asked " where is y/n Shelby?"

His voice cold and calculating.

"Ah Mr. Shelby, were you not informed" the professor stood up and tried to usher Tommy outside, away from the students.

"Of what!" his patience wore thin.

"Y/N was taken to the hospital Mr. Shelby. She had lost consciousness in the hallway and when they were taking her away there was a man amongst them who said he was family" the professor paused " he had erm- the same hat as well your family, well actually he held the hat but he showed it to us regardless a-"

"What did this man look like?"

"Er- he was a rather a burly chap with a limp and uh, oh yes, he used a walking stick for that limp"

if you read this far, i gotta tell ya' we're bringing someone back in the next part ;)

[throughgoeshamilton]

Revelations

A The Other Shelby story

Pairing: Alfie Solomons × fem!reader (OC hybrid)

Summary: The Shelby sister is torn between her loyalty to her brother and his Jewish frenemy who also happens to be her lover.

Words: 1.900

Warnings: none

The Other Shelby stories: Resurrection

A/N: Thank you @cillmequick again for beta reading this and your endless support 🫂 Also tagging @buttercupsandboys because you asked me ☺️

"So your brother still doesn't know about us?"

"No, and if you wanna keep your eyesight, it's better if it stays that way."

"Y'know, the little trick you played on me last year with your grenade... I think that makes us all even, doesn't it? I think it really does."

“I think what really makes us all even is that I'm fucking someone who betrayed the Shelby family and so is Tommy.”

She furrowed her brows as she stared at the ceiling, her hand stroking up and down her lover's broad chest that was covered with ink and hair. Her brother's wife wasn't her taste at all but she knew she had no right to talk some sense into him for marrying an Irish spy. Not when she was spending that much time with the very man who sold Tommy and her family for a deal with Sabini two years prior. But Alfie was right, she and Tommy had paid him back well when they had forced him to overthink his outrageous demand to have all of their businesses written over to him. And if the worst had come to the worst, she would've blown his arse off, lover or not.

Although she had to admit, it would have broken her heart. Even though they didn't put a name on their relationship, two years were a long time to get to know each other, to grow close. After everything that had gone down at Epsom, with Tommy reconnecting with Grace over their child and his unreasonable love for her, she had needed to spend some time away from her family, for the first time in her life ever since Mrs Shelby took her in as a little girl. She and Tommy had always been attached at the hip, from dirty streets used as playgrounds as kids to dirty business giving them money and power as adults. Still, she could not forgive his wife for coming into their life with the sole purpose of ruining it. That was the line she had drawn, the difference between Grace and Alfie. Her mission had been spying on the Shelbys from day one, working together with a man as vile as Campbell, while Alfie had been doing his business as usual, making deals, breaking them and trying to get the most out of it all. She could excuse his behaviour because that was what gangsters did and she had spent enough time around them to know what they were like. She was one of them.

Whether she made that excuse for Alfie because he was who he was to her or not, she wasn't sure. She had been attracted to him pretty early on and escaping to Camden, to him, had been a welcome change. At first, it had been mainly his sheets where she had spent her time with him - or rather his desk in his office at the bakery. It had taken them some time to take it to his bedroom, some intimacy and closeness before they would spend the whole night together and sometimes even wake up next to each other.

Whatever this was, it was good for both of them. He valued her input on business related matters, everything that didn't have to do with the Peaky Blinders, of course, and her wit and attitude she liked to give him most times. She liked the freedom she had in London, the control she could take over her own life outside of gang wars - and she enjoyed feeling wanted and appreciated by Alfie in every way.

Tommy didn't know about the more or less romantic arrangement she had with his former business partner then enemy now business partner again and if she wanted to keep up her attitude towards Grace, it had to stay that way.

“Y'know luv, I think as much as you dislike your good sister, you cannot complain, ya really can't. You were at their wedding and gave them your blessing” Alfie let her know his thoughts on her little family drama while he scratched his beard as if he was deep in thought.

She rolled her eyes at him and sat up, wrapping the thin blanket around her body to cover up her breasts as she looked down at him with a frown.

“I declined his request, I think that was enough of a hint that I do not approve of their bond.”

Despite all the bad blood between her and his bride, Tommy had still asked her to be his best woman at his wedding - just another anomaly that Thomas Shelby wouldn't have given a single fuck about if anyone had questioned why he had his sister as his closest confidant at his wedding instead of one of his brothers. It hadn't got that far because she wanted to spend as little time as possible at the wedding and around Grace’s entourage. That had been her official excuse too because “Do you know who used to grab my arse the most in the field hospitals? Those fucking red uniforms”. Of course, Tommy had known that hadn't been the real reason - or at least not the only one - but he still had had the smallest bit of hope to build bridges between the two women closest to him in his life.

“Why are you naked in ma bed and we're talking about ya brother anyway?”

“In all honesty, you started it. You're so obsessed with him” she chuckled before lying back down into his arms, making Alfie now roll his eyes at her.

“C’mere you little minx and let me show you ma real obsession.”

-

"Does my sister happen to be with you?"

"Tommy, shalom, my old friend. How can I help you?"

"I asked you a question, Alfie."

"Yeah yeah... what was that about again?"

He could hear the man on the other end take a deep breath.

"I asked you whether my SISTER is in your FUCKING BAKERY."

Alfie allowed himself a few seconds, leaving Tommy hanging by a thread judging by the heavy breathing that came from the speaker that he held against his ear.

"Hm... no Tommy, no she isn't. Why would she be 'ere eh? That woman tried to blow my arse off last time you put foot in ma bakery."

Tommy didn't believe him. He knew his sister was hiding something from him in London. That was why she was there all the time. But if his suspicions were true, and she was indeed spending time with the Jewish gangster, his old sparring partner better be sure to help him find her.

"If you happen to see her in London, tell her that I need her to come home immediately" he let him know in a strained voice before he hung up the telephone.

-

It was the two days later when Alfie made the decision to tell her about her brother's call. He had been hesitant at first. Why did her brother know about them? Had she told him? If she had, it wouldn't have bother him but he appreciated honesty, especially from the woman he shared a bed with.

"Treacle" he finally spoke up while clearing his throat, "there was someone on the telephone for you two days ago."

She looked up from the morning paper, slowly chewing on her toast some more as she raised an eyebrow at him.

"And?" she asked impatiently when Alfie didn't continue to speak.

He let out a heavy sight before speaking on.

"'t was your brother. He said you should come home immediately."

The paper made a slight crackling sound as she put it down with force, standing up with her hands pressed onto the table. If looks could kill, Alfie would've dropped dead on the spot. But he kept his calm. He knew she would be angry at him but he had his reasons to hold back this information. The more he had thought about it, the more possible it had seemed that this was Tommy bluffing. Maybe he didn't know about them after all, he was just testing the water, hoping an emergency call like that would give him the proof he was looking for - and a reason to punish her for sharing the bed with someone who once tried to fuck him over. His kid sister was the apple of Tommy's eye so Alfie didn't think he could be that cruel to her, but maybe that was the reason it had hurt him even more when he found out - or rather started to suspect - that she was indeed fucking his former enemy.

“And you didn't think about telling me earlier? Like, right away maybe, Alfred?”

Full name base was never a good sign but Alfie had known what to expect when he would finally break the news to her.

“We don't know what he wants. Maybe t’was a test. You know how he is. I tried to protect ya from him finding out.”

She dropped her head and closed her eyes for a second before pushing herself off the table and rushing towards the door.

“Tell your men to get my car ready, I'm packing.”

Alfie sighed but knew better than to talk back when she was this angry at him. She didn't have time for any discussion with him now but he could be sure to hear a few words about this from her once she was back from Birmingham.

-

As she entered the ridiculously huge mansion, John was storming through the hall, not even giving her one glance of attention. His face was red and he looked like he was ready to kill someone.

"John, what-" she tried to reason with her brother, turning around trying to make him stop in his furious tracks.

"NOT NOW!"

Shortly after him came Arthur, not looking any more cheerful. When she faced him with a questioning look, he slightly shook his head before embracing her in a short hug.

"I'll go after John but you need to talk to Tommy. He's in his office."

First Tommy's crude message he gave to Alfie, now this weird behaviour from her brothers. What the hell had happened here?

She took a few more steps into the house, crossing the grande staircase where Grace's oversized portrait greeted her, making her cringe. When she reached the door to Tommy's office, she gave it a quick knock before entering without being invited to.

"You better have a good reason to have such an anxiety-inducing message delivered to me."

Tommy stood in front of his window, not even flinching when he heard the rather annoyed tone of voice. Silence fell upon them. Half a minute passed, then a whole. She took a few steps towards him until she had reached his desk. It was only now, that she saw a pattern. He was dressed in a black suit, so had been John and Arthur when she saw them mere minutes ago. Suits were nothing special to them, but all black was a rare occasion, thankfully.

"Tommy... What happened?"

She crossed the distance between them and put her hand on his shoulder carefully, but still making him flinch. The few seconds they stood there like that felt like an eternity to her as she thought about all the people she hadn't seen yet, and John's anger. Was it Esme? Polly? One of the kids? Tommy clenched his jaw before he finally started to speak to the curtains

"Grace is dead."

[fundieinfoplace]

The Jones Family

Stuart Allen Jones was born June 23 1978.

Crystal Jean Kidd was born July __ 1977

They married ______ ____ _____. They have 2 children.

1. Madison Grace was born October 10 2003

2. Camden ______ was born _____ __ _____

.

Madison is engaged to Jason Duggar

[lillyhasaspoon]

♥ June 14- Free day; “The Geeks and Dorks Gone Pro”

Our free day! After spending the previous day learning the ins and outs of London’s public transportation, currency rates, and local areas, we were free to hit the road.

Okay, I wouldn’t say we knew the ins and outs of transportation just yet. After a few bus reroutes, we ended up at our first stop: Frith Street Tattoo. My little group of four (Zahir, Grace, Brandon and I) with the exception of Brandon, left this place with wonderful insight from our artists and new masterpieces to add to our ink collection. My artist, Marina, was actually from the states. It was neat to hear about how she wound up here (one of the other artists actually had connections to Jacksonville! Small world!) and how different the life here can be.

About 90 minutes later, we emerged above ground into the depths of Soho. We meandered a bit, seeing a lot of ties to Amy Winehouse in the shops around. We looked at the parks, architecture, and shops. Once we got our fill, we were off to Brick Lane.

For some reason I kept deciding to navigate and we ended up at White Chapel. This area was rich with bustling markets and crowds, and was actually the setting of the famous Jack the Ripper. That didn’t freak me out, not one bit. We walked from there to Brick Lane (about 25 minutes.. Whoops.)

Brick Lane was gorgeous. Every corner was covered in graffiti, and was honestly not as busy as I was expecting. There were many cute shops, and we ended up eating in a very nice Italian restaurant. Brandon and I got scolded for cutting our pasta.

With full stomachs we took the tube back to the hotel and saw more of our classmates and ended up exploring the Camden area, unfazed by the misty nighttime.

To conclude, I had a blast with my group. We discussed anything and everything, laughing the whole time. We took every chance to talk to the locals around us and learn as much as we can. I definitely would love to revisit the Brick Lane area someday. A wonderful success!

@danielcronrath

@grcetylr @comafloods @livingingloworld